Reunited with His Runaway Bride

by Robin Gianna

  “You always said that stuff was snake oil, completely unscientifically proven to do a darn thing.”

  “And still think so. But since I don’t have anything that’ll work on bruising, you’re hurting, and you and Emma believe in it, it’s worth a try.”

  “I’m not sure about any of it, to be honest, but you know how militant Emma is. Says helichrysum has been used for thousands of years for all kinds of things. Who are you to be a naysayer?”

  “I’m a naysayer willing to give it a try, though, right?” For her, and for himself, because seeing her beaten up like this was unbearable. With a little of the essential oil on his fingertip, he carefully stroked it across the offending swelling and purple shadow smudged beneath her eye. Traced the curve of her orbit up to her eyebrow, not expecting the stuff to work, but sure wishing it would, because the sight of the bruise made him hurt inside as much as she was hurting outside.

  He put a few more drops in his hand and slowly massaged it around her wrist, into her palm and between her fingers. The sensual slide of her hand in his felt so good, it was a major effort to remind himself this was about her feeling better and nothing more. Then he asked himself if maybe getting the oil had been an unconscious excuse to touch her. He’d been thinking about that practically nonstop for days. Just as he was trying to get a grip on all that, he noticed her knee and the swollen and bruised flesh just above it.

  “You banged up your knee, too. I can’t believe you’ve been working and watching Will and never said a thing about it.” Guilt sharply stabbed him again as he gently rubbed oil on her poor knee because he should have known. Should have asked. “What else hurts?”

  “I’m not going to say everything, even though it does,” she said softly.

  The instant vision of smoothing fragrant oil all over her naked body robbed him of breath. He lifted his head, and the eyes that met his seemed to have seen the exact same vision. Remembering well the essential-oil massages they’d shared that hadn’t had a thing to do with homeopathic therapy.

  He gritted his teeth, fighting down the insistent, hot desire for her surging through his blood. Not only was Bree in pain, the last thing either of them needed was to fall into bed, bringing reminders of all they’d had together before it ended. Ripping up old wounds that had barely started to heal as it was. Brief sexual pleasure, which at that moment he wanted with her more than he could remember wanting anything in his life, would be pointless and beyond a bad idea. She would be moving soon, and he still hadn’t figured out how he was going to get on with his life without her.

  He managed to tear his gaze from hers to look down at her bruised knee again. Beautiful, shapely legs that were naked all the way up to her bikini, which covered way too little of her. He firmly, desperately, yanked on his doctor hat, figuratively speaking, and concentrated on rubbing the oil around the discoloration of her leg. She’s a patient. Just a patient. And good luck with convincing himself of that, because he’d sure never massaged a patient with heady scented oil.

  “Your ankle looks swollen, too. It hurt?” He knew his voice was strained, but how was he supposed to sound with the feel of her flesh under his hands, and the scent of oil they’d smeared all over one another before, bringing memories of making love with her?

  “Didn’t I say everything hurts?”

  The breathy, sexy way she said that tortured him even more, and he had a feeling she’d done it on purpose. Now every inch of his body hurt, too, and he knew if he kept his hands on her gorgeous leg, they’d end up sliding right inside that teeny bikini of hers. To keep that from happening, he summoned every reserve of strength he had and took her hand, putting a few drops of the oil in her palm. “How about you use it wherever you’re bruised.”

  She lifted her hands to her neck, and as he tracked her movements, his attention got briefly stuck on her breasts again. Until he saw her grimace as she rubbed some of the oil on the sides of her neck and around to the back. “Neck’s really stiff. Next time I have a patient complaining of whiplash, I’ll be more sympathetic.”

  “It’s too hard for you to reach back there. Let me.” His hands were stronger than hers, and how much trouble could he get into touching her neck? Trying hard to keep his eyes above her tempting, barely covered breasts, he reached up to gently push her hands away, replacing them with his own. His fingers slipped over her shoulders to relax the obvious tightness of her trapezius muscles. The resulting look of ecstasy on her face, the long moan of pleasure, pretty much unraveled what little control he had. “Didn’t know touching your neck would be even worse torture than your legs,” he said, barely able to growl out the words. “Then again, I didn’t know you’d look like you’re about to have an orgasm.”

