Knowing Vera (Romantic Suspense, Family Drama) (Chance for Love) (26 page)

Claire kicked his shin, reminding him of his price tag. The rest of the evening, he spent engrossed in complimenting her taste, her beauty, and her impeccable style. Married to one of the wealthiest men in the Valley, she was not averse to providing a little angel investing on the side. He took her hand across the table and caressed it, fixing her with eyes he hoped were full of desire.

“Damn!” A sharp voice emitted from the next table. “The fuckin’ build’s broken.”

Claire glared over her tiramisu. “This is the last time I’m slumming here with you.”

Dave winced and looked over. The young woman closed the cover on her iPad. “I have to go. The servers need rebooting.”

“You can’t do it remotely?” The boyfriend pushed his chair back and shoved something into his pocket.

“Security disabled it. Idiots.” The woman threw a wad of bills on the table and hurried out. Her boyfriend followed in a slow gait, but not before plucking a bill off the table.

Claire shuddered. “Such a foul mouth.”

Dave pulled out his wallet and signaled the waiter. He rolled a slow kiss across Claire’s palm. “Let’s take a bottle of Brunello back to my place.”

 * * *

Jen rushed toward Rey’s car while instant messaging with Greta, her boss. The engineers had another fix, but the build servers were unresponsive.
Yes, yes, on my way. No, can’t find my cell phone. Sorry.

Rey set the course on his GPS. A nerve rattled at the base of Jen’s neck. Shopahol was saved to his ‘Favorite Places’ list.

The muscle car roared onto the freeway. Rey tapped her. “Is this what it’d be like married to you?”

Jen stared at her iPad. His earlier attempt at proposing was insulting, ‘After all, no one would turn in his own wife,’ followed by a smooching sound. He hadn’t even bothered with a ring. Not that she wanted one. The blackmail and constant innuendo was enough of a bother. How would she ever get rid of him?

He jerked the steering wheel. “Bitch in the black Mercedes cut us off.”

Shaking his fist, he gunned his motor, passed them, and tapped the brakes.

“Can you stop playing games?” Jen typed on the virtual keyboard. “Greta’s going ballistic. Automation can’t run until the build is done.”

Rey lightened his foot from the gas pedal. “I asked you to marry me. You haven’t answered me.”

“You can’t be serious. You barely know me. Drive faster.”

“Don’t order me around.” He cut across three lanes of the freeway and exited on Shoreline Drive.

“This isn’t the way.” Jen pointed to the sign. The road grew darker, the GPS recalculating at every corner.

Rey meandered past deserted parking lots. Jen’s chest tightened. She searched for another car, anyone, her heart pounding furiously.
Keep calm. He’s traumatized from the war, going into extreme mode; let him drive it off.

He pulled the car off the pavement near a soccer field, leaving the lights on and the engine idling. Jen unbelted herself and cracked the door open. Rey twisted her wrist.

Pain shot up her arm. “Ow, ow. Let go.”

He turned her toward him. His breath hissed through clenched teeth. Rey’s face, so much like Rodrigo’s, loomed over her. But where Rodrigo’s eyes had been soft, Rey’s were hardened pinpoints of steel. Rey had been to Iraq and discharged for psychiatric stress.

Jen craned her neck, darting her gaze toward the open door. A single set of headlights lit the dark road and approached the field.

“Shit.” Rey reached to his left for the headlamp switch while cutting the ignition. Jen swung her right leg out the door, but Rey yanked her hair and clamped her neck in a rear chokehold.

The other car’s tires crunched on the gravel behind them. Jen thrashed and kicked the door wide open. But the moving car turned around, and the engine sounds faded into the night air. Her pulse crashing in her head, Jen dug her fingernails into his forearms.

Oh, God, help me.

Rey pinned his hardened face against hers. “You didn’t deny my brother. Answer me.”

Jen whimpered, begging for the tiniest sliver of air. A taste like burnt leaves gagged the back of her throat and jagged flashes doused her vision.

