Fire Me Up (4 page)

She nodded to her partner without waiting for a reply, and the guy pulled the cot into motion. Adrian blinked hard against the sudden sensation. He opened his mouth to argue with her yet again, but the pain radiating from his shoulder to his fingertips dulled the edges of his periphery. It was fifty-fifty at best that his bike would start up right now, not to mention the shitastic odds that he could even get off this freaking cot to try. The impound wasn't ideal, but it also wasn't the middle of the road. As much as he hated it, the compromise would have to suffice until he could call Carly to help him out.

Yet another thing for the this-is-going-to-suck section of his to-do list. Carly was technically still on her honeymoon, for God's sake. She was going to lose her mind with worry over this. That was, if she didn't kill him first. Maybe if he pushed it, the docs at the hospital could get a cast on him before the dinner shift started.

The metallic
bang
of the ambulance doors halted the thoughts pinballing through his head, and he shifted awkwardly, trying to prioritize. The pain in his shoulder was going to settle in for an extended stay unless he got everything back where it belonged, and taking care of it before the pain took care of him was his top order of business.

Teagan's voice sounded behind him as she delivered a status report to the hospital over the radio. Adrian reached up to unclip the safety harness over his chest, surreptitiously pressing his injured shoulder into the back of the cot to test how much pressure he could work up without noticeable movement.

Damn. Getting his shoulder to play nicely with the rest of his upper body was going to take a little more than a love tap. But it would skip a step at the hospital, and get him out of there faster, to boot.

And wasn't that just a win-win.

With one swift move, Adrian pitched forward to his feet and gave a sharp turn, slamming his shoulder with all his might into the vertical edge of metal cabinetry flanking the ambulance wall.

“Jesus, you've got some brass on you!” Teagan scrambled around from her seat by his head while he blinked back every star in the galaxy.

“Funny,” he gasped, the blinding pain making his words looser than usual. “I was thinking . . . the same thing . . . about you earlier.”

“You good back there, T?” came the voice of the other paramedic as he climbed behind the wheel, leaning into the narrow space that blocked off his seat from the rest of the ambulance.

“I'm fine.” She hit Adrian with a high-level frown and molded her hands to his shoulder, forcing him back to the cot and strapping his seat belt tight. “And as long as Superman here doesn't try any more man-of-steel bullshit, I'll be stellar. We're good to roll out.”

The guy pushed himself back through the space, the ambulance growling to life a second later.

Adrian gasped at another breath, but yeah, oxygen was still at a premium. He let go against the back of the cot with a wince. “Trust me. It wasn't . . . a picnic on my end, either.”

“Well, you'd better hope you didn't just make matters worse. There's more to a shoulder reduction than just whacking it back into place like a Neanderthal.”

He returned the favor of a frown. “I know exactly what I'm doing.”

Teagan's eyes narrowed to pretty brown slits. “Oh, I'm sorry, I must have missed the MD after your name.”

She ran her fingers over his upper body in swift but thorough gestures, and despite the jagged pain running the entire length of his left arm, he threw on a smile.

“It's back where it should be, isn't it?” he asked, more statement than question.

She paused. “I don't feel a dislocation, no. But that doesn't mean there isn't any damage to the tendons. It was a stupid move.”

“And still not my worst by far.” He let go against the thin padding of the cot, suddenly very aware of the soreness sinking into him like teeth.

“Yeah, well, it's definitely the last one you'll pull on my watch.” She turned to pop the lock on the glass-walled cabinet behind her, sending that earthy rosemary scent his way as her hair snapped over her shoulder. “How much do you weigh?”

Okay, couldn't say he'd been expecting that question. “Two fifty. You want to know if I like moonlit strolls on the beach, too?”

Her scowl didn't even sway an inch. “You don't strike me as the type. Do you have any allergies to medication?” She pulled some paper-wrapped squares of gauze from another cabinet and laid them next to her before rummaging through a box on the shelf by her chair.

“No. Why?”

“Well, your tattoos are going to make this interesting, but if worse comes to worst, I can always tap the vein on the top of your hand.”

“Tap the what?” he asked, realization trickling in like ice water.

Teagan lifted a brow and gifted him with an angelic smile that worked its way through his veins in about two seconds flat.

“Don't worry, Superman. It's only a prick. But then again, it looks like that's your specialty.”

The astringent bite of rubbing alcohol reached Teagan's nose as she tore into the packet in her hand, and she measured the intricate black tattoo on Adrian's right forearm with a casual glance. Placing a line was more about feel than anything else, but it didn't make this a cozy jaunt down Main Street, either. Still, procedure was procedure, and she wasn't about to tell the docs in the emergency department that she didn't start an IV en route when she knew damn well they were expecting her to do it. Explaining the shoulder thing was going to be bad enough.

Taking her eyes off a guy like Adrian in the first place had been the highest order of stupid. She wasn't screwing up his care again.

“So how come you're sticking me, exactly?”

His much-softened tone snagged her attention, and she adjusted hers to match. “Because you need painkillers on board before we get to Riverside. The doctors there are going to give you a pretty good workup. It's not going to be fun.”

