The Hardest Hit (7 page)

The next day Trevor's cell phone rang. It was Chelsea's nurse scheduling him for an appointment that afternoon. The nurse said, “The doctor would like to fit you in today.”

Panic gripped his chest. Chelsea wanted to see him. Why? If she was asking her office to work him in, it probably meant she didn't have good news.

“You tell me what time and I'll be there. I'll wait as long as it takes,” he told the nurse.

Her silence crushed him. He died a little bit each time she'd told him that, “Nope, that won't work,” as she milled through Chelsea's schedule. He hoped the news wasn't career-ending. Without boxing, he'd have nothing.

“Her last appointment of the day is six o'clock. I'm guessing she can see you around seven. She's already running fifteen minutes late.”

“I'll be there,” he told her, and ended the call.

The rest of the day dragged on. He tried putting the appointment out of his mind by rationalizing nearly everything about the call. If it was career-ending news, she'd have brought him in instantly, right? Chelsea wouldn't have made him wait. The nurse hasn't sounded concerned. Maybe it was just routine news, but due to Chelsea's demanding schedule she couldn't find the time to deliver it? Just to move on. Check the box, as they say.

He pondered all the possibilities, but the truth was the six hours that needed to pass before he saw Chelsea again were excruciating. And, if the head injury didn't end him, the waiting just might.

***

Hours later he sat in the waiting room, flipping through an outdated copy of
People
magazine to kill time. Chelsea opened the door to reception at seven fifteen.

“Come on back,” she said, holding a file . “We need to talk.”

Those four words changed his outlook on their whole meeting. His shoulders slumped, releasing a twinge of hope that maybe she'd called him because she wanted to see him, spend time with him.
We need to talk
, told him he was a patient just like any other.

He followed her back to a small room, and the lights automatically turned on when she entered. The examination room looked like any other, clean and clinical.

“You ready for me to get naked now?” he joked. He had to have a little fun since the frown on her face hadn't changed since he saw her.

“Not exactly. Roll up your sleeve.”

Trevor had worn his sweats to the gym. He lifted the hem of his sweatshirt and peeled it over his head. Underneath he donned a T-shirt that bore the Stamina logo. “What's all this about?”

“I came across a medical journal article focusing on blood pressure in head injury patients. It looked at the rise and fall of blood pressure and its effect on intracranial pressure.”

Somehow he had to make plain English out of this. “Are you saying that my body's blood pressure can affect the pressure inside my head?”

“That's right.” She gave a decisive nod. “In a nutshell, pressure readings can trend higher because of a head injury. I noticed we hadn't taken your blood pressure since you'd left the hospital. It's something we should monitor.”

He didn't see what the big deal was. Wasn't fretting over blood pressure something old people did? He held out his arm. “Have at it, Doc.”

She wrapped the cuff around his arm and pumped the bulb at the end of the tube. Even something as innocent as putting on a blood pressure cuff sent his pulse racing. He wanted to tell her that if she wanted accurate readings she wasn't going to get them when she was around.

Standing next to her did something to him, something primal, urgent. There was a diagnosis for what he had, but she'd never find it, no matter how many articles she read. He had a bad case of infatuation that bordered on stronger feelings, ones he hadn't felt in a long time.

“Hmm.” Chelsea's face squished up. She rattled off some numbers and he didn't know if they were good or bad.

He gave her a pleading look.

“Elevated,” she said as she removed the cuff. “What are you doing for relaxation? Yoga, meditation, taking long walks?”

He shook his head. “Relax? I'm restricted from training. Dion Nash is going to find another contender if I don't get well, and I spend more of my time thinking about what will happen if I can't fight. What if I can't get back in the ring? What then?”

“Shh.” She placed her hand on his arm. “You're going to have to think of something you can do to relax your mind and your body.”

Well, he'd never had a problem relaxing after a hot, sweaty night of heating up his bedsheets with a beautiful woman, if she'd like to give that a go. But he refrained. He'd promised her he'd cool his jets with the flirting.

Instead, he shrugged. “What do you do?”

A tiny laugh emitted from her throat. “I haven't had a day off in . . .” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if trying to recall a date she couldn't name. Then, she shrugged.

“Then, I guess we both need the same treatment,” he said. “How about a day of R&R?”

A smile broke out across her face. “I wish I could but I have patients. My rounds at the hospital start early.”

“Your rounds have to end sometime, right?” he pressed. “Tomorrow is Saturday. You don't see patients in your office on Saturdays, do you?” He took her hand in his. “A guy like me needs oversight, right? I mean, I'm your patient. We can spend the day together and technically you'd still be working.”

She sunk her teeth into her lip. “Sounds tempting, but . . .”

He squeezed her hand. “Come on. You, me, a little surf and sand. Let's do it. Nothing's more relaxing than the beach.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Beach? This is Vegas. Where are we going to find a beach?”

