Burn (2 page)

Tate grabbed his
medical chart, cradling it to her chest so her trembling hands would have
something to hold tight to. “A nurse will come by in a few minutes to give you
your prescription and instructions on aftercare. Good luck, Ryan.” She grabbed
for the doorknob in a desperate attempt to flee the suddenly claustrophobic
exam room.

“What? Wait!”
Before she could open the door, he was on his feet and blocking her exit with a
large hand splayed across the frame. “Tate, don’t go yet. There are things that
I … I need to say something, all right?”

For the longest
time she stared through the narrow window in the door, hoping someone would see
her standing there and summon her outside, request her help, anything to get
her away from Ryan Hart and the memories flooding through her like the dam had
burst that’d been holding them back.

“Look at me,
please,” Ryan said.

She took a deep
breath and turned to face him, shaking her head. “I don’t need to hear it,
Ryan. Whatever it is you think you have to say, I don’t need to hear it.”

“I’m sorry,
Tate.”

She
really
didn’t need to hear those words.
“For how long?”

He frowned. “I
don’t follow.”

“How long have
you been sorry? Eight years? Or just the twenty minutes that’s passed since I
walked through the door? My bet is on the latter. I would even hazard a guess
that neither I nor regret has crossed your mind until tonight.”

“That’s not true!”
He plowed a hand through his hair before propping them on his hips.

Tate refused to
look at his chest, at the way the soft cotton of his shirt clung to him. It
wasn’t even a real shirt, for God’s sake. It was an undershirt, washed a
thousand times and stretched tight across his torso. And it could stand to be a
size bigger, so it didn’t plainly emphasize the rounded swell of his pectorals,
the flat plain of his abdominals, and the rolling bulge of his biceps. Shirts
like that should remain hidden underneath other pieces of clothing, hence the
reason
why
they were called
undershirts.

If she tried
hard enough she could still remember how his skin would smell in that little shallow
divot between his pecs, after a shower, after a workout, after sex.
Stupid olfactory retention.

“I’ve always
been sorry, Tate.
Always
.
You have to believe me. I would’ve never left you like that if I hadn’t had a
damn good reason why.”

He looked so
incredibly sincere and contrite. Tate had to fight to keep her façade of
indifference and unhurt in place. “Then let’s hear it.”

He swallowed
hard. His mouth worked like he wanted to form words that wouldn’t come. Mute, he
shook his head at the floor.

“
It’s
fine, Ryan, really,” she said resignedly, though it
wasn’t. “It was for the best anyway. With my heavy course load and trying to
get into medical school, I didn’t need the distraction.”

The saying was
true—one lie does lead to another, and she’d just told a whopper. He’d been
nothing but supportive back then, a willing ear to listen, a distraction when
she needed it, her best friend. Ryan had been the one person who helped ease
her anxieties about her future.

And there was also
the great sex, a powerful stress reliever in itself.

“Oh, so that’s
all I was?
A distraction.
Like an aggravating wasp
trying to stick my stinger into you.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

If he thought he
was going to turn something heavy into something light he was sorely mistaken.
She was disappointed in herself, too, for still holding on to this much hurt
all these years later. It should’ve been long gone by now, just like she
thought he was, but obviously that wasn’t the case. Seeing him again brought it
all rushing back to the forefront.

Tate lifted her
chin. “Something
like
that.”

“Huh. I remember
things a lot differently. I seem to recall you liked my stinger.”

“You’re right,
Ryan. I did.” She forced a tight smile.
“Quite a bit
actually.
Right up until the moment it, along with its owner,
disappeared. No note, no phone call, nothing. The least you could’ve done was
written me a ‘Dear Jane’ letter so I didn’t wonder if you’d been hit by a bus. I
had to hear that you’d left school from your buddy, Robbie.”

He leaned closer,
and she drew back. Letting him into her personal space was treacherous. “Funny,
that sounds an awful lot like concern to me. I thought you said I was nothing
but a distraction.”

Tate pushed his
hand off the door and snatched it open. “Take care of that wound,” she said
before practically running to the nurse’s station.

She shoved the
chart at the first available nurse she encountered, giving her quick
instructions on what to do while she scribbled her signature on the paperwork, then
headed straight for the break room and her locker. Her shift was officially
over. She couldn’t get out of the hospital fast enough.

“You okay?”
Colleen said from behind her, making her nearly jump out of her skin.

She pasted on a
fake smile.
“Of course, why?”

“For one thing,
you have your sweater on inside out.”

“Shit.” Tate
stripped it off and fumbled with turning it right side out.

“I think you
should know he asked specifically for you, Tate.”

Tate dropped the
sweater, so she kicked the uncooperative thing into her locker and slammed the
door. Fuck it. She’d just be cold for a few minutes until she climbed inside
her car and warmed up. It was late March, not mid-January. She’d survive.

“I’m guessing
y’all might’ve meant something to each other at some point in the past.”

“Ah, you hit the
nail on the head there, Colleen.
In. The.
Past.
I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tate slung her backpack
over her shoulder and left the break room. She took the first bank of elevators
she came to, repeatedly pressing the down arrow as if that would summon it
there faster. As soon as the doors slid apart, she darted inside and hit the P1
button for the first level of the garage. The way the hospital was designed, a
good part of its parking lay underground. Unfortunately, a male hand breached
the gap at the last second. Slightly winded, Ryan stepped inside.

She should’ve
taken the stairs.

The only other
passenger, a tiny older lady with a shock of white hair and a purple cane,
looked up at Ryan questioningly.

