Dangerous Care
By M. M. Cameron
Copyright © 2016 by M.M. Cameron
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is dedicated to my sisters around the world, and family. The ones who love and sacrifice every day for my dreams. Thank you.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Dangerous care
Chapter 1
Kathryn flipped through the file sitting on her passenger seat, looking for the facts that would help give her bearings for the visit ahead.
‘Patient: 35 year old male, shattered right fibula and tibia, three steel rods placed during eight hour surgery, second degree burns located above fracture, skin grafts required, currently non-weight bearing and limited mobility due to casting. Two week stay in hospital post-surgery, declined all pain medication, discharged to home early at patient’s insistence, no next of kin or caregiver present. Intensive homecare physiotherapy, nursing and occupational therapy needed ASAP.’
That was it, to Kathryn’s dismay. The thinner than usual file had recently been sent to her with ‘urgent’ listed on the referral status. As a private physiotherapist this was Kathryn’s norm, get a referral, pluck the home address from the intake page, cold call the patient to arrange the first appointment and then drive out to their home.
But as Kathryn sat in her car parked in the patient’s driveway scanning through the pages, she remembered that with this cold call, things had been quite different. A woman had answered on behalf of the patient. She had been abrupt and demanding with Kathryn, clipping her off at ever question “I wouldn’t know that” or “isn’t that your job to figure out?” were her frequent responses.
Something was different and distant in the way the woman spoke about the client- Mr. Madoc Pearson. Kathryn made a mental note to ask Mr. Pearson about her, but quickly realized she had forgotten to take the woman’s name.
The drive to Mr. Pearson’s home had been longer than Kathryn expected, with various obstacles challenging her used SUV. Briefly, she wondered out loud if she should have put more money into her damn vehicle than her new tailored long fall jacket pulled straight off the runway. An hour’s drive straight north had pushed her out of her local city of London and into an area typically known for its pricy cottage estates. These cottage estates weren’t the kind most people got to see often, with large security gates and polished landscapes expertly combined with rugged natural resources one was left with a feeling of wealthy unwelcoming and privacy.
After four years of working Kathryn was rarely intimidated when visiting a patient, she had seen it all, the good the bad and the very ugly. But as she pulled in further through the open wrought-iron gate, surrounded by limestone towers and topped with copper bear mountings, Kathryn’s stomach flip-flopped for the first time in years. Sitting in this driveway, waiting to approach the door of the immaculate estate and three story wood-carved mansion she was glad she was wearing her charcoal power dress and Jimmy Choo black pumps, which gave her the confidence boost she needed to exit the car and meet patient Mr. La-ti-da.
Red Maples framed the large rustic pillars of the mansion and the lack of snow ensured she would be able to walk safely up the large stone-carved stairs without a serious fall.
Kathryn rang the doorbell once and stepped back.
The door stood unmoved. Kathryn rang the doorbell again and waited, this time peering into the small fogged out window to the side, “Mr. Pearson, Mr. Pearson…I’m from the rehab company” she spoke loudly. No response. Kathryn saw a black screen near the door which lit up a lime green handprint outline. She hadn’t noticed any cameras, but someone must have seen her arrival.
Kathryn placed her hand onto the screen and allowed it to take her palm print. She stepped back, her coat and Louis Vuitton shoulder bag swinging behind her as the large dark wooden door swung open and provided entry, still with nobody on the other side.
She put one foot through the threshold. “Hello Mr. Pearson, uh… my name is Kathryn Davis. I’m a physiotherapist that TRI Rehab has hired to help you in your recovery. Is it ok if I come in?” She took another step in and peered around the corners trying to project her voice without moving too far into the home. “Mr. Pearson, are you somewhere downstairs or do you need me to come upstairs? Is everything ok?”
Heavy clipping of paws and nails came towards her right side and she turned to see the largest dog she had ever encountered. In fact, if she hadn’t been inside a house she would have mistaken the dog for a large bear. The brown mountainous dog came towards Kathryn and stopped short of a foot in front of her, staring at her with large brown and black eyes.
“Max. It’s OK” A male voice called from somewhere.
Kathryn saw a man appear from down the long hallway. He was striding on crutches coming towards her. Max moved off towards the door which had closed automatically and laid his large body across the frame, preventing anyone from coming or going. Kathryn made a mental note of this blocked off exit and was beginning to be thankful for packing her bear spray in her bag. As much as pepper spray was illegal to carry, it could be worth its weight in gold if you needed to use it against a violent patient.
