Finding Nirvana (Black Shamrocks MC, #5)

by Kylie Hillman

  He doesn’t sound like he was “just wondering”. Each word drips with contempt and dismissal.

  I’m guessing that seeing Cam ride past my house this morning has set me on edge because usually judgement rolls off my shoulders like water off a ducks back. No this afternoon, though. I spin on my heel and step between Joel’s spread legs until I’m right in his face. “It’s none of your business who paid for my equipment. None whatsoever. You’re here because you need physio which makes sense since I’m the best in this city.”

  My chest is heaving, which only becomes worse when I discover that I’ve slapped my hands down on his thighs and pressed my pelvis against his during my tirade. The palm of my hands begin burning where they meet the denim of his jeans and I start to freak out. I’ve barely recovered from what happened in the reception area—this is the last position I need to be in with my infuriating patient.

  That’s right, Sascha. He’s your patient. Which means you can look and not touch.

  It takes more effort than it should, but I lift my hands from him and try to take a huge step out of his space. Joel’s arms wrap around my waist, stopping me. He pulls me back into my previous spot, then runs shaking hands up my back and into my hair. When his fingers take hold of the hair at my nape and tug, a shiver runs through my entire body. My eyes close of their own volition, my hands tracing a path up his naturally muscled biceps, stopping only when I lace them behind his neck.

  Don’t ask me who moves first. I don’t know how it happens; however, seconds later our lips are pressed against each other and our tongues are dancing together like they’ve been doing it for years. Joel’s legs widen, his hold of my hair tightening, and he gently grinds our lower bodies together. I feel him hardening with each maddeningly slow thrust and an answering throb breaks out in my clit. It makes my panties dampen and the delicious tingle that I’ve all but forgot flows through my body, wiping my mind blank of objections.

  I open my eyes and stare into the hungry blue gaze that greets me. Our mouths are still pressed together, my hips matching his movements, and my breasts pillowing against his chest. This is the first time I’ve made out with someone since Cam which slightly disconcerting since this man is the last person I should be doing this with.

  Tell that to my overheated body, though. It’s screaming at me to rip all of his clothes off then push him onto his back on the treatment bed, before climbing over him and sinking my aching—

  “Hey, Sascha,” a familiar voices calls from reception. “Have you seen my phone?”

  My eyes widen and I attempt to disengage with Joel, breath catching in my throat when he increases his hold and nuzzles my neck. I can hear my assistant’s footsteps growing closer, making my urgency to get away from him spike, so I resort to digging my fingernails into his biceps.

  “Ouch,” he exclaims, letting me go.

  Just in time.

  I’m still backpedalling when the door between reception and the main treatment area swings open and Danielle walks in. She has worry written all over her face, apparently concerned about her missing phone. It morphs into surprise when she spies Joel sitting on the bed.

  Quickly, Danielle composes herself. Her pretty face breaks into a flirtatious smile and she twirls a strand of her long, blonde hair around her finger while she makes her way over to us. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you had a patient this late today.”

  Her apologies aren’t directed at me. She’s too busy ogling Joel, who seems completely oblivious. His attention is still firmly on me, which is dangerous. My assistant is always on my case about starting to date again, so if she catches a whiff of his interest she’s going to be all over me like a rash with suggestions about transferring him to another physio and jumping his bones.

  Fortunately, it appears that Danielle finds Joel edible. She still hasn’t looked my way, too busy devouring him with her eyes. My assistant leans against the bed and gazes into his eyes. “You must be a new patient. I wouldn’t forget if I’d seen you around here before.”

  A ball of burning rage sparks in my belly and builds into a full-blown inferno when Danielle follows up her blatant come on with a wink.

  “Of course, he’s a new patient.” I snap at her. “One of the dozen that I had to deal with while you were sick.”

  My emphasis on the word sick is deliberate. I know that Danielle wasn’t ill—unless you count nursing a hangover from the two music festival that she attended on the weekend as “sick”.