  “And I didn’t know my neck was an erogenous zone.”

  With just inches between them now, her eyes met his. There was amusement in their mossy green depths, along with the same sizzling desire he felt pumping through every pore. His shaky control finally snapped, and he gave in to the all-consuming, raging weakness for her. The weakness he’d always had for her. The weakness he’d felt for her from the first second they met.

  His hands positioned her face to the perfect angle. Then his mouth was on hers. Moving across the softness of her lips, tasting their sweetness. He could feel her pulse beneath her ear drumming against his fingers, beating as hard as his, and gave himself up to the sensory overload of the scent of the oil and the taste and feel of Bree Donovan he’d missed more than he’d admitted even to himself.

  He might have been able to make himself pull back after letting himself kiss her just this once. But her gasp of pleasure, the way she wrapped her arms around his neck and stepped up the heat, her mouth devouring his, had him groaning as he pulled her closer with one hand, the other moving to the curve of her breast. Dipping inside the scrap of fabric covering it to cup it in his palm, loving the feel of the weight of it in his hand, the tautness of her nipple as he gently squeezed, and the way she melted into him weakened him even more.

  “Sean.”

  His name came from her mouth into his on a breathy whisper, her oily hands sliding beneath his shirt in a slippery caress. They moved slowly up his sides to his chest. Every inch of flesh quivered under her touch, wresting another moan from him before he kissed her harder. Deeper. Kissed her until he had nothing on his mind but getting both of them naked and making love with her for the rest of the night. For as long as she was near enough to hold her close.

  Until the insistent wail coming from a few feet away sent their lips parting with an audibly wet sound. Which had him opening his eyes to see that Bree was lying underneath him on the sofa, her eyes looking as dazed as he felt, and their chests heaving against one another as if they’d just participated in one of the marathons Bree liked to run sometimes.

  If the kid hadn’t started crying, he was absolutely certain that hot, naked sex would have been moments away. And did that make Will a savior, or a curse?

  Somehow, he pushed himself off Bree, wiping his oily hands down his scrub pants as she adjusted her bikini top and avoided eye contact with him.

  “He’s probably ready to eat,” Bree said, acting for all the world as if they’d just been in the middle of some normal conversation, and not about to embark on serious foreplay and beyond. “He wouldn’t take his bottle earlier.”

  “Okay.” Sucking in a much-needed breath, he pulled Will from his seat and got the bottle ready, wondering what to say or do next, aside from adjusting the current tightness of his pants. In the end, though, he didn’t have to decide. Bree had her scrubs on over her swimsuit in a nanosecond, then swung her purse over her shoulder, still barely making eye contact with him.

  “Listen, I’m going to head out. Need a few hours’ sleep before my shift. I’ll... You have my schedule, I think, but your mom’s coming in two days, right? That morning? I’ll plan on having Will before she g
ets here.”

  He watched her run out the door as if the devil were on her heels. And, yeah, he probably was the devil, kissing and touching her when she was bruised up and they should be keeping their distance, but he couldn’t feel bad about that. Not when the taste of her was still in his mouth and the feel of her made his chest ache for more of her for as long as she was here, no matter how much it would add to the pain of her leaving him all over again. For good.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “LIKE I SAID BEFORE, Mom, I don’t need any help packing,” Bree said, exasperated that her mother had called her at work again to ask the same question. For the fourth time. “Almost everything is boxed up already and I’m busy with other things anyway.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Just things.” She’d learned long ago not to share much with her mother, because next thing she knew, the woman would have jumped right into the middle of whatever she was doing to “help.” Invited or not.

