Thin Ice (3 page)

"So did I."

"Can you sit up by yourself?"

He offered her a dry look. “Of course."

"Then whenever you're ready, Mr. Cameron."

He closed his eyes and moved forward, moving much more slowly than she would have expected of a man his age, with his physique.

She scanned his broad shoulders and lean hips, and suspected there wasn't an ounce of fat on him. She also suspected he'd taken quite a beating tonight, and wondered again why he hadn't demanded medical attention sooner. He had to be in pain. A lot of pain. What had realy happened in that bar?

She looked into his battered face, found him watching her again, and decided she'd be better off not knowing.

"Do you feel up to taking a walk?"

"A walk?"

Emily almost smiled at his confusion. Almost. “I'm not a faith healer, Mr. Cameron. I can't help you without examining you. For that we need to move you into a treatment room."

Clearly he considered the prospect of moving unappealing. “It's only next door, but if you don't feel you can make it on your own, I can cal an orderly—"

"I'l walk."

So he had an ego. No surprises there. “Fine. If you'l folow me..."

She heard him enter the room behind her as she snapped on her examination gloves. She turned and found him sitting on the gurney, legs spread, hands curled over the gurney's edge. Waiting.

Watching. Watching her.

She decided not to wait for his chart. “I'l look at your hands first,” she said as she moved forward.

"Not unless you tel me your name."

"My name?” She stopped and looked down to where her nametag should be. She must have left it at home. Beside the bed she'd had to vacate in such a hurry, thanks to this man.

"I told you mine, but we never got to yours."

"I'm Doctor Jordan."

"I want to know your first name."

"That's not necessary."

His dark, steady eyes captured hers. “I disagree."

Suddenly Emily understood how Eric Cameron had felt confident enough to take on fifteen men. The man had self-confidence to spare. She doubted there was any sort of confrontation he backed away from, and very few, if any, he lost.

But she was in charge here. “Which hand shal I check first, Mr.

Cameron?"

He considered her for another long moment, then held up a swolen right hand. She took it in hers and ran her fingers over it, feeling for right hand. She took it in hers and ran her fingers over it, feeling for broken bones. Finding none, she checked his left hand. “You're lucky. They're only bruised."

"Tel me about it."

Emily wished she'd apologized to Sarah. She could do with some moral support right now. This Cameron character rattled her more than most. “You instigated the fight, didn't you, Mr. Cameron?"

"That's what they say."

She paused, waiting for more. He didn't oblige.

"I'l check your face now."

He nodded. Emily moved closer, her thigh brushing his as she stepped between his spread legs. Their eyes met, and in his she sensed a subtle change. Awareness of her as a woman, for certain, but also a lessening of the dark wariness in him. Acceptance of a sort, perhaps even the beginnings of professional trust.

Encouraged by the thought, she did her best to examine his face as carefuly as she had his hands. He didn't move so much as a muscle.

In fact, he hardly seemed to breathe.

"Your face looks good too,” she said, and stepped back. “It's a little swolen, but nothing that won't take care of itself.

He exhaled and she caught a whiff of stale alcohol. But not before she saw him flinch. Another case of bruised ribs, she guessed.

she saw him flinch. Another case of bruised ribs, she guessed.

Possibly broken. She'd have to get his shirt off to check. The thought had a thoroughly unprofessional effect on her insides. She wondered where the devil Sarah was with that chart. Or Susan. Or anyone.

"What were you drinking?” she asked, as she searched the cabinet beneath the sink for a cloth to clean up his hands and face. The disposable wipes were more likely to sting. Why that thought bothered her, she wasn't sure. It didn't usualy.

"What was I drinking? Beer, bourbon.” He gave a short, oddly deprecating laugh. “More beer."

Emily turned on the faucet a little harder than she'd meant to. She realy had a problem with men who drank irresponsibly. “How much did you have?"

"What difference does it make?"

"None,” she countered cooly. “As long as you don't mind coming back later to have your stomach pumped after taking the painkilers I plan to prescribe."

"Don't need any damn painkilers,” he muttered.

