22. The Nurse

TWENTY-TWO

THE NURSE

BECCA

"I

don't know how you got here, Princess, but I'm glad you are." Cam's voice, in a whisper, tickles like feathers on my cheek. We're snuggling on the most comfortable cloud of fluff, a hundred times better than Calista's couch. I'm lost with him, and if this isn't real, I don't want it to end.

His muscular arm protects me against him, keeping me close, away from Max and the bad guys. I inhale deeply. The scent of Cam, his manly musk of spicy devilish notes, hits right down between my thighs, heating me up.

"Mm. You're here. I waited so long for you." I cuddle into him more.

"I'm here. Always will be."

"Will you?"

"Yes."

Wait.

Cam? Bed? Arm?

He's behind me, but am I dreaming it? My hand rises, landing on his bicep. His warm skin feels every bit real. My fingertips drift along, playing on the ridges of his muscle. I want to explore every single one he has, and that would take some time because there are hundreds of them in the human body. With Cam, I want nothing but time, more time, to do it all, to give him the one thing I've given no one else.

This closeness feeds the yearning inside of me, burning between my thighs. I rub them together, seeking relief. Hardness pokes at my back, and my ass instinctively grinds against it.

A low, growling, guttural sound emanates from his chest, vibrating the bed, like he's a man on edge. "Stop moving. We shouldn't be here like this."

I don't like his stern warning.

"No talk. More touches, please," I beg, my voice sultry.

"We can't do this."

"Why not?" I pout in my half-state of awareness. "This is the perfect time. Take my V?—"

"Rebecca. Wake up." Cam's voice comes through firmly this time, and he withdraws his arm.He's serious because he never uses my full name.

I startle fully awake, my eyes adjusting, and take in the unfamiliar surroundings by the morning light filtering through a window. "Where am I?"

"My bed."

I gasp and twist to view him there, shirtless, only the sheet covering whatever is going on below his waist. "How'd I get here?"

"I don't know. When we got back early this morning. Kallie was asleep in her bed. You were here. I was too fucking weak and in too much pain to do anything but collapse on this side and fall asleep."

"Oh, Cam. I was so worried about you." I fling my arms around his neck and squeeze.

Everything rushes back to me. I'd fainted at the sight of my bloodied dress. When I came to, I must have had low blood sugar. Kallie fed me some applesauce to bring me around. Then I soaked in a nice long bath, luxuriating in a tub the like of which I haven't had the pleasure since I left my parents' home. She gave me a t-shirt, brought me here, and I promptly fell into a deep sleep.

Cam groans. The brawl and the hits and kicks Max and his crew landed on him must have bruised his entire body, and here I am holding him too tight.

I let him go. "Oh, God. Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere." He sits up gingerly, wincing, and leans against the headboard.

Nothing else matters. He's here. I want to inspect every inch of him to see for myself if he's okay. His face, though, his gorgeous face. His almost swollen shut eye catches my attention. He has stitches across a cut on the side of his forehead. A few scratches. Bruises on his arms and pecs.

His messy hair is still the way I like it, though, falling forward, a blue eye peeking out between the strands. My knees go weak.

"I know. It doesn't look good." He turns his face away from me.

"Are you kidding? This bad boy look totally works on you." It does. If he needs a good girl to tame this side of him, I'm first in line with my hand in the air. Pick me. I'm the virgin. Don't bad boys love virgins?

"Good. Stroke my ego more. I'm gonna need it after last night." He winces again, shifting, but at least making an attempt at humor.

"We both know you like things stroked." I try out humor, too, using one of his half-smiles for size, my lips curling up one side.

His eyes capture mine. "We need to talk, and we will, but we should get up. I think I hear Kallie making coffee."

"No. You should stay here and rest. I'll bring you coffee." I scramble off the bed, leaving the sheet behind, relieved to see I'm swimming in a t-shirt that falls to my knees and, yes, panties underneath. This is one of his, I presume, since the logo across my chest is of the Montreal Triumph team he played for.

It smells just like him. I will confiscate it. It's mine now.

He groans. "I'm fine. Just a cracked rib, some bruising. I'll be good enough to play our game tomorrow."

"So soon? You should take time off. How can the coaches put you in like this? What if it only makes the rib worse?"

"This is minor. If I can play hurt, I'll play. They tape me up, give me something for pain, and I'll hit the ice. No one will ever know my rib is tender."

" I'll know. Can I call your coach and call in sick for you?"

"It doesn't work like that." He shakes his head. "Come on. You dance. You ever tape up your leg or a twisted ankle or a tweaked knee just to get through a performance?"

"Yes, but it isn't ideal. What do you need today? Let me take care of you."

He huffs out a breath. "Don't worry yourself. I terrified you enough last night as it is."

"You have no idea. If something would have happened to you—" I cut myself off from finishing that sentence and work my throat. Our eyes lock.

"I'm fine, Princess." His whisper of assurance does little to calm me.

I sink back down on the edge of the bed, dying to wrap him in my arms again if it wouldn't hurt him. I want to care for him. He's damaged, beaten up, but God, he's so sexy. Maybe I should have been a nurse, because seeing him so vulnerable like this makes me want to put on a white uniform and give him a sponge bath.

"Becca? That coffee would be good now. I literally cannot function in the morning with a cup of coffee first." His request snaps me out of it. So does my phone ringing on the bedside table.

I reach for it, expecting it to be Calista checking on me, but it's not. The number is from one of the places I applied to.

"Hello?" I get up and move to the window, shifting the sheer curtain back enough to get a view of the morning lights on the strip in Vegas in the distance.

"Becca Brooks? Hi, this is Naomi from the Excite Cheer and Gymnastics Studio. I'm pleased to call you today and offer you a part time teaching position."

Holy crap, but… "Part time?" It was supposed to be full time.

"One of our previous teachers is coming back, but can only work certain classes each week. That leaves two classes unattended. Would you still be interested?"

I'll take what I can get. A few minutes later, after making arrangements to come in for training, I return to Cam, who has swung his legs off the bed, sitting on the edge.

"Good news?" he inquires.

"I guess. I got the dance teacher position at the cheer studio, but it's only two classes a week. Not enough money to make ends meet."

"Okay. Keep looking. You'll find something better, I know it." He uses the nightstand to pull himself up, muttering curses under his breath.

I stay beside him as he walks tentatively to the door and down the hall to the kitchen with no earthly idea how he's going to manage on skates.

The weight of a boulder returns to my shoulders, recalling what Calista told me last night at the club. "Time is running out, though. Danny put in his notice at work. He has a new position managing a local hardware store and wants to move in with Calista right away so they can save money for the wedding. I need somewhere new to live, and fast. I'll have to start checking the ads online for rooms for rent."

"You rooming with strangers? Not on my watch. Shit." He rubs an eye, pausing to lean on the kitchen door frame. "One thing at a time. First, coffee and ibuprofen. Then we'll talk about this."

"And about—you know." I don't want to say about my virginity too loudly for Kallie to hear in the kitchen.

He sighs. "Yeah. That, too."