Her fingers brushed across the chiseled curves of his chest. Firm muscle contracted under her touch. She paused in her motion and found herself utterly caught by the sculpted washboard of his abdomen. He had thick, striated bands running along his sides, veering into the narrow vee of his pelvis, which was hidden by the waistband of his utility pants. Tight cords made up either side of his naval and continued upward to the line of his diaphragm. Goodness, she’d seen bodybuilders on television commercials with steeled abs like Gunnar’s.
Truly, the males of her people tended to be fit and strong. The ruling family, namely the Komars, seemed to sport the most virile of the male population, but she’d never been offered the opportunity to inspect any of their abs of steel. This was the first-time she’d been given the unimpeded view of such a brawny specimen. Despite his injuries, she was quite enthralled. Biting down at the corner of her mouth, she forced herself to attend to his needs. He’s your patient. That’s all. Ogling him while he remained under the influence of a powerful narcotic was unprofessional and she always tried to be an upstanding employee.
Getting her thoughts back onto the task at hand proved difficult but she managed. Testing the water, to make sure it had cooled enough, she wetted one of the towels and drew the cloth across his forehead wiping away the remnants of the explosion. She repeated the process several times, discarding each towel when it became too soiled. Her attempt to remove the grunge from his hair proved challenging. By the time she’d finished with his face and the top of his head, she’d slipped into a lull, humming the tune of one of her favorite Broadway musicals.
Moving down to his shoulder, she worked her way along the ridge of his collarbone to his throat. As she circled across his Adam’s apple and up the other side, she leaned over him to reach the spot below his ear. His breath feathered out against her cheek, warm and even. She closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to rest her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat as they drifted off to sleep, together. Her movements slowed and she imagined the pleasure of being held by such a strong, powerful male. God, it would feel so wonderful.
To pull her errant thoughts back from the brink of shameful girlish fantasies, she shook her head. Nadia wadded up the dirty cloth and dumped it in the basin. She pushed aside the material of his shirt sleeve exposing his uninjured arm. A sprawling tattoo snaked over his shoulder and curled around his upper arm. It looked tribal, yet ancient. Vivid black triangles interlocked almost three-dimensional, as they stood out across the skin. Primeval runes were inset between double crimson lines that encircled the triangles. Below the motif, a serpentine-like dragon with vicious horns decorated his bicep. It was powerful, and sexy as hell. Grabbing a clean cloth, she washed down his un-injured arm. She traced the edges with her fingertip directing the damp material along the twisting flourishes. With careful sweeps she maneuvered around the clear tape keeping the IV line secured at the crook of his arm.
Never in her nursing career had she ever felt these curious little flutters, low in her belly, simply from bathing a male patient. Something continued to pull her away from the job at hand and made this personal for her. Absurdly, it felt as if he somehow belonged to her. It could never happen, though. The difference in their societal class was a great chasm. Even if they somehow found a way through that obstacle, her culture did not allow romantic entanglements. Relationships were determined by the Council, and based solely on DNA compatibility.
Gunnar Nakani didn’t have unblemished familial roots. One look would confirm anyone’s suspicion of his heritage. The Viking in him was hard to conceal. However, for the most part, the upper echelon of their society accepted him because he served one of the high ranking Komar dignitaries. In the Kan Asma hierarchy, one couldn’t go much higher than his boss, Traian, who was a prince in the royal kraliyet. Therefore, she had zero business entertaining fanciful notions of sleeping in his arms cuddled up and spooning. The male was quite broken, too, lest she forget that part of the reason why she would never see her daydreaming come true. You’re just his nurse, she reminded herself.
When she brought the cloth lower to his pecs, she had to lean close to reach the opposite side. While cleaning the exposed area with the rag, she allowed her hand to skate over a stretch of flawless skin. It was warm, soft, and little tufts of golden blond hair felt springy against the sensitive flesh of her palm. She continued lower to the line of his pelvis where his pants hid the rest of him from her view. Heat stained her cheeks as she thought about pulling those trousers from his legs revealing the rest of his muscular perfection for her ogling eyes. Really? Get a grip! She exhaled in frustration, chalking the goo-goo response to unbalanced hormones. There was something wonky going on in her body today. Maybe starvation?