“Oh, I’m going to
the garage, too, thanks,” he said with a smile that could coax flowers into
blooming early. The woman smiled back and grabbed the handrail.
Probably to steady herself from all the testosterone wafting over
her.
It was hard enough on a young person. A person her age was liable
to have a heart attack.

Tate just stood
there and glared, her back pressed to the stainless steel wall of the elevator
as it made the brief two-story drop. He wasn’t parked in the garage. Emergency
parking was in an altogether different area of the hospital. And wouldn’t you
know he’d have to look even hotter in that leather jacket.

When the doors
opened, Ryan stepped back, bracing his hand against them while the woman
shuffled past. Tom, one of the hospital’s security guards, pulled up on his souped-up
golf cart.

“Evenin’, Dr.
Reilly,” he said with a tip of his head.

“Hi,
Tom.”

“Need a ride?”

“No, thank you,
but I’m sure this nice lady would love one.”

Tom hopped off
and circled around the cart to assist the woman. When he was sure she’d settled
in the right spot, he drove away.

Tate ignored
Ryan and started walking toward her car, but naturally he followed. Of course
he did. He was going to trail her to her used Honda Accord that had seen its better
days and try to cauterize the wound he’d reopened. None of it mattered. He
could apologize ‘til the cows came home, but until he gave her a legitimate
reason
why
he’d hurt her so badly,
she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. It was in the past, like
she’d told Colleen, and that’s where it needed to stay. Or go back there post
haste.

She fumbled
through her backpack until she found her keys, which was another thing he’d
done to her—rattled her so thoroughly she didn’t automatically have them in her
hand when she stepped out of the elevator.
 
A basic yet vital rule of female safety and Ryan Hart had made her
forget it, as if she hadn’t done it every single night when her shift ended
without fail. Tate wanted to spin around and hurl the keys at his head in
frustration. Instead, she gritted her teeth and stuck them in the lock the
second she reached her car.

Ryan set his
helmet on the roof of the car, grabbed her by the arm and spun her around until
her back pressed against the door.

“
Wha
—” was all she managed to squawk before his mouth
covered hers.

Her resistance
melted faster than you could say “stat”. With a feeble whimper, she parted her
lips to let him inside. His tongue breached the gap while his arms made their
way around her waist, easing her away from the car and flush to his hard, hot body.

She knew better
than to let this happen. Allowing him to kiss her redefined the word stupid, yet
with every second the intoxicating kiss lasted, another layer of dirt lifted
off the memories she’d buried all those years ago.
Until they
were surrounding her, swamping her in their heat and intensity.
Until
she swore she could feel his bare skin pressed to hers and his weight between
her thighs.

Her hands had
somehow made their way up to his shoulders, her heels rising off the concrete
so she could get even closer to that delicious mouth of his. They’d always been
so good at this—kissing, coupling, fucking, whatever. Like two halves to a
whole, when they came together it was magic.

Ryan Hart was
the best bad thing she’d ever done.

But specific
words stood out from that thought …
bad
and
done
.

Regaining her addled
wits, Tate shoved him away from her, widening the gap as far as the space
between cars would allow. Both of them breathing heavily, they stared at each
other, mouths damp, fingers curled into nothing in the absence of something
physical. She nearly shivered at the loss.

The man was
dangerous to all parts of her body, not just her rusty libido.

“I’m back, Tate.
For good this time.”

“I’ll alert the
media.”

He laughed. “I
didn’t realize just how much I missed that smartass mouth of yours until I got
a true taste of it again.”

Tate picked up
her backpack from where she’d dropped it beside her feet. “Savor it ‘
cause
there won’t be a next time.”

Ryan reached out
and brushed his thumb across her tingling bottom lip. “We’ll see about that.”
He grabbed his helmet off the top of her car, tucking it under his uninjured
arm. “Drive safe.”

Growling under
her breath, she unlocked her car door and climbed inside, locking it back the
moment her butt hit the seat. Only now she wasn’t doing it to protect herself
from some random attacker.

Chapter
Two

There were
flowers waiting for her when she arrived at the hospital the next day. Tate
knew they were for her as soon as she spied them. She didn’t need to read the
card Colleen shoved at her with a smug smile.

It was an
enormous bundle of gladiolas in every shade known to man. Realizing that Ryan
remembered her favorite flower shouldn’t make her face hot and her blood pump
faster through her veins. Tate scrubbed at her sternum with her knuckles like
that would make the gooey feeling go away while she scowled at the gorgeous
bouquet so hard it was a miracle they didn’t wither and die on the spot.

“Aren’t you
going to read the card?” Colleen asked.

“Eventually.”
When she was in a better frame of mind and not feeling so
blindsided by Ryan’s gift.

“If I were in
your shoes, I’d strike while the iron’s hot on that one. He’s obviously still smitten
with you, and he’s gorgeous. You would’ve thought Brad Pitt walked in here last
night with the way all the women reacted.
Some of the men,
too.”

“I really don’t
understand all the fascination with Brad Pitt,” Tate said in an attempt to
change the subject. “Sure, he was cute in
Legends
of the
Fall
, but nowadays he’s got a padlock
around his dick and a brood trailing behind him. You know he probably smells
like Play-doh and pissy diapers.”

Colleen cracked
up laughing. “I still wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers. And you
don’t particularly care much for children, do you?”

Tate turned her
scowl on Colleen. “It’s not that I don’t
like
kids. Most of my contact with them is when they’re at their worst. I’m being
barfed on, screeched at, or assaulted.
Sometimes all of the
above.
Little jackasses are mean.”