“Okay. I see them.”
“You’re going to cut at a ninety-degree angle to those lines. You have to grip the tissue tightly so you don’t slip. Take your time. Do it right. Forget about me and everything else.”
Miki felt dizzy. She couldn’t do this. He was crazy. They were both crazy if they thought she could.
As she hesitated, Max looked back at her and smiled crookedly. “You’re doing fine, honey. Take a deep breath and look at me. Come on, breathe.”
His voice sounded tinny, but the deep breath worked and her nerves settled. “You’re certain you don’t want some kind of anesthetic?”
He shook his head. “Take your time. I trust you. You’ll get it right.”
Her eyes snapped to his face in surprise. He trusted her?
Biting her lip, she shoved everything out of her mind but the task in front of her. “I’m going to cut now. If you need to…curse or anything, that’s fine.”
His husky chuckle echoed in the quiet air. Miki realized he was laughing.
“Honey, I’ve been through a whole lot worse than a few stitches. You don’t have to worry about me screaming. You should get started now.”
There was a sense of unreality about the whole experience as Miki tugged on a pair of sterile surgical gloves, trying not to think about the last time she had worn gloves like these, only a few days before her mother’s death. Even now, the memories were still raw.
Following Max’s calm directions, she pulled the skin, positioned the scalpel and cut outside the jagged edges, forcing herself to forget she was cutting living flesh. Instead she pretended she was working on an elaborate high school science project.
Blood welled up inside the wound, and she ripped open a new package of gauze. Then there was more blood. A new wave of dizziness hit her. She swayed and felt Max’s arm slip around her waist, steadying her.
“You’re doing great. Hold on.”
She tottered on the edge of hysterical laughter. He was the one serving as a living pincushion, but he was reassuring her.
She forced herself to focus, shutting out everything else. “What next?”
“There’s no sign of gushing blood, I take it. If an artery or vein were hit, you’d see it.”
She shook her head and muttered, “No.”
“That’s good. Before you close the wound, you need to check it carefully. Use the scalpel and be certain that there’s no foreign matter, no dirt or cloth present.”
The calm instructions helped her clear her mind, and she probed the wound from one end to the other. “It’s clean, but it’s bleeding.”
“A little blood flow is good to help clean things out. Since the wound is less than six hours old, we can do a direct suture. You’ll need to drape the wound to make a sterile barrier before you start. Truman, bring the bag.”
The Lab looked up. Without hesitation, he pulled a black nylon duffel bag out of the corner and carried it across to Max, who unzipped an inner pocket and pulled out a plastic pack with sterile paper towels.
Almost over, Miki told herself. It wasn’t as if he was going to die from this.
He handed her the closed plastic bag. “Drape the wound and then put on new gloves. I’ll hand you the needle.” As he spoke, Max stretched out on the cot, turning onto his side in a smooth movement.
Despite her panic attack, Miki was still a woman, and she had to savor the sight of all those rippling muscles just once more. “I’m ready.”
“Use a square knot, and try to keep the stitches even. You want both edges to meet, with no overlapping skin. No spaces. either. Any open places become a playground for bacteria.”
“Okay.” Miki swallowed hard. Stitches? She couldn’t do this. “What else do I have to know?”
His voice was husky. “That you’re damn brave, Blondie. You can cut me up anytime. Only next time you have to get naked, too.”
Her eyes cut to his face. His words were like a dark caress, spurring a wave of hot, sexual images. But she wasn’t going to think about how those hard hands would feel sliding over her heated skin.
Breathe, idiot. Gritting her lips, Miki took the curved needle he offered her. If he could be cool, so could she.
“Focus on the suture tension. Try to keep everything even, and don’t pull too tight. How do you feel?”
Like shit. “Fine,” she lied. She took a jerky breath and felt Max’s hand open, gripping her thigh.
“It’s going to be fine. You can do it.”