Satisfied with her progress, she dropped the last cloth into the tub. Come on, Nadia, it’s time to put on big girl nurse panties and disrobe the patient for surgery. Wiping her hands on a towel, she picked the scissors up again and went to the far end of the bed. She cut the pant leg straight up to the waistband. Repeating the same steps on the other side, she set the scissors aside. It’s now or never, she prompted herself. Before she pulled the pants off, she readied a blanket and set it between his parted feet. Holding her breath, she took pains to make sure she did not rouse him as she removed the pants from under his heavy body. Tossing them on the ground, she leaned over and gripped the blanket edge. Pulling it up in a quick yank didn’t happen fast enough and she got a full-frontal view of his naked sex. Her mouth went dry. She swallowed nervously and stood rooted in place. There’d be no need to remove his underwear since he’d gone commando. Good grief, he was gorgeous to look at.
Dragging the blanket up his body, she tucked the thin fabric against his sides. His breathing became labored forcing his chest to rise and fall in a rapid manner. She’d been all thumbs trying to undress him and had inadvertently made him uncomfortable. That wouldn’t do. In an efficient move, she dressed him in a hospital gown. Setting her hand on his shoulder, she massaged him there with gentle, lulling pressure, hoping he’d relax into his drug-induced slumber. “Shh, Gunnar. Easy,” she whispered in a soothing voice while she watched his beautiful marred face, hoping he didn’t rouse fully before they took him to surgery.
Chapter Two
Gunnar couldn’t feel his arm. He thought hard, trying to find any sensation that would tell him where his arm was located, and what the heck had happened to it. Wiggle your fuckin’ fingers, asshole, he shouted in his mind. Still, nothing. He pushed up on his other elbow, angling so he could see his arm but the woozies took over and he quickly dropped back on his pillow before he blacked out. Shit. This was bad.
He took a deep breath working through the waves of nausea. This, he was familiar with. Drugs hated him. He hated them back. The whole anesthesia experience didn’t go over well inside his veins. It made him want to hurl. Several times. Forcing himself to breathe with even-measured breaths, he cracked his gritty eyes open again and stared at the now familiar ceiling. The vacancy of sensations on the right side of his body scared the holy crap out of him. His mind played the freaky what-ifs and amputation became the prevalent theme. The world’s worst nightmare had come to life and kicked up his pulse until it trilled at a speedy rate. He raised his uninjured arm and kept it hovered a few inches above his chest. Maybe, if he felt the place where his arm should be, then he’d find something there and all this nervous bullshit would be a waste of good adrenalin.
“Fucking better be there,” he growled.
Before he had a chance to set his fingertips on top of his injured bicep, cool fingers caught his and wrapped around his hand. The trembles kicked in. Yeah, he was shivering like a “mofo” in Iceland without a parka. He gritted his jaw, trying to stave off the chattering but he couldn’t stop. Fear, anesthesia withdrawal, and the circumstances of the day crashed into him. He squeezed the hand, tight, needing to find some anchor in this miserable storm.
“You’re hurting me.” A little tug foll
owed.
Nadia.
He turned his head to the side and stared at her. His nurse. His guardian angel. Her pained expression and the deep compassion in her gaze brought a peculiar emotion soaring deep within him and he knew he was in love. Or at least, it was some Florence-Fucking-Nightingale effect. Right now, he so didn’t care. He adored her. And, with her by his side, he just might be able to face the demon on the other half of his body.
“Is it….” Damnation, he couldn’t even ask if they’d taken his arm. The whole notion made him want to puke.
