Pinning It Down Page 4

  Jared narrowed his eyes at him again and then shrugged once more. “Maybe buy her some flowers? That’s what Dad does when he wants Mummy to like him. Or a new car.”

  Erik bit back a laugh and offered out his fist, knuckles first. “Good advice.”

  Jared bumped his fist against Erik’s. “Good luck.”

  Dropping the boy a wink, he made his way to where Bebe was checking on the teenager and pulled the boy’s chart from its holder. “Need some help?”

  Damn. The poor kid had just had a complete ACL reconstruction yesterday. So young for knee surgery.

  Bebe flicked Erik a glance after checking the teenager’s drip levels, her expression unreadable. She was efficient and thorough at her work. He couldn’t help but be impressed. More than one second-year nurse in the hospital was not as adept. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  The teenager—Pedro, according to the whiteboard on the wall behind him—gave Erik a melodramatic wince. “Ooh, shut down, Doc. Ouch.”

  Erik arched an eyebrow.

  Pedro let out the kind of laughing grunt only teenagers seemed able to do. “I heard you over there beside Jared, trying to impress her.”

  “Ah.”

  Bebe’s lips curled in the tiniest of smiles before she turned and crossed the room to the other occupied bed. Hard as he tried to keep his attention on the teenager, Erik couldn’t stop watching her.

  Pedro grunt-laughed again. “Oh dude, you’ve got it bad.”

  Erik swiped at his mouth. It was that or mutter out a low fuck, and although Pedro may be a teenager, Erik didn’t want to curse in front of him. Giving him an askew glance, Erik raised his eyebrow again. “Any advice?”

  “Yeah. Buy a Lamborghini. Chicks love Lamborghinis.”

  “Not this one,” Bebe called back without looking at them.

  Erik grinned.

  Pedro shrugged. “Chocolates, then?”

  “I do like those,” Bebe offered with a quick smile over her shoulder.

  Christ, her smile would be his undoing.

  Get away from her, that panicked internal voice ordered again.

  He spent the next hour moving from patient to patient with her as she did her rounds, refusing to acknowledge it was a bad move. With every minute they spent interacting with the kids in their beds, he got to know more and more about her.

  The Bebe most people saw at the hospital was almost an introvert, but with the kids, she was a different person. Relaxed and far more open, talking more, laughing more. By the time she’d checked on her last patient and filled in the appropriate paperwork, Erik had discovered a whole new side to her.

  She loved Iron Man more than Superman (she and a little patient wearing a Superman shirt discussed the merits of both at length); was allergic to cats (he found out that little nugget of info thanks to the ten-year-old girl with a mushroom allergy in for the night); she did not like seafood of any kind—was quite emphatic about it, in fact (there went the faint and nebulous thought he’d been entertaining about asking her to lunch at Perth’s best sushi bar); and only had one living relative, a brother whom she rarely saw because of his work (a fact that upset the little girl in bed forty, who had three sisters and four brothers, one of whom managed to accidently break not only her collarbone during an impromptu game of indoor football while their mum was out of the house, but the family’s heirloom grandfather clock).

  Erik also discovered, by the time Bebe filed the last of the paperwork for her rounds, that she was an incredibly gifted nurse who didn’t second-guess her work and smelt so good, he was still surprised he hadn’t pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. Buried his face into the side of her neck and breathed her in.

  Christ, he was in uncharted territory here. He wanted her on a carnal, physical level, almost caveman-like in its base, elemental lust, but the longer he stayed in her company, the more he got to know her, the more he wanted her on a different level as well.

  One he’d suspected from the first day he saw her, chewing on the end of her pen.

  A level beyond purely sex. A more complicated level.

  There was no escaping or denying it.

  Bebe Wells had gotten completely under his skin.

  But he had no idea if he’d gotten under hers.

  Shite.

  Chapter 3

  Okay. He knew what he had to do.

  Standing back, watching her return paperwork to its place on the nurses’ counter, he accepted the inevitable.

