Marina sucked in a breath when hard fingers clenched around her wrist.

“How fucking dare you?”

She flinched at the savage intensity of his voice, the violent rage in his eyes. She still held the syringe and tried to tug her hand away, but it was useless. His hold didn’t budge.

She frowned. “You were in pain. It’s—”

“There are worse things than pain.” His dark gaze bore into hers. “Being helpless and out of it are one of them. I can’t be that. Got it?”

“It’s pain medication. That’s all. I swear.”

“Do you understand?” he rasped.

She swallowed at everything she saw in his eyes. Pain was a given, but there was a plea there too. Maybe even a hint of desperation. She didn’t think this man was used to making a plea to anyone for anything.

She nodded and he released her.

His hold had been unbreakable, but carefully controlled. He hadn’t hurt her, not even a little bit, but she couldn’t fight the urge to rub her wrist all the same.

His gaze flicked down to her movements. “Sorry.”

The word was low and rough. She’d bet he wasn’t used to apologizing either.

“You don’t inject anything in that again,” he ground out. “Nothing I don’t approve first. Got it?”

“Agreed.” She gave him a quick nod and leaned in close, because damn it, he wouldn’t intimidate her. She poked a finger in his direction. “But if you ever grab me like that again? I’ll be forced to throat punch you, injured or not.”

His gaze locked onto hers, searing, searching. He wasn’t just looking at her. He was seeing her and her throat went dry at the intensity of his eyes. The deep blue was made up of different shades, shifting with the light, framed by long, thick lashes. And God, those eyebrows. Honestly? They were better shaped than hers were.

His mouth lifted at one corner. The move was so slow, so slight, she would have missed it if she hadn’t been right up in his face.

His gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to hers. Her breath caught, held, but it’d been so quick she wondered if she’d imagined it.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Fair enough.”

Marina straightened. Jeez, how could he have smelled so good? Warm and musky and woodsy and…male. So that’s what hot-as-hell guys smelled like, even banged up ones.

She cleared her throat. “I—I need to check your leg placement and the pillow support.”

It was best to just get back to business as usual, right? She went to turn the covers back, but his hand clenched in the folds, stopping her.

“I don’t have any Goddamn pants on.”

“So?” Marina pushed back images of things she shouldn’t be thinking about. “I’m a nurse. Do you know how many penises I’ve seen in my lifetime? How many I’ve seen today alone? They’re all pretty much the same.”

Who was she kidding with that one, but she was a professional, Goddamn it.

His grip held firm when she tried another tug.

“Yeah, well you haven’t seen mine,” he rasped.

“You’re shy? It’s—”

“Do I look like a guy who’s shy?”

No. He looked like a guy who owned every situation and scenario he found himself in and hated the thought of being out of control at this one. And that’s what this was about. Control. But not on her watch.

“Don’t be such a baby.”

She yanked and pulled the covers aside.

Holy mother of… He was hard and thick and God…huge.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Still wanna play nurse?”

Marina felt the heat in her cheeks. Crap. That hadn’t happened since she was in training. She’d had her fair share of patients who thought they could hit on her. Embarrass her. Be a jackass. Always she’d shrugged it off. No big deal. But this?

If she didn’t know better she’d say there’d been a gleam in his eye, almost a full lift at the corner of his mouth, but that had to be her imagination. Because she doubted Mr. Surly knew how to smile.

“Well—” Marina fought for the composure that made her a damn good nurse, although today? It was nowhere to be found. “You know, that’s not really that unusual.”

Well, that right there was, but not the fact that he had an erection.

She swept the edge of the covers back over him. “And the—the pillow placement looks fine.”

Everything looked…fine. And he wasn’t kidding. He really didn’t have anything to be shy about.

She straightened, wondered like hell where to look, what to say, what to do with her hands, but she was saved when the woman rushed into the room.

“Roarke.”

Roarke closed his eyes. “Christ, this is all I need,” he muttered, too low for the other woman to hear.

