by Lucy Ryder
He paused to check the woman’s carotid pulse, his mouth tightening when he found it weak and fluttery. She needed meds, he thought, as well as an emergency transfer to the nearest center equipped with a cardio-surgical unit or she wasn’t going to make it.
The best he could do for Gladys now was to administer a series of drug cocktails to stabilize her heart and dissolve clots. The hospital didn’t have a catheterization lab, an MRI or a surgical suite equipped to perform complicated heart surgery. All they could do, he thought as the sound of the trolley drew closer, was do a sonar and EKG before flying her out because most of the hospital’s lab work was flown to Fresno.
He turned as Samantha rushed into the room, pushing the trolley ahead of her. “That’s great,” he said as she pulled the trolley up to the bed. “Now open the third tray and remove the bag that says dextrose and a five-ml syringe package.”
CHAPTER NINE
EVERYTHING AROUND SAM FADED. Her muscles quivered with the need for flight but she forced her world to narrow to just her hands and the calm voice filling her head. Hands shaking uncontrollably, she followed Adam’s instructions, fighting not to be sucked back into a past she thought she’d overcome.
Breath lodged in her throat, she was abruptly ten again and home alone with the housekeeper for company. As if she were experiencing the events of that long ago night, she heard again the loud thump over her thundering heartbeat; the sharp cry of someone in distress and then freezing with terror because there’d recently been a spate of home invasions...of finally creeping down the stairs to find Mrs. Hopkins collapsed on the kitchen floor...dialing 911...the house filling with police and paramedics—
“Samantha. Sam!” A sharp voice came to her from a distance. Barely aware that she was gasping for breath, she felt herself jostled aside as hands suddenly took over.
“We’ll take it from here, hon.”
Sam blinked and looked around, shocked to see people filling the room. When had they arrived? She’d heard nothing over the panicked rush of blood in her head as she’d automatically followed Adam’s instructions.
Blinking away the black spots invading her vision, she backed away jerkily as several nurses blocked her view, the flurry of activity making her feel useless and inept. A fragile hand crept into hers and Sam dragged her eyes off the drama to see Ida Jackson looking as shaken as Sam felt.
“Let’s g-go find some t-tea,” she rasped, squeezing the old woman’s hand and nudging her toward the door.
“Do you think we could add a d-dash of b-brandy to that?” Ida wobbled, her hand trembling uncontrollably. “Or maybe two?”
Fighting the chaotic emotions battling for control, Sam gave a ragged laugh that sounded a little too close to hysteria for comfort. She squeezed Ida’s hand again and sent one last look over her shoulder at the tableau surrounding the bed where Adam, in the midst of the chaos, looked calm, skilled, in control and very much in his element.
At that moment, he looked up and their eyes met across the distance. Sam’s breath caught in her throat. Everything in her stilled at the fierce emotions burning in Adam’s amber gaze. His passion for his job. His grim determination to save the woman and the flash of awareness that it might not be enough.
With her heart clenching hard in her chest, she mouthed I’m sorry before hurrying from the ward, desperate to escape the feelings of inadequacy and shame that came in the wake of a panic attack.
Dammit, she’d thought she was getting over herself; thought she was overcoming the debilitating childhood affliction. Despair washed over her because she’d once again let everyone down because the insecure little kid inside her was terrified of failing. Terrified of losing someone else she cared about.
Oh, God. What must Adam think of her? That she couldn’t even keep it together long enough to forget her insecurities and help save a dying woman.
* * *
Ten hours later, Adam drew the Jeep to a sliding stop before his cabin. The earlier hail had turned to snow, which was gusting around his Jeep, dropping visibility to a few feet. The weather forecast’s predicted turbulent conditions had brought typical wild Sierra weather, and even if he hadn’t flown to Fresno with medevac, the winds would have grounded his plane.
On their return, the pilot had been forced to make a detour when a group of hikers became stranded. It was now almost nine o’clock and he should have been exhausted. Yet, there was a low humming beneath his skin at the thought of Samantha waiting for him in his cabin.