  After fighting it for the last hour, he had to do exactly what the voice in his head had been screaming at him to do: get away from her.

  If he didn’t go now, he’d spend the rest of her second shift at the hospital, following her around. And if he did that, not only would he eventually beg her to let him kiss her again, but people would notice.

  Already some of the other nurses and interns had been casting him odd looks. He was the Head of Neurosurgery, after all, tailing a rookie nurse. The simple fact she was a rookie nurse explained his presence somewhat, but not by much; rookies had their hands metaphorically held often by head nurses and other more experienced staff, but not by surgeons. Especially surgeons from other fields.

  If Whittaker heard about this…

  Erik snorted. Whittaker probably had already heard about this. Any second now he’d probably show up, throwing Erik knowing smirks.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Erik crossed to where Bebe stood, filling in the head paediatric nurse on her rounds. “Impressive work, Ms. Wells,” he said. Christ, he sounded like an arrogant bore.

  She looked up at him, her expression impossible to read. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  He gave the head nurse—a woman he’d never had anything to do with until now—a quick look. “Tell Dr. Hamill he owes me a drink.”

  Blake Hamill, Head of Paediatrics, would have no clue what Erik was talking about, but at least the other staff of Paediatrics might now think he was only following Bebe, observing her, on a request from the department’s boss.

  Turning, he strode away, not giving Bebe another glance.

  Sixty minutes in, her company had stretched his level of control to its limits. And confused him more than ever about his feelings for her.

  It was a hard-enough struggle when they were merely sexual in nature, but his desire for her had morphed into something—

  “Don’t forget the flowers, Doc.”

  He stopped at the shout, finding Jared grinning at him from his bed through the open door.

  Chuckling, Erik bowed. “I’ll let you know how I go.”

  Jared gave him a thumbs-up with his free hand. Pedro grunted, rolled his eyes, and muttered something Erik couldn’t make out from the walkway.

  He was an agitated mess by the time he left the hospital. Goddamn it, he had to reel himself in.

  And you know the only way to do that.

  He did. It didn’t matter how incredible Bebe’s lips on his felt, or how wonderful she was to talk to, to spend time with; it didn’t matter how amazing her body was against his…he couldn’t be involved with her.

  He had his rule, and he wouldn’t break it.

  In fact, perhaps what he needed was to fuck her out of his system with someone else? He could call up one of his previous dates, ask them to lunch, and finish off the day in bed—

  No.

  No. He couldn’t do that. Even the thought was like a dirty oil slick oozing over the surface of a clean lake.

  Biting back a frustrated curse, he pulled into his driveway.

  How the hell was he supposed to even get it up with someone else?

  Christ, I’m in trouble. Can’t fuck Bebe, can’t fuck anyone else because of Bebe.

  “Skydiving,” he snarled. “I’ll go skydiving. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll crash into the Swan River.”

  And a shark will find me floundering about in the water and finish me off. Or an MMA fighter.

  It didn’t take long to round up his gear. Normally he’d invite someone along
with him—there was more than one skydiving freak on the Central Perth surgical staff—but the thought of having a conversation with anyone was as uninviting as sex with someone other than Bebe Wells.

  In the middle of carefully checking that everything was in perfect condition, he almost missed hearing his mobile phone ringing.

  He smirked at the incoming caller’s name on the screen. “Whittaker,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. “Are you responsible for the Gretchen Shultz incident?”

  Brogan’s debauched laugh was all the answer Erik needed.

  “I’ve got a mind to break into your house and replace your shampoo with depilatory cream.”

  Brogan laughed again. “Time to up my home security in that case.”

  “Good move. What can I do for you?”

  “Just wanted to check in. Alfonsi brought me up to speed on the emergency neurotmesis you both worked on through the night. The patient is doing well this morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  Brogan Whittaker was an enigma. On the surface, the Chair of Surgery came across as the very definition of an arrogant narcissist, but then he’d do something totally unexpected, like send a cancer patient and their family on a cruise to Fiji, paid entirely out of his own pocket.