  She pales at my unusual sharpness and I automatically feel bad. Danielle is a great assistant—going above and beyond her job description without complaint—which is why I’m happy to swallow her occasional tale about illness when she decides to let her hair down. Just like my earlier inability to shrug off Joel’s comments about my dad, I’m overacting once again.

  The man perched with unfeigned innocence on my treatment table is making me act strange.

  First he gets under my skin enough for me to lose my almost non-existent temper and now he has me attacking my assistant—and good friend—because she flirted with him. Something that is par for the course with Danielle and would normally make me laugh.

  “Uh, let me help you find your phone.” I attempt to smooth over the situation with Danielle with a smile. Regaining her composure, she cocks her head to the side and stares at me. I ignore her, turning my attention back to Joel, who’s still staring at me with a weird look on his face.

  “Why don’t you go through to room three while I help Danielle. I’ll be with you in a minute.” I point at the row of numbered doors that line the opposite of the room.

  Joel meets me eyes. The blue orbs that were filled with need five minutes ago are now shuttered. He nods, sliding off the table and limping his way to the correct door. Watching him walk reminds me why he’s here. For treatment, not for his horny physio to jump his, admittedly, sexy bones.

  Once it shuts behind him, I drag my attention back to Danielle. She remains staring at me, except a knowing look now covers her face. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

  I walk toward the reception area, determined to ignore her probing and take my time finding her phone. The more time I have to compose myself before I have to face Joel again the better. When I walk into that room, I have to be Sascha, the cool, calm, and collected physio. Not Sascha, the woman who’s currently visualising riding her patient on the examination bed.

  Danielle nudges me with her shoulder when she catches up with me. “Don’t you agree? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding is hot as fuck.”

  “No,” I mumble. Pulling the top draw in her desk out, I spy her phone straightaway. With a sarcastic cheer, I hold it in the air. “Did you even bother looking for it?”

  My airhead assistant lifts her shoulders and smiles. I place the phone in her outstretched hand, then wave her on her way. Of course, she can’t take a hint. Danielle flops in her chair, and spins in a circle. “So, what’s his name?”

  Knowing that I’m not going to get any peace until she has some answers, I force myself to reply. “Joel O’Brien.”

  “Hmmm,” Danielle muses as she slides her chair along the floor to the filing cabinet. Using an expert touch, she finds his file and opens it. “Twenty-three. Six foot two. Severe injuries to his hands, forearms, and legs.”

  Nothing she mentions is a surprise to me. I’ve looked at his file way too many times since he made the appointment. Danielle snaps the file shut, throwing it onto her desk. She leans back in her chair and laces her hands behind her head. A shit-eating grin crosses her face and my heart sinks into my stomach.

  She’s about to say something inappropriate.

  Something that’s going to put ideas into my already addled mind.

  “Looks like his cock is in working order. That’s the important part. I wouldn’t worry about his legs and hands; you can’t always ride him cowgirl style. Guys lap that shit up.”

  It takes every ounce of willpower that I possess to resist my urge to throw her out of my c
linic. Instead, I keep my face impassive and point at the exit. “I have work to do, young lady. So get out of my face before I call security on you for sexually harassing my patients.”

  Danielle laughs, grabbing her phone and slipping it into her pocket. She salutes me. “Yes, boss. I’ll leave you to it. Mr. Hottie is waiting for you.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, determined not to give her a reaction. She makes it to the door before turning around and throwing once last suggestion over her shoulder. “Just make sure you take it easy on him. He looks innocent.”

  The door slams shut behind her, but her booming laughter can be heard following her down the hall. I bite down again, then yelp when I break the skin and coppery-tasting blood invades my mouth. My damn friend has just made it impossible to face Joel without visuals of my body riding his long, lean frame entering my head. Thanks to my overactive imagination and sex-deprived body, I can almost imagine what it would feel like.

