Intimate Exposure

“Nurse, please. The baby’s very sick, and her mother’s worried. How long do you think it’ll be?”

She swallowed, trying to keep her gaze above his neck. “We’re very busy tonight—”

His voice was low, beguiling, betraying neither anger nor frustration. “I know you’re all doing the best you can.” He smiled disarmingly, one hand on her elbow, the other idly resting over his heart, like someone taking the Pledge of Allegiance—or declaring his affections. “But you look like a kind person. I’m sure you’d be willing to spare me a few seconds of your time.”

Unconsciously, the young nurse lifted her fingers to her full, pink lips. Shani watched in amazement, feeling like Alice in some kind of soft-core Wonderland. She looks as if she’s willing to give a whole lot more time than a few seconds, she thought.

“What I want to know is why is it so busy? This isn’t normal, is it?”

The young woman lifted a stray strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. She leaned forward, tiptoeing to get her mouth close to his ear, as if revealing an intimate secret. “It’s not normal. Everything’s gone crazy since they cut the budget.”

“That so?”

“Mmm-hmm. They’ve reduced the staff on each shift.”

“Even in the E.R.?”

She nodded. “We’re two doctors and three nurses down tonight.”

Elliot frowned. The hand that was idly playing over his chest fell to his side. “Don’t they know the kind of suffering they’re causing?”

She rolled her gorgeous green eyes and shrugged. “Money talks, I guess. The administrators aren’t the ones here at two in the morning, having to deal with the mess they’ve created.” She paused, mouth parted in anticipation, waiting on him to commend her for being a good girl.

His eyes held hers for several seconds longer than necessary. “Thank you, Nurse. I was right—you are very kind.” “Elena.”

“Pardon?”

“My name. It’s Elena. I’m on the graveyard shift every night until Wednesday. If you need anything …” She trailed off, not needing to draw him a diagram.

He released his light grip on her arm and took her hand instead, squeezing it lightly. “Thank you, Elena. I mean that.”

“If I can slip you guys in a little earlier … well, I’ll see what I can do.” Elena gave her hair one final fluff and backed away, a little self-conscious, giving Shani one hard, curious look before turning and heading in the direction she’d come from.

“Surprised those scrubs didn’t hit the floor,” Shani murmured.

He sat next to her again. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

The smile he gave told her he’d heard exactly what she’d said.

But Elliot wasn’t satisfied with waiting on little Miss Flirty-pants to fulfill her promise. He fished his phone from his pocket and scrolled one-handed through the numbers. He hit Dial and waited for the other person to answer, giving her a comforting smile.

Shani watched, amazed. Did he know what time it was?

“David, it’s Elliot Bookman. Right. Junior. I’m guessing you’re still at my father’s party? Now breaking up, huh?” He waited. “How’s my father? Well, he’ll have a hell of a headache, that’s for sure. Glad you and Maggie had a good time.”

He cleared his throat. “Listen, David, I need a favor. I’m over at Immaculate Heart. In the E.R. No, it’s a favor for a friend. We’ve got a three-year-old who needs to be seen, right away. Yes, I heard about the budget cuts. But the place is a mess. Think you could make a few calls? Maybe shift some of your staff over from another department? I’m sure it’s quieter over in Medical tonight.”

Shani tried not to shake her head. Even on the phone, he had a careless charm about him that appealed to both men and women. Did anyone ever tell him no?

He listened again, nodding. “That’d be great. Bless you, man. Have a good night now, and take care on the road.” He clicked off, smiling as though he’d won a game of chess.

She didn’t bother trying to stifle her curiosity. “Who was that?”

“David Carmichael. He’s on the board here. He and my father go way back. Anyhow, he’s going to have a few more staff sent over. The bottleneck will clear up in a while.”

He was right. In less than twenty minutes, Shani heard her name called. She rose with difficulty, Bee still deadweight in her arms, and turned to Elliot, preparing to thank him and wish him good-night. Already, a small shard of sadness pricked at her. All evening, he’d been as solid and reliable as a load-bearing wall. Now it was time to go in and face the thunder. What did you say to a stranger who helped you save the thing that means the most to you?

“Elliot, I … I don’t know how to say thanks. I—”

“Let’s go.” He grabbed her by the elbow and began guiding her past the uneven rows of benches.

“What? Where’re you—”

He gave her a surprised look. “Did you think I’d let you go in there alone?”

