Fair Play (61 page)

Emerson Rose is a self-proclaimed sun worshiper and summer lover who loves nothing more than to be poolside with any of her five daughters or two granddaughters. Emerson lives in the Midwest, however, so most of the year is spent in coats and boots instead of swimsuits and flip-flops.

Emerson spends her weekdays carpooling, writing romance, doing laundry, and letting dogs in and out and in and out of the house.

On the weekends she’s a busy O.B. nurse in a nearby hospital helping women have babies. So you could say she works both ends of the life spectrum, first she writes the romance that makes couples frisky and then she shows up nine months later to catch the baby!

Emerson is also a big fan of love and happily ever afters.

“
I’ve been bitten by the love bug and I can’t resist sharing that feeling. I write about strong intelligent women and confident, competitive, dominant men who want to believe they are in control. But hey let’s face it we all know who’s behind all that confidence
.” – Emerson Rose

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I'm going to do my best not to leave anyone out this time, but if I do, please forgive me!

Thank you to my daughters. They are the people who suffer as well as benefit the most from my writing career. I promise more popcorn nights with Scream and Teen Wolf in the near future!

Thank you, Patricia and Winter, for taking a chance on an unknown author and most of all for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Becoming a full-time author was just a distant dream until Prism Heart Press took me on and now it’s a dream come true. For that, I will be forever grateful.

Thank you, Jaye Hart, for making sure readers in Facebook groups everywhere don’t forget about my books and for keeping my street team hoppin. You’re my number one pimper!

Thank you LJ at Mayhem Cover Creations for yet another spectacular cover, this one is extra hot, I love it!

Thanks to the Blurb Bitch for writing my favorite blurb to date!

Thank you, Wendy, at Passionate Proofreaders for dolling up my words and making them ready for the world.

And last but never least a big thanks to all of the authors at Prism Heart Press for being my cheerleaders. And a special shout out to Saylor Bliss who is the loudest most obnoxious yet lovable cheerl
e
ader I’ve ever known!

King’s Baby – Bad Boy Heroes Book One

Playboy’s Baby – Bad Boy Heroes Book Two

Major’s Baby – Bad Boy Heroes Book Three

Page ahead for your sneak peek of Emerson’s next Bad Boy Trilogy!

FOUND – Bad Boy Kiss Series Book One

Chapter One

When I was nineteen years old my little girl dreams of a husband, two kids and a cute little house in the suburbs went up in smoke. I was attacked by three men outside a bar, kidnapped for three days followed by three years in hospitals recovering. Who ever said good things come in threes was dead wrong.

It was a life altering experience that ignited a fire inside of me to help others the way my nurses had helped me.

I’ve been a nurse at Seattle Trinity Hospital for ten years. Ten years of being single and focusing on just my career and my family. My life has become one long cycle of work, sleep, rinse and repeat but that’s the way I like it. 

I make my way down the corridor to the ICU where I work and prepare myself for the long shift ahead.

“Hey Imani!” Courtney shouts, from the break room. Courtney is one of my closest co-workers and she’s also designated herself as my own personal cupid.

“I’ve got something special for you tonight!”

Oh great, she sounds excited, that is not a good thing. She’s either found me another prospective suitor or she’s made one of her famous ass augmenting chocolate fudge cakes. Neither of which do I need, at all.  

“So what’s up, a new patient?” God, please let it be an interesting patient with a crazy diagnosis she thinks I’ll be fascinated with.

“Yep and you’re gonna love him.” Great, it’s a
him
. Courtney loves to try and set me up but with a patient? That’s going too far, even for her. She doesn’t know about my past, nobody other than my family does. She has good intentions but I have my reasons for not dating and I don’t want to talk about them with her.

“So, is he crazy or combative?” I hope it’s one of the two but I suspect it’s neither. “Let me have it, what am I dealing with for the next twelve hours?”

“The guy in bed eight was in a car accident this morning, his passenger was DOA and he’s is in rough shape. He has a fractured leg and a head injury, swelling of the brain, you know, the usual. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet though.”

“Yea so? Sounds like a typical patient for the ICU.”

“Oh there is nothing typical about this guy. You’ll see when you go in there. I made sure he was assigned to you. His family hasn’t been here yet. The house supervisor found out he has a sister that lives out of state. We called her, she’s supposed to be on her way.”

