“Miss Payne,” she says, voice sharp, all business now. “Please take the patient’s vitals while I review his charts.”
My belly plummets and I nod, unable to force words past my lips.
I quickly wash my hands at the tiny sink near the door. Although my back is to Chase, I can feel his eyes on me as I move around the room and it’s disconcerting as hell.
Start with the easiest task first.
I grab the thermometer off the cart. Chase is sitting up, so contact will be minimal, but that doesn’t stop my hands from shaking as I approach the bed.
“I’m going to start by taking your temperature,” I announce, pleased the words come out cool and clinical. I’ve taken patient vitals so many times this week, I’ve lost count. Chase is no different. I just have to stay focused.
Which proves easier said than done.
Because no matter what I tell myself, Chase isn’t like my other patients. The guy’s a walking orgasm, all sexy confidence and irresistible charm. Which is ridiculous. I mean, who looks this good in a faded hospital gown anyway?
They definitely didn’t teach this at nursing school.
His gaze travels over my body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, before landing on my mouth. The corner of his mouth twitches, and I resist the urge to lick my suddenly dry lips. I gently slide the thermometer into his ear, pretending I don’t notice his evergreen scent, which is a welcome change from the smell of disinfectant.
“Ninety-nine point eight,” I announce when the thermometer beeps.
“I always run hot,” he says, voice husky as his eyes lock on mine.
Is he… Is he actuallyflirtingwith me? In front of my supervisor?
“I can see that,” Nurse Rogers replies as she punches his stats into the computer. “But we want to keep a close eye on it. We don’t want your infection coming back.”
“Infection?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Mr. Spellman took quite a nasty fall. He’s got a concussion and underwent two surgeries in SICU,” Nurse Rogers says. “The first to set the bones with plates and screws. The second to remove infected tissue, which is why he’ll be staying with us for another week.”
Chase’s comments about the filthy frat house flash back to me and my stomach tightens.
“What type of break?” I ask, fighting to keep my emotions—and, okay, my guilt—in check. Technically, I already know the answer. I’ve been following the story in the news, but it’s an expected question.
“Compound fracture of the tibia and fractured fibula.”
Chase smirks, those beautiful blue eyes of his dancing with mischief. “My parents taught me to never do anything halfway.”
“They must be so proud,” I return without thinking, as I dispose of the probe cover on the thermometer and slip it into my pocket.
He chuckles and Nurse Rogers clears her throat, a not-so-subtle warning.
Right. Not only will she be grading my practical knowledge, she’ll be advising my clinical instructor on my bedside manner.
“I’m going to take your pulse now,” I tell Chase, reaching for his wrist. Technically, we have a Dinamap to take patient vitals, but Nurse Rogers is old-school and insists I prove my capability before I’m allowed to use the machine. “Just try to relax.”
Chase quirks a brow and I just know he’s itching to make a smartass comment, but he remains silent as I press two fingers to his wrist, just above the radial artery. I check my watch and when the second hand reaches twelve, I begin to count the beats.
One, two, three…
His skin is hot to the touch. Not burning up so much as welcoming, the kind of heat you want wrapped around you on a cold winter night when the snow is piling up and there aren’t enough blankets in the world to keep you warm.
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty…
My gaze drifts and I find myself tracing the sharp line of his jaw, which is covered in golden stubble. I’ve always preferred clean-shaven guys, but he wears it well and for an instant—just one—I wonder what it would be like to kiss a guy with facial hair.
Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…