She protested. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done, but you really—”

He didn’t stop walking. “Come on. They’re waiting.” He grabbed his shirt and tossed it over his shoulder like a towel.

There was no sense in arguing. As he held open the swinging doors, she took one guilty look at the sad people still waiting, sending up a prayer that their troubles would end soon.

Inside, an older nurse took up most of the entryway. Her expression was standard hospital-issue harassed, hair scraped back into a bun, face like a hatchet. She glanced at the proffered papers and nodded at a gurney. Shani set her burden down carefully, and at once an attendant began to work on Bee.

“You the mother?” The nurse asked.

“Yes.”

“You can stay.”

Shani moved to her daughter’s side. Elliot moved in concert with her, only to be stopped by the nurse’s imperious, uplifted hand. “Who’re you?”

“My name’s Elliot—”

She frowned, noticing for the first time that his chest was bare. Her eyes popped ceilingward in a “you-see-all-types-in-here” gesture, then she clarified. “I mean, what’s your relationship to the patient? Only the parents of a minor are allowed in here.”

“Oh, I—”

“So who’re you?”

Shani found herself desperately wanting Elliot to stay with her in this awful place. “He’s … he’s …” She began and stopped.

The nurse, as intimidating as a mythical beast guarding treasure, folded her arms. What could she say to get this woman to understand? She half wondered if Elliot’s charm could work on her, too. Bizarrely, even though it would mean his eviction and her abandonment, that almost made her feel satisfied. At least it would mean someone was immune to him.

Elliot hardly missed a beat. “I’m her father.”

Shani choked on her own spit.

The nurse glanced at his face for half a second, then at Bee’s damp, sallow one, and dismissed him with disinterest, pointing the way with her pen. The doors swung open behind them, admitting someone else for her to intimidate.

Shani felt Elliot close to her, warm skin occasionally brushing her bare arm as they watched the doctor, an older black woman who reassuringly reminded her of Maya Angelou, fiddle with Bee. The woman gave her the first genuine smile she’d had since she got here.

“Don’t worry, doux-doux. She ees going to be just fine.” She spoke with an accent Shani couldn’t identify. West African? Caribbean? “Just a leetle infection—nothing to make a whole lot of fuss and bother about. We’ll start her on antibiotics right away. And just to be safe, we’ll keep her for a few days, okay?”

Shani felt tears of gratitude and relief prickle at the backs of her eyes. The doctor patted her gently on the cheek. “Chin up, sugarplum. Don’t you worry. She ees in good hands.”

The doctor directed her gaze at Elliot’s bare chest, and she asked humorously, “I know the cooling system needs fixing, but you don’t think you taking thees a leetle too far?”

Elliot surprised Shani by looking abashed. “Sorry, Doctor. I apologize if I’ve offended … we had a little accident.”

“Don’t fret. I’ve seen it all.” But Maya Angelou had the audacity to give him one last, evaluating glance. Elliot’s skin flushed, and Shani hid a grin. It was like discovering your grandma’s prayer-circle buddy was a flirt.

They followed Bee’s gurney out of the E.R. and into a pediatric ward with three other beds. Gently, the attendant settled her onto the bed farthest from the door. With that movement, Bee’s eyes shot open, startled, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. “Mama?”

Shani was immediately soothing, stroking her cheek and listening to the sound of the monitors until she fell back into a heavy sleep. Only then did she look around. There were two armchairs next to each bed, and a little cabinet for personal effects. That was pretty much it. Children in the other beds were sleeping, their monitors a soft, bipping chorus, with the exception of a small, still pile of blankets two beds over, which was surrounded by anxiously whispering staff. A woman, probably the child’s mother, hovered, trying to stand on tiptoe to see what they were doing. Shani sat in one of the chairs and closed her eyes briefly, not able to absorb anyone else’s pain tonight.

She looked outside past lopsided blinds. It was clear and dark out, but she could tell there were only a few hours till dawn. She knew she wouldn’t be sleeping.

“Hey.”

Elliot squatted before her. He reached out and stroked her cheek, jolting her thoughts away from the window and the outside world. “She’s a beautiful little girl,” he said, but he was looking at Shani, not at Bee.

“Yes,” she agreed, but her thoughts were not on Bee, either. Rather, they were focused on fighting the urge to lean her chin into his cupped hand. Where’d that come from?

Knowingly, he turned her face toward his. Look away, she told herself. Look away, or you’ll be turned to stone. She couldn’t, held fast by his dark stare. She heard machines around her whoop and beep, but she couldn’t hear herself breathe. “Hungry?”