“Okay, Courtney I’m confused. What are we talking about here,
Hunchback of Notre Dame
or something?  I’m curious why this guy is such a big deal?”

“I’m not saying another word but I am going to stay until shift change. I want to see your face after you’ve gotten report on him and done your
assessment
,” she sings ‘assessment’ like a little kid.

I roll my eyes, “All right but don’t expect me to fall in love with a comatose patient. Even I’m not that desperate.”

“Mm, hmm, sure.” She pretends to turn a key on her lips and throws the imaginary key over her shoulder.

Working in a small private hospital has its advantages. All of our rooms are private we have excellent staffing, top-of-the-line equipment and we take care of elite patients who are wealthy and almost always famous. I’ve cared for professional athletes, movie stars, singers and business moguls so to say it’s not easy to impress me after ten years is an understatement.

You wouldn’t know you were in a hospital if the sign out front didn’t say
Seattle Trinity.
There are water fountains in the waiting rooms and the walls are adorned with beautiful artwork made by local artists. Most of the time it feels more like a posh hotel than a hospital.

  I sit outside room eight and listen to Lola the day nurse as she gives me report. When she’s finished I’m wondering if Courtney’s lost her marbles. This guy seems like a typical MVA patient to me.

I walk into the large spacious room where the bed is placed in the center of the room surrounded by all of the equipment we need to keep people alive.

Monitors beep and hum as they read the patient’s vital signs and heart rhythms. Behind it all are floor-to-ceiling glass windows that look out over one of the many thick plush green forests of Seattle, Washington. It’s a breathtaking view even if most of the patients here never get to see it. The mystery man in bed eight is named Marcus Castillo.

Being a veteran nurse I begin my assessment the second I enter the room but I pause mid step when I see his face. My breath hitches in my throat and my mouth is parched. My pulse quickens and the tips of my fingers tingle with a mind of their own that longs to touch him.

I feel like I’m one end of a life-sized magnet being pulled toward him. Mr. Castillo reminds me of one of the Greek Gods from the movie 300, all muscles and brawn smeared with dirt and blood from battle. 

Abrasions cover his face and bruises have begun to show up dark and ugly across his cheek. A softball-sized knot mars his otherwise perfect forehead but the most disheartening injury is the cut that slices through the bow of his amble top lip. Whoever is lucky enough to kiss those lips will be sad to see it blemished.

During report I learned that he drove his car over the side of the I-90 Bridge into Lake Washington. His passenger died before they could get the car out of the water. How this man survived a miracle.

As far as nurses go I am pretty confident. I can handle most personalities but something about this man emanates power and danger. Even with a severe head injury and unconscious something about him demands my attention and makes me feel uneasy.

I round the bed and attempt to stay focused on assessing just his but it’s not easy. I don’t know how I’m supposed to think about the well being of this man when I’m so distracted by his looks and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

He’s athletic and lean his powerful square jaw is covered with a five o’clock shadow. His hair looks like it’s thick and dark brown when it isn’t full of blood and glass shards. If I had to guess I’d say he is of Latin descent. His skin is a deep bronze and he has a Mediterranean look about him. Most impressive is Mr. Castillo’s size. He is at least 6 feet 4 inches of solid, lean muscle. His body fills the hospital bed from top to bottom and then some.

I shake myself from my stupor and lean over to assess his injuries as I would with any patient, although I know already that he isn’t going to be just any patient.

I press the blood pressure button and stand for a moment drinking him in as the cuff inflates. The beeping of the machines, IV’s and his presence combined are hypnotizing. When the cuff releases I can hear his soft, regular breathing as I fold the sheet down to his waist to listen to his heart.

I’m face-to-face with this God like man, who somehow intimidates the hell out of me with his eyes closed. Though in a coma the space between his eyebrows is pinched into a soft scowl making me wonder if it’s part of a permanent expression. He must scowl an awful lot.

I’ve never ogled a patient until today but there’s no other way to describe my unprofessional wandering eyes. It should be embarrassing but there is no one here to judge.

My gaze drifts over his defined muscular chest covered with air bag abrasions. The strong smell of lake water assaults my nostrils. In all aspects he is a complete mess but my body couldn’t care less. My heart is pounding in my chest and my hands are slick with perspiration. 

I’ve been a nurse for over ten years. I’ve seen it all.
Why on earth is this guy making me feel so, I don’t know, weird?

