Breaking Her No-Dating Rule

by Amalie Berlin

  *

  It wasn’t Ellory’s practice to molest people she had on her table, but the feel of his solid heat between her legs made her breathless. She grit her teeth to keep her mouth shut, struggling to control the rapid breathing from the surge of hormones.

  No matter that he’d spent the better part of ten minutes with his face pillowed on her breasts, he didn’t seem bothered by her straddling, as she was. Although she wanted to talk to him about the situation that had put his hand going through a wall, maybe talking should wait... She continued working, tried to ignore the glide of the firm male flesh beneath her hands, and focused on the task.

  By the time his arm was moving easily in the socket, the muscles worked to pliancy, he’d fallen asleep. She heard the slow, rhythmic breathing and ducked under the table to where his face perched in the padded donut-shaped headrest.

  This happened a lot. Get someone to relax deeply enough, they fell asleep. And that was when they weren’t exhausted and worried from all the hours spent in the horrid climate and stressful conditions. He needed sleep so she wouldn’t wake him until he was needed.

  Moving to the end of the bed, she pulled his socks off and swapped the oil for some lotion to rub into his tired feet, which was when she noticed them. Missing toes, two on one foot and one on another. He had no pinky toes. Her heart skipped.

  Frostbite pain is monstrous.

  His words came back to her, brought tears with them that closed her throat. He knew that pain. No wonder...

  She slowly bent his leg at the knee so she could see the top of his foot, and get a better look at the damage.

  The scar extended far up the top of his foot, stretched out, pale and thin. An old scar. A very old scar, considering how far growth had caused it to migrate from his toes.

  He’d been a child when it had happened.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANSON FELT SOMETHING touching his feet and snapped awake. Lifting and turning to look over his shoulder at the woman at his feet was harder, his movements sluggish and stiff. “God, what did you do to me?”

  “Relaxed you.” Ellory laid his leg back on the table and kept one hand on his foot. He wished she’d move away from them. “Your muscles will be a little slow to respond for a few minutes. You should drink a lot of water today too.”

  “Water?”

  “Toxins.”

  He shook his head, not awake enough to run the mental obstacle course yet. Instead, he concentrated on lifting up and rolling over until he was sitting on the table.

  “Toxins in your muscles get released with deep tissue massage. You should drink lots of water, flush them out. Or tomorrow you might have some mild flu-like symptoms.”

  “I thought the massage was supposed to make me feel better.”

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  Frowning, he tentatively lifted his arm and rolled it around in the socket to check. No catch. Sore still, but no catch meant no shooting pains, which was better than it had been.

  He didn’t answer her. Waking on the table he’d had no intention of climbing onto had left him feeling disgruntled and angry. And, pushy thing that she was, she’d had to get at his feet even though he’d told her they were fine...

  “Frostbite pain is monstrous?” She pointed at the missing toes and looked up at his face.

  He nodded. “You don’t have to take care of my feet, you know. You can see there’s no frostbite there.”

  “The scar has stretched and moved back from the toes.”

  He nodded again. She was already getting there. He’d just see how far she could take the logical path without his assistance.

  “How old were you? Still in elementary school, I’d say. Unless you still had really tiny feet in high school and they only recently exploded like peppermint in your herb garden.”

  Anson assumed that meant peppermint grew fast. The fastest way to get her to get off this subject was probably to answer her. “Yes.” It was an answer.

  And judging by the way her eyes grew damp, it was enough of one.

  How the hell had this gotten so out of his control?

  “Socks,” she said suddenly, and sniffed, then popped into the changing room for a moment. When she returned it was with thick cotton socks, which she pulled apart, threading her thumbs into the toe of one and beginning to work it onto his right foot. “Your feet wanted different socks, and you shouldn’t neglect your feet in this weather. Doubt you have any to change into. I usually put these on my patients when they have achy feet and want a wintergreen treatment. Thick warm socks while the rest of your body pains are getting worked on, it’s nice.”

  Anson let her get one sock on, since she’d already started and he was moving with decided sluggishness, and then moved his feet out of her reach and held his hand out for the other sock. “You don’t have to take care of me, Ellory.”

  “You’re sad. I don’t want you putting your fist through anything else.”

  “I’m not going to. I’m not sad. The fist through the wall did what I needed.”

  “Which was?”

  “Pressure release. And it helped.”

  “Your anger maybe, but not your hand or your shoulder. And it didn’t make you feel better about being inside and warm while Jude is out there. If you need to talk about it, you can talk. We’re in this together, and you’re helping me with our patient guests, so I want to help you too. Plus...” She stepped away from him and grabbed the sweater she’d discarded earlier, not finishing her sentence.

  “Plus?”

  “I don’t know.” She pulled the sweater down over her head, untangled her hair from the knot she’d twisted it into, and let it fall around her shoulders. “This.”

  Before he could figure out what she was up to, she’d stepped over to the table, wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed. She cared, just as she had cared for Chelsea. But it felt good, gentle and warm, and gave him an overwhelming desire to bury his nose in the hair atop her head.

