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He’s totally into you, Sadie had said.
Why would she lie? Why would she get Emma’s hopes up only to send them crashing down into a disappointed heap at the big blind date reveal?
Guys like Brody, aka way too good-looking, popular athletes, didn’t pay attention to women like Emma. Unless their interest was forced as part of a bet, or they chose a dare over the truth, or they wanted something from her. In high school and college it’d been for help getting in good with one of her friends or for a tutor to help them maintain academic eligibility to play sports. Always in private, so no one would see them together, so worried about their precious reputations. Egocentric assholes.
Which is why Emma made it a point to avoid guys like Brody. And when she couldn’t, like at work when she’d first been assigned to screening the wrestlers before they could circulate among the patients, it was why she remained aloof, all business, a total professional unsusceptible to their insincere charms.
He stepped toward her and Emma’s heart started to race. Why was he here? Cruel prank came to mind. And Emma got mad. How dare he ruin her night? And ruin it he had. Because there was absolutely no way in hell she’d be shedding one stitch of clothing in front of The Bull. No way in hell she’d give him the opportunity to criticize her or poke fun at her or discuss her many physical imperfections with his wrestling buddies, like they discussed so many other women, as if Emma wasn’t even in the room.
Best birthday ever? Over before it’d even begun.
When he came to a stop in front of her, looking as if he had every right to be there, Emma wanted to hit him. If she could have done it without creating a scene she would have. Instead she pursed her lips to keep from screaming out and narrowed her eyes in warning.
He held up his hands, seeming ready to fend off an attack—apparently he was smarter than he looked—and opened his mouth to say something. But his words got drowned out when Angie yelled, “Thank God. A doctor.”
What?
Emma jerked her head around to see the parted crowd and a clear path to Angie, who was kneeling next to a man who’d apparently collapsed to the floor. “Come.” She motioned with her hand to Brody. “We need you.”
With a collective swivel of heads, everyone in the room turned in their direction.
Brody glanced over his shoulder as if expecting a doctor to be standing there.
If the situation hadn’t appeared so serious, Emma may have laughed at Brody’s horrified expression as he turned back to face Angie and pointed to his chest. “You mean me?” He shook his head. “No way. I’m not a doctor.”
“Isn’t he your fiancé?” Angie asked Emma loudly, her voice approaching panic.
Apparently Angie was not a fan of wrestling. All eyes shifted to Emma.
“You have a fiancé?” Brody bellowed.
Good Lord.
He stood to his full height of a couple of inches over way too tall, crossed his beefy arms over his wide chest and stared down at her with angry brown eyes.
As if he could bully an explanation out of her.
The jerk.
Emma looked away to find no escape in the dozens of questioning, some disapproving, eyes still locked on her. So she did the only thing she could and tried to divert their attention. “Man down, people.” She stormed toward the man sitting on the floor. “Let’s focus on what’s important.”
Someone yelled, “That’s The Bull.”
Another person, this one female, followed with, “What’s he doing here?”
A third added, “He’s her date?”
The third speaker just happened to be standing within elbow range when she’d uttered that unflattering remark. So Emma maybe nudged her aside a little harder than necessary while saying, “I’m a nurse. Back up and give me room,” so the woman wouldn’t feel in any way assaulted.
Emma knelt beside the twenty-something blond-haired businessman who appeared to be experiencing moderate respiratory distress with impaired air exchange. “My name is Emma and I’m a nurse. Can you tell me what happened?”
He mumbled.
Emma called out, “I can’t hear.”
No one seemed to care because The Bull had arrived.
A booming male voice she recognized as Brody’s professional wrestler voice yelled, “Quiet.”
The room went silent.
She bent and put her ear close to the man’s mouth.
“Allergic.” He wheezed. “Nuts. Shellfish.”
She looked at Angie. “Call an ambulance.” Angie jumped to her feet and ran off.
Emma turned her attention back to her patient. “Do you have an EpiPen with you?” She sent up a prayer that he did because they were in the middle of nowhere and he’d likely die from anaphylaxis before an ambulance could reach him.
Thank goodness he nodded. “My...car. Center...console.”
“Keys,” Emma said.
He fumbled ineffectively to reach into his pocket.
Emma moved his hands out of the way and dug into the front pocket of his dress pants. They didn’t have time to waste. “Who’s his date?” she asked, looking up at the people surrounding her.
A young brunette who looked in shock raised a hand.
“Do you know where his car is parked?” Or had she insisted on separate cars like Emma had?
Eyes wide and tear-filled, the woman nodded.
“Come on.” Brody grabbed the keys, took the woman by the arm and pulled her out toward the parking lot.
The seconds passed like hours while Emma waited. The man’s breathing grew more labored, his wheezing more pronounced. His pulse increased, each beat pounding beneath her fingertips. Emma did all she could, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt to reduce any exterior restrictions to his airway and in preparation to administer CPR if his condition worsened. She reassured him, did her best to keep him calm and watched helplessly as his lips turned an alarming shade of blue.