He lifted himself off the examination table. “You let me worry about that. All you need to do is meet me here after your rounds. Pack your swimsuit and be ready to go. What do you say?”

The pinkish hue on her cheeks brightened. “If you can find a beach in Las Vegas, you've got a deal.”

“A beach in Vegas isn't a problem.” He dropped her hand and started to leave the room. “You'll see. After your rounds. Tomorrow. We'll get our relax on.”

She lifted a brow. “Okay, big guy.” Her voice trailed after him. “I'll bring the sunblock since it looks like we're going to the beach.”

The next day, Chelsea stood in her office waiting for Trevor. She had to admit she was intrigued. She didn't rush through her rounds, but she made decent time. The prospect of having a life outside of work was too good to ignore. Plus, she had no idea what Trevor had in mind, and part of her didn't care. He could bring her to an inflatable pool surrounded by sand and call it a beach and she'd be happy. Some time off sounded like heaven to her.

Whatever he had planned beat spending the day hovering over case files in her office. Admittedly she had to take some of her own advice. She needed some time away, time to relax and recharge. Didn't everyone?

A minute later her office door clicked open and Trevor ducked his head inside. “Ready to go?”

She reached down and grabbed the handle for the small bag she'd packed.

“I'll get that.” He took the bag and threw it over his muscular shoulder and she followed him out to his car.

“You know, it isn't lost on me that out of all the instructions I've given you, the one you actually follow involves seeing girls in bikinis.”

He shook his head. “Nope. It's got nothing to do with that.” He opened his car door for her, and she got inside. Once he sat in the driver's seat, he continued, “If you weren't going with me today, I'd have blown off your R&R instructions, too.”

She blew a rush of air from her nostrils. “What would you have done?”

He hiked up a shoulder. “Probably spent all day at the gym training the new guy. Shakes is teaching me a lot about coaching.”

“So you're only here because I am?” she asked.

He started the car. “Yeah, that and the prospect of seeing you in a bikini.”

They left the parking lot and drove down Las Vegas Boulevard, heading toward the Strip. She had no idea where he was going until his car turned into the Mandalay Bay. Then, it all made sense. How could she forget the biggest beach in Las Vegas?

He pulled up to the valet and the attendant opened her door. “Good day, ma'am. Welcome to the Mandalay Bay.”

“Thank you.” She grabbed her bag and got out of the car. As the attendant drove the car away they proceeded inside, and Trevor reached for her hand.

She slid her hand inside his, and together they walked through the large front doors. They followed the signs and the noise to the pool level, and once the elevator doors opened, the sounds and smells of a day at the beach hit her in the face.

“Twenty-seven tons of real sand and a 1.6-million-gallon wave pool. The best beach in Las Vegas.” Trevor smiled. “At least that's what they said on their website.”

She laughed. “Let's grab chairs.”

“Hang on a second.” Trevor dropped her hand and went off to find a pool attendant. They talked for a moment, then he motioned for Chelsea to follow them.

The attendant showed them inside their semi-private beach bungalow. The small space held a love seat, T.V., and a refrigerator stocked with drinks.

“Just pull the curtains closed to change, open them for fresh air, and turn on the ceiling fan if you get too hot,” the attendant said as he finished showing off the amenities of the space.

“This is us,” he told her.

Her eyes widened. “You did all this?”

Trevor nodded. “If we're going for R&R, we're doing it in style.”

“This is incredible.” Chelsea didn't hide how impressed she was by the beautiful surroundings. After the attendant told them to call if they needed anything, and left, Chelsea looked at Trevor. “Mind if I change?”

He helped her pull the curtains shut, and as fast as she could muster, she yanked off her clothes and slipped into a bright, red bikini. Relieved that the thing still fit in all the right places, she opened the curtain. “Ready for a swim?”

Trevor stopped in his tracks.

She felt his gaze on her. He allowed his eyes to travel up her body. His stare lingered longer than she expected, yet, he behaved himself. He didn't say anything flirtatious. Not a bold word. He was holding back, she could tell. But rules were rules and she had to follow them. Her job and her medical license depended on it.

“One sec,” he managed to blurt out, and once he stopped staring at her breasts he peeled off his own clothes.

He'd worn his swimsuit underneath his sweatpants. As the pants and shirt hit the sand, her gaze started to roam. And she saw him. For the first time she really saw him. Her gaze settled on his muscular eight pack abs. Tight and toned, his arms and chest and back were primed to perfection. The man was beyond just fit. He was rock-hard, like a God. She'd seen him before, but not like this.

His dark eyes captivated her, but they did nothing compared to how badly she wanted to run her fingers down the length of his body. His swimming trunks didn't hide the nice, muscular curve of his ass. The bright-colored board shorts ran the length of his thigh. It was probably a good thing they were tied at the waist. Dear Lord if he dived in the pool and they slipped down his magnificent hips, she might have a hard time remembering he was still her patient.