  He resisted by tugging her back just enough that she looked up at him. The look in her eyes was anything but pity. Suddenly, all he wanted was to taste her. For a few seconds the world receded—he gave in to instinct and covered her mouth with his own. A small surprised sound tickled against his lips, but she tilted her head at the first brush of his tongue against her lips, opening her mouth to him.

  Her scent might’ve been floral, but her mouth was sweet and fruity, just the barest hint of tartness that made him think of berries. Ripe, juicy, and summer-sweet.

  And this was winter.

  The disparity seeped through the subconscious need to consume her, and he lifted his head, reluctantly breaking the kiss.

  Her dark brown eyes were even more heated than her pink cheeks looked. Those lush lips parted, as moist and inviting as her quick, shallow breaths.

  *

  “No, no...” Ellory whimpered, when she realized he was backing away. Every inch of her screamed for more. One kiss would not violate her Stupid Resolution.

  Neither would two kisses.

  And if he kissed her again now it could still count as one.

  Her hands slid up his torso until scruffy beard tickled her palms and she could urge his mouth back to hers.

  His tongue stroked into her mouth and she let go of his cheeks and wound her arms around his neck, sagging closer, resting against him, chest to chest.

  Strong arms came around her, catching her when every thrust of his tongue made her knees threaten to buckle.

  A kiss more intoxicating than a keg.

  “This is not good,” he whispered against her lips, just as she was about to start tearing his clothes off.

  She was confident enough to call him on that one. “Liar. It’s better than good.”

  So much better it was impossible for her brain to begin comparing it to every other kiss in history, none of which had ever made her come close to losing control.

  “Okay, not a good idea,” he corrected, his voice holding a needy rasp
that made her wonder how it’d feel against her ear with sexy whispers.

  Which was definitely in the vicinity of violating her Stupid Resolution. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Why are you still hugging me?”

  She tilted her head and laid it on his good shoulder. “Because you need it. You’re in pain and you’re a good man. You’re worried about...” She jerked her head back and looked up at him again, realization forming due to her mouth running wild again. Ruining everything.

  “What?”

  “You have a cause.” She snatched her arms back and took two big steps back from the table.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re trying to make the world a better place,” Ellory clarified, the realization making her exceedingly cranky.

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you rescue people from the winter! You have a driving goal! You have a mission in life!” Her stomach hurt. The man was definitely a danger to her Stupid Resolution, and her stupid quest and her stupid everything...

  “You are such a strange little thing...”

  He didn’t get it!

  “You’re my type!” She pointed a finger at him. “And I’m not supposed to be dating!”

  “I haven’t asked you out, sweetheart.”

  And he didn’t get it so much that he was joking around.

  *

  Ellory’s cheeks had flamed to life when she’d surged away from the table, like she had just discovered she’d been kissing a big hairy spider. “This isn’t 1957. Women can ask men out.”

  His joking eased her enough that some of the wariness left her eyes. She just seemed unreasonably irritated by the fact that he spent half the year helping people who got in trouble in the snow. Especially considering her activities prior to coming to this little special wintery haven had all been aimed at helping people.

  He shouldn’t rile her up more. He should put a lid on this situation, say whatever it was that would make her relax. But she’d hugged him, she’d rubbed his feet, and then she’d kissed him back... She was so insistent on taking care of everyone, it was kind of nice to see that she had an unreasonable side.

  Donning his best flirting smile, he popped his brows up a couple times. “Are you asking me out, Ellory?”

  “You’re not listening! I can’t date you. I have a resolution!”

  “You have a resolution, and I’m jeopardizing it by having a cause—which I really don’t think I have.”

  “Yes, you do. And, yes. That’s... Well, no...” She took a breath, her mouth screwing up in a way he was probably not supposed to find cute. “Having a cause is my type, but that’s not the only part of my type.” A few seconds passed as she looked to the side, brows pulled together, thinking, thinking... “Never mind. It’s just that you’re very good looking, and you smell like sex and chocolate...and Sunday morning. And now you have a mission to help others. For a second all that messed up my brain.”

  He could sympathize—his brain felt equally scrambled. The difference was, he liked it. And he really shouldn’t. Also, her description of his scent was probably the most outlandish and fantastic compliment he’d ever been given. That overt honesty charmed him as much as her manner of speaking amused him. He shouldn’t be feeling this good. His job was unfinished and someone was out there waiting for the cavalry...

  Remembering that took the spirit out of it for him.

  “But the last piece is that you’re like...a normal man.”

  “And you like weird men who want to be shamans.” He filled in.

  “I like men who would like me. And you aren’t the kind of man who’d like me,” she explained, and her declaration grew stronger with every version she repeated. “I’m not your type. So we would never date. You’d never date someone like me. So it’s okay. It’s okay! Everything is okay. Sorry. I don’t process information quietly very well. It’s kind of got to be out loud or it doesn’t happen. I don’t know why. Because I’m strange! Oh, thank all the gods.”

  Anson opened his mouth to ask what she was going on to decide that she was not his type but a hurried request for help crackled through the radio, a voice he recognized.