“Wh … huh?” The banality of the question on the heels of such an intense connection left her flailing for a response.

To her disappointment, he rose. Easily, fluidly, like a snake uncoiling itself. “Gotta be a cafeteria in here somewhere. If I don’t eat something soon …” He turned to go. “Coffee or tea?”

After having had nothing to eat since lunch, she figured a meal would be worth not having him by her side for a bit. “Coffee, please.”

“Sweet and milky, right?”

How’d he know? She watched him walk confidently away, beautiful chest bare to the world and not giving a damn. Her eyes remained fixed on him until he walked into the lit corridor. The only thing she could do now was try to catch a few moments’ rest … and wait for him to come back.

Chapter 5

Shani’s heart did a happy little two-step when he returned with a cardboard box lid and two hot cups of coffee balanced inside. He handed her a cup. It was sweet and milky, as promised. Comforting. He settled next to her with a grin, pointing to his bare chest. “Scared a few people out there.”

“Uh-huh.” More likely set their salivary glands going, she thought. “You cold?”

“Nah.” He tilted the tray so she could see its contents. “Hot dogs. And pudding. They were out of chocolate—only butterscotch and banana left. Figured you’d like the butterscotch better.”

“You figured right.”

He handed her a hot dog, heavy on the ketchup and mustard, light on the relish, no onions. “They’ve been rolling around on that little carousel since the Jurassic, but I’m too hungry to complain.”

She bit in. “If we get food poisoning, at least we’re in the right place.”

He smiled. “First joke I’ve heard you make all night.”

She shrugged, concentrating on her hot dog. “Haven’t got much to joke about.”

She was disappointed when he didn’t contradict her. He finished his hot dog without saying anything more. Then there was no sound but the scraping of his plastic spoon in the pudding cup. When she was done with hers, too, he whisked away the debris.

He snagged a blanket and wrapped it around his bare chest Indian-style, to deflect any more disapproving glances, and sat again. Together they listened to the sounds of the night. Outside, an ambulance wailed. Inside, a child moaned in his sleep. All underscored by the incessant chorus of instruments, like the mournful chirping of crickets. Eerie. Disturbing. Sad.

Elliot was so quiet, she was sure he’d dozed off. She was afraid to look at him, in case her anxiety, her need for him to stay awake, and stay with her, showed. It was embarrassing. Had she sunk so low that the moral support of a kindhearted stranger was all she had?

She directed her frustration and anger away from herself and onto Christophe. Jerk. He was an ocean away, not knowing, not caring that his daughter had loops of wires curling into and out of her, making her one with a huge, ugly machine. With just the glow of a monitor and the glimmer of a night-light staving off the darkness poised above her like a stilled wave.

How could he leave her alone to face this? When had he stopped loving her? She snorted derisively. To hear him tell it, he did still love her. Sleeping around throughout their marriage hadn’t meant he didn’t; it just meant he was French. As far as he was concerned, she’d blown the whole thing out of proportion.

She exhaled, thinking of the envelope that lay on the floor in her apartment, waiting to be opened. She wondered if she’d ever have the strength. She’d certainly have the time, what with no longer being employed and all. She thought of how, not long ago, her dream job was hers, and money and status came with ease. She’d gone and made such a mess of things.

“It’ll get better, you know.” Elliot’s mouth was close to her ear.

She jumped. Wasn’t he asleep? She turned her startled eyes to him. “What?”

His voice was still soft, warm and gentle. “You sighed like something was breaking inside you. It hurt just to hear it. But it’ll get better.”

“How, Elliot? I lost my job—”

“—you’ll get a better one.”

“—my husband—”

“—if he deserved you, he’d be here instead of me—”

“And here alone, in this godawful place—”

“You’re not alone,” he pointed out.

She was too frustrated to acknowledge he was right. “—listening to my daughter breathe, depending on someone I’ve known four hours to be my savior!” Savior. His gaze was steady on hers, taking the appellation in stride, as though it belonged to him. She paused, panting. “Not that I’m ungrateful.”

“I know—”

“You’ve gone out of your way—” “Shani, stop—”

“No. You don’t know anything about my life. But you sit there with this light in your eyes and tell me it’s gonna get better? I’m sorry, Elliot. Forgive me if I don’t believe—”

His kiss cut her tirade short. Both hands came up around her face, pulling her forward. The arms of their heavy chairs, jammed up against each other, made the gesture awkward, so without breaking the kiss he shifted around to kneel before her again, slipping one hand around her shoulders so she had no choice but to slide down off her chair and find herself knee to knee with him. Her short black waitressing skirt rode up on her thighs.

