Scalpel, Please

"It was a theme party," Sophie explained rapidly as Ethan approached the bed. "Jurassic Park after dark. It seemed funny at the time."

"Funny," Ethan repeated. He stood at the foot of the bed. "And the injury?"

"I was... demonstrating a move. On a railing. I slipped."

Ethan stared at her. His eyes were dark, calculating. "You climbed a railing. In a suit that restricts your vision and movement. While drinking?"

"I had one margarita!" Sophie defended. "It was the tail. It threw off my center of gravity."

"Right."

Ethan turned to the nurse who had followed him in. "I’ve got this, Brenda. Go check on the laceration in Bay Four."

"Doctor, I can prep the—"

"I said I’ve got it," Ethan growled. He didn't shout, but the tone was absolute. Possessive.

Brenda’s eyes widened. She nodded and vanished, the curtain swishing shut.

Now they were truly alone.

Ethan turned back to her. He walked to the side of the bed. He reached for a pair of heavy-duty trauma shears from the wall mount.

"Ethan, wait," Sophie said, eyeing the scissors. "I can take it off. I just need to shimmy—"

"You're not shimmying anywhere with a grade two sprain," Ethan said. "Hold still."

He stepped between her legs—well, between the T-Rex legs. He gripped the polyester fabric at her ankle.

*Snip.*

"Hey! That rental deposit was fifty dollars!"

"Send the bill to Chad," Ethan muttered.

Sophie froze. "How do you know about Chad?"

"I heard the nurse in triage," Ethan said, cutting up the pant leg with efficient, ruthless strokes. "Guy brings you to the ER and doesn't even come back with you? He’s sitting in the lobby playing Angry Birds?"

"He has a weak stomach," Sophie lied. "Blood makes him woozy."

"There’s no blood, Sophie. Just swelling." Ethan peeled the ruined costume away, revealing her left leg. It was swollen, angry, and turning a distinct shade of purple.

Ethan’s expression shifted instantly. The annoyance vanished, replaced by a hyper-focused clinical intensity. But beneath that, Sophie saw the flash of anger. Not at her. *For* her.

He placed his gloved hands on her calf. His touch was firm but gentle. Even through the latex, the heat of his hands seared into her skin.

"Does this hurt?" He pressed the tibia.

"No."

"Here?" He touched the malleolus.

"A little."

"Here?" He manipulated the foot, turning it inward.

"Ow! Yes! Mother of—" Sophie hissed, grabbing the edges of the mattress.

"Sorry," Ethan murmured. His voice dropped, losing its professional edge. He looked up at her, his eyes locking onto hers. "I have to check for stability."

He didn't let go of her leg. He held her ankle in his large hand, his thumb stroking the arch of her foot unconsciously. It was a proprietary touch. A touch that said *mine*.

"If you were mine," Ethan said quietly, looking back down at the bruise forming on her skin, "I wouldn't have let you climb that railing in the first place."

"I'm not yours, Ethan," Sophie whispered. The words felt heavy in the small space. "Not anymore."

Ethan looked up. His eyes were burning. "You think Chad would be back here cutting you out of plastic? You think he knows exactly how you react to pain? You get quiet, Sophie. You make jokes."

"I'm not making jokes," Sophie said, her voice trembling.

"You're wearing a dinosaur suit," Ethan pointed out. "You're a walking deflection mechanism."

He turned away to grab an ace bandage, the tension in his shoulders visible through the scrubs. Sophie watched him, her heart hammering. He was arrogant, he was controlling, and god help her, he was the most competent man she had ever met.

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