“I can do it,” she repeated, and as she said the words something bleak and heavy lifted from her shoulders. She stood a little straighter, breathed a little deeper. “Damned right I can. I’ve got the idea.” She gritted her teeth. “Bombs away.” She felt sweat bead her forehead as she pushed the needle cleanly through both sides of the wound. Time seemed to stretch out in a nauseating blur.
Finally her first suture was in place. With fierce concentration, she finished two more stitches. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. You’re doing great.”
She put in five more stitches, smeared antibiotic cream around the wound and taped a fresh gauze pad firmly in place. “Done. Everything is clean and the stitches look even. At least I think they are.” As she sat back, bile filled her throat and she tried to speak, but no words would come out.
“Take it easy.” Max turned, grabbed her shoulder and pushed her forward. “Head down. Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.”
Miki hunched over, feeling blood fill her face while the world slowly came back into focus around her.
She realized she’d lumbered her way through, despite the painful memories of her mother. She sat up and smiled at Max crookedly. “I may not throw up after all.”
“Always good to hear that.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his eyes narrowing. “Still dizzy?”
Whatever it was, the bout was over. She managed a smile. “I guess not. Are you ready for that anesthetic? Me, I’d be begging for hard drugs by now.”
“Not quite yet.” His eyes darkened. “Because there’s something else I’ve been wanting for a hell of a long time.” His hands slipped around her shoulders.
Before Miki could brace herself, he was kissing her and it was the real deal, full contact, hot and expert.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MIKI COULDN’T MOVE. Her skin was on fire, her head pounding. It was the dizziness that got her, she thought. Dizziness and stress could make you do strange things, couldn’t they?
Like kissing him back.
His hands opened, lifted her face.
Miki felt pulled toward him, gripped by curiosity and need in a primitive way that would have scared her if she’d been calm enough to think straight. But the last thing she wanted was for this moment to end before she knew exactly where it was heading.
“You’re not screaming yet.” His eyes were dark and focused. “You’re not calling me a bastard and trying to knee me in the groin.”
“No,” she whispered.
She wasn’t doing any of those things, not even thinking about them. There was an odd whine in her head and her pulse sounded too loud. They were strangers, she thought. Her mind told her to back off.
But her body had other ideas. And right now, her body seemed to be calling the shots.
“What is it about you?” He pressed his mouth against the pulse that hammered at her wrist. “Something about how you drive your hands through your hair.” His tongue nuzzled the sensitive base of her throat, slow and searching.
God, the man was like a drug. He made her breath back up in her throat, made her forget all the reasons that this was not wonderful, but a very dangerous thing to do.
“That perfume of yours is driving me crazy.”
What did he mean? she wondered. All her perfume was gone, washed off in the ocean, and the scent from the broken bottle in her purse had long since evaporated. How could he smell anything but seawater on her skin? Miki meant to ask him that, but he was biting her ear, drawing the tender skin
against his mouth and then she couldn’t think of anything but how it would feel if he touched her in other places with the same slow, delicious torture.
Her pulse played a rackety bass in her ears and she saw his arm clench, hard muscles perfectly outlined. She resisted the urge to glance lower and see how the rest of his body was reacting.
But she didn’t need to see because suddenly she could feel him clearly. And he was still wearing the damn gloves. It was too odd—but she didn’t care. Her knees were putty, she couldn’t think straight and she was praying he wouldn’t stop.
“There’s baby oil,” he said roughly. “I can smell it on your throat and right here behind your ear. Fresh and a little sweet—very sexy.”
“Massage.” Miki’s mouth didn’t seem to be working right. “At the hotel. The night before we left.” It was hard for her to remember back that far. Everything about her life before the crash had morphed into a gray blur. “How could you know that?”
He ignored the question. “They added some sort of ginger to the oil.” His mouth grazed the tender skin behind her ear while her brain shouted that this was reckless and stupid and she had to stop immediately.