Nadia’s thumb stroked his knuckles in a gentle arc. “Easy, Gunnar. It’s a nerve block.” She leaned over the metal rail and tugged the blankets down. Seeing his arm there brought such intense relief his eyes stung. Little wussy. Yeah, he was about to cry, but managed to blink the tears away before she noticed his show of abject weakness. His vision cleared and he scrutinized his mangled limb. Well, the mangled part didn’t qualify anymore. It looked… put back together, if he ignored the whole cyborg device screwed into his skin at various points. Several thin spokes punctured through to the bone. Fixated by heavy screws, those rods attached to thick steel disks encircling the length of his arm. God, he was one part vampire and the other part…Terminator. He suppressed his morbid chuckle before Nadia could hear it. Clearing his throat, he reached over and tapped the point of a jutting bar. “Guess there’s no place for you to sign it.”
One side of her mouth tipped up before she smothered the lopsided grin.
“It’s okay to smile. Yours is beautiful.” Gunnar paused for a second. The compliment needled its way through her tough exterior. A little twinkle in her eye told him he’d managed a direct hit. Best thing about it was he’d told her the honest-to-God truth. “It makes me happy. I could use it as a painkiller. Screw Morphine and Dilaudid; just flash me those pearly whites.” A slight flush mottled her cheeks and she looked away, focusing on the wall behind him where all sorts of hospital shit hung, like the monitor and emergency oxygen.
“I could Bedazzle the fixator device for you.” Her tongue peeked out and wetted her upper lip.
Gunnar pulled a face and exhaled roughly. Rhinestones and other girly fluff were not for him. He kept the rest of his Y-chromosome induced disgust to himself. Whatever would keep pretty Nadia right there by his side had him eager to ask about application of glitter, when she cut him off and said, “Gunnar, I’m kidding.”
A sense of relief washed over him, not because he wouldn’t be disappointing her but because she felt comfortable joking with him. He hated when the ladies only had two speeds, prickly and intense. No, the type he fell head over heels for had to be multi-faceted with a personality to match his own. “Good, ’cause payback would involve something completely masculine, like beer and sports.”
She shook her head and narrowed her eyes on him. “Add dinner, and I’d think it’s a decent trade-off.”
“Somehow, I don’t see you scarfing down a rare steak.” He tipped his head back on the pillow. Pain creased through his shoulder. It made things difficult, like breathing and talking. He didn’t want her to see him being weak and he bit into the flesh of his cheek, hiding his discomfort. After surging to a velocity he could barely hide, the ache subsided into a dull throb. “I bet you go for frou-frou crap, like finger-sandwiches with the crust cut off and chilled soup.”
One of her hands snaked along her throat, up her neck, to the nape of her hair. She twisted a loose strand over her knuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever had chilled soup, but it sounds like you have. Tell me, was it all the rage?”
Gunnar couldn’t help it. He laughed at her candor and ignored the twinge in his muscles as he let the chuckle deepen. “You’ve caught me. Yes, chilled soup is the bomb; it’s a fine accompaniment to any gourmet dish.”
Nadia set his hand down gently. Cool and sterile hospital air made the warmth of her skin dissipate too quickly. He hid his disappointment. Damn, what a pussy. He liked her holding his hand. Get a grip, dumbass. What’s next, a security blanket?
“You must be tired,” she said and her tone sounded gentle, all business.
Exhaustion tugged at him but he’d been ignoring it to keep on enjoying Nadia’s presence. In his mind, he’d been flirting with a pretty female. The rude reminder he was her patient put a sock in that idea. She must think him a total idiot. “Yeah, I’m tired.” He closed his eyes. Damn, how stupid could he be? Maybe it was the mind-boggling drugs they had pumping into his veins. When he woke up, this junk out of his system, he’d kick his own butt for acting like a total jackass.
Reaching blindly, he fingered the cool sheets, trying to find the blanket, but she got to it before he could. He cracked open his eyelids and watched as she tugged the blanket up to his chest. When she leaned over him, to tuck the other side in, her breasts crushed against his torso. He sucked in a deep breath, taking the feminine scent of her straight into his lungs. She smelled of sweetness, like honey and flowers: One of those delicate flowers that gave off a mild fragrance but was oh so alluring. He didn’t know jack about flowers, but if he knew which one it was that drifted off her skin and teased his nose with hints of innocence, he’d buy a whole bouquet and indulge his senses.