Finally Brody crashed back into the room—did the man do anything quietly?—and thrust two EpiPens at her.
Then he set to work herding the gawkers outside.
Out of habit, Emma checked the packaging for signs of tampering and an expiration date. Not that it mattered because she would inject at least one regardless. Then she popped off the safety cap, flattened the material at the man’s outer thigh and administered the premeasured dose of medication right through his pants. Afterward she checked to make sure the needle had dropped and the full dosage had injected before massaging the insertion site.
The epinephrine went to work immediately. As his breathing eased and his color improved the man introduced himself as Neil. Emma stayed with him, which suited her just fine since she had no desire to have any interaction with Brody the Birthday Ruiner.
Fortunately for Neil, unfortunately for Emma, the ambulance arrived much faster than she’d anticipated. She gave her report to the EMTs, found her purse and hoped to slip away unnoticed.
But it seemed remnants of bad-luck bomb particulate lingered on her person.
Just outside the door, Nick snuck up beside her, linking his arm through hers and falling into step as she walked. “Soooo. Not a real physician or a real fiancé, after all.”
“I told you tonight’s a role-play date,” Emma lied, deciding to continue the charade rather than own up to her misinformation. “Tonight he’s the doctor and I’m his nurse.” She extricated herself from Nick’s grip and, as politely as she could, pushed him away.
She noticed Brody over by the privacy fence at the center of a swarm of his adoring fans. Of which she was not one—even if he was nauseatingly attractive and great with the kids on her floor.
“But you really are a nurse,” Nick pointed out.
“Well, yes.” She headed for the parking lot. “My role wasn’t much of a stretch.”
Nick followed her. “You know you’re still welcome to hang with me and Sugar. Brody, too.” He may have looked the part of laid-back man issuing a casual invitation, but his voice came out way too eager.
Would this night never end? “Thank you so much for the very tempting offer. But I really have to be going. Emergency at home,” she lied. “I’m not sure how Brody plans to spend the rest of his night. Maybe he’d be interested.” Based on all she’d read about him in online news articles, probably he’d be interested, especially once he got a look at Sugar.
“Hot diggity!” Nick said and veered off, probably to hunt down Sugar and give her the news.
The darn gravel hindered Emma’s hasty departure. Sadie had suggested she wear comfortable shoes. But chubby girls needed to elongate for optimum presentation, so she’d chosen a nice pair of three-inch wedge-heeled sandals for the evening. They were comfortable, usually, but, as it turned out, not ideal for travel over gravel.
“It was nice meeting you,” she yelled after Nick. Then she maneuvered the rest of the way to her SUV without looking back.
Chapter Two
“Like I told you before, darlin’, that there would fall into the category of my personal property,” Brody told the overzealous female fan as he removed her hand from his ass. Again. He tempered his action with a practiced smile. “I’d hate to have to restrain you with a double chicken wing.”
Damn if she didn’t look eager for him to give it a try.
His agent’s words, a constant redundant reminder, flashed through his mind. Give the fans what they want, whatever they want.Keep them happy and they’ll keep you and me living the good life.
So he added a flirtatious wink and said, “Maybe some other time.”
Problem was, after seven years in the business, his definition of “the good life” had changed. Yeah, he made a fantastic income. But there were few places he could go and not be recognized. Wrestling fans who watched him on television, attended his matches and purchased his likeness in toy stores considered him an approachable friend. And they approached...constantly.
Women who followed the circuit wanted the notoriety of being seen with him, and would do anything for the opportunity. While respectable women like Emma Masters judged him and found him lacking without ever giving him a chance.
Which is why, after overhearing Emma and Sadie discussing Emma’s upcoming birthday blind date surprise, he’d approached Sadie about getting in on the celebration. So he could introduce Emma to the real Brody, a nice, smart, regular guy. So he could woo her and warm her up and show her she’d misjudged him.
Convincing Sadie had taken some effort, but she’d come around.
Then he’d learned the terms of the date and he’d started looking forward to it even more.
Brody watched Emma exit the reception room, unsurprised she’d barely spared him a glance. You expect a woman like Emma to fall into your arms without having to work for it?
No. Emma Masters would require some seducing. Brody smiled, looking forward to the challenge.
As she walked some guy latched on to her arm and Brody saw his chance to earn some points playing the hero. But two steps in their direction and on the verge of telling that idiot what he’d do to him if the jerk didn’t get his hands off her—in his loudest, most intimidating voice—Emma pushed him away.
Brody should have expected she could handle herself. There was a reason his fellow wrestlers referred to her as the pit bull of the pediatric ward. Emma didn’t take any crap, remained focused on her task no matter how much they joked or teased or flirted. Over the years, trying to get a rise out of her had become a game he looked forward to playing.