  A shudder runs through the length of my body. I pretend it didn’t happen; balling my hands into fists and marching with more already-wavering resolve to face the man who’s thrown my quiet life into disarray with the utmost professionalism.

  This is going to be the longest hour of my life.

  I pace the small room like a discontent—and disabled—lion while I wait for Sascha to return; the knowledge that I’m an idiot running through my mind non-stop. Kissing her, putting my fucked-up hands on her was more than a mistake. It was a disloyal and wrong. I betrayed my brother by forgetting what I’m here to do—let’s not even delve into the fact that she’s practically my sister.

  Christ on a cracker. Conan’s favourite saying pops into my head and kills off the last part of my hard on. My head is still spinning wildly; at least, my dick is in agreement with my common sense.

  Yeah, Christ on a cracker. It perfectly sums up my current predicament.

  I hear a door slam so I limp my way to the bed and sit down. My ass has just touched the thin rubber mattress when Sascha stalks into the room. Relief rushes through me when I see the expression on her face. Between our kiss and her entrance into the examination room, she’s decided that what happened was a bad idea.

  If she pressed her lips any tighter together they’d turn white. The instant she’s closed the door, she clasps her hands behind her back and regards me with a no-nonsense expression. It almost borders on comical, I imagine it’s the look she gives her daughter when she’s misbehaving. I can remember seeing it a time or two on my own mum’s face.

  “Okay,” Sascha breaks the heavy silence in the room. “I need to create a baseline to work from. It will give me a way to measure your progress. This means I have to examine you.”

  She steps toward me, her reluctance to do so written all over her beautiful face. While I agree with her that what happened shouldn’t be repeated, her behaviour pisses me off as well. My throat works as I try to swallow down my irrational irritation, only to spring forth when Sascha stops just before she touches me and throws down an ultimatum.

  “I need you to keep your hands to yourself this time.”

  My eyebrows fly toward my hairline. “You’ve got to be kidding me? You’re the one who started it, not me.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too. You pushed your pussy against my cock. What’s a man supposed to about that?”

  Her face turns red and she becomes overly interested in the floor. Feeling like a prick for my blunt statements, I move to apologise, sliding off the bed. Sascha holds a hand up to stop me. The woman who’s currently driving me crazy pulls herself to her full height and looks me straight in the eye. “I’m sorry for my part in our kiss. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, Sascha shakes her head before she continues. “Actually I do know. You’re a very attractive man and I’m a single mother who’s lonely. I let that get the better of me for a moment, but I promise it won’t happen again. I will be 100% professional from now on. I give you my word.”

  I give her points for honesty. It took balls to say what she did. That doesn’t mean that my ego—or what’s left of it—isn’t offended by her assertion that she only kissed me because she’s lonely. Hell, I’m tempted to find a corner so I can curl up and die from embarrassment in it. I was just shot down in flames.

  While my subconscious reminds me that this is the perfect outcome, my stung pride isn’t quite on board at this time. My mouth is in gear before my brain. “I hope your word is enough. I’m here to get better, not fight off the advances of a horny housewife.”

  Sascha’s mouth drops open, her face reddening. “You’re an ass.”

  I keep my mouth closed. What can I say? I am an ass. A freaking gigantic one.

  Clearing my throat when she doesn’t break the tense silence, I attempt to say something useful for the first time this afternoon. Sascha beats me to the punch, placing her finger over my lips. “Just shut up. I think we’re both acting a little stupid this afternoon. Let’s chalk it up to the upcoming full moon.”

  She steps back. I can still feel the imprint of her finger where it lay against my lips even after she’s removed it. Sascha holds out her hand to me, and I stare at it, not understanding her intent. “Hi, I’m Sascha. I’m your physio.”

  Licking my bottom lip to remove the remnants of her touch, I extend an unsteady hand and grasp her much-smaller one in mine. We shake, keeping our grip light. When I raise my eyes to meet hers, I find my own internal battle mirrored in Sascha’s gaze. It’s at this moment that I realise that I’m playing a dangerous game.