His girlfriend? Marina thought so until she noticed the man at her side. Wow. Double wow. They made a stunning couple.

Hot attracted hot. It was a known fact. This guy was dressed in a dark suit, the white shirt open at the neck. She might have dismissed him as nice eye candy and nothing else, except for the air of confidence and command that surrounded him. The way he held the woman’s hand, the way he looked at her, stood by her, made her stomach clench and her heart ache. And she just knew. He might have been hot, but he was worthy.

“What is this?” Roarke bit out. “A fucking intervention?”

“Roarke, what happened?” the woman demanded.

Roarke looked to the man at her side as if he could do something. He just raised an eyebrow, shrugged and smirked at Roarke.

“Raine.” Roarke sighed. “I’m fine. Okay? I’m fine.”

Marina slipped out of the room to give them some privacy, but the woman followed her.

“How’s he doing?” she asked. “Really?”

“Ah…”

“Please. I’m his sister, his closest relative.” She glanced back toward the room. “I’m not sure I can rely on him to tell me the truth.”

Marina hadn’t seen any resemblance, but there was something familiar in the arch of her eyebrows, the slant of her eyes. And her concern was almost tangible.

“Physically, he’s doing very well. He’s expected to make a full recovery. The timely treatment of the hip will play a significant role in reducing later complications. He’s incredibly strong and resilient, but…”

“But?”

“I’ve been…a little concerned about him.”

Raine frowned. “Oh?”

“Since he regained consciousness, he’s been—”

“Oh, God, he was unconscious?”

Raine put her hand up to her chest, her eyes widened.

“He was sedated at the scene and then for the reduction procedure to put his hip back in.”

Raine bit her lip and glanced back toward the room again. “He would have hated that.”

Yeah, although hate was probably too tame a word.

“Since then, he’s been extremely confrontational, almost hostile. He’s been uncooperative and—”

She broke off when Raine sighed, smiled a rueful half smile.

Marina frowned. “What?”

“Then he’s back to normal. That’s how he is.”

“Always?”

“These days?” Raine’s smile dimmed. “Yeah.”

* * * * *

Roarke frowned. “A what?”

This was the first time she’d come back into his room since Raine and Jake had left and she still hadn’t looked him in the eyes, not that he blamed her. He didn’t care how many other dicks or hard-ons she saw on a regular basis. He wasn’t embarrassed, not really, but he liked to control the where and how he got naked and that wasn’t it.

It’d been a long time since he’d had a reaction to a woman like that, fast and intense. Maybe never. And he’d had no hope of being able to control it.

“An intercostal nerve block,” she repeated as she typed something into the computer she’d wheeled in. “Essentially, it’s an injection of an anesthetic, usually with a steroid, around the intercostal nerves that are located under each rib. It’s very effective in the management of pain as a result of rib fractures.”

Christ, what kind of freak did it make him that her medical speak got him hot? And hard again? Man, he might really be losing it.

“The doctor would prefer you to be sedated.”

He clenched his jaw. The pain meds she’d given him earlier had already started to wear off. They might have eased the pain down to bearable, but he’d hated the feeling of it. He despised anything that affected his concentration, his ability to focus, to be aware of what was going on around him. God, he didn’t even take so much as an aspirin these days. He’d be damned if they’d give him anything else.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“It’s—”

“No. Do it without.”

“It’s…not preferred.”

“Do I look like a guy who gives a fuck about ‘not preferred’?”

She looked at him then and he frowned, because he couldn’t blame the jolt to his stomach on the drugs this time.

What the hell was it about her? He found most people annoying as fuck. They didn’t interest him. They didn’t amuse him, didn’t intrigue him. And women? He’d even given up on the idea of casual sex, had resigned himself to celibacy because the effort just didn’t seem worth the return. Even for no-name, one-night-stand sex. He’d realized a long time ago he wasn’t built for that anyway.