“I'm okay with the pain,” he said, although the thin sheen of sweat on his brow coupled with his skin's growing pallor said otherwise.

Teagan shrugged. “You need the IV regardless. Might as well let the meds take the edge off.” She sat on the bench seat at Adrian's side and flipped his right arm palm-side up, running her fingers down the corded length from elbow to wrist in search of a good spot.

“So what language is this, anyway?” she asked, folding his hand into a fist before tracing the thickly scrolled letters spanning his skin from wrist to elbow. Maybe if she distracted him, he'd let her do her job without complaint.

“Italian.” He didn't elaborate, but he also didn't balk as she ripped open the IV kit she'd pulled from the med box.

“Oh. What does it mean?” Teagan tapped the pad of one gloved finger against the vein now standing in relief against his skin right above the words
vivere senza rimpianti
.

“You ask a lot of questions, don't you?”

The edgy little smile that had caught her so off guard in the middle of the road was back in full force, and it hadn't lost an ounce of steam in its absence.

Teagan's cheeks prickled with the unfamiliar sensation of a blush. “Sorry. Little pinch here. Ready?”

He nodded, keeping his smile locked in place. “Whenever you are, Red.”

Right. Because that nickname hadn't haunted her enough in the third grade. “Just hold still.”

She guided the IV into place with a few deft movements despite the fact her pulse had just taken on all the properties of a freight train. “I'm going to put some Fentanyl in here to ease some of your pain. It works pretty quickly, so you should be able to relax soon.”

“Whatever will get this over with faster.” Adrian looked away, the smile slipping from his face as he shifted his weight against the semi-reclined surface of the cot. It figured he'd go and get all agreeable when they were halfway to the hospital, but truly, Teagan knew better than to complain.

She drew two hundred micrograms of Fentanyl into a syringe and worked it into the IV, doing a visual sweep to make sure all systems were go. “I'm just going to recheck your vitals here and see if we can manage some focus assessment before those pain meds get in the way.”

“Focus assessment sounds like something my high school guidance counselor tried once. Hate to break it to you, but it didn't work out so well then. Doubt you'll have much luck with it now.”

Teagan's laugh popped out before she could swallow it, and she palmed the penlight from her bag. “Don't worry, it's not that tough. Look up for me.”

Adrian fastened her with a dead-on stare, and whoa, there was a lot roiling around in those hazel eyes of his. No matter how big and bad, most car accident victims experienced some form of shock or another in the aftermath. Her social skills might not be impeccable—or hell, even good—but it was time to keep this guy as calm as possible.

“So, tell me,” she said, slipping the pulse ox clip over his finger. “What do you do, Adrian?”

His forehead creased, making his surprise a dead giveaway. “I'm a chef.”

Looked like surprise was catching. “And how long have you been a chef?”

“Since the day I was born.”

The laughter pushing past her lips caught her off guard for the second time in as many minutes. “You've been busy, then. You must work at the place in the resort.” That tiny tickle of recognition fanned over her again, but as soon as she flicked her attention toward it, it was gone, like smoke in a stiff breeze.

“What makes you say that?” He canted his head to the side, his shoulders seeming to loosen slightly.

Teagan noted his current vitals before continuing with the exam. “Because unless you count the bakery on Main Street, there are only two other full-service places to eat in Pine Mountain, and there isn't a
chef
in either one.”

The thought of Lou, the lanky guy who worked his magic at her father's bar and grill, working up a hoity-toity dish like on those reality shows was downright laughable. Not that Adrian really fit that mold either, but still. He'd been the one to use the c-word, not her.

As if he'd just climbed into her head for an easy look-see, Adrian teased, “Careful making assumptions over there. I ditched the tall white hat as soon as I graduated from culinary school.”

She held up her hands, busted. “Okay. But for the most part, we townies tend to just sling hash and be done with it.” Teagan examined him carefully, and this time the vague recognition darting around in her brain snagged and held. “The restaurant at the resort! You were there last year, when we responded to that call for the other chef. A woman.”

The tumblers and gears of her memory locked into place over the image. They'd been first on scene, and Evan had gone to secure the patient—a nasty facial trauma, if she remembered right. Teagan had been too busy securing the rest of the scene, namely trying to peel Adrian off of Jackson Carter, a local guy she'd known since middle school.

The fight had been short-lived. And Adrian had been boiling-point furious.

“She's my boss,” Adrian said, dispelling only a touch of the mystery running through her head. “You remember that?”

“Small town. And you have a memorable right hook.”

His eyes flared, in way more panic than irritation. “It wasn't like that, exactly.” A pause, and it looked like hers weren't the only gears sliding into place. “Wait, that was you who jumped in the middle of things.”

Teagan nodded, sliding down the bench toward his feet and laying the flat of her hand against the bottom of one monstrous boot. “Securing the scene to administer care is part of the job. Press forward as far as you can.”