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Get to know Maryanne and Lucas in
Hidden Under Her Heart
, Chance for Love Series #2
—
a heartfelt love story mixed with controversy over difficult decisions.

Chance for Love Series #2

Excerpt Copyright © 2013 Rachelle Ayala

All Rights Reserved

Chapter 1

Maryanne Torres pointed the needle up and tapped the syringe.

“What are you doing?” The patient blinked, his once cocky grin tightening into a grimace.

“Making sure there are no air bubbles. Wouldn’t want one in your vein, would you?”

He jerked his arm back. “Wait, what happens if I get an air bubble?”

“You’d get an embolism, lightheadedness, shortness of breath, pass out and die. Nothing to worry about.”
Let’s see Mr. Big Flirt lob that one back.
“Hold still.”

Snickers came from the other nurses beyond the privacy curtain.

The man leaned forward, and the right side of his cheek dimpled. He flexed his bicep. “Bet I can break that tiny needle of yours.”

“And get it embedded in those precious muscles? I don’t think so. Chance of infection, septic shock—” She shook her head slowly. “Possible amputation.”

He closed his heartbreaker eyes and turned toward the curtain. “You win, little nurse.”

Arrogant wuss.
She might be a petite allergy nurse, but she held the advantage and the needle. It pierced his skin right below his shapely deltoid. He winced, and the dark freckles on his face danced over warm brown skin. A straight nose with a slight flair over full fleshy lips and a chiseled jaw blended into short cropped frizzy hair.

She rubbed his arm with alcohol—his body heat and a hint of cologne inviting her to linger.
Probably a player. Bet he flirts with all the nurses.
She picked up the second vial, cat and dog antigen.

“How many am I getting?” the man asked.

“Four. And since you’re new, it’ll be every week for six weeks until you’re at maintenance dose.”

He trained clear emerald eyes on her. “Guess I’ll be seeing a lot of you.”

Maryanne steadied her breathing and stuck the second needle deeper. “Luck of the draw. You might get Vera or Priya.”

“Ow! I have a swim meet coming up. Is my arm gonna be sore?”

She dabbed the tiny spots of blood with a tissue. “No, but you might experience massive swelling, itching, and an anaphylactic reaction.”

“Ana what?” He sucked in his breath.

Maryanne kept a straight face and gestured for his other arm. “Two more.”

She administered the dust mite shot. “Don’t worry. We observe you for forty-five minutes before letting you leave.”

“I hate needles. Did you have to poke so hard?”

Maryanne waved the last syringe, teasing. “I like poking you.”

He caught her wrist. His long fingers stroked the back of her hand while his thumb slowly circled her palm. “Not fair when I can’t poke back.”

Her hand warmed under his grip, and her willpower wavered. Ever since she swore off sex, she’d been tempted by a slew of hot guys. And Lucas Knight, by the stats on his chart, was an inferno—6’ 1”, 179 lbs, a triathlete, blood pressure 110/65, resting heart rate in the fifties. Her gaze raked his bare chest dotted with sprinkles of tight curls. Would they feel soft or coarse?

“Last shot, then forty-five minutes in the waiting room to make sure you don’t have a seizure.” She tamped down her hormones and drilled the needle into his firm upper arm.

“Yeow! You hit a nerve. What’cha do that for?” His deep voice vibrated close to her ear.

Because I’m not gonna let you play me.
Maryanne handed him a tissue. “I’ll call you in forty-five.”

She couldn’t fall off the wagon this quickly, not with the bet she had with Vera. Whoever held out the longest and received a marriage proposal would win a spa weekend and a chance at happily ever after. At twenty-seven, Maryanne was tired of being burned, and the man in front of her was volcanic hot. She suppressed a sigh as Lucas pulled on a tight long-sleeved jersey.

“What?” His gaze detoured to her chest before resting on her eyes. “Hasn’t the pleasure of pain and torture been enough? My arm’s tingling and buzzing. I might pass out any minute, drop my blood pressure and die, and you don’t even care?”

She disposed the used needles in the red Sharps container and closed his chart. “I’m on break now.”

