Until Amy - Jessica Ames Page 0,2
I shouldn’t be ogling him.
“He’s okay. Just shaken up.”
“Don’t care if he’s okay.” He hisses the words out between clenched teeth. “I’m going to fucking throttle him. The fucking bike is wrecked.” The hand not clutched to his chest thrusts out in the direction of the twisted motorcycle.
He’s right. It’s screwed. No amount of hammering is going to straighten that frame again.
“Maybe think about throttling him when you’re not lying in the middle of the road, bleeding.”
His dark eyes snap to mine and the fire blazes for a moment before it dims.
“You’re also bleeding, sweetheart.”
I ignore the fact his endearment makes my stomach flip and reach up to my forehead, touching the blood I know is there. “I’m okay. It barely hurts.” He starts to move and I try to stop him again, but he brushes me off. “You really shouldn’t move, sir. Your neck—”
“Is fine.” As if to prove his point, he wobbles his head from side to side. “See.”
I can’t stop from glaring at him. “That wasn’t a good idea. What if you had a spinal injury?”
His eyes slide to me, eyes that flash irritation and he does a full body sweep of me that makes me feel like he’s mentally undressing me. I shiver under that dark gaze, one that looks like it’s seen into the depths of hell. “What’s your name?”
“Amy.”
“Well, Amy, take your high school First Aid course somewhere it’s needed.”
I splutter at his words, indignation making my tone terse. “I’m a fully-trained trauma nurse.”
I clutch my kit to my chest like it’s armor that can defend me from his words. He’s not the first biker I’ve treated, but I’ve never treated one so… obnoxious before.
I worked hard to get my nursing qualification and then to get a spot in the trauma center I work at. It was nearly all taken away from me after a doctor at the hospital took an unhealthy interest in me, but that’s behind me now.
His brows raise. “You’re a nurse?”
I glare at him, not liking the tone of his voice. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not, but we have that in common. I was a medic in the British Army.”
Now that he’s said it, I can imagine him being a soldier. He certainly looks big enough to be one.
He starts to sit and I help him the rest of the way, against my better judgment. He clutches his arm above the wrist and I carefully help him out of his vest and leather jacket.
“Don’t lose that,” he says, jutting his chin at the vest.
The leather is soft beneath my fingers as I fold it and place it back on his lap, then I move my attention back to his wrist, which is starting to swell and looks misshapen. It looks gnarly.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Whizz.”
I snort. “Your name’s Whizz?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Is your bedside manner always like this?”
I bite on my lip. It’s not. Usually, I’m a lot more professional, but this man is tying me up in knots I can’t explain. “Sorry.”
“Ain’t my real name. It’s my road name.”
“Road name?”
“Name given to me by my club.”
“What’s your real name?”
He stares at me for a beat, as if he’s contemplating what might happen if I know his secret identity.
“Shane.” It suits him. A strong name for a strong man.
I eye him. “You could still have a spinal injury. You should wait to be scanned at the hospital before moving around.”
“My spine is fine. It’s my wrist that’s fucked. What’s your expert opinion?” he asks.
I raise my eyes to meet his, thinking he’s ribbing me, but the look on his face is serious. I peer down at the misshapen limb.
“It could be broken.”
His mouth pulls into a line. “It fucking feels like it is.”
In the distance, sirens start to wail, coming closer. He glances around, his eyes locking on the red car. His brows draw down. “That fucker wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’m sorry he hit you, but at least everyone is okay.”
“Apart from Betty.”
“Betty?” I ask, worried I’ve missed a patient.
“Havoc’s old bike.”
I arch a brow as I gently take his wrist in my fingers. “Another road name?”
The darkness in his eyes vanishes as he smiles. It lights up his whole face, making him not just handsome, but stunningly so. He should smile more often. “Nosy, aren’t you?”
I smile back. I can’t stop myself from doing it.
“It’s my job to be nosy. It’s how we find things out about patients.”
“Ain’t your patient.”
“I’m treating you. That makes you my