He did, and when she prompted, he gave a quick repeat on the other side. “You could get hurt like that, being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Said the guy on the gurney,” she said, unable to bite back a wry smile. “How's your arm feeling?” Now that she'd had more time for a more focused exam, it was clear the broken arm was likely the only injury he'd sustained, and even that looked pretty straightforward. Lucky bastard.

“Pretty good.” He closed his eyes for a fraction too long to be a blink, and that, coupled with his answer, signaled the Fentanyl was starting to kick in nice and hard.

“Good. We should be at the hospital in another seven minutes, give or take. You can close your eyes if you want.”

Another blink, this one shuttering his eyes just enough to be sexy as hell. “That might not . . . be the best idea.”

Concern splashed through Teagan's chest, and she leaned forward from her perch on the bench seat at his side. “Are you sure you're feeling okay?”

“Relax.” A lazy smile joined his bedroom eyes, sending an entirely
different
sensation through her chest. “I'm not going to code on you or anything. It's just, ah, easier to forget about the pain if I'm distracted, that's all.”

Oh, buddy. If you only knew.
“Okay, but consider yourself forewarned. I'm not sure I'm the best person for the job.” Teagan bit her lip over a pause. “Polite conversation isn't exactly my forte.”

“Polite conversation is for amateurs,” he said. “Tell me something important.”

A streak of shock popped through her veins. “You want me to tell you something personal?” That Fentanyl must be knocking him sideways if he thought she was going to spill her soul.

“Yeah,” Adrian said on nothing more than a rumble. “Personal. What's your favorite ice-cream flavor?”

More laughter escaped in an unexpected burst, but at least it was a painless question. Poor guy probably
was
a little loopy from the meds. “Umm, wow. Coffee, I guess.”

“I could see that.” His voice was slow, and it dashed all the way down her spine, lingering only when it reached the lowest point between her hips. Desperate for something clinical to keep her busy, Teagan snatched a few packets of alcohol wipes. She tore one open and leaned in, dabbing methodically at a scrape above Adrian's eye.

“Ah.” She shook her head, giving the cut a closer look. “You've got a pretty nasty lac here. It's small, but looks kind of deep. I hate to tell you, but you're probably going to have to lose this piercing to have it stitched up.”

“Great,” he said, although the sarcasm didn't quite stick. “You can go ahead and take it out, I guess.”

Teagan made quick work of removing the stainless steel barbell, sliding it into a plastic bag before giving voice to the question in her head. “So how about you?”

“How about me what?” He angled the side of his face so it fit tight into the curve of her hand, and she scooped in a shallow breath at the increased contact.

“What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?” she murmured, surprised to find herself actually wanting to know.

His eyes went from warm hazel to smoky quartz in the time it took her to exhale, and he dipped his gaze to her mouth.

“Strawberry.”

“And what's so great about strawberries?” Oh hell. Was that her voice, all breathy and ridiculous?

“They're perfect.” He curled the fingers of his uninjured hand around hers, pulling her in and reducing the space between them to a mere sliver. With his stare resting right on her lips, he said, “And red.”

Before the word even sank in, Adrian lifted his mouth to hers in a slow stroke. His lips were the exact opposite of the rest of him, soft and accommodating, and Teagan gasped against them. He tasted like cinnamon, spicy and dangerous, and he tightened beneath her like he had every intention of parting her mouth with his own and discovering all of her. Her brain screamed that she should pull back, give him what-for, do
something
other than just sit there and let him kiss her, but all her good intentions fell prey to one simple fact.

She didn't want him to stop.

But then, just as quickly as he'd closed the space between them, Adrian pulled away, and the resulting rush of cool air brought Teagan back to earth with a hasty snap.

“Sorry. I . . .” Adrian trailed off, eyes at half-mast. “I'm so tired.”

“Close your eyes.” Thank God she'd at least faked her way back to her normal speaking voice. The sound of it steadied her ever further. “We'll be at Riverside in a couple of minutes.”

As if on cue, Evan leaned back and aimed his voice into the narrow pass-through, one eye still on the road as he hollered an ETA of ninety seconds. Teagan shucked her gloves and swept up the debris in the rig, double-checking Adrian's vitals even though her own probably looked like a skyline shot of Mount Everest. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in smooth rhythm. She'd given him enough Fentanyl to knock out a basketball team, so it really wasn't a shock that he'd gotten a little goofy. He probably wouldn't even remember kissing her when his eyes opened up again.

The smartest thing she could do was forget it, too.

“Mr. Holt, my name is Dr. Russell. I'm one of the specialists down here in the emergency department.” The guy crossed the curtained-off area to shake Adrian's good hand, but thankfully didn't dive into any more pleasantries. He'd been here for hours as it was, and he'd been itching to leave from the minute he'd been rolled through the door, half-cocked and thinking of summer fruit.

Holy shit, kissing Teagan had been stupid. And hot.

And stupid.

But the cadence of her laughter had been so oddly soothing, he'd been helpless to stop. The rich, velvety sound had covered him like warm honey on fresh-baked bread, sliding over his senses until he could taste it on his lips and under his tongue. Everything had disappeared save the push and pull of the moment, until her lush, red mouth was the only thing on the planet.