Sweet Trouble Read online

  Sweet Trouble

  Sasha Gold

  Please note that this is a work of adult fiction and contains graphic descriptions of sexual activity. It is intended for mature readers aged 18 and over.

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  Chapter One

  Nick

  Pain radiates along my jaw, and I try to keep blood from dripping on my flannel shirt as I press the cut with a wad of gauze the ER tech gave me. This right here, the blood, the pain, the ER filled with puking kids… this is exactly why it’s a bad idea to go out of your way to help someone. But when it’s your eighty-nine-year-old grandmother, what choice do you have?

  None.

  Especially when she claims you’re her favorite grandson. Only reason she said that was because I know more about electrical stuff than the other men in the family. One of the skill sets I picked up in prison.

  This morning I’m crawling around her attic trying to figure out why her fifty-year-old parlor fan is not working. Some of this old electrical wiring is scary, even to me. I make a mental note that I need to re-wire this whole house. Like yesterday.

  I check the fixture holding the fan and find that a varmint of some kind must have pulled the wires free from the fan motor. I run new wire from the panel to the fixture and I’m all done and about to go down when Gran decides she’s coming up, to bring me some damned iced tea, opening the attic door fast and hard, right into my jaw.

  Oh dear, I’m sorry, Nicholas. Did I hurt you? That’s a lot of blood. Quit that cussing. Land sakes! You want this tea or not?

  That’s how my morning started.

  Right after prison I started my own roofing business. That was ten years ago. Now I own three companies. Not once during all those years, crawling around attics, and on top of steep, slippery roofs, have I ever gotten hurt. Wouldn’t you know it’s my ninety-pound granny who sends me to the ER.

  I’m jammed into a hard plastic chair, one meant for a smaller person. All six foot five of me is wedged between a woman nursing her kid and a teenager with earbuds jammed in his ear, listening to some crap and staring off into space. Where do I want to be? At home, grilling the steaks I special-ordered, the two-inch T-bones. By myself, the way I like it, not here, in this quivering fluorescent lighting, jaw throbbing, wedged like a sardine between every other element of humanity.

  Some kid with a stained, white t-shirt, maybe three years old, what do I know, walks by and, I shit you not, takes his sucker out of his mouth and sets it down on my leg. I’m wearing jeans, and they’re pretty clean, but I was crawling around an ancient attic an hour ago and I’m pretty sure I’m covered in dust that dates back to the Truman administration. The kid drops to the floor and reaches under a nearby chair to retrieve a toy, then pops back up and takes the sucker off my leg, and is about to stick it right back into his mouth.

  “Don’t do that,” I growl, and the kid looks at me, all skeptical and doubting. You know, that little sideways glance kids give you when they’re certain you’re full of shit?

  “It’s dirty,” I clarify.

  He inches the slimy sucker closer to his lips, eyeing me intently to see if I’ll try to stop him. Little shit. I choke and gasp, pretending to die and he laughs, shoves the lint-covered candy back in his mouth and wanders off to his mother who probably wouldn’t notice him missing an hour from now. The woman hasn’t stopped talking on her bling covered phone since I got here.

  “Nicholas McKinley,” a nurse calls me.

  Finally. I haul myself out of the chair, step over a few sprawling brats and follow the nurse.

  “I hear you’re Olivia’s brother,” she says. “She helped deliver my daughter last year. She’s the best obstetrical nurse around.”

  “She’s all right, I guess.”

  The nurse laughs. “She told me she was coming down to check on you in a few minutes. She said something about holding your hand if you need stitches.” She pulls back a curtain and gestures for me to sit on a bed.

  “My sister’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Wow. That’s exactly what she said about you. You are a big guy aren’t you. Olivia says your nickname is Mount McKinley.”

  I scoff. I haven’t heard that one in a while. It was something my football coach called me and the name still comes up every so often.

  The room is tiny, most of it filled up with the bed and all sorts of equipment. “Look I don’t need a bed. The only reason I’m here is because I promised my grandmother I’d-”

  “You need stitches, I could tell when you first came in. We’re short staffed so we have a nurse coming from pediatrics to sew you up.”

  I step closer to the bed but I don’t sit down. If I sit down it will feel like an acknowledgement that I’m supposed to be here, or that I don’t have better places to be. The nurse puts her hand under my chin and lifts it a little, a smirk on her lips.

  “You probably won’t even scar. You’ll be able to keep all those modeling contracts you have.”

  I look around the area with a sense of unease. I hate this shit. Big time. Tubes. Cords. Beeping things.

  The nurse pats the bed. “Take a load off, Mr. McKinley.”

  Reluctantly I sit on the bed. She coaxes me to lift my legs up and lean back. The head of the bed is raised so I’m not lying flat, not even close, which is good. Really good, it turns out. When the new nurse walks in, the so-called stitching expert, we lock eyes, and it’s a holy shit moment. I feel like a lineman just buried his helmet into my stomach, wind knocked out of me by some vicious force.

  Blue, blue eyes. Thick blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail. She’s stunning. Pretty clear she’s picking up something from me too, because she comes to a full stop and stares. It takes her a second to recover and then she acts like that didn’t just happen.