  I’m here to find out the information the Shamrocks need and to be the buffer between her cosy little life and the war that’s about to break out with her life at the epicentre. The crazy way that she affects me is going to mess with everything the Club has planned. And, I’m going to have to make a choice.

  See where my attraction to this woman—the first to grab my attention since I was crippled—could go. Or, push it aside and concentrate on avenging my brother’s death.

  When it’s laid out so plainly, there’s only one outcome.

  I blink slowly, shutting out the desire that I can see in her eyes, before I meet her amber gaze again. This time my emotions are shuttered, my face a blank canvas.

  “Hi Sascha. I’m Joel, your patient.”

  Her mouth forms a small O and she snatches her hand back. The gauntlet has been thrown down. May the best man win. Because my resolution is wavering already.

  Sascha mans up before me, moving to my side and extending my arm. She holds it out straight and feels along my muscles to my hand. Clicking her tongue, every now and then, she digs her fingers into the damaged area, then grabs the notepad on the small table at the side of the bed and jots down notes.

  She repeats her examination of my other arm—my worse arm. I expect her to shy away from touching my mangled hand. While my left hand doesn’t look too bad, my right is a disgusting testament to the torture the Mavericks inflicted on me as payback for Maddi escaping their clutches. Most people seem to be grossed out by it and go out of their way not to touch it.

  Not Sascha, though. With nibble fingers, she flexes my wrist, taking note of the degree to which I can move it. Then she takes hold of what’s left of my fingers and tests them all individually. I check her face for signs of revulsion. To my surprise, none can be seen.

  I expect her to drop my hand back into my lap so she can write down more notes. Instead, she tucks it between her upper arm and the swell of her breast, then I watch her run the capped end of her pen from the under pit to my palm.

  “You don’t have very much sensation in this arm, do you?”

  “No.” My voice is soft. I’ve never admitted that to anyone before, preferring to pretend that my inability to hold things with that hand is down to my damaged fingers.

  Sascha nods, then lays my hand back on my lap. She smiles. “I can fix that. It won’t be easy but it can be done.”

  A foreign sen
sation overwhelms me at her words. It travels from the pit of my stomach and worms its way into the centre of my chest. Before I can identify it, Sascha speaks again.

  “Stand up. Jeans off.”

  The feeling in my chest disappears in an instant and that’s when I recognise what it was. Goddamn hope. Sascha managed to give me hope that my current state isn’t as good as it gets.

  “Nope.”

  “Joel.” Sascha says my name like my mother used to. All bossy and making it clear that she’s not about to take no for an answer. She reaches for my right hand, tugging until I let her unfurl my clenched fist. Because she’s holding tight I can tell that she’s touching me and it makes me imagine that electricity is shooting from her fingertips into my veins.

  “Tell me how you injured your scars?”

  The change of subject takes me by surprise. Peering down at my fingers, I’m startled to find barely healing wounds on the end of my main three fingers. I run the pad of my thumb over the fledgling scabs, at a loss as to how I hurt myself.

  “If I’m not mistaken, it looks like you play guitar or something similar.”

  My mind flies back to yesterday and images of Benji’s funeral cloud my vision.

  “Yeah, I do. Did.”

  Her warm hand leaves mine. Sascha pops her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow at me. “Did? That looks fresh to me.”

  “Yesterday was the first time I played since—” I lift my messed-up hands up.

  Compassion fills her features, softening the bossiness in her eyes. It gets my back up. There’s one thing I hate more than people staring at my hands and that’s their bloody sympathy.

  “Look. Can we get this over and done with? I’ve got better places to be.” Standing, I use my left hand to pop the button on my jeans, then clumsily pull them down my hips until gravity takes over and they drop to the floor. I sit my ass back on the bed and look at Sascha through narrowed eyes. With contempt in my voice, I indicate my scarred legs. “Knock yourself out. Try to tell me that you can fix them, too.”