  Of course, it had been bloody obvious he was responsible for Gretchen trying to go down on Erik in the lounge and Bebe walking in on it, so as far as Erik was concerned, that also made him a prick.

  A prick who was Erik’s boss.

  “Welcome,” Brogan said. “You about to go skydiving?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Another laugh. “You’re on a post-surgery high, and before, you spent a few minutes alone in your office with Nurse Wells.”

  Jaysus. “And?”

  “Oh, and you willingly spent almost an hour following her about Paediatrics like a puppy instead of going home after said surgery.”

  “Your point?” Shite.

  Whittaker laughed again. “You’re in desperate need of…how shall I put this? Burning off energy.”

  Erik grit his teeth. “You know what, Whittaker?” he growled. He may be his boss, but he was about to hear exactly what Erik thought of his little prank. “You can bite me. The next time I’m talking with Gretchen’s husband—and he’s a keen skydiver, don’t forget—I’m going to tell him about the time you and Gretchen had a private meeting in your office—for over two hours.”

  “What meeting? There’s been no meeting.”

  “Do you think Basil’s going to believe that?”

  Silence. For a second. And then Whittaker burst out laughing. “Touché, Murphy.”

  “Laugh it up all you like,” Erik continued. “And as for following Bebe—” Shit. “Nurse Wells around Paediatrics—”

  “I know, I know,” Whittaker interrupted. “You were just observing a rookie nurse.”

  So the talk had already begun. Goddamn it. He hadn’t been careful. Or smart. And now…

  “I’m going to go jump out of a plane,” he said into his phone. “Forget I exist for a while, okay?”

  “Ah, if only I could,” Whittaker said, a smile in his voice. “We’ll stick a pin in this conversation, Murphy. For later.”

  Christ.

  Disconnecting, Erik gathered up his gear and headed to the garage.

  Jumping-out-of-a-plane time.

  * * * *

  Five hours later, after throwing himself out of a plane over Rockingham Beach, he returned.

  It hadn’t worked. The distraction of prep, the flight, and then the rush of throwing himself out of the plane and freefalling through the air for almost ninety seconds, hadn’t forced Bebe out of his head. Nor had the classic AC/DC playlist that he’d blasted into his earbuds for the duration.

  By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was rock hard and consumed with a need so strong, he could barely concentrate.

  Damn it. He needed to take care of the situation. The ache in his cock couldn’t get any more painful. Or hungry.

  Hurrying through his home, he stripped off his shirt. His pants followed, and he tossed them onto the bed. His cock throbbed, all too aware of what was about to happen.

  Bebe was in his head. His lips burned with the memory of her kiss in his office, his body damn near shaking with the thought of how she’d rubbed her stomach, the curve of her pussy against him. Christ, he could even hear her soft moan of surrender as he’d turned the kiss savage.

  Clenching his jaw, he stormed into the bathroom. This wasn’t going to be pretty. Or quiet. Good thing he lived out of town and his closest neighbour was a kilometre away.

  Stepping into the shower, the water from the multiple jets striking him from the front and rear, he choked his erection in a punishing hand and pumped.

  One. Two. Three.

  The cold water did nothing to ease his turgid state.

  He grabbed his sac in an equally rough grip, close to mauling his balls as he continued to fuck his cock with his hand.

  Harder. Faster.

  Over and over.

  The images of Bebe in his head flayed at his control.

  She was on her knees before him, her eyes smouldering with pleasure as he fisted his hand in her hair…

  She was spread out on his king-size bed, fingering the ruby nub of her clit as she begged him to take her…

  She was on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at him, her slit glistening with her juices, her arse round and perfect…

  She was begging him to sink into her perfect pussy, to eat her out, fuck her, make her—

  The world shattered as he erupted, cum spurting from his cock in thick ropes that arced through the shower.

  “Jaysus!” he ground out, pumping his length faster. His head spun, from pleasure and pain. There was nothing gentle about the way he continued to attack his dick and balls, but he couldn’t stop. Bebe wouldn’t leave his head, and he felt like shit for using her like this, for his own pleasure, when she had no control over what his mind was doing to her body. But he couldn’t stop.