“Sorry,” he ground out, because she gave him that look, the one that said he could do better, the one that made him want to. For her. And just how fucked up was that?

“I just—I can’t be put under, okay? I don’t care how much it hurts. I just can’t be out of it.”

“It is possible to do under local, but it can be painful and certainly uncomfortable. I’ll talk to the doctor, okay?”

She looked back down at her screen and everything in him froze when she licked her upper lip.

Christ.

Roarke closed his eyes to cut off the visual stimulation. He didn’t even like kissing, so why the hell did he have an overwhelming desire to taste her, to feel that tongue on his, to dominate her with his own?

He cleared his throat. “Will you be there for it?”

He wished he could take back the words as soon as he said them. He’d sounded weak, needy, and he hadn’t needed anyone in longer than he could remember.

“I will.”

With his eyes still closed, the husky softness of her voice rumbled through him. It might have soothed his shot nerves, but it didn’t do a fucking thing for his hard-on.

* * * * *

Roarke groaned as he rolled over onto his good side and lifted his arms up over his head, as instructed. He tried to breathe through the pain but the busted ribs made it pretty much impossible. He hoped like fuck the procedure did something because it was going to be damn hard to do what he needed to do at the house. His crew couldn’t take up anymore slack.

He closed his eyes as they prepped, wiping him down with something cold and wet. He caught the scent of the antiseptic solution and his stomach churned, twisting his insides. He fought against the rush of memories, the images that played in his head, but knew it was useless. The smell sent him right back to feeling helpless and vulnerable, unable to protect himself, unable to fight. Every. Single. Time.

Roarke reached for his image of a crystal clear lake, tuning out the voices of the doctor, the technician, all the other sounds in the room. He let his body sink into place, relaxing every limb, every muscle. He couldn’t take a deep breath, so he kept it slow and shallow—in for four seconds, out for four seconds—until his body, his mind, was calm and still.

It was the same technique he’d used to stay immobile for hours at a time while he waited for a target. A human target.

A small hand slipped over his and he flinched from the unfamiliar contact. He couldn’t see her from this position, but he knew it was her. Marina. It was probably just his imagination, but he swore he could feel the warmth of her skin, even through the gloves she wore. He had an overwhelming urge to rip them off, to feel the texture of her hand, skin to skin, instead of the smooth, cool surface of the latex.

“Just a few small pinches.”

Roarke sucked in a breath as hard fingers probed between his ribs before the small prick. Right. Never believe a fucking doctor when they told you it wouldn’t hurt. He waited, counted off the seconds, knowing, hoping it wouldn’t be long for the numbness to take over.

Marina stroked his hand—soft, small movements—and he cursed under his breath. He was having a medical procedure where they put a fucking needle under his rib cage and all he could think about was how it’d feel if she stroked him like that, somewhere a hell of a lot harder than his hand.

“Okay, a little pressure.”

He clenched his jaw when he felt the needle go under his rib.

Fuck. Me.

Pain he knew. Pain he could handle. Pain he could push through all day, every day. And it didn’t really hurt, not on any scale of pain he’d already felt, endured, multiple times. No. It was the sensation, the knowledge, that something pierced him, sliced through skin, muscle, because he’d felt every single one of those stab wounds, sharp and agonizing. It might have been a hell of a lot of years ago, but each one was burned into his memory like a brand.

He still wasn’t sorry he’d refused sedation. Anything was preferable to utter helplessness. He couldn’t be that. Not ever again.

Her hand shifted in his and he realized he’d turned his own hand into hers, palm to palm, fingers laced tight. There was nothing delicate about her hold. She might have been small, but her grip was solid and strong.

Shit.

He eased back on the clench of his hand, forced his fingers to slide from hers.

He’d been holding hands with his nurse. The one who swore at him. The one who intrigued the hell out of him. The one who’d turned him on—hard and fast—just from a simple look.

His. Christ. He’d never thought of a woman in terms of his anything. Not before Marina anyway.