Right. It somehow felt right.
Stilling, he studied the light spilling from the cabin windows and wondered if he’d somehow planned for this to happen. Although there hadn’t been any question about accompanying Gladys to Fresno, he couldn’t deny that he was glad the weather had grounded the plane.
He’d told Leah to book Samantha in at one of the numerous B&Bs but the girl had sent him a message that she’d dropped her off at his cabin. Instead of being elated at the thought of Samantha surrounded by his things, he should have been questioning Leah’s motives.
His cabin was basic at best, not exactly the kind of place one took a blue-blooded princess.
Instantly, images of her earlier filled his mind. She’d bitten her lip, stiffened her spine and followed his instructions even as her fingers shook so badly she’d barely been able to hold the syringe. Yet, she’d held it together long enough for the nurses to arrive when he knew the panic attack had swooped over her like a dark cloud.
That last look over her shoulder had been filled with emotions that sliced right through him as she’d mouthed the words I’m sorry, and he wondered what had happened to put that look of shame and self-disgust in her eyes.
Adam reached for the bag of groceries, hoping she’d started a fire and helped herself to some of his clothes. It might be summer but up here in the Sierras, the weather could change in a matter of hours.
He shoved open the driver’s door and was instantly assaulted by wind-driven ice and snow. Lurching from the Jeep, he slammed the door behind him and made a dash for the safety of the front porch. The little pellets of stinging ice were giving way to flakes that melted the instant they settled. That could change, he thought, shaking himself off before quietly slipping inside and shutting out the storm.
Once inside, Adam slid the bolt home and wiped moisture off his face. The faint glow coming from the fireplace did little to dispel the cold. Setting the groceries aside, he realized that Samantha hadn’t added enough logs to heat the room.
He grimaced, reaching back to pull at the damp material clinging coldly to his skin. She had to be freezing, he thought, as he stripped off his shirt and used it to dry his face. Hell, he was freezing.
“Samantha?” he called softly, not wanting to startle her. “Sam?”
The only sound in the cabin was the shifting of logs in the fireplace and the lazy crackle of wood. For one horrible instant he thought that the cabin was empty, that she’d become tired of waiting and left. His gut instantly tightened. Maybe she’d thought she could walk into town and became disoriented. Maybe she’d wandered off the road and tumbled down the mountain or maybe—
He stopped when he realized what he was doing. Hell, he was losing it. Losing it over a woman who pulled him closer with one hand while pushing him away with the other. A woman, who despite the trappings of her childhood, was warm and sweet. A woman who was vulnerable but not stupid.
Of course, she wouldn’t leave. She was smart and resourceful—but she was a city girl completely out of her depth in the wilderness, and would hardly go wandering off alone in the dark.
He knew this, yet he couldn’t stop the images flashing through his mind of her out in that, alone. Lost, cold and afraid. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to—
A soft sigh interrupted his self-directed anger, drawing him into the room like she was a magnet and he slivers of iron filings. His r
elief at finding her curled up beneath the afghan that was usually draped on the back of the sofa, nearly brought him to his knees. He had to rub his face a few times before he could look at her and not completely unravel. Because there she was, face flushed and peaceful beneath the wild tangle of hair that reflected the flickering light from the dying fire.
Something wild and sweet and alien moved through him then; something so powerful that he had to turn away before he scooped her up and crushed her against him. The intensity of the primitive impulse left him shaken and drove him to the fireplace where he began to build a fire that would drive away the chill.
He could do that, he thought, rattled by more than the emotions bombarding him. Alien emotions he had no idea how to handle.
Once the flames licked greedily at the tower of logs, he rose with every intention of heading to the kitchen to begin preparations for their dinner. But the moment he turned, his gaze was drawn inexorably toward the sleeping woman now half on her back, one arm flung above her head, the throw pooled at her waist.