Kathryn turned her attention back to the man. Mr. Pearson was closing in, and with each step closer Kathryn was becoming ever more aware of his size. His large built shoulders and arms swallowed the heads of the crutches and it looked like he was walking with toothpicks in comparison to his long, muscular thighs. His hair was cut short which accentuated his serious face, with chiseled high cheek bones and square jaw. His nose was strong but certainly not straight- not a boxer’s nose, but one that showed he’d been in his share of fights. He had more than a five o’clock shadow, not quite a beard but gruff that maybe saw an electric shaver every couple days. His deep brown eyes looked black to her at this distance. His white V-neck t-shirt and hoodie with dark grey sweat pants could not hide his towering frame or dark olive skin. Kathryn could see an outline of a dark tattoo running across his chest but it was still mostly hidden by his t-shirt- it was intricate and full but hard to tell what exactly.
As he pulled up in front of Kathryn and stood straight up off his crutches, Kathryn had to strain to look up into his eyes. She tallied him to be close to 6‘5, almost a full foot taller than her with her heels on. His dark eyes gave off an air of arrogance and danger rolled into one. He looked down at her and took a step forward using his crutches to get closer. Too close, thought Kathryn as she instinct
ively stepped back trying to put air and safety into the space between them.
“Hello Ms. Davis, sorry for not welcoming you at the door. I don’t usually have visitors and don’t remember having an appointment with you today.” His voice was low and quiet, and deadly serious. “I suppose my employer arranged all this…thank you for coming out, I assure you that I am making out just fine and apologize for any inconvenience but I will not be needing your services.”
“Ah, Mr. Pearson maybe I could sit down and we could chat about what happened and how you are managing? The rehab company you hired has allocated me four visits to help you continue your recovery at home and I think I could teach you some exercises that will really help build back your strength.”
Kathryn took a step forward and smiled and entered Mr. Pearson’s personal space.
“Now is there a space where we could sit and talk comfortably?”
Chapter 2
Madoc looked over Kathryn, somewhat surprised she hadn’t been scared off by his greeting. He wanted to get her out of his house as soon as possible and the last thing he needed right now was some do-gooder getting in his way. Unfortunately, his administrator at Kennedy & Associates would just hire another therapist until Madoc relinquished and finished his rehab.
“Sure,” Madoc said, “let’s move to the sitting room over here and you can explain what you have been hired to do. May I take your coat?” Madoc moved efficiently around Kathryn towards the large closet. The doors automatically slid open and a hanger jutted out at him. “Ah, yes, sure. Thank you,” she said. Madoc assumed she would be impressed and expected her to inquire about it; instead he was surprised to hear her scoff under her breath. He turned to get a better read on her, but she had hidden her face, having moved deeper into the entrance. Madoc wasn’t surprised that she didn’t realize how highly sought after this piece of technology was given its ability to record the pheromones of each article hung, creating a signature smell. Very helpful for tracking and tracing people without finger-printing them. Kathryn finally stopped and turned back to him. “Do you need my assistance Mr. Pearson?” Madoc’s mind drifted. The way that dress hugged her hips and led his eyes straight up her stomach, to her heavy full breasts molded and straining against the fabric… her arms and neck covered, secreted away from his eyes but revealing slight wrists with small unmanicured hands. He couldn’t stop himself from looking down past her hips, where the dress covered her knees but exposed her lengthy but slender calves propped up by fuck-me pumps. Madoc chuckled to himself, turning back to the open closet. Since the incident, Madoc hadn’t even felt so much as an inkling of arousal or interest in anyone. He was starting to worry things ‘down there’ might have been damaged. He had never gone this long without catching some down time with a foreigner during his many out-of-country trips. He smirked at the direction his mind kept pulling him towards. This was good. He could care less about the therapist and her judgements; it was still nice to know things were working. “Ah no help needed. Please, continue on.” He ushered her forward, taking in the scene from behind while he could.
Kathryn moved towards the study, listening to the steady beats of the crutches following her down the hallway. Although she was ever aware of the patient behind her, it was hard not to be distracted by the carved paneling and massive art works that lined the hallway. She suppressed a gasp as she entered the large study. Twenty-foot ceilings were hung with chandeliers in each corner, and black silk drapes clung to each window, letting in peeking shafts of sunlight. Large plush seats created a talking area with bookcases as high the ceiling acting as backdrops along each wall. The room was something out of a movie, maybe Bram Stoker’s Dracula. A fire burned in the hearth. Kathryn wondered who would have brought in the firewood for Mr. Pearson. Most people recovering from surgery did not have the ability to use crutches properly, let alone, build a fire.
Mr. Pearson ushered her to the seat facing him, keeping her back to the door. Kathryn welcomed this, as she had always preferred being near the closest exit when at a patient’s house. It was safer to not have the patient in between you and the exit if things went badly. As Madoc sat down, Kathryn could see the restrained grimace come over his face. His body trembled slightly as he lowered himself. Given his obvious level of physical fitness, Kathryn concluded that he must be in serious pain
“So Ms. Davis, you are a therapist? Madoc asked.
