Chapter Two
Steele
"I was just finishing your chart, Mr. Doe. I was just leaving," she said.
I caught the doctor's wrist and pulled her back to my bedside. "No fair knocking a guy out before I could get your number, Dr. West."
Her honey-brown eyes flared as she realized how close her breast was to my face. Her name was embroidered just above the pocket: Claire West, M.D. I was tempted to pull her closer.
With a neat twist of the wrist, Dr. West was free. She stepped back and clutched her tablet to her chest.
"You lost a lot of blood, Mr. Doe. You needed the rest, and you will continue to need rest after you leave," she said. "The laceration wasn't serious, but you'll be sore."
"Then how about you take me home and tuck me in?" I asked.
Her cheeks warmed, and I felt an answering heat clutch inside me. Dr. West was a delicious combination of knowledgeable professional and skittish innocent. I couldn't resist seeing which one won out.
"The nurses will call you a cab. Good luck with your recovery," she said. Polished professional, Dr. West smoothed her coppery brown hair back into a loose bun.
I sat up and instantly regretted my choice. Fiery pain flashed across my side, and all my curses came out in a strained, tight voice. Then Dr. West rushed back to ease me onto my pillows. I caught her hand and smiled through the pain.
"What if I'm not so good about resting and taking it easy, Doc?" I asked. "Can I call you Claire?"
Dr. West shook her head. "Between the pain and the blood loss, your body will let you know. You'll learn the wisdom of my advice after you pass out a few times."
I pulled her closer and was rewarded with a nervous smile. My body was drifting along on painkillers, but her barely stifled sigh of impatience sent a surge of desire through me. Dr. Claire West was the opposite of the women normally near me. She was neither the crisp, country-club type or the hot biker chick kind. In fact, she was too busy to fit into any category and, as a workaholic, that appealed to me the most.
"You like working in the ER, don't you? All the excitement?" I asked.
Dr. West tugged her hand, but I wouldn't let go. "I love my work. Work I really should be getting back to," she said.
"Me too," I said. My grip loosened.
What was I saying? The drugs were wearing off, but I couldn't afford to babble. It didn't matter how much I wanted to continue flirting with the doc, I had to pull myself together.
"Work?" she asked.
I laughed and changed the subject to the hand she'd left in mine. "Soft hands. Talented hands. Thanks for the stitches, doc. I like when women leave their mark on me."
Dr. West's cheeks turned rosy again. "Does that explain all the tattoos?"
"Nah." I stroked her hand. "The tats are all about me, the road, and my motorcycle."
She pulled her hand free only to lightly touch my exposed bicep. "That includes a Roman god?"
I flexed for her but didn't smile. "He's two-faced."
Dr. West shrugged, her hand brushing over my tattoo one more time. "One face looking to the future and one to the past. Janus is the god of new beginnings."
"He also starts and ends conflicts," I said.
"Well, let's hope he learns from his mistakes." Dr. West patted my arm and turned to leave.
I should have let her go, but I couldn't resist calling her back one more time. I liked watching her honey-brown eyes go from matter-of-fact to wide-eyed.
"You're not even going to ask for my real name?" I asked.
"Nope," she said. "You're stuck with Steele. Don't you remember telling me all about how your gang gave you your nickname?"
"It's a club, not a gang," I said. It was better that she assumed Steele was a made-up name, but it still irked me that she wasn't more curious. "What if I told you it was my mother's maiden name?"
Dr. West paused, and her measuring gaze told me I wasn't the only one who noticed how the painkillers loosened my tongue. "I think you could save us all a lot of trouble by putting down your real name on your discharge papers."
"How about I tell you my real name in exchange for your home phone number," I said.
Dr. West laughed aloud, and it was hard to tell what shocked her more: me asking for her number or her giggling reaction.
"Sorry, I don't date patients," she said.
"But you date. You're single?" I asked.
It had to be the drugs that made me sound so hopeful. I sounded like I was in junior high and asking a girl to the dance for the first time.
"I'm, um, I'm seeing someone," Dr. West said.
It hurt like hell, but I sat up. "That didn't sound convincing, Doc. So, how about that number?"
"Like you said, I'm at work all the time. I don't have time to date." Dr. West's eyes darted down the hall and widened. "I mean, I usually date doctors, surgeons..."
"Not scruffy bikers who get in bar fights? It wasn't really like that. I was just helping out a buddy," I said. "How about you let me try to change your mind, Claire?"
A nervous giggle bubbled from her lips. "I told you, I'm seeing someone. And it's Dr. West to you."
She was watching someone approaching and berated myself. Why was I still flirting when I needed to evade the insurance specialist and get out of the hospital? Steele Channing didn't end up in the ER, especially not dressed as a dirty biker.
"Could you help me find my clothes, Dr. West?" I asked. I grinned at her. "See? That's got a nice ring to it. But it would probably sound better tomorrow morning at your place."