  But she can’t be my nurse. She looks too young. Maybe she’s in training and just needs to observe.

  She tears her gaze from mine and sets down a little box of nurse stuff. “What do we have here?”

  I pull the wad of gauze away and she studies my chin and frowns, a cute little gesture. “Ouch…”

  Her gaze drifts up to mine. Her eyes have flecks of gold and I can’t stop staring. I’m sure I Iook half-crazed. Probably every other dick who comes here gives her the same dumb look. I can hardly think of anything to say. I’m not the type to get tongue-tied, but this girl has me looking for the right words. Or any words.

  She smiles, blushes and turns away. In that instant my cock is like granite, straining against my jeans. Here I thought I’d lost a lot of blood, most of it on the leather seat of my new truck. But apparently I have plenty left in my veins, based on the size of my dick.

  The first gal leaves and I’m left alone with Blue Eyes. She’s not wearing make-up. Her fresh-scrubbed look makes me feel like some sort of dirty old man and I’m barely thirty-two.

  “What are you? Uh, like a high school student or something?” I have to know. She’s adorable, but this little speck of jailbait isn’t coming near me with a needle.

  She gives me a look and snaps on some gloves. “I’m not in high school. I happen to be a Registered Nurse and, for your information, I’m twenty yea
rs old.”

  I grumble, only half-believing her. “Twenty, huh?”

  She shakes her head, ignoring me and I catch a whiff of sweet scent.

  “You smell nice,” I tell her. Because that’s not creepy at all, and she glances at me like I might take a bite out of her. “Like flowers. Roses.”

  My sister, Olivia, pops her head in the room. Her grin is about a mile wide. “I heard you have an ow-ee. Did you cut yourself shaving, dumbass?”

  I point to my chin. “Can you believe Gran did this to me?”

  Olivia walks over and loses her mean older sister look, turning into a concerned professional in the blink of an eye. Grimacing, she lets out a whistle.

  “Were you knocked out? Let me look at your eyes. I want to make sure they’re dilating properly.”

  “Excuse me,” Blue Eyes says. “This is my patient.”

  I smile. I don’t mean for it to be a dirty smile, but it probably is. Because if I’m her patient, then she’s my nurse. My nurse, as in, all mine. From her cute white sneakers to her perfectly rounded ass, and her perky tits, and those mesmerizing blue eyes. I stare at her lips, soft pink pillows, and I imagine schooling her on a hundred different ways to please me. She’s ignoring me and glaring at Olivia. My sister’s tough as nails, and if this little kitten thinks she’s going to get my sister to back down, she’s mistaken. In spite of that, I’m enjoying her sass. I like a little attitude in a woman.

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad, girlfriend,” Olivia murmurs, as she peers into my eyes.

  “I didn’t pass out, Olivia.” I tell her. “My jaw’s as hard as my head.”

  Olivia smirks at me, but her smile fades as she turns to take a look at my nurse. “You’re new here aren’t you?”

  And here we go. Olivia has worked in this hospital for fifteen years and has delivered hundreds of children. Twice she delivered a kid in the back seat of a taxi. Once in an elevator. She’s not a doctor, but she knows more than most of them, and I’m almost afraid of the dressing down she is going to give Blue Eyes.

  My nurse doesn’t look too bothered. She keeps on laying out supplies on the table, sharp pointy things I don’t want to know about.

  “I’m Olivia Matthews,” my sister says. “I’ve worked here almost sixteen years. And you are?”

  Blue Eyes gives her a sideways glance. “I’m Bailey. Bailey Voss. I’ve worked here three weeks. I’m a traveling nurse, filling in.”

  A jolt goes down my spine. “Voss,” I say softly. My mind works furiously to make sense of her words. “Did you say Voss?”

  “Yes,” she replies, not looking up.

  My hands curl into fists, and I clench my jaw. Olivia looks as freaked out as I feel and sets a hand on my shoulder. It’s as if all the oxygen is sucked out of the room. Chains tighten around my chest. It’s all I can do to keep coaxing air into my lungs. The girl doesn’t notice our reactions, which is a good thing. In fact, she steps out to get something from the nurse’s station.

  “I don’t want a fucking Voss working on me,” I snarl.

  Moving to get up from the bed, I’m stopped by Olivia. “Shut up. Just shut up. You don’t know anything about her. David Voss died without heirs. This could be a coincidence.”

  “Like hell.”

  “I work here, Nick,” she hisses. “I won’t let you cause a scene. You’re going to get a few stitches from the girl, and then you never have to see her again. So just shut the hell up. Leave the past alone.”

  And then Olivia leaves, quickly vanishing behind the curtain before I can cuss her out for telling me what to do.

  The Voss girl is back a moment later and cleans dried blood from my chin and jaw. I’m pretty sure she can tell the shift in mood, because as I stare at her, she’s getting a little nervous. Her eyes flick up to mine and away. The old, black hatred pulls at me. Even though I’m sure all that bad shit is pouring off me in tidal waves, lust burns my blood.

  I’m lusting after a woman who’s about to stick a needle into me. A Voss, for fuck’s sake.

  She injects Novocain into my jaw.