The blanket around his shoulders fell open, and his bare chest was warm against hers. She discovered the softness of his rumpled hair under her fingers. It was an aching, urgent kiss. Coffee-sweet. Banana pudding-sweet.

And in her mind, a jumble of words. My God, I’m kissing this man. Someone warm under my hands after so long. Stubble under my fingers. He needs a shave … and a haircut. What’s wrong with me? Tired. Hungry. Aching. Feel like I could fall into him and go to sleep, and know I’d be safe.

She touched his face again. It was as warm as his chest, but wet. Wet? When he broke their kiss she heard and felt the air escape his lips, and then the sear of tears replaced the gentle pressure of his mouth. She put her hand up in shock, to rub off the smear on his face, knowing the tears were hers, not his. He was smiling. “I’ve had lots of reactions to a kiss, but I don’t think crying was ever one of them.”

“Oh, I.” She tried to wipe away the evidence with the back of her hand, but there was more where that came from. “Elliot, I’m so—”

“If I have to hear you say you’re sorry one more time …!” He found a crumpled paper napkin and tried to mop up her face, but she took it from him.

“I can do it.”

He didn’t fight her. Instead, he stayed kneeling before her, watching her soberly. When she was finished, he took the paper away, balled it up and sent it arcing into the wastepaper bin. “Better now?” “I don’t know.”

“Come here.” He pulled her head down against his chest. She complied without resistance. She could hear his heartbeat. She closed her eyes, listening to him breathe, and discovered to her surprise that his chest was rising and falling in tandem with the barely audible ins and outs of her daughter’s breaths. She knelt in the arms of her personal angel, taking all the solace and comfort he offered. Wondering when he’d pull away and tell her to get up again.

He didn’t. After a while, the silence was too much to bear. The holding, the warmth, were wonderful, but there was more she wanted. “Elliot?”

“Yes?” His voice was sonorous, muffled in her hair. Like a sound coming from far away.

“Tell me about yourself.”

“I was born on a Sunday. My mother said it was raining.”

“That’s not what I meant!” She looked up at him, seeing warmth and humor and awakening desire.

“How far back you want me to go?”

“Not that far. I just want to know something about you. This,” she indicated their proximity, the intimacy of their positions facing each other. “This is so unlike me. I feel—”

“What do you feel?” He looked as though the answer was important to him.

She answered carefully, not willing to reveal too much. “I feel that … that it’d be less … weird.”

Another rumble of laughter, deep in his chest. “This feels weird to you?”

She was hesitant, not wanting to goad him to anger. “Well, a little. It’s … unexpected.”

“But sweet. Nice. The most natural thing …”

“I guess.” She was a little doubtful. “But I feel. I think. It’d be a little less, you know …”

“Weird,” he supplied indulgently.

“Yeah. That. If I knew more about you. I just met you. And now, this …”

“This is good.”

Maybe. But it had been such a freaky night. She searched for a way to explain herself better.

She didn’t have to. “But I get where you’re coming from. What would you like to know?”

Now that the invitation was open, she pondered. What would she want to know? Ah, a question arose. The obvious question. “What’s this thing between you and your father?”

He moved back an inch, but to her it was a chasm. “Anything but that.”

So much for honesty. His reaction only piqued her curiosity more. What could be so bad that Elliot wouldn’t even talk about it? Reluctantly, she conceded.

“What do you do when you’re not rescuing sick little kids? And their mothers?” She glanced up at his windblown hair. “And riding a Triumph without a helmet?”

“Tech stuff. I’m an electronics engineer. My company designs information security systems.” Now that Stack was no longer at the center of the conversation, he relaxed again, inching closer. “It’s boring.”

Boring was the last word she’d use to describe him. “Tell me something else.”

“I can recite the alphabet backward. Want to hear it?”

She knew he was trying to make her smile. “Soon,” she promised.

He wrapped her in the circle of his arms without seeking further permission. “I have the uncanny ability to sense when someone’s hurting. When they need to be held.”

Her eyelids lowered. Maybe that was all she needed to know right now.

He settled her down with her head in his lap, letting her curl up on the hard, cold hospital floor. “It’ll be dawn in an hour or two. Get some rest. You’ll need it when your daughter gets up.”

She wasn’t aware of anything more.

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