“Anything broken?” Doc grunts.
“Just my heart if she walks away,” Murphy says, his voice carrying a touch of vulnerability, as he leans down and nestles his nose into the crown of my head. Inhaling deeply, he emits an unrestrained groan that borders on the obscene. My heart responds with a feeble squeeze, caught in a tangle of conflicting emotions.
“Bloody hell, Murphy. Be serious.”
“I am.”
I shiver, and he smirks.
Enveloped in his embrace, the intensity of his scent overwhelms my senses, engulfing me. Fresh bread, toasted until golden with a swipe of melting butter. It swirls around me, clouding my vision and blurring the edges of my surroundings, as if I’ve consumed two pints in rapid succession. The world appears hazy, as if veiled by a mist of desire and longing.
My hearing, too, undergoes a peculiar transformation. The surrounding sounds seem distant and muffled, fading into the background. Yet, with an uncanny clarity, my attention fixates on the rhythmic pattern of his every breath. Each inhale and exhale reverberates within me, a hypnotic rhythm drawing me deeper into his gravitational pull.
As his aura intoxicates me, I find myself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – his aura against mine. The magnetism between us tugs at my heartstrings, stirring an unquenchable desire to remain in his arms. Yet, a quiet voice within me whispers warnings of caution, reminding me this could all be a symptom of my aura sickness. What I’m feeling might not actually be truly mine. I need to protect the fragility of my heart.
Stepping back, I can’t help but feel a pang of longing as the comforting warmth of his protective cocoon fades away. His arms remain outstretched, as if inviting me to return to his embrace. I clear my throat, squeezing my eyes shut tightly to dispel the lingering haze. Mustering the courage to steal a glance at his sinfully handsome face, I quickly divert my gaze, fixating resolutely on his shoulder instead.
His eyes, those sparkling blue orbs, are too expressive to ignore. They lay bare everything he’s feeling. I can sense the need, possessiveness, and desire emanating from him. And amidst it all, I detect a hint of vulnerability, as if he, too, is grappling with the intensity of our unexpected connection.
I force myself into nurse-mode. I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin, adopting a professional persona like a shield. “Like I said, I’m a nurse, and I was concerned you were seriously injured. It seems you’re just afflicted with stupidity.”
Doc snorts and covers his mouth.
I ask the amused doctor, “I assume there is nothing we can do about the rocks in his head, but is there somewhere we can treat his head injury and check him over?”
“Spitfire, I’ll let you check me all over,” Murphy says, ignoring my jabs at his poor judgement.
Doc gestures for us to follow him as he leads us to a blue marquee with privacy walls and a single entrance. A handwritten sign declares the tent is the medical bay, and below someone has scrawled “Visit if shit’s fucked”.
Doc shoots me an exasperated look. “Don’t bother trying to reason with rodeo cowboys, little lady. They’re all suicidal idiots, and this one is the biggest galah of them all.”
“I’m starting to see that,” I mumble, entering the tent behind the two Alphas and taking in the sparse space.
Without being told, Murphy boosts himself up onto the examination table, sitting with his thighs spread wide and swinging his boots.
A shout from the arena rings out, and the Doc tenses. “Ah, that’s my call. I have another patient to tend to.”
“Go and help,” Murphy says, making a shooing gesture with his free hand. “My personal nurse can take good care of me.”
I shoot a narrowed-eyed stare at the cheeky Alpha, who flashes me his pearly whites. It’s as if Murphy’s sole purpose in life is to antagonise and provoke everyone around him. I mean, seriously, he’s relentless. I should probably be more annoyed by his antics than I actually am. Why aren’t I?
Doc hesitates, still assessing Murphy with pulled brows, before he turns to me and asks, “What’s your name and are you fully qualified?”
“Matilda Weber, I’m a Nurse Practitioner with a decade on the job.”
“Think you can handle this one as a patient?”
I hesitate. Can I handle his injuries as his nurse? Sure. Can I handle an extremely flirtatious and attractive Alpha as an Omega? I’m not so sure. I nod anyway and give the older Alpha what I hope is a reassuring smile.
“Righto, I’ll be back. Patch him up as best you can, and don’t let him sweet-talk you into letting him hop on another horse,” Doc instructs firmly, giving me another once-over with pursed lips. With purpose in his stride, he heads off towards the distant shouts, leaving me to deal with the situation at hand.
“Finally. One-on-one time with my Omega,” Murphy remarks, reaching out to trail his fingers down my arm, his touch sending shivers and raising goosebumps in its wake.
“What do you mean, finally? We met like a minute ago,” I argue and side-step out of his reach, and get started grabbing the medical supplies I need to start treatment.
Murphy puts on an exaggerated pout, playing the flirtatious card. “And it’s already been too long without your lips on mine,” he declares, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Do you ever stop?” I ask, my tone exasperated even as I struggle to hide my smile, the corners of my lips twitching with amusement.