  “Why don’t you tell me anything, Bree?” Marcia Donovan said in the bewailing voice Bree had worked for years to harden herself to. Still not fully successfully, but, with any luck, someday it would roll right off her back without feeling one second of guilt about her mother’s neediness. She knew her mother had no one else, but that didn’t make her heavy clinging any easier to take.

  “There’s nothing to tell. Just various stuff going on.” Last thing she wanted to do was let her mom learn about the car accident. First, she’d freak out and be on the next plane, insisting on nursing Bree when she didn’t need nursing, then want to run out and buy Bree a new car from the trust fund she’d inherited before her marriage to Bree’s dad. Want to do who knew what when it came to Bree’s shifts with Will.

  In fact, it wouldn’t surprise her if her mom wanted to bring the baby to Bree’s house and stay there with her, pretending while she could that the child was her own grandchild. Which she knew was never going to be in her future, though she’d never understand why. And one of the “whys” was because Bree refused to become the woman her mother was. A woman so focused on her only child that she had no life of her own.

  “I’d still like to come see you before you leave San Diego,” her mother continued. “I’ll travel with you to your surfing competition in Hawaii, since I’m planning to come see that anyway.”

  Bree bit off a groan. “Mom, I appreciate you wanting to come. But I won’t have time to visit with you, and would rather you come later when it’s not so hectic. I’ll be in crazy moving-in mode, then participating in the surf competition that’s just one day before my first shift.”

  “What? Well, that’s just silly. Tell them you need more time until you start.”

  “I can’t. I’m planning in the not-too-distant future to move into the position of director of the ER, and taking time off before I’ve even started would hardly be impressive.” Since her mother was only interested in two things—her luncheons with friends and Bree’s many activities—she knew her mom didn’t understand Bree’s goals and ambitions. And how that was possible, Bree had no clue, since her mom was well aware that Bree’s father only bothered to call when she’d gotten another medal or pushed herself to do something she hadn’t done before. That he admired accomplishment, which was doubtless why his new wife was a high-powered lawyer. Wouldn’t that have helped her mother understand not everyone was like her? “I’m not about to tell my new employers I can’t start on the fifteenth because I’m surfing.”

  “I miss getting to see you surf, honey. And I can’t even remember the last time I got to attend one of your tennis matches!” Bree gritted her teeth against the grating tone in her ear that was full of unhappy disapproval. “Why don’t you cut back your hours some? I’ve offered to give you money so you can work less.”

  And how ironic was that, since her dad used to offer her money to work and practice more? “I only play tennis for fun now, remember? In any case, I can’t talk with you about this right now. I have patients to see.”

  “Wait! Before you go—if you won’t let me help you move out, I’m at least coming to Hawaii to help you move in. Maybe I’ll even stay there for a little while after you surf.”

  Bree closed her eyes, counted to three and decided to pick her battles. As she always did when it came to her mother, who was pretty much a dog with a bone when it came to her only child. “Fine. Thanks. I’m sure you’ll be a great help.”

  “Okay, good.”

  Her mother’s voice was elated now, and Bree felt a pang of guilt at all the ways she avoided being with her mom. Much the way her father avoided being with Bree, but that didn’t bother her anymore. “I’ll send the hotel info to you about where I’m staying in Hawaii as I get my stuff moved. Got to go, but I’ll see you there.”

  Beyond glad to have that conversation over with, Bree stopped to check the notes on a new patient who’d just arrived by emergency squad. Female surfer, age thirty-four, had passed out after leaving the water. Someone let the lifeguards know, who called the squad. She saw the nurse leaving the patient’s room and went to talk with her. “I’m about to check on Bay Three. What’s going on?”

  “Evaluating for syncope. I think she just got a little vagal, which is why her blood pressure’s low. Told me she hadn’t eaten much today, just had a sports drink instead of lunch because she only had an hour at the beach. I started some IV fluids.”

  “What’s her blood pressure and heart rate?”

  The nurse glanced down. “Ninety over sixty. Pulse one forty.”

  Bree frowned. “Thanks.”