  Not until every last drop of cum was out of his cock.

  Eons later, he released his dick, pressed his hands to the tiles and let the cold-water blast over the back of his head. “Jaysus,” he moaned this time.

  It was no good. He was spent but far from satisfied. He doubted he’d ever be fully sated by just his hand and the thought of Bebe, but unfortunately, it was all he had. All that could be.

  He’d made a rule. If he didn’t stick to his own rules, he’d become more like his old man than he cared to. His father was a prick of a brain surgeon who indulged his every whim no matter how debauched or selfish, regardless of who it would hurt or affected. His brilliance and professional reputation allowed it; his ego demanded it.

  Erik was not his father. He refused to behave that way. But it scared the shit out of him that the bastard’s genes created had his. The potential was there to become just like him. So Erik had his rules. And he had to live by them.

  And when it came to work, the most important rule was simple: no relationship with nurses or staff.

  Bebe was off-limits. She had to be. No matter how sexually attracted he was. No matter how drawn to her he was.

  She was out of bounds. From now on, he’d stay as far away as he could.

  Sequestering himself in his office, he attacked the mountain of paperwork waiting for him. Ha, this was going to confuse the hell out of Whittaker. The bastard always complained Erik didn’t get it done on time.

  Hours later, his spine protesting with a crack at the length of time he’d forced it into a fixed bow, he straightened in his chair and looked out his window. Jaysus, where the hell had the sun gone? What time was it?

  He checked his watch, the hands telling him it was close to nine pm.

  Well, you really did get distracted there. Good work.

  His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since…when?

  Since that apple you ate in the specialists’ loung
e, just before—

  An image of Bebe careening out of the lounge filled his head, followed by the distasteful memory of Gretchen between his legs.

  Damn it, he really was going to make Whittaker pay for that. It was one thing to play a dirty joke on a colleague, it was another to involve someone not aware of their on-going pranking like Bebe. Hell, even Gretchen had been agitated by the moment, and she was far from innocent—she had tried to blow him while he was asleep, after all.

  His stomach gurgled again. Louder this time.

  “Sustenance,” he muttered, watching the summer sky turn from bruised-purple dusk to dark-night black. He needed sustenance. There was a new bar near the hospital that made the best chicken parmigiana he’d ever eaten. He’d order one, with a side of chips and salad, and got pick it up.

  To eat alone? Or maybe with someone.

  His chest tightened again. What was Bebe doing right at that second? Where was she?

  Call her.

  He shot his desk phone a quick glance over his shoulder. Shoved his hand into his pocket and gripped his mobile.

  No. He had to remember his rule.

  One call. To see if she’s had dinner. Or even just to ask how she is. To tell her how impressed you were with how she went about her rounds this morning. Nothing sexual. Just…talking.

  He ground his teeth. Shite, that was even worse. If all he felt for her was sexual, nothing but a physical thing, well…he could at least pass it off as simple male lust, something that wouldn’t have long-term implications.

  If he wanted to have dinner with her, however…

  “Shite, you’re in fecking trouble,” he grumbled, releasing his phone and storming from his office.

  He forewent the chicken, settling on leftover Chinese takeout eaten while searching for something distracting to watch on Netflix. A sci-fi movie caught his eye. One he knew had been slammed by the critics. He enjoyed watching bad sci-fi movies. A quirk, sure, but there was an ironic rush to losing himself in bad dialogue, subpar CGI, and dubious character behaviour.

  This particular movie though, a bad as it was, didn’t hook him. A certain nurse kept creeping into his mind.

  Did Bebe enjoy watching bad movies? He knew she enjoyed superhero movies, and he had a feeling she would enjoy watching good films. Just the way she talked about the narratives of the Marvel and DC ones while he’d followed her around in Paediatrics told him she appreciated the art of film. But would she get the allure of trash-watching? Would she gladly settle in beside him on the couch as he hit play on one of Gerard Butler’s epically bombastic disaster films?