His eyes traced her creamy features, the heavy lacy crescents of her eyelashes resting against her flushed cheeks. The tousled mass of hair, tumbling across the cushion in wild disarray invited him to bury his face and hands in the fragrant cloud—and just breathe her in.
Her mouth, a full soft bow, parted on a quiet sigh as though she were dreaming. A heated spike of longing arrowed through him, and even as he instructed himself to move away, he was dropping to his haunches beside the couch.
God. She looked so lovely with firelight gilding her flawless skin and setting fire to the heavy spill of warm chestnut locks. His breath caught and he could not resist reaching out to trace the elegant arch of one eyebrow; smooth a silky lock of hair off her forehead with a cautious finger.
Almost imperceptibly, her breathing changed, her eyelashes fluttering as though she’d felt that whisper-soft touch in her sleep. She shifted languorously, her head rolling toward him. He was unable to resist touching her again—just the brush of his thumb across her cheekbone.
A low sound of yearning hummed in the back of her throat and more than anything, Adam wanted to cover her mouth with his and catch that husky sound for himself. He wanted to taste her need and let her taste his.
“Hey,” he murmured, and her eyelashes fluttered again, then rose a fraction of an inch. The usually vibrant blue depths of her eyes were hazy and soft with sleep. He held his breath because watching her awaken was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.
“Adam?” She breathed out a husky question that had something primal slamming into him like a one-two punch to the solar plexus; violent feelings he’d never felt for anyone let alone a woman from a world he despised. Feelings of need, lust, possessiveness and the overwhelming compulsion to protect.
Inhaling to clear his head, he drew the scent of her into his lungs instead. She smelled of soft warm woman with a hint of something fresh and clean. Like something he’d yearned for his entire life.
His throat tightened along with his gut. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Sorry I’m late. I tried to get here sooner but we had to rescue a couple of stranded hikers on the way back.”
Awareness sharpened her gaze and she sat up abruptly, forcing him back a couple of inches. “Ohmigod,” she burst out. “You flew in that? How’s Gladys? When did you get back? Are the hikers okay? Are you okay?”
She shoved her hair off her face, eyes huge and distressed as they swept over him, presumably to check for injuries, before coming back to his. Completely against his will, Adam felt the pull of those endlessly blue depths and couldn’t recall the last time any woman had expressed such genuine concern for him. Coco maybe, but then again she’d been more mother than mentor.
“Gladys is hanging on, the hikers will be okay and I’m good,” he murmured. Now. Now that he was inches away from her and breathing in the scent of her skin, feeling the gentle heat pulsing off her body and the siren call that he’d tried but could no longer resist.
With his gaze locked on hers, he shifted closer, lifting his hand to gently trace the elegant line of her jaw and neck. He settled his thumb gently over the pulse beating a rapid tattoo in her throat, feeling it throb with life—and excitement.
It lit an answering call in his blood.
“You sound as though you were worried about me.”
“I—of course, I was worried,” she burst out indignantly. “I’d be worried about anyone caught in that.”
Adam chuckled and brushed his thumb repeatedly against the delicate skin covering that fluttering pulse. She might deny there was anything between them but she couldn’t control that little telltale response.
“Anyone?” he murmured deeply. “Are you sure you weren’t just a little bit worried I might end up smashed against the side of the mountain?”
Her breath caught and she tried to jerk away in protest. “That’s not funny, Adam,” she rasped, wrapping long elegant fingers around his wrist. Her eyes flared with anger and something that instantly roused his blood. Instead of pushing him away, her gaze locked with his and, abruptly tired of hiding his feelings, he made no attempt to disguise the heat and emotions pumping through him.
Seconds ticked by as they breathed heavily into the heated silence until with a shuddery exhalation, her gaze dropped to his mouth with a sweep of heavy lashes. Beneath his thumb, her pulse stuttered, then sped up and she finally made a jerky, involuntary little move that brought her mouth closer to his. Then she stilled, tension humming in the air.