“Cool. Let’s grab a cup of coffee.” He pulled aside the privacy curtain and swept his hand in an after-you gesture.

Her pride would have been hurt had he not hit on her, but she’d show him she was not to be trifled with. She took her purse from under the table and opened the door to the waiting room. “You. In the waiting room, in case you have to be resuscitated.”

He followed her. “It’s a free country.”

“Mr. Knight.” Maryanne put on her most professional tone. “The waiver you signed says K-care is not responsible for you if you don’t follow the policies. Someone has to watch you in case you have a reaction to the shots.”

He opened the door for her. “I’ll be okay since I’m with you. Come on, let’s grab a bite.”

The swell of his full lower lip spread, triggering fantasies of more than a mere bite.

She flicked her shoulder-length hair at him. “Follow me if you want, but I’m not giving mouth-to-mouth.”

He was definitely a looker, possibly mixed race, with a smooth baritone voice guaranteed to melt cold steel. He caught her eye and winked. Her face heating, she quickened her pace through the automatic doors. He stumbled after her and collapsed, grabbing his throat and coughing.

“Mr. Knight. Oh, my gosh!” Maryanne poured out the contents of her purse. “My EpiPen, where is it?”

She fumbled for a pulse while bystanders formed a circle, peppering the air with excited exclamations. Lucas’ body jerked with spasms. She had to do something, so she took a deep breath and plastered her mouth over his. His chest tightened and thrashed under her. He was having a seizure, going into shock, choking from lack of oxygen.

“Over there, over there,” someone shouted.

Beads of sweat prickled her forehead, and she blew again. A hand caressed the back of her neck, and the lips underneath hers puckered. A light breath fanned from his nostrils and…
What the?
A velvety tongue swept her upper palate with tantalizing grace, and the air was sucked from her lungs. Her head swirled, and her lips responded hungrily, unable to pull away from his minty, refreshing taste.

Cheers and applause rang from the crowd.

“She saved his life.”

“Woo hoo! Hot! I got it on video.”

“Mommy, that man’s faking,” a child’s voice piped in.

Maryanne covered her mouth and gaped at the audience while Lucas rolled on the ground holding his stomach. A gale of laughter erupted from his chest.
Asswipe.
Even worse, she’d kissed him back and liked it.

A security guard helped her up. “Everything okay? Man having a seizure or what?”