Dr. West rolled her eyes but went to a nearby cabinet and retrieved my clothes. I reached for my shredded black t-shirt and swore at the blinding pain.
"Here, let me help you." Her voice was matter-of-fact, just a doctor helping a patient, but I heard her sharp intake of breath as she untied my gown.
My skin tingled as the Dr. West slipped off my gown and gingerly tugged my t-shirt over my head. Then she helped me off the bed despite being only about five-feet-seven-inches. Her nose was at my chest when I stood up, and I fought the urge to tangle my hands in her hair and loosen that bun.
"You can put on your jeans," Dr. West said. "Just go slow. The less you move your right arm, the faster that gash will heal."
I wriggled into my jeans and grinned when I caught her watching me. When her eyes hovered around my belt buckle, I felt the clutch of heat again. I wanted to see the clinical calmness rush out of her honey-brown eyes and desire dilate her pupils.
"Is this the patient?" A wiry-haired man popped his head in my room.
Dr. West jumped and turned to the intruder. "You didn't need to come all the way down here, Dr. Daniels. I took care of it. I know how busy you can get," she said.
"This is the surgeon?" I asked. "Looks like your bad timing was great for me. Claire did a bang-up job stitching me up."
The surgeon dismissed me as if I was a talking bedside lamp. "You're lucky nothing happened. Hospital policy wouldn't have backed you up if the surgery had gone wrong, Claire."
"It was urgent and everything went textbook," Claire said.
"Textbook is why you haven't reached the next level," the surgeon said.
I should have slipped out during their conversation, but I was stuck. If I moved too soon, I knew I'd want to tap the surgeon in the front teeth with my fist. It was obvious no matter what Claire said, he would find a way to knock her down a peg. I knew men like that, billionaire CEOs who had to tear others down just to seem big. I'd been wanting to punch them for years.
Instead, I slipped my arm around Claire's shoulder. "Better walk me out so I don't faint. Doctor's orders, remember?"
Claire wrapped an arm around my waist and helped me toward the door. Then the surgeon cleared his throat and Claire froze.
"Nurse! We need a wheelchair in here," Dr. Daniels called. "How about we go over your notes? Get all the shop talk out before tonight."
Claire stiffened under my, arm and I thought she was an annoyed by his pompous tone as I was. Then she ducked out of my arms and stepped over to Dr. Daniels.
It was the perfect time for me to escape. Except I saw the way Dr. Daniels' eyes dipped up and down over Claire. He looked like a collector sizing up a new acquisition.
"Tonight? Doc's under strict orders to rest. She works too hard," I said.
I towered over the wiry-haired surgeon, but Dr. Daniels didn't notice. He was too busy stacking his worth above Claire's.
"My punishing schedule has delayed our first date too long. Did you find an appropriate dress? Cocktail length?" Dr. Daniels asked Claire.
I snorted. Claire was neat and tidy, but I didn't get the sense that she wanted to rush straight from the messy ER to some fancy restaurant just to hear this guy talk about stuffed snails. Claire's eyes flew to my face and then dropped to the floor. He wasn't the man she wanted, only the man she thought she was supposed to date.
"You know, Doc, there's a roadhouse about thirty minutes from here. Peanut shells on the floor but the live music's great. And it would be a wonderful ride this time of night," I said.
The surgeon examined his nails, disgusted that I had dared to speak. He was even more put out that he had to respond, seeing as Claire didn't jump in to protest.
"Chez Blanc is an exclusive reservation. Not everyone gets to sit at the chef's table," Dr. Daniels said.
I snorted again. I knew the chef at Chez Blanc personally, and there was no way Dr. Daniels was sitting at the real chef's table. He'd be put at the table on a dais where the entire restaurant could see his importance. Meanwhile, there was a little round table in the corner of the busy kitchen, and that's where the chef brought his real inspiration. I almost laughed at the thought of what Chef would say when he saw how I was dressed, but Claire looked so distressed that I swallowed my mirth.
She cleared her throat. "I meant to thank you for the name of that dress-shop owner. She picked out something perfect for tonight," Claire told Dr. Daniels.
My skin crawled. He'd made the reservation, and he'd probably requested her dress down to the cut and color. Couldn't Claire see she was being pressed into a mold?
I stepped between her and Dr. Daniels. The surgeon glared at me, and he was one second away from calling security when Claire finally took charge.
"I'll just finish up here, Dr. Daniels," Claire said. "We agreed you'd pick me up at nine?"
"I'll send a car for you," Dr. Daniels said. He dismissed me with a flip of his pale hand and stalked out of the room.
"Nine o'clock dinner. Things getting serious?" I asked Claire.
She scowled at me and shoved my discharge papers into my hands. "I suggest you stay away from roadhouses or bar, anywhere the patrons hide switchblades in their pockets. And rest. You don't want to pop that laceration open."
"But then I'd come here and see you again," I said.
Claire gave me a tired smile before leaving. "Goodnight, Mr. Doe."