I check him over once from head to toe and make sure his leg is aligned, as it should be in the traction. Everything seems to be in order and for all intents and purposes I’m finished but I can’t manage to pull myself away from him.

I’m cemented at his bedside with an overwhelming urge to communicate with him. And even though I know he’s unconscious I lean down and whisper into his ear, “You’re going to be ok. I’ll take care of you until you wake up.”

Nothing.

I’m not sure what I expected. He’s not sleeping beauty, well, he is beautiful and he’s sleeping but not in the destined-to-wake-from-a-fairy-tale-spell at the sound of my voice kind of way.

When I take care of coma patients I narrate my actions on the off chance that they can hear me and will know what I’m doing. I’ve always been well aware of my boundaries and this is the first time in my career that I’ve ever come close to crossing them.

I pick up his well-manicured hand and hold it in both of mine. I stand there for several minutes staring at him until Courtney comes to the door and I drop his hand like a hot ember. I jump and step away snapping the invisible rubber band that was pulling us together.

“Ha, I knew you’d think he was hot.” she says, eyes bright and playful.

“Courtney, shush, he might hear you!” I move toward the door to nudge her out and close the door behind us.

“Can you believe that guy’s body? He has muscles that never quit. Did you check him out under the covers?”  Courtney says, wiggling her eyebrows.

A sense of protectiveness surges through me and I want her to stop talking about
my
patient.

“He’s not a piece of meat, Courtney. Give the guy a break he’s been through a lot.”

“Oh come on, Imani, you gotta admit, it’s nice to have eye candy to look at while you’re at work. Shit, it’s my favorite benefit of working in this hospital, hot, famous, rich people to gossip about.” 

“Yea but he’s, I don’t know.” I shake my head. It’s hard to explain something to Courtney that I don’t even understand myself.

“Gorgeous, panty melting hot? Yeah duh, that’s why I had him assigned to you. I gotta get going, ta ta, enjoy your evening with Mr. Lover boy,” she says making a clucking sound with her tongue while pulling the trigger of her air gun to shoot me.

“I thought cupid had a bow and arrow not a gun.” I say.

She smiles and turns on her heel to head to the elevator.

I sigh, “Later Courtney, see you in the morning.”

“Okidoki Artichokie,” she says, and waves goodbye over her shoulder.

Okay so she’s a well-intended
dorky
cupid but she’s still my friend.

Marcus is due for some medication. When I return with it that same irresistible pull consumes me. This guy is messing with my head. I have never had feelings like this for a man before. In fact I’ve never had any good feelings for a man other than my father.

The last decade of my life I’ve spent running in the opposite direction away from men avoiding relationships like the plague. 

My attack left me broken and damaged beyond repair. Or so I thought until a complete stranger drew me in with his mysterious forces and caused me to whisper promises into his ear.

I push the medication into his IV and contemplate this stranger’s face wondering things like what color are his eyes and what might he be like when he wakes up.

Lost in thought I’m startled when Sam pokes her head into the door.

“Sorry, Imani, I need some help in room 7, do you have time?” 

“Sure, sure, I’ll be right there.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts and follow Sam to the room next door.

The rest of my shift is uneventful. Marcus lies still and beautiful in his room lit by the screens of his medical equipment. I sit outside his room watching through the window that separates him from my charting station. He holds my attention like a blockbuster movie on opening night.

Hours later I check the time and I realize I don’t want to leave him when my shift ends. Any other day I am knocking people down trying to get out of here after twelve plus hours of demanding work but not today. Today the thought of leaving Marcus alone with no family to comfort him feels wrong.

I report off to the day nurse with an uneasy heart and stop to check on him before I go.

Without thinking I whisper into his ear again, “I’m leaving but I’ll be back for you.”

I squeeze his hand and turn to leave.

What am I doing? He’s a perfect stranger, with an emphasis on
perfect
but a stranger all the same. If one of my coworkers were whispering sweet nothings into their comatose patient’s ear I think I’d have to sit them down and have a serious talk about professionalism in the work place.

Outside in the parking garage the exhaustion of working so many shifts in a row hits me hard. Nonetheless the further I travel away from the hospital the more angst I have about leaving. Maybe I should slow down on the extra overtime shifts? I think my judgment is being impaired by my lack of sleep.

That’s it Imani, blame it on sleep deprivation. When I wake up this afternoon I will have forgotten all about the handsome captivating man in bed eight who has me loosing my damn mind. Right?