“No, he’s fine.”
But I’m not.
Head down, Maryanne gathered her belongings and wove through the dispersing crowd.

~~~

Maryanne ducked into the allergy clinic the next morning and hit the switch raising the roll-up shutters to the waiting room. No receptionist was on duty, but patients had checked in with Bariatrics across the hall. A colorful mixed bouquet sat on the receptionist’s counter.

“Who left these here?” Maryanne asked the patients. “We’re not supposed to have flowers in the allergy clinic.”

No one replied. The note card was addressed to “Nurse.” Real bright, not! They were probably for Vera, her best friend. Petite and beautiful, she had a string of suitors, although none the marrying type. Her last boyfriend ended up in state prison for kidnapping and accessory to murder.

A young woman coughed and hunched over with her hands on her knees. Maryanne hurried to help her into the clinic.

“Patient having an asthma attack,” she announced.

Her boss, Dr. Lee, rushed over. “Put her on a nebulizer with a dose of albuterol. And if that doesn’t resolve, a shot of epinephrine.”

“You’re going to be okay.” Maryanne prepared the medicine and strapped the nebulizer mouthpiece over the woman’s head. “Take a deep breath and hold it as long as you can, then breathe normally.”

The patient nodded weakly, her eyes wide open, but her breathing stabilized after a few puffs.

“We’ll have you rest for thirty minutes,” Maryanne said. “Someone will check on you, but if you need anything, please pull this string.”

Maryanne asked Priya, the senior nurse, to monitor the woman and went back to her workstation to prepare for her next patient.

Dr. Lee’s hand rested on her table. “Get rid of the flowers.”

“Yes, sir.” She grabbed the bouquet from the receptionist’s desk and bumped into Vera at the door.

“You’re late,” Maryanne said. “Dr. Lee’s pissed, and you have to remove your flowers. I have a patient due in a few minutes.”

“I had to drop off my niece, and the traffic was horrible.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it for the boss.” Maryanne shoved the bouquet into Vera’s hands.

“Hey, I covered you yesterday after your long break. Jerry from Security said you saved a patient’s life. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Maryanne went back to her computer and navigated to her patient schedule. Lucas Knight’s booming laughter echoed from the day before. He hadn’t respected her, thought she was easy. Jerk!

Priya tapped her shoulder. “Your first patient’s here, and those flowers are for you. Vera took them to Bariatrics to hold them.”

“Who are they from?”

“Ask Vera,” Priya said. “But you better tell whoever it is to stop.”

Maryanne thanked her. Priya was the one who convinced Maryanne and Vera to quit sex and wait for a marriage proposal. All that resulted were several men who went all out and lost interest when she wouldn’t put out. Not that they had bodies worth compromising for. Not like an athlete’s with firm, taut muscles. She shook off the image of Lucas’ inviting chest and picked up Mrs. Soto’s paperwork.

Greeting Mrs. Soto, Maryanne led the way to the examination room. She turned a corner and bumped into an open file drawer. Charts scattered on the floor. Maryanne grumbled under her breath and felt like punching the wall. Why was she so easily frustrated these days?

“Feeling okay?” Mrs. Soto said while Maryanne picked up the papers. The motherly-looking woman was a longtime patient and always gave the younger nurses advice. “Man trouble?”

Maryanne attached a blood pressure cuff and pressed the button to start the reading. “Just the usual jerks hitting on me.”

Mrs. Soto’s eyebrows bent in a quizzical angle. “Hold out for the one who’s different. Remember what we talked about last time?”

“Yes, don’t give in.” Maryanne detached the cuff. “Normal, 125/76, you’re doing great.”

Mrs. Soto rubbed her arm. “There’ll be someone who thinks you’re special. Mark my words.”

If only there were. Maryanne entered the data for the breathing test and encouraged Mrs. Soto while she took a deep breath and blew into the tube.

She left Mrs. Soto in the doctor’s office and called another patient for a skin test. She had nonstop allergy shots the rest of the morning and used her break to catch up on patient e-mails. When lunchtime rolled around, she was the last one left.

Maryanne slung her purse over her shoulder and pushed the button to lower the rolling shutters to the waiting room. She swept scattered plant and flower fragments from the counter to the wastebasket. A light-brown hand slipped under the corrugated metal right before it hit the counter top. Maryanne tripped over the receptionist chair and missed the switch, but the shutters reversed automatically.

Lucas Knight flashed a sideways grin and rubbed his upper arm. “My arm’s swollen, and I wonder if you could take a look at it.”

Yeah, right. More like something else is swollen.
She pushed the button to lower the shutters. “Sorry, I’m on lunch break. Don’t try that again.”

She locked the clinic and strode past him, keeping her eyes averted. His footsteps paced behind her. The automatic doors opened, and bright sunlight assaulted her. She fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses, and her EpiPen fell onto the ground.

Lucas picked it up. “Ever poke yourself with one of these?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.” She put on her sunglasses.

His upper lip twitched. “Want me to try?”

She snatched the EpiPen and marched toward her car. Maybe if she ignored him, treated him like a pesky mosquito, he’d get the hint and leave. That fake-choking scene wasn’t funny and neither were his pickup lines.

He tailed her to the side of her car. “Nice wheels, a Ford Focus Electric? I’ve never driven an electric.”

“Dealer’s down the street.” She crossed her arms. This guy had the social skills of a gnat and the body of a stallion. Her eyes involuntarily settled on his too tight jeans. And why did he have to wear those stretchy racing jerseys? The kind with a single zipper down the front.

“I’d rather drive around with you. I’d feel safer with my own nurse.” He put his hand out. “Miss Torres, I presume.”