Trevor Redding was one sexy man. She couldn't fight it and she could no longer deny it. All the girls at the beach were going to check him out. How could they not? What if he flirted with them? Could she handle it?

She wasn't there as his date, but as his doctor. He was free to pick up anyone he liked. Nervous energy jittered through her stomach. What if he found someone sitting by the pool and dropped her flat? This was why the whole thing was a bad idea.

He must've sensed something was wrong. “You okay?”

She took a moment and glanced around the beautiful space. People crowded in beach chairs, drinking and laughing. The wave pool was filled with vacationers having a good time. To her right, a beach volleyball game had started. As the desert breeze wafted through their makeshift oasis and the coconut smell of suntan lotion permeated the air, she instantly knew that he could've asked anyone to come with him. He chose her.

“I'm perfect,” she said, letting her worries fade away, “let's go have some fun.”

Trevor emerged from the pool and reached for his towel. “You sure you don't want to go in?”

“Not right now,” Chelsea said, “I ordered some margaritas. The waitress said she'd be right back.”

He looked down at her. Stretched out in her lounge chair, wearing dark sunglasses, that killer bikini, and a big floppy hat, she looked like her life was perfect. And, from what he knew about her, it probably was. Settling down in the chair beside her, he allowed his eyes to roam across her body. She was nose-deep in a magazine article and probably didn't know how badly he needed a little time just to look at her and dream.

He envisioned them there and wished they were like some of the other couples sitting around them. He could lean over for a kiss anytime he wanted, and she could rub lotion on his back. Then, they could sneak behind the bungalow's curtain and get down to some private business. As good as she looked in her swimsuit, he'd have a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

He supposed it was good that she was his doctor.

“Kudos to you for embracing the whole relaxation thing. I haven't had a margarita in months,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“They're virgin margaritas. You're still in recovery. No alcohol. Haven't I taught you anything?” she teased.

“Yep.” He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun. “You taught me to never go on vacation with your doctor.”

Crack!
The magazine hit him on the arm.

His eyes peeled open. “Hey, what's the big idea?”

Chelsea laughed. “I don't get many days off. Don't ruin it for me.”

“You? The glamorous doctor from a family of glamourous doctors? Can't you guys buy your own island if you want?”

He didn't miss her eye roll. “Well, I mean, you guys are rich, can't you do whatever you like?”

She shifted her body to face him. “Hardly. Being a glamourous doctor from a family of glamorous doctors has a price.”

“Which is?”

She brushed a hand through her hair. “Living up to a family's expectations. Doing things, not because you want to, but because you have to.”

He raised his eyebrows, still not seeing what was so bad. “Such as?”

“Getting straight A's, becoming a doctor, and marrying a doctor—those are the kinds of expectations that come with being a member of the Fox family.” She lifted a towel from the table beside her and dried the beads of sweat forming on her chest.

“How does that make you feel, living up to someone else's expectations?” he asked.

She let out a sigh. “Trapped.”

He smiled. “You're not trapped. You can do anything.”

Chelsea shook her head. “No, I can't. What I wanted never mattered. I was expected to follow in my father's footsteps, and I did.” She shook her head. “If I could do anything I wanted, I'd open up a free clinic. I'd service the poor, the homeless, and the underprivileged children.”

“Do it,” he told her.

“I can't.” Her voice sounded deflated.

“Why not? Do you always do what you're told?” he said in an accusatory tone.

She grinned. “You don't.”

His grin matched hers. “Fuck no. The only thing stopping me from kissing you right now is that I promised you I'd behave myself and I want you to have an excellent day.”

She placed her towel back on the table. “That's one of the things I like about you, Trevor. You do whatever you want. You answer to no one. It must be great to feel that free.”

“It is. So why can't you open up your clinic? Your family has the money. You have the know-how. What's the problem?”

“Time.” She sighed.

He felt his brow furrow. “I don't get it.”

“Aside from the many social functions and galas my family is required to attend, there's also a board position my father has earmarked for me at a drug company. If I sit on the board, I can't devote myself to a clinic. I'd still have my regular patients.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks. Chelsea placed both cups on the table while Trevor signed the bill and sent the waitress on her way.

“So, who's the doctor you're planning to marry?” He changed the subject back to one that interested him more than board appointments for drug companies, which ripped off sick people. He lifted the virgin margarita to his lips and drank. He swallowed hard. Good Lord. He never realized how much the flavor of tequila did for a margarita.

She shrugged. “I don't know. I thought it was Ben. It's not.”

He lifted his head. “Who's Ben?”

“Ben Evans. He was your doctor at Sunrise.”

