Page 5 of Iron Will

I’m trying to think of something else I can do to cheer her up. Maybe the old “make a quarter appear behind her ear” trick or something. I’m casually reaching for my pocket to fish out a coin when a female voice behind me — different from the nurse’s — rings out in the room.

“Excuse me!”

I frown at Paisley and shift on the foot of the bed to look toward the door.

A hot as hell woman with dark hair and flashing eyes stands in the doorway, fists on her hips. She’s dressed like she runs this place, in professional-looking navy-blue pants and a cream colored blouse that’s unbuttoned to reveal the soft skin of her throat. The fabric swells to the curve of her breasts, which are rising and falling rapidly as she stares at me now, her brows arched in an unspoken challenge. Her lips are parted, plump, stained a berry-red that looks good enough to eat.

Or to wrap around my cock.

For a second, I forget everything about the situation and just kinda stare at her.Holy hell.

“Excuse me,” she repeats — interrupting my budding fantasy of findin’ an empty hospital bed somewhere to fuck her brains out. She glares at me, and then shoots a quick glance at Paisley before locking her eyes on me again. “Will you please tell me exactly what it is you’re doing in this room?”

2

Laney

Istare at the huge, scary-looking man defiantly, hoping I’m projecting a commanding presence I don’t quite feel.

When Katie — my best friend and a nurse here at the hospital — called my office and told me there was a strange man in this room with the little girl, refusing to leave, I don’t know exactly what I expected. But it sure as heck wasn’t this. Sitting on the foot of the girl’s bed is a man dressed all in denim and leather. He looks to be somewhere around thirty years old, with hard, rugged features roughly sculpted, almost as though from rock. His dark hair is cropped close, revealing high cheekbones, a strong, straight nose, and a square jaw accented by just a hint of shadow. Dark tattoos emerge from the collar of his black T-shirt and snake up his neck. The muscles in his arms, also tattooed, are hard and sculpted like the rest of him, making it difficult not to stare.

Even seated on the bed, the man is almost as tall as I am standing. Looking at him now, in the sterile environment of this hospital room, I somehow think of the proverbial bull in the china shop. He seems completely out of place, bursting with strength and energy that almost literally fills the room. He feels dangerous as a wild beast — a mountain I couldn’t hope to move if I wanted to, no matter how hard I tried.

But even so. There is no way in hell I am going to let him do any harm this girl. Whoever he is, I am going to have to make him leave, no matter what it takes.

“I said, what are you doing in this room?” I demand. My voice comes out strong, thankfully — not betraying even a hint of fear. I know that if this man is dangerous, things could get bad here very quickly. I glance back toward the hallway, prepared to yell for security if I have to.

But instead of doing anything sudden or violent, the man gets leisurely to his feet, cocking a brow at me.

“What the f—…” he begins, then stops, with a glance toward the little girl. “What’s your problem, lady?” he asks in a deep, rich baritone. “I’m just keeping Paisley here company. That ain’t a crime, is it?”

“You’re not a relative, and she is a minor,” I retort. I step further into the room, realizing that if I’m trying to intimidate this man, I’m likely to fail miserably. If anything, he looks mildly amused, if not a little pissed off.

Mentally I kick myself that I didn’t get here to see the girl earlier. About an hour ago, Katie came by my office and told me that a female minor had come here with a broken arm and a bad concussion — possibly malnourished, and needing a bath.

As the medical social worker on staff here at Morningside Hospital, it’s my job to investigate situations like this — to determine whether there’s any likelihood of physical abuse. But at the time, I was running behind on some paperwork, so I made a mental note to come see the little girl as soon as I finished. But then, just a few minutes ago, Katie called me again in a panic, saying there was a strange man here in her room, refusing to leave.

Maybe if I’d been here when he showed up, I could have managed to keep him out of the girl’s room in the first place. Now that he’s in here, it’s going to be a lot harder to get him out.

I take another step forward toward the bed. I’m about four feet away from the man now, and my God, he ismassive. He stands almost a foot taller than I am, a wall of muscle wrapped in leather. His shoulders are almost broad enough to carry a sofa. His black vest and heavy boots mark him right off as a biker. Patches line the leather, indicating a sort of code I don’t quite understand. But the tattooed mass of him — as well as the words “Lords of Carnage” and “Vice-President” over his pec — tell me he’s definitely not a casual weekend rider.

As he towers over me, his eyes travel from my face to my neck, then down to my chest. He makes no secret of the fact that he’s checking me out. He takes his sweet time about it, too. I feel my face flame, half from embarrassment and half from anger.The nerve!Thankfully, his back is to the little girl, so she can’t see what he’s doing.

The biker’s eyes finally slide back up to lock on mine. As they do, corner of his mouth lifts, into just the hint of a lazy smirk. “What’s the problem, darlin’?” he asks, his voice teasing, taunting. “You gonna toss me out on my ear?”

It’s obvious he finds my attempts to intimidate him ridiculous. And of course, they are. I could throw my entire weight at him and probably not budge him an inch. If he doesn’t want to leave, there’s no way I can make him.

But, I have to admit that as dangerous as he seems, he doesn’t really give off the vibe of a man who would hurt a child. I flick my eyes over to the little girl, who’s watching both of us with more curiosity than anything. She doesn’t seem at all afraid of him.

As a social worker, I know better than to put complete trust in appearances, of course. Some of the worst cases of abuse I’ve ever seen were at the hands of people you’d never imagine capable of it. But this doesn’t feel at all like the situation I thought I’d be stepping into when Katie called me.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave,” I say uncertainly, all the strength in my voice seeming to have left me.

“Uh-uh,” he rumbles, taking a step closer. His dark eyes seem to see right through me, making me feel strangely exposed. “But hey, darlin’, if you wanna try to make me, be my guest,” he says, his voice dropping until only I can hear what he’s saying. “Might be fun.”

Alarm bells start to go off somewhere deep in the back of my brain. But now, they aren’t because I’m afraid he’s going to hurt the little girl in that bed.

They’re going off because of the way he’s looking at me. Like he can see right through the professional air I’m struggling to maintain with him.

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