  He grabbed the radio, “Go ahead, Duncan.” The most experienced EMT on the team, Duncan led it during the warm months, but stepped aside in the winter when Anson was around with his miracle dog.

  One of the rescued was having trouble breathing. He got the room number where the patients had all been relocated, pulled his snow suit on—it was the only clothing he had with him—stuffed his feet into his shoes and took off out the door. While he talked, Ellory blew out the candles, turned off the lights and grabbed her keys.

  Anson made a note to rile her up again later when the power went out...that could serve as hours of entertainment. Ask a question, make a statement, and then just watch her start spitting out random words that would eventually make sense.

  Conventional wisdom did say that to learn to speak a foreign language fast, submersion was the key.

  *

  The regular fireplace suites were all situated in the same place on the floor plan for each level of the lodge, blocks of four stacked up for several floors.

  The patient guests had been split into two groups and settled in side-by-side suites on the second floor—the closest to ground level, which was taken with communal and recreation areas, like the clinic and therapy rooms. With the frostbite to her toes and Anson’s ban on Chelsea walking, she couldn’t go anywhere without a wheelchair or being carried, so it made sense to locate them close to the ground in the event that the power went out and there were no elevators working. Easier to carry or roll her up one set of stairs than five.

  Anson said the gibberish names of two different medicines as they passed the office, and where to look, then left her as he took the stairs to get to the person in distress.

  She hadn’t written down the medicines. She’d have to do that. This inventory thing could get out of hand fast, and she couldn’t let Mira down. His kiss had done a brain scramble on her. So much for resolutions. She hadn’t even thought to protest when he’d gone all smoochy on her.

  She was officially a weak-willed kiss pushover.

  A kiss pushover who was obviously being given more responsibility than she should be.

  Ellory had never been an important part of any medical team in a medical crisis before. The knowledge that the rest of Anson’s crew was there helped her keep her cool, but her heart still pounded. If she failed to live up to people’s expectations now, someone could die.

  One of the orange-clad rescuers stood in the hallway, meeting her with an open door, which she rushed through. Anson was already at the window with Duncan and one of the patient guests, who was clinging to the windowsill, his head hanging out into the storm. Snow blew in around him, but even above the roar of the wind she could tell how labored his breathing was.

  The group rescued consisted of two males and two females, one other couple, and with Chelsea’s missing fiancé Jude still out in the wind, Chelsea was sharing the suite with Nate, brother to the other woman, and odd man out.

  “He insists the cold air is easier to breathe,” Duncan said, briefing Ellory on what was going on. They’d moved a chair to the sliding window so he could sit and breathe...but in Ellory’s estimation it wasn’t helping.

  “Looks like that thing that happened with me last year,” Duncan said, more to Anson than to her now.

  How many years had Anson been doing this?

  “Damage done to the respiratory system from the cold,” Anson filled in, looking at Ellory’s stash of medicines and supplies and then pointing to the inhaler she carried. “Pop the seals and shake it hard.”

  He listened to Nate’s lungs again, leading him through breaths that were supposed to be deep but which ended up rasping and wheezing loudly.

  “Had you been sick before you got here, Nate?” Anson asked, the concern in his eyes enough to worry Ellory. She prepped and shook the inhaler harder and faster.
/>   When the man chose to nod rather than speak, she had a clue about how serious the situation was.

  Questions flew about allergies, Nate answering with shakes and nods of his head. He couldn’t do anything but try to breathe.

  Did he have any allergies? Yes. Food? No. Medicine? Yes.

  In less than a minute Anson had gotten enough info to feel safe about giving the man the inhaler. He’d also started preparing some kind of injection.

  “Nate, Duncan is going to pull you back into the room. I want you to breathe out as much as you can, Ellory is going to puff the inhaler by your mouth and you breathe it in deeply.”

  Anson looked between her and Duncan, making sure they knew their jobs. She liked it that he didn’t repeat himself, didn’t give them any extra instructions, just trusted them to handle things. It might not be the right call for every situation, but even she could handle an inhaler.

  On the count of three, they all stepped in. While Duncan supported most of Nate’s weight, Ellory watched him breathe out, holding his gaze. When he’d gotten out as much as he could, she gave him two puffs of the inhaler as he struggled to breathe in. Anson pushed Nate’s sleeve up and injected something into the man’s triceps, which he then rubbed to disperse.

  His skin was very pale, maybe even a little bit blue—another skin color she could add to the shades that terrified her, right after the shade of Chelsea’s poor toes.

  Anson flipped the cap closed and handed the needle to Ellory, turned Nate’s chair and helped settle him back into it...still near the window but not with his head hanging out.

  Long terrible seconds ticked as Anson listened to his chest again, coaching him through the breaths as they slowly began to come easier.

  She found herself breathing deeply, trying to breathe for the poor man, and noticed Anson doing the same thing. A quick look around the room confirmed it. They all breathed slowly, deeply, in unison, five other sets of lungs trying to do the work of one who struggled to breathe. All worried. All invested. All hoping it helped somehow. She felt part of something good, like she did on her missions, and it was probably silly since all she’d done was be the gofer and puff an inhaler. Still, it felt good.