But her body sighed and turned off the volume, immersed in the pure ache of his hands and mouth. How did he make her feel so greedy? She wasn’t sure that the answer mattered, of course. She was too lost in sensation to care.
He leaned closer, kissing the curve of her shoulder. “More baby oil. Sexy as hell.” He pulled her onto the cot beside him and opened the top button of her shirt.
“How did you know about the baby oil?” she rasped.
“Already told you. I’m very sensitive to chemicals.” He traced the line of her jaw and turned up her face, kissing her slowly while Miki’s toes curled. Every muscle turned to mush, and her brain along with them.
“Your cut—you shouldn’t be moving around.” She swallowed as his mouth brushed her collarbone.
Two more buttons slid open. His tongue feathered along the top of her lace bra.
“I’m fine. You did a great job.” He pulled her back into his arms and suddenly Miki was caught up by the power and heat and absolute control of his body against hers.
This had to be wrong, a quiet voice whispered. This could get her into a whole lot of trouble.
But Miki didn’t listen. Some deep restlessness made her turn her head until they were face-to-face, only inches apart, his breath stirring her hair. Her nipples felt hot and tight as he opened another button on her blouse.
“Nice bra.” He traced the front clasp. Something hard filled his eyes. “You could run away, you know. You could even tell me to stop.” His hand was warm between her breasts. “In fact, it might be a better idea if you did.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” With a man like this, there had to be dozens of women. Miki needed to remember that, to keep in mind that this was an illusion, a blip of insanity and nothing more.
Not that this was personal. He was a tough, amazing man and what woman wouldn’t want to feel that hard body against hers?
“No woman has ever stitched me up before, honey. Not too many have argued to make me put on my clothes, either,” he said wryly.
“So you’ve got a great body and you know it.”
His mouth brushed the hollow between her breasts. Miki’s palms went damp and her hands moved, sliding through his hair.
“Your body is what counts.” His tongue slid beneath the edge of her bra and she felt a sharp, ruthless tug of desire. “Trust me, it’s spectacular. And I owe you, so name your payment. Whatever you want, honey.”
Miki’s heart fluttered.
You, against the wall. No words, no promises, just more of this dark, shifting pleasure wrapped around me and within me while you turn me inside out.
“You—you don’t have to pay me back.” Her breath caught. His mouth cruised down one breast. There was only a flimsy layer of lace between her aching skin and his hot, searching mouth, and her body melted, wanting everything and wanting it now.
His lips curved as he studied her flushed and very aroused skin. “So you’re turning down my offer?”
No! “Yeah.” She took a ragged breath. “Not that it isn’t—Look, forget it, Max.”
Lace shifted.
His tongue brushed across one tight nipple and Miki bit back a moan of pleasure. She needed to stop him because if he did much more, she was going to come apart in his hands.
And he hadn’t even taken off her bra.
His warm breath touched her skin. “You’re amazingly sensitive right here.” His thumb slid along her nipple, flexing the clasp of her bra. But he stopped short of the movement that would free her flushed skin. “Do I keep going?”
Did he? Did she trust him—or herself for that matter?
How had things gotten so dangerous and out of control? With her next ragged breath she decided she didn’t really care. His eyes were hot and focused, but his hand shook slightly as he opened the last button on her blouse. And that single movement toppled Miki over the edge.
Tough as he was, Max was no more in control than she was.
She circled his hand—and instead of pushing him away, she gently bit the skin at the edge of his glove. “Take it off,” she ordered.
“I can’t,” he said grimly.
Miki’s fingers tightened in his hair. She was struck by a sharp wave of loss. She didn’t want any barriers, not when touching and being touched by him was as natural as breathing. But there were going to be some conditions and the gloves were number one on her list. “The gloves go.”
“Not happening.”
“Because?”
Something flashed through his eyes. “Because I said no.”
“Not good enough,” Miki said tightly, pulling away. She began to button her blouse, only to feel his hands close around her wrists.