Before she straightened, he touched a free strand of her hair. Soft, silky and he wanted it loose, draped over his body as he tasted the sweet, sweet skin along her throat. A little twitch above his fangs warned of their imminent lengthening. Shit, hunger detonated in his gut. Blood hunger sucked when a female was in biting distance and he was forbidden to indulge. He gritted his teeth, fighting the natural reaction of his body. Until she cocked her head over her shoulder and gaped at him with wide, knowing eyes.
“Are you okay?”
If he replied, she’d get a gander of his sharp, deadly fangs. Instead, he nodded.
“What is it?” Her breathless query told him all he needed to know. She sensed his basic, elemental need. Deep breaths wouldn’t help, she smelled too good. Maybe he could divert his rampant needs by stabbing himself in the other arm with a scalpel.
“I’ll go, now. I don’t want to disturb you any longer.” Her tone held a tinge of unease. She moved away, one inch and another.
Gunnar’s hand shot out and speared into her hair. He fisted the thick tendrils and pulled her back, right in front of his face. She’d see his fangs all right, if he showed her his current physical state, but he kept his yap shut, wishing he knew what was up with his fucking genetics. He’d never lost control before this. Hunger and rapid healing must be screwing with his head.
She squirmed and pulled against his tight hold. “Gunnar, please.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to breathe, to get some oxygen into his body and stop acting the numbskull. She tugged again and his eyes popped open. “Don’t move, Nadia. Just stay still. Until it passes.”
He fought his preternatural impulses. One bite would taste divine. It would sate the parched thirst he struggled to ignore.
“It’ll make your ass celibate and Traian doesn’t need a eunuch for his bodyguard.”
The voice interrupting his primal reaction was like a bucket of ice water being poured over his head. Conflicting urges welled inside him. Rage twined with possessive instincts and Gunnar’s muscles tightened, ready to spring from the bed and attack.
“Easy there, killer. You’re no match for me on a good day. Banged-up as a rag doll, means I knock your ass out before your feet even hit the floor.”
Tense breaths ripped from Gunnar’s chest. His pulse kicked up into overtime. The challenge to his prowess, in front of this female, only made him want to pummel the other male.
“He needs to feed.”
Somewhere in the sane part of Gunnar’s mind, he knew all his issues had cropped up due to blood-hunger. Slowly, he released Nadia. Embarrassed by his animalistic behavior, he couldn’t look at her. However, his visitor was the perfect foil for the angry glare he had going on. “Komar, I don’t recall putting you on my in-case-of-emergencies
contact card.” Fucking Mikhail Komar just had to show up by teleporting straight into his room with no warning. Traian’s brother was a total and complete dickhead. The male had zero manners, read minds just for the sheer fun of it, and swaggered around their little community with the status of a demigod. Most of the females batted their eyelashes and chirruped as if little birds, singing his praises. It made Gunnar want to puke.
“No, that’d be your need to take a vein.” The asshole did it again. Gunnar nearly growled but kept the worst of his curses at bay. No need for pretty, naive Nadia to hear the coarse gritty angst stewing inside him.
“I’ve called his Adak,” Nadia offered.
Gunnar tried to conceal his knee-jerk reaction of revulsion. Thinking about the human woman he’d employed to sate his blood needs dimmed his hunger. Erica received a generous compensation packet and got some serious sex out of Gunnar for it. She liked getting down and dirty, enjoying sweaty intercourse. So did he. Any Kan Asma male would be thrilled to have her. But thinking of feeding from Erica, right now, made his fangs retract. He’d rather have Nadia’s vein; the one throbbing at her throat, luring him to strike fast and suckle hard. A shiver zinged through his body, from the top of his head straight down his spine. Primal instinct took over.
A heavy hand landed on his uninjured shoulder and squeezed. “Get a grip. Don’t make me sucker punch your ugly mug in front of the female.”
“Take your fucking hand off me, Komar, or I’ll bust your arm up to your neck,” Gunnar growled back using Mikhail’s choice for communicating telepathically. Gunnar shot an angry glare up at his boss’ younger brother, a warning snarl rumbling in his chest.
Mated in Treason Page 2