Emily chose to ignore that as she focused on wiping his hands free of dirt and dried blood. She'd dried his hands and applied ointment to the cuts before asking, “Can you take off your shirt?"

He looked startled. “What for?"

Emily frowned. Why the surprise? Surely he wasn't shy about his body. He didn't seem to be shy about anything else. “I suspect you may have a bruised or broken rib ... or two."

"Two's right,” Eric informed her matter-of-factly. “Bruised them last week. Had them looked at, too. You don't need to do it again."

His doctor's amazing green eyes narrowed sharply, and she started to say something, but apparently thought better of it. In that moment, Eric decided Emily Jordan had the prettiest red hair and clearest complexion he'd ever seen. She wasn't wearing any makeup, either. No way was he going to let anyone that perfect see the damage the Wild had done to him tonight.

Besides, gloves or no gloves, he wasn't sure he could trust his body not to respond if she put those incredibly gentle hands on his chest.

Hel. She thought he'd been disappointed she was a woman. His only disappointment was they'd met under such humiliating circumstances.

"But thanks anyway. Emily,” he added, trying out the name he'd overheard someone cal her in the hal.

Her jaw tightened as she turned away to rinse out her washcloth.

Eric smiled. The lady had a temper, but was doing her best to keep it under wraps. When she returned, fuly composed again, to doctor his face, he closed his eyes and enjoyed himself. Beneath the scent his face, he closed his eyes and enjoyed himself. Beneath the scent of soap and antiseptic, she smeled faintly of peaches. Memories he'd shoved aside because they hurt too much filtered into his mind and, strangely enough, for the first time, they didn't seem so painful.

More like nostalgic for a change.

"Was that when you got your black eye? Last week?"

He opened his eyes to see her studying his shiner. Emily. He liked the name. He liked her, temper and al.

"No, that was last Thursday night."

She dabbed at the souvenir Murder had left on his cheek. “How often do you get into fights, Mr. Cameron?"

"As often as I have to."

She studied him for a long moment, clearly debating whether to get personal with him. Eric suddenly hoped she would. Hoped hard.

"I would think,” she said quietly, “That seeing you come home black and blue al the time would be hard on your family."

She couldn't have struck a more sensitive nerve if she'd tried. No one cared what he came home looking like, and hadn't for years.

“No problem there, Doc. Don't have a family. So you can stop wondering if I'm beating anybody up at home, too."

Her eyes flashed, but she didn't take the bait. “How about your Her eyes flashed, but she didn't take the bait. “How about your job? What does your boss say when you show up for work looking like this?"

Eric stared. She had to be kidding. But she wasn't. He knew that now. He'd been watching her al night, waiting for her to recognize him, but the woman had no clue what he did for a living. For a split second he considered teling her, then decided that once, just once, he wanted to be able to meet a woman as a man, not as Eric Cameron, seven-time-NHL-Al-Star center and current involuntary captain of the fledgling Minneapolis Saints.

He offered his best smile. “Most of the time he probably figures he's getting his money's worth."

She frowned, looking adorable, then turned away and reached for the tube of ointment. Silently she applied the cool ointment to the cut on his cheek. Stump and the rest of the team would howl if they could see him now, being fussed over like this.

But Eric was enjoying every minute of it. The warmth of her fingers was an almost erotic contrast to the cool ointment.

He wished he had more cuts for her to doctor. He also wished she didn't have to wear those damned gloves.

"What were you fighting about tonight?"

His mind was stil on how her bare hands would feel against his skin. “Hel if I know,” he drawled contentedly.

skin. “Hel if I know,” he drawled contentedly.

She straightened abruptly, and recapped the tube of ointment with a snap. “Then you deserve what you got."

"Oh?” Her sudden shift in attitude soured his melowing mood. “Tel me, Doctor Jordan, is that a medical opinion or a personal one?"

Emily gritted her teeth. She'd taken enough verbal abuse for one night, thank you. She started to tel him he was free to go when he suddenly shifted forward. Reflexively, Emily froze. He was stil seated, but his body had become an unmistakable instrument of intimidation. Fear snaked down her spine as she forced herself to hold her ground, thinking she was a fool for it. He was easily a foot taler than she and at least a hundred pounds heavier.