That prick?
Stay cool
, he told himself. If she was dating Ben she wouldn't be here with him. “So, how come Ben's out of the running?”

“Other than being doctors we don't have much in common.” She placed her head back onto her chair.

Nothing in common. Okay, that was a good sign. “How long were you two together?”

“A while. We moved in together, but that was a mistake. Too much, too fast, you know? He rushed me. Pressured me. It wasn't right.”

Good to know. One of the things he admired most about Chelsea was that she took her time and used caution, a nice balance to his full-speed-ahead attitude. He dared himself not to ask the next question, but couldn't hold back. “So, any other doctor prospects waiting in the wings?”

She laughed. “No, no doctors.”

He breathed an easy sign of relief. Wait. She said
doctors
. “Okay. No doctors. Does that mean someone else is on your mind?”

She turned her face to his. “Maybe, but it wouldn't be professional to discuss that sort of thing with a patient.”

His gaze narrowed. How long was she going to hide behind the patient card? Sure, they'd agreed to keep things professional, but he couldn't help his curiosity. He placed his drink down on the table. If she expected him to drink it, he was going to have to add some tequila. Stretching his hand in her direction, he reached for her. “Come on, you look hot.”

“Stop flirting with me.” She grinned.

“No. I meant hot, as in over heated. How about we go for a swim and cool off?”

She took hold of his hand and he helped her up from the lounge chair. Hands clasped, they walked toward the wave pool. Chelsea stood on the edge, sinking her toes in the sand. He dropped her hand, knowing how much she didn't like to be rushed. As he did, she grabbed his again.

“Let's go,” she said, leading the way.

He placed his hand on the curve of her back as she walked into the pool. God, her skin felt so soft, so slick with perspiration that he imagined what it would feel like to have her all to himself. They stepped down into the pool and, as if acting on instinct, she wrapped her arms around his neck as the water climbed up their bodies.

He clasped his hands around her waist.

She started to let go, but he flashed a knowing look. Having her hands on him felt incredible and he wasn't too eager to have them leave his body, even though they were only touching the back of his neck.

“The water feels great,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “Thank you for today. I really needed this.”

Little did she know how much he also needed a day like today. He'd spent his time hanging out at the gym, watching guys train, and his manager book fights for everyone but him. He loved being a boxer, but he was opening his eyes to other important things in life. There was more to life than gloves and gyms and sweat.

There was Chelsea.

He knew she wasn't his, but spending the day with her showed him how much he was missing by not having someone like her to share his life with. The moment gave him pause.

“What is it?” Chelsea must have caught him staring into the distance. “Is everything okay?”

“It's better than okay.”

She smiled. “Good, because I think they're setting up for something and I want to stay.”

At the edge of the pool, a stage jutted out into the water. Workers brought out equipment and musical instruments. A band was about to play, and people were gathering.

Chelsea held on tight as kids splashed nearby. Together, they drifted away from the commotion to a quieter spot by the side of the pool.

“We should do this again,” Chelsea blurted out.

He gave a light chuckle. “It's not over yet.”

She laughed. “I know, but gosh, I guess it's been awhile since I had a good time.”

“What do you usually do for fun?” he asked.

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “It's not for fun as much as it is an obligation. Sometimes on my day off I go to the country club with my mother. I'm her bridge partner.”

“That sounds brutal.”

A loud laugh escaped Chelsea's throat. “It is. When I can, I donate my time at the free clinic in North Las Vegas. It's a place that's always in need of help. I adore helping them. So many kids there are in need of decent medical care.”

Pride welled inside him. Leave it to Chelsea to sacrifice her personal time for the sake of others.

Water swirled around them, and she let go of his neck. Admittedly, he felt a little lost without her hands around him, but he didn't reach for her. She'd come back when she was ready.

The band broke out into a rendition of Jimmy Buffet's “Margaritaville” and people danced to the classic tune.

A waitress passed carrying a tray of fruity drinks, and Chelsea waved her over. She lifted two cherry-colored frozen goodies off the tray and handed one to Trevor. One sip knocked Trevor's head back. Talk about a sugar rush.

He could tell by the way Chelsea wrapped her lips around the straw she'd be good at sucking other things besides cherry slushies. She, simply drinking through a straw, teased him. Didn't she know there were things he'd like to do with those kissable lips? Dirty, dirty, things.

Chelsea lifted one arm in the air and swayed along to the beat. He liked seeing her like this. Not that he didn't like seeing her at the hospital, but the woman simply needed to have more fun.

People danced around the edge of the pool. Lots of women danced and gyrated as the band played one song into the next, but none of the poolside beauties were as captivating as Chelsea. Her spiral curls bounced along to the beat. She was totally relaxed and having a blast. This was how he liked her best. He waded up behind her and leaned down to her ear. “From now on, your days off belong to me.”