Page 18 of Trap ’N’ Trace

Yeah, he didn’t think she’d like that idea.

“Does your expertise include medical training?”

“Actually, it does. In another life, I was a paramedic and pre-med.”

Her brows rose. He hadn’t noticed before that they were slightly darker than her hair. She sighed. “Fine.”

“Fine what?” She had to have meant the hospital. Right?

She swallowed. “I’ll let you examine me.”

Fuck. He’d only given her the ultimatum to force her into seeing a doctor to make sure she hadn’t broken anything. She really must hate hospitals.

Kat had more guts than he’d given her credit for. She’d called his bluff, leaving him no choice.

Time to play doctor.

Chapter Six

Kat swallowed again as she untied the belt. They were alone in the house and once she removed her robe, the only thing she’d have on was the matching silk and lace nightie that barely covered her thighs. But going to a hospital was scarier than having a man she barely knew—and who wasn’t a doctor—examine her.

Her vision blurred, and she blinked. Amy was probably in a hospital morgue by now, lying on a cold metal table and draped with a white sheet. Alone. Cold. And dead. Try not to think about it. But it was all she thought about.

“Kat?” Dayne’s voice cut through her morbid thoughts.

If she didn’t let him do his doctor thing, she didn’t doubt for one second that he’d make good on his threat to take her to the hospital.

She let the robe slip from her shoulders. Before she could catch it, the garment slithered down her legs to the floor. He tracked the movement, although she couldn’t be certain if he was looking at the robe or taking in her nearly naked body, and oh shit. Her nipples tingled, and she crossed her arms over her breasts to cover the hard little buds. Her body had a mind of its own that clearly wasn’t connected to her brain.

Dayne stepped closer. “I’ll try not to hurt you,” he said gruffly. “Tell me if I do, and I’ll stop.”

She nodded, giving him a nervous smile. “I’m in your hands, Doctor Dayne.”

He clasped her wrist with one hand, resting his other on her shoulder, readying to gently manipulate her arm when she gasped.

He jerked his hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She uttered a tight laugh. “Your hands are cold.”

His big body relaxed, and relief seemed to wash over him. He rubbed his hands together several times before placing them back on her shoulder and wrist. His now warm fingers were rough and calloused, yet his touch unexpectedly gentle, as if he were caressing a fragile piece of glass. “Better?” he asked.

“Um, yes.” Her shoulder had been aching and throbbing to the point where she couldn’t sleep. Now all she felt was the army of goose bumps racing across every inch of her skin. Funny how she’d never gotten those goose bumps from Chad’s touch.

He manipulated her arm and shoulder in different directions then abruptly dropped his hands and took an awkward step back. “I don’t think anything’s broken, but the only way to confirm that is with X-rays. Did you take anything for the pain?”

“Yes. It didn’t help.”

“I can see why.” He dipped his head to the ugly bruise that had pretty much doubled in size in the last hour. “Do you have an ice pack?”

“In the freezer.” She nodded to the stainless steel Thermidor against the far wall. “Emily and I keep several in there in case we pull something during kickboxing.”

He practically bolted to the freezer then jerked open the door with what seemed like more force than necessary. The ice packs were staring him in the face on one of the shelves, but he didn’t grab one right away. He stood there with his broad back to her, his entire body frozen like a block of ice.

A long moment passed before he grabbed one of the packs then shut the freezer door. He held the pack out to her, maintaining so much distance between them it was obviously intentional. “Hold this to your shoulder for twenty minutes, three times a day for the next forty-eight hours.”

“Thank you.” She took the ice pack, taking extra care not to touch his hand. What was that about? One minute they’d been getting along fine—not that she cared, not really, anyway—the next, he acted as if she had the cooties.

She pressed the ice pack against the bruise, flinching as it made contact. “I told Detective Paulson I’ll be hiring a security guard company first thing in the morning. That way, neither the police department nor the FBI will have to shoulder the burden of my safety.”