LITMIR.BIZ

      Catherine Wilson muttered at the commotion coming from the closed room. She wasn’t supposed to be here today, had come in only for a personal favor. Now she was stuck.

      She jammed the pen into her pocket, clutched the clipboard tightly in one hand and took a deep breath. No sense in drawing it out any longer. It was her own fault she couldn’t say no.

      The bitter smell of ammonia stopped her midstride as she opened the door, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste while biting back a smile. A man was sitting on the floor, his legs drawn up to his chest, his head resting limply on his knees. Large hands curled protectively around his ankles and his shoulders heaved with his heavy breathing. Beside him, on the clean tile floor, was a small pool of blood.

      Catherine observed the scene in the space of the few seconds it took her to close the door. Gwen was bent over the man, telling him to breathe deeply. She shook her head and glanced quickly at the chart.

      “Mr. Conners?”

      The man released his grip from his ankle and waved absently in the air, brushing her off. Catherine took another deep breath, reminding herself it wasn’t his fault she was here today. “Mr. Conners? I need you to take a seat on the table, sir.” Her voice was brisk, businesslike. It was the tone she reserved for the possible troublemakers, and Gwen looked up at her sharply. The man released a loud groan and shook his head, muttering something into his leg.

      “Mr. Conners, I really do need you—”

      “I said no.” The voice was still muffled but louder, with as much force as Catherine’s request. She stared at the figure on the floor, then looked questioningly at Gwen.

      “Um, it seems that Mr. Conners had a slight…accident.”

      “Accident?” Catherine bit the inside of her cheek at the flash of amusement that sparkled in Gwen’s eyes.

      “Yes. He, um, fell off the table. When I was trying to draw some blood.”

      Catherine turned from the nurse to study the man on the floor, sympathy surging to the surface as she realized he must be embarrassed. She looked back at Gwen, her voice less brisk. “Did he hit his head at all?” The nurse shook her head.

      Catherine placed the clipboard on the small table in the corner before leaning down closer to the man.

      “Mr. Conners, are you feeling okay? Here, why don’t we help you stand up.” She motioned to the nurse and reached for one of the man’s arms, surprised by the heat of his flesh. “Then we—”

      “No.”

      Catherine was surprised at the quiet demand in the man’s voice as he pulled his arm from her grasp. But not before she’d noticed the hard muscle beneath her fingers and sensed the leashed tension thrumming through him. She took a breath then motioned for Gwen to get assistance.

      Catherine settled on the floor a few feet from him and leaned against the wall, her arms folded in front of her as she studied him. Thick black hair fell forward, hiding his face, and his muscular arms were wrapped around sturdy legs. His hands were large, as well, with long, tapered fingers.

      Normally she would be hesitant to stay by herself with a potentially difficult patient, but some inner instinct told her that she needn’t worry with him. Yes, he was a large, powerful man. His physical build alone was intimidating, but she felt no threat. If she felt anything, it was empathy for the keen embarrassment that pulsated around him. She could certainly identify with humiliating reactions at the worst possible time.

      Catherine took a deep breath and spoke softly in an effort to alleviate some of his embarrassment. “Mr. Conners, you’d probably be more comfortable if you weren’t sitting on the floor. Why don’t you let me help—”

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