But a few months ago, while hanging around waiting for Samson to catch a few private minutes to hit on Sadie, he’d occupied his time by watching Emma, noticing her softer side for the first time. The beautiful, genuine smile she reserved for people who were not wrestlers, apparently. The tender touches and compassionate caresses she reserved for her little patients and their families. The way she could coax a smile from the sickest of children or the most exhausted and drained parent.
That’s also when he started to see Emma as more than a nurse, as a full-figured, voluptuous woman with warm blue eyes, a fair complexion and pretty blond hair he’d like to see loose from its tight bun.
She worked as a plus-sized model to earn extra cash during college, Sadie had told him. That’d come as a shocker. But the way she looked tonight, all dressed up and dolled up, with her hair down and wearing shiny red lipstick, he could see it. Her only indulgences are chocolate, wine and a weekly pedicure. If he had his way, she’d be adding to the list pronto.
The more Sadie shared about Emma, the more he wanted to uncover—especially the biggest secret of them all—the full, lush, sensually rounded figure she tried to hide beneath baggy hospital scrubs. He was a big man ready to try out a big woman. More cushion for the pushin’ and all. Something different. His dick started to fill at the thought.
Emma continued on toward the parking lot, talking to the man beside her, walking slowly, carefully in her heels, her shoulder-length, curly blond hair blowing in the slight breeze. Her knee-length sundress flowing, occasionally clinging, allowing glimpses of the curves it concealed as she moved. So pretty, so feminine and desirable.
She thought to escape him? Not gonna happen, sweetheart. He’d been dreaming about her for weeks. But, based on her downright frigid reception, getting Emma to even agree to their birthday date was going to take some work. Best he get started.
Brody turned his attention back to his fans. “Gotta run to get changed for my date,” he said, ignoring the disappointed voices and pleas for him to stick around for a few more minutes. They always wanted more from him. “As of right now I’m putting The Bull out to pasture for the night. It’s just me, Brody, and I’m on a date.” He scanned the group, giving them his evil, threatening wrestler look. “I won’t take kindly to being disturbed.”
Thanks to his long legs which made it easy to hurry and not look like he was hurrying, Emma’s practical, dark blue SUV came into view in the next minute. But he saw no sign of her. He looked around the small parking lot as he walked, approaching with caution, on the lookout for flying objects aimed in his direction, not sure what to expect from Emma.
What he did not expect was the grunting he heard coming from the other side of her vehicle. “Emma?” he asked.
“Stop,” she cried out.
He hesitated, asked, “What are you doing?” then continued forward. The gravel crunching beneath his feet must have given him away because all of a sudden her head popped out by the far side of the front window, her hair tousled, her eye mask gone, the fair skin on her cheeks colored pink. From the heat? Exertion? A blush? Her pinup girl red lips had him wanting to kiss her...until they formed the words, “Take one more step and you’ll get a face full of rocks.” She twirled away. More grunting ensued, accompanied by grumbling that sounded like “...mess up that pretty face of his.”
He couldn’t help it, he smiled at the threat then bent to look at her through the front driver and passenger side windows. She twisted and wriggled and strained. Then she noticed him and went rigid.
He waved and gave her a dopey grin. “Whatcha doin’?”
She narrowed her eyes in response. “None of your business. Go away.”
Not likely.
She moved farther down.
He did the same, albeit on the opposite side from her. “Do you need any help?” Maybe she had an itch she couldn’t reach or a bee flew into her pretty sundress. With that floral print she’d no doubt attract them.
She didn’t answer. When she let out one final grunt followed by an arousing moan of pleasure and a, “Yessss,” he got the message she’d finished doing whatever the heck she’d been doing. That moan got him thinking maybe she wasn’t over there doing it alone. He thought back but couldn’t remember seeing the loser that’d followed her to the parking lot rejoin the rest of the visitors. And a vision of that man on his knees at Emma’s feet, bunching her skirt up to her waist with his head between...
Propelled by an unexpected territorial urge to protect what he considered to be his, at least for tonight, Brody rounded the rear of the vehicle to be stopped short at the sight of Emma, standing alone, leaning against the door, panting slightly, looking as though she’d just triumphed in battle, her prize the heavy-duty, black fabric-elastic contraption dangling from her hand.
“To think I suffered the torture that is shapewear for you!” she said, shoving the undergarment into her oversize red pocketbook. “Well, I’m for sure going to breathe easier on my way home than I did on the trip here.”
She tried to storm past him.
He held out his arm to stop her. “Hold on a minute.”
Gracing him with another glare she said, “Please move.” When he didn’t she added, “Now,” in that do-it-or-suffer-my-wrath tone she used to boss him and his buddies around when they visited the pediatric floor of her hospital. No one dared mess with Emma while she supervised them washing their hands then checked their temperatures and listened to their lungs to evaluate them for any signs of illness before she’d allow them to circulate among her patients.
“Honey, I know—”
“I am not your honey,” she snapped, pushing past him. “And there is nothing you can say that will make me stay and endure this indignity one minute longer.” She rounded the front of the vehicle.
Indignity? “Emma, wait,” he said, following her.