“Why does it matter? Trust me, honey, you’re going to enjoy yourself either way. I’ll see to that.”
She shook her head. “You keep saying I have to trust you. But that works two ways. You’ll have to trust me, too. I haven’t touched any makeup or perfume since the crash, so there’s no reason for you to keep the gloves.” She gnawed at her lip thoughtfully. “If you have scars you want to hide, don’t worry. They won’t send me screaming into the night. I spent nearly two years in the hospital when…someone close to me was sick. Trust me, there’s very little in the way of scars that I didn’t see then.”
Max’s jaw hardened. “It isn’t about scars, Miki.”
“No? Then what is it about?” She glared at him. “The only answer is trust—and you don’t have it.” She turned away and finished buttoning her blouse. “Which means this conversation is over.”
He muttered a short curse. When Miki stood up, he followed her. The man was oblivious to being naked, but he wouldn’t consider ditching his gloves? She shook her head.
A moment later he was backing her out into a connecting tunnel, away from Dutch. His eyes were unreadable as he pinned her against the wall.
One glove dropped. Then the other.
Miki couldn’t look away. Somehow this gesture was more intimate than sex itself. The naked desire on his face made her heart jackknife.
The wall, she thought blindly.
She wanted him against her, inside her. Her hands dug at his shoulders. “Max.”
A muscle flashed at his jaw. Somehow she had known it would. “This is a bad idea, honey.” His voice was harsh.
“Like hell it is.” Miki pushed him back against the cool stone and her hands slid into his hair. Her leg moved of its own accord to wrap around his hard thighs.
He muttered a low curse, flipped open her bra and watched her breasts spill into his bare hands. A shudder ran through him as her fingers tightened in his hair. Miki heard him take a hoarse breath. “You’re ripping out my guts here, honey.”
It wasn’t smooth or poetic, but bluntly honest, and her body responded in a way that was shockingly wet and reckless.
She had never wanted a man like this.
Never even close, she thought dimly. Why now? Why him?
Then thinking was forgotten as she pressed him closer to the wall and bit his shoulders, feeling a surge of primitive delight when he cursed softly, his hands locked at the waist of her jeans. Denim hissed and parted, sliding over her hips.
One sheer layer of lace separated their locked thighs.
Miki closed her eyes, memorizing the feel of his body, stunned by the odd sense of safety she felt in his arms. But when his mouth closed, hot and wet, tugging at her taut nipple, safe was the last thing she felt. Dimly she sensed him turn and press her back against the cold rock. His hand trailed across her stomach, calluses scraping the sensitive skin.
When she shuddered, he slanted his mouth over hers and muttered her name as if it was an answer, not a question.
His fingers opened across her stomach, toying with the lace and then slipping underneath. Miki wriggled restlessly, trying to slide out of her last piece of clothing, but Max didn’t let her. “Take them off,” she rasped. “Hurry.”
“Like hell, I will.”
He sounded awed, which made no sense at all. Miki was too different, too tall, too awkward. She might turn heads occasionally, but it was because she was so—unexpected. Not cute or petite. Not soft or feminine.
And Miki had learned very young that different frightened the heck out of most people.
So there was no reason for him to look overwhelmed. “Why are you—” Her breath caught as he brushed her mouth and crooked one finger around the edge of her panties. His tongue slid over hers, perfectly textured to the movements of his finger.
She squirmed with need.
“Hurry,” she said again, her voice ragged. She felt his smile against her lips and then the lace shifted. She felt him slowly work the fabric down her hips. When her last shred of clothing pooled at her feet, the force of his eyes was almost tangible.
He took a hard breath. “Sweet God.” His fingers circled her waist and he slid his palm down her stomach, watching her body quiver. When she tried to move, his fingers tightened. “No, don’t move. Hell, you’re—gorgeous.” Then his hand opened, slid lower, molded against her hot, damp curls.
Code Name: Bundle! Page 42