“Actually, I’m a physiotherapist, meaning that although you were able to return home from the hospital, you were expected to stay in rehab for at least another three weeks, but since you refused to stay any longer your doctor and company feels you need more treatment in the home. As a physiotherapist, my expertise is in guiding people back to health through proper exercise and movement. My practice focuses on athletes and sport injuries, those who require quick rehab times and sound results. Your employer hired my firm and asked for me specifically given my experience with elite athletes. How about we move onto some fundamental questions. Do you have anybody who is living with you or coming to help on a daily basis?” Kathryn began taking notes.
“Just myself. I prefer it that way,” he said.
“I see. I ask because most people recovering from the type of surgery you’ve had have difficulty doing everyday tasks. If they do them too soon or without help, they can wind up with even more serious injuries, even permanent ones. Who made this fire, Mr. Pearson?” Kathryn watched as Madoc smirked.
“I did of course. I have firewood outside, I know how to make a fire, so… I made a fire.”
“Okay… well that can be extremely dangerous at this stage of your recovery. Can I ask about how you are managing getting around to your bedroom or bathroom? I can’t imagine you are using the large staircase at the front – do you have an elevator? Have you relocated to the main floor?” Kathryn looked up into Madoc’s hooded eyes.
“Ms. Davis,” Madoc said, “I may have broken my leg and received some burns but I certainly can manage the stairs on my own. I am doing just fine and should be back on my feet in no time.” Madoc’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he turned to stare out of the large bay window. Kathryn recognized the signs of a failed therapeutic rapport and worried that she had approached this all wrong. She edged her seat closer, a standard technique to lower defenses and facilitate a connection.
“Mr. Pearson,” Kathryn said in a soft tone, “I know it is difficult having someone in your home, but I have seen a hundred of these types of injuries and the prognosis is usually the same. There are certain things your body needs to do and avoid in order to recover properly. This room looks lovely and well put together, but I have a feeling if I went to your bedroom or bathroom or even took a look in your fridge, I might have a different impression on how you are managing alone. I would like to do a home safety inspection. Do you mind showing me around?”
Chapter 3
Madoc was near his boiling point which was rare for him to experience. He rarely let anything or anyone affect him – why her? It must be the pain, the skin grafts had left him feeling raw and desperate. He should ask her to leave – he was in no shape for visitors, especially those trying to boss him around. If he was honest, he’d probably drank enough whiskey during the past two days to drop a horse, but the pain always came back around this time of day.
Madoc wondered whether he should ask her to leave, but held his tongue; she would likely be suspicious and call his colleague, which was the last thing he needed. The pain flared again, starting in his calf and settling into a cramp under his thigh. He directed his gaze back at Kathryn, but the pain was enraging him. Max suddenly appeared at the doorway, gaze focused at Kathryn. He strode towards her, eyes fixed with his unwavering stare. Slowly raising a lip to show off his teeth, his mouth quivered at her returned eye contact. Kathryn jumped back in the large chair, her legs swinging out. “Holy Hell!” she yelled. Max was unaffected by her kicking legs and Madoc sat back and watched. He was surprised at Max but not concerned – Max never acted on anythi
ng without his direct command. He was simply feeling Madoc’s distress and showing Ms. Davis who was in charge. “Max, it’s OK,” Madoc said softly. Max turned to Madoc, and moved instantly away from Kathryn, settling near the study door again.
Madoc looked towards the ground to hide the smirk rising on his face, and found himself unable to look away from her feet and calves. As Kathryn attempted to straighten out her dress over her knees, Madoc caught a glimpse of her nylon-covered thighs and lace thigh bands gripping her skin. His gaze traveled up…
He couldn’t stop it; the image of her legs toppled his barrier of control, and he imagined walking over to Ms. Davis, standing tall above her and sliding his leg between her knees, opening her to him. His mind drifted further as he slowly bent down in between her legs, amused by her wide-eyed and open-mouthed face as he pushed her legs further apart, dominating her. Kneeling fully, he grabbed her right foot, encased in her black come-fuck-me heel, and slowly traced one finger up the back of the stiletto. He used his hand to slowly caress over the top of her leg, veering towards the inside of her thigh and gripping the tops of her thigh-highs. She whimpered and urged him forward, pushing her hips up towards him ever so slightly and spreading her legs willingly.
Max turned and whined loudly at Madoc who was still sitting in his chair, silently staring at Kathryn. The sound of the dog slapped Madoc back to reality, as he realized he’d not only drifted off but had lost his damn mind. Max knew it too. Madoc, the leader of the most elite ex-seal security team in North America, nicknamed “the Punisher” by his friends and worse names by his enemies, did not daydream, and certainly not about sex. Not only was this highly unprofessional, but it left him vulnerable. Ms. Davis had somehow gotten under his skin. He looked away from her, needing to recover control of the situation before she questioned him further and saw what his jogging pants would have no chance of hiding.
Dangerous Care (Dangerous Care Saga #1) Page 1