  She stepped into the room and saw an obviously fit woman sitting up in the bed, looking pretty normal. “Hello, are you Natalie Groomes? I’m Dr. Donovan. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I was surfing and I think I just hadn’t had enough to drink or eat today. After an aerial, I felt light-headed. Came back to shore and I guess I fainted for just a minute.” She made a face. “I wish they hadn’t called the lifeguard over. I’m sure I’m fine.”

  Bree had to wonder if the woman was simply repeating what had been the EMT and nurse’s conclusion, or if that really was all there was to it. She checked her vital signs again. “Your heart rate is still pretty high, and blood pressure quite low. Let’s start at the beginning. How long were you in the water?”

  “It was just my second drop.” She cocked her head. “You’re Bree Donovan, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow, I watched you win the US Open at Huntington Beach last year. Also watched on TV when you were in one of the ISA competitions a couple years back—your backdoor maneuver was amazing! I’m so happy to meet you.”

  “Happy to meet you, too. Only other surfers really understand the sport.” She smiled, surprised as always when someone recognized her. Though she probably shouldn’t be, since there were a lot of surfing enthusiasts in San Diego. Wasn’t that why she’d moved here to begin with? Then met Sean, which had made it seem like fate, and she winced at her former rainbow-sky belief that had turned into such a storm cloud. “So, you rode the wave to shore then started feeling faint when you stood up?”

  “Well, actually, I had a mullering after my aerial.” A little frown dipped between her eyes as she seemed to think harder about it. “I fell, and the board hit me pretty hard. Hurts, to tell the truth.”

  “Where?”

  “About...here.”

  Natalie gestured to her side and Bree began a physical exam. The moment she pressed the upper part of Natalie’s left side to check for belly tenderness, the woman cried out. “Ow! That really hurts!”

  “How bad, on a scale of one to ten?”

  “It...it only was maybe a two when I first got here, but it’s getting bad now. Really bad, at about a six, I think,” Natalie said, clutching at her side.

  Obviously, this was no simple syncope. “I’m sorry
to say, this doesn’t look like you were just light-headed. I bet you’ve injured your spleen, which often doesn’t hurt a lot right away. But when the capsule around the spleen fractures, it starts to bleed, and the longer it bleeds, the more it hurts.”

  Natalie was staring at her with wide eyes. “You think I’ve hurt my spleen?”

  “Honestly? I’m sure of it.” And she was. She’d seen enough of that in this ER, and in quite a few surf competitions, to recognize it pretty fast. “We’ll get a quick CT scan to confirm. Then you’ll need to get into surgery right away.”

  “Surgery? I need to call my husband! I had today off work, so it’s my turn to pick up the kids from school. He’ll have to get them. And I need to tell the office I can’t be there tomorrow. Or even for a few days, right? We have a big presentation to give, and—”

  Bree could tell Natalie was about to go into a serious panic spiral, and rested her hand on the woman’s arm to calm her. “You have a phone? Give him a call, then give us his number and the school’s number, too, in case we would need it. We’ll also let your husband know what the scan says. Okay?”

  Natalie leaned back, looking a little less freaked out. Grimacing, she tried to lean forward to grab her purse from the foot of the bed, and Bree quickly handed it to her. “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Try not to worry. Surgery sounds scary, I know, but we have great surgeons here.” Sean being one of the best, but he had Will today. “Make your calls, and I’ll be right back.”

  Bree went back to record her notes and talk to the nurse. “Natalie Groomes in Bay Three has a ruptured spleen. Draw her blood, schedule a scan ASAP, and contact the surgeon on call. Tell him or her to get ready as soon as possible.”

  “Got it.”

  “Also get eighteen-gauge IVs in her arms, COS, and type her for four units of blood. She’ll need it during surgery.”

  Bree finished her notes, then went back to talk with Natalie and see how she was doing. The pain etched on her patient’s face was obvious, and she was relieved to see transport arriving to take her for her scan. If it was up to her, she’d bag the scan altogether and send her straight to surgery, but most surgeons wanted to see the test first.