Her throat moved in a convulsive swallow that told him she wanted his mouth but was waiting for him to make the move and when he didn’t, waiting for her to come to him, she made a hungry little sound in the back of her throat and jerked her gaze to his. The move had her parted lips brushing his, her eyes darkening until only a thin circle of cobalt surrounded large deeply black pupils. And because he was still touching her, he felt the helpless shudder move through her.
Whether she was deliberately drawing out the tension, ratcheting up the need, Adam wasn’t certain. He wasn’t a green boy but a jolt moved through him at that barely-there touch. His skin buzzed with the growing compulsion to crush her mouth beneath his and take what they both wanted.
“Adam?” she murmured on a shuddery gust of yearning that had his awareness narrowing until the rest of the world faded. In that moment, the entire mountain range could have slid into the Yellowstone magma chamber and he wouldn’t have noticed or cared.
“If you want it, Samantha,” he growled hoarsely. “All you have to do is take it,” he huffed out, when she blinked, looking drugged. Hell, he felt a little drugged himself. “You want it?” he taunted softly. “You take it.”
“Just—take?” she breathed, sounding as though the idea had never occurred to her. And because he already knew that she wasn’t nearly as self-assured and experienced as she appeared, Adam felt another crack appear in the wall he’d built around his heart.
This woman, he thought with surprised affection, for all her apparent sophistication and poise, was anything but. There was a vulnerability, a softness, that she couldn’t quite hide from anyone paying attention. She felt too much and too deeply while pretending to be coolly reserved, and he suddenly understood that she’d shied away from medicine because she didn’t know how to shield herself from the heartbreak that often accompanied the knowledge that not everyone could be saved.
She’d want to do that, he realized, recalling the way she sneaked into the children’s ward to read to them, to give them a few moments of joy. Then he recalled how she’d given Gladys and Mrs. Jackson a makeover because being ill chipped away at one’s self-esteem.
She’d want to save everyone and when she couldn’t, it would devastate her.
A rush of emotion squeezed his chest in a vice-like grip. She was sweet and feisty and so desperate to hold herself aloof, hide her vulnerability. But he
wanted her vulnerability and sweet warmth. He wanted her to give them to him.
Hell, he wanted her to give him everything.
Planting his hands on the sofa, on either side of her hips, he leaned closer and gathered the cool material of her dress in both hands.
“Take it,” he taunted softly. “Take what you want.” He waited a couple of beats before closing the distance between their mouths and then adding, “I...dare...you,” so softly the words puffed against her lips.
She was so close that he could see each blue, silver and turquoise striation in her irises. Her eyelashes fluttered once before her chin dipped and with a shuddery breath, settled her lips lightly on his. After a couple of heartbeats, her gaze lifted and something warm and mischievous sparked in the darkened depths, bewitching him. Her lips parted on a quick grin and before he could anticipate her intention, she closed her teeth on his bottom lip and tugged gently.
The unexpectedness of that cheeky nip jolted him, sent fire racing across his skin. His hands clenched into fists to keep from yanking her closer. Locking his muscles, he hummed in the back of his throat.
Again, she surprised him. Closing her lips around his bottom lip, she sucked it into the moist warmth of her mouth before releasing it with a quiet pop. Then she began brushing her lips lightly along the length of his, flicking her tongue out in teasing swipes, making him wonder if she knew how close he was to losing control.
His skin buzzed, muscles tightened until he thought her next move would shatter his rapidly fraying control. Before long, he was growling low in his throat and sliding his tongue out to flick at the seam of her lips, tangle with her teasing tongue.
Unable to keep his hands to himself, he slid them beneath her skirt to smooth his palms up her thighs. Material bunching at his wrists, he headed north. Her breath hitched and she shivered, the long slender muscles quivering beneath silky skin. With a soft growl, she smoothed her palms up the slope of his arms, across the line of his shoulders to bury her fingers in his hair.