  “I’m used to working on kids,” she says softly. “Not big guys like you.”

  I don’t say a word, but I watch her every move. The way she brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, the way she swallows hard, and the way her breathing is a little faster. She’s worried. She doesn’t know why, but she is. And she should be.

  “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?” she asks.

  Gone is the confidence of a few moments ago. She bites her lip and waits for my reply.

  “Not a bit,” I say.

  Chapter Two

  Bailey

  I shouldn’t be here. I’m not old enough to be in a dancehall or bar or whatever this place is. Warning bells clang inside my head as I watch Sydney slip a flask from her purse and unscrew the top. She snickers and gives me a devious look. Looking around the bar, I’m praying no one sees. We’re in a dark corner, because the neon beer sign above our booth is burned out. Still, I worry about being caught. The sign at the entrance clearly states: No Outside Booze.

  The bar, Fulton Country Store, is seedy and rough. I imagine a big, wide bouncer catching us with our outside booze, and he’d be none too pleased. And if he finds out we’re both underage, it will be far worse. I can’t wait to turn twenty-one and not have this headache.

  I spent the afternoon at Sydney’s apartment, trying to straighten my hair and get my make-up right so I don’t look like I’m fourteen. My face makes me look younger than I am, I know that. But at least my body is the right age. And that’s what all these guys are looking at anyway.

  Sydney promised me that if I let her dress me, the guys would notice. I’m wearing a snug, fuzzy sweater a mini-skirt, and cowboy boots. I feel a little over-dressed, because every woman here is dressed in ripped jeans and spaghetti-strap tank tops

  Problem is I’m freezing. It’s raining outside, pouring cats and dogs. The other women were smart to wear jeans, but why the tight, tiny tops on such a cold night? Free drinks, that’s why.

  Sydney waves her flask. “A little something for your diet soda?”

  “Maybe just a splash. Shit! Do it under the table, Syd. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

  “Don’t be such a worry wort,” she chides. Ignoring me completely she pours a shot into my glass right there on the table.

  I don’t drink much, almost never, and I sure don’t want to order anything in this dive. My friends always tell me I do weird things in my sleep when I drink. Apparently I sleep walk. I think they’re pulling my leg. Alcohol does give me weird dreams though. That’s for sure.

  My roommate, Susanna, was supposed to come with us tonight. This was going to be a night to help her get her groove back after getting dumped last month, but she said she was too depressed to join us and wanted to just call an old friend and get caught up. She’s probably sitting on the couch, half-way through a carton of cookie dough ice cream.

  Sydney takes a sip of her drink and wrinkles her nose. “Not bad. The guy at the liquor store by the hospital recommended it. I wanted us to celebrate having four days in a row off, at the same time. What are the odds?”

  She raises her glass and I offer mine. Sydney and I went through nursing school together, a two-year RN program. Aside from my roommate, she is the only person I know in town. Syd’s a little wild, but always lands on her feet. Like a cat.

  My mom mentioned that I used to have family in Fulton, but they’ve all passed away. She implied that was a good thing, that I didn’t want to tangle with any of the Voss side of the family. But mom’s a recluse, so I’m not sure she’s giving me the full story.

  “When do you think the band will start up? I want to learn the two-step,” I say, scanning the crowd.

  “Have a little more of this and it will make you lighter on your feet.”

  “I’m pretty sure it would have the opposite effect on…” My words trail off. Sitting at the bar is the man I sti
tched up last week. He looks scruffy. He hasn’t shaved because of the stitches I suppose. Now he’s not only gorgeous, but with a side of danger too. Something about him scares me and I should look away before he notices me, but I can’t tear my eyes from him.

  “What’s the matter?” Sydney asks, peering the direction of the bar. “Oh! What do we have here?”

  I turn away and a shudder rolls down my spine. “His name is Nicholas McKinley. He came into the ER for a chin laceration. I did something to piss him off. The whole time I was trying to stitch him up, I felt like he was seething. Like he was about to jump on me.”

  Sydney’s eyeing him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  My description clearly sparks her interest. She’s not afraid of anything and I’m sure she’d face the challenge of Nicholas McKinley head-on, not get worried and panicky like me. Sydney’s fearless.

  She arches a brow and looks away, fixing her gaze on me. I practically can see the bossy lecture poised on the tip of her tongue.

  “Yup, Bailey. That one looks like trouble, all right. I’d say that bad boy’s too much for you to handle.”

  “For sure,” I agree without hesitation.

  Any other woman saying that to me would make me think she was trying to hurt my feelings. Not Sydney. She knows all about my dating history, which is not much, granted, but she knows it all. And she has a lot of experience… a LOT. So I listen when she gives advice.

  She’s got this martial arts analogy she likes to use. She says everyone has their own colored belt, and that your best chance to succeed is to go into the ring with someone wearing the same color as you. She says I need to find another white belt to spar with and then work my way up. After a few drinks, she’ll start to pull together all sorts of strange parallels that only make sense to her, and she’ll proudly proclaim her status as a red belt.

  “He looks like he’s in his thirties… early thirties.”

  I rap my knuckles on the table to pull her back to reality. “Can you please stop staring?”