"You don't like me much, do you, Doctor?"

Her voice went tight. He was too close. Too big. “Don't worry about it.” Damn it, where was Sarah?

"I won't. But only if you have dinner with me."

"What?” Emily stared, incredulous. “Have you lost your mind?"

Eric grinned. He could lose a lot more to this spunky lady if she'd give him half a chance. Brainy women fascinated him, but they didn't as a rule hang out in the sort of places hockey players frequented.

This one intrigued the hel out of him with her big green eyes and oh-so-gentle hands.

oh-so-gentle hands.

"Possibly.” He smiled his most disarming smile. “So how about it?

Feel like sharing life stories over pasta and pesto sauce? Say Thursday night? Five o'clock?"

"No."

"No? Just like that? No ‘I'l think about it—give me your number and I'l let you know?’”

"No."

He waited, watching her again, but she didn't back down. Didn't offer any excuses or apologies. Just held her ground. He liked that in her. Most women he met fawned al over him. “You're not big on compromise, are you Dr. Jordan?"

"I'm not big on men who enjoy violence, Mr. Cameron. Or men who drink. I find the fact that you clearly enjoy both appaling and repulsive. Now if you'l excuse me, I'm sure that by now I have other patients to see. Be sure to check with the front desk before you leave."

Eric felt as if she'd hooked his skates out from under him. Stunned, he watched her calmly turn her back on him, remove her gloves, and toss them into the trash.

Appalling and repulsive?

Okay, appaling he could deal with. But repulsive? The woman found him repulsive? He couldn't believe it. Not after that flicker of awareness that had passed between them when she'd first stepped up to examine his face. Not after the way she'd talked to him.

Not after the way she'd touched him. She'd been so gentle, so soothing, so unexpectedly—

He realized she was halfway out the door. “Emily. Wait."

She paused, her expression wary. He hesitated, and wondered if he was making a mistake. Maybe she realy wasn't interested in him.

But her opinion of him suddenly mattered. He needed to tel her who he was.

Great. You want to fall back on that one already? What happened to wanting to be accepted or rejected on your own merits? Coward.

"You, ah, never checked my ribs."

"I believe that was your decision, Mr. Cameron."

"I've changed my mind."

"Fine. I'l send in a nurse to help you undress."

The frost in her voice annoyed him. Especialy since he had no idea where it came from. He pushed off the gurney. “Forget the nurse.

We can manage without—"

We can manage without—"

Her eyes widened and she bolted. He went after her instinctively, catching her by the wrist as they entered the halway. “Wait. What the hel's going on—?"

He froze. He'd never seen such contempt in a woman's eyes. Or was it fear? Eric stared in disbelief. It was. Pure, raw fear. Hiding behind her contempt.

Holy hel, the woman was afraid of him. Terrified of him.

"Let the doctor go, Cameron, before anyone gets hurt."

He looked up to see his police escort not ten feet away. Behind them stood the white-haired doctor and two blonde nurses close to his own age, looking both wary and angry. He looked back at Emily, glaring up at him, her cheeks a deep, fiery red.

She was so smal. So delicate, her wrist so fragile beneath his hand.

No wonder he'd scared her, coming after her like that. Especialy after he'd come on to her so strong.

"I'm sorry,” he said, releasing her gently. “I never meant to frighten you."

She backed away and turned to the white-haired guy. “If you don't need me any more..."

He nodded. “Go home, Emily. You deserve some rest."

He nodded. “Go home, Emily. You deserve some rest."

She slipped past Eric and into the lounge.

"I'm sorry,” he said to the assembled group of onlookers, feeling a sudden need to explain. This whole evening wasn't like him at al.

None of it. But they didn't know that. “I didn't mean to upset her."

Emily returned just then, bundled up in a dark hat and coat and carrying a big black purse. She didn't speak to or look at anyone as she blew past the entire group and out the front door.