Tachycardia

"It’s not broken," Ethan announced, turning back with the bandage. "Just a severe sprain. Soft tissue damage."

He pulled a rolling stool over and sat down. He positioned her foot on his thigh to wrap it.

The position was intimate. Intensely so. Sophie was sitting up on the edge of the bed, her bare leg resting on the hard muscle of his quad. He worked in silence, wrapping the beige elastic in perfect, overlapping figure-eights.

"Too tight?" he asked, not looking up.

"No. It’s perfect."

He finished the wrap and secured the clips. Then, instead of moving away, he rolled the stool closer. He was now sitting directly between her knees.

"I need to check for a concussion," Ethan said. "You said you fell. Did you hit your head?"

"I don't think so. The T-Rex head is pretty padded."

Ethan didn't smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a penlight. "Look at my nose."

He leaned in. He was close. So close Sophie could smell him—soap, peppermint, and that unique, clean scent of the hospital.

He shone the light in her left eye, then her right.

"Pupils are equal and reactive," he murmured.

He didn't pull back. He clicked the light off and slid it back into his pocket. His face was inches from hers. Sophie could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. She could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw.

Her breath hitched.

Ethan’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up to her eyes.

He reached up. For a second, Sophie thought he was going to kiss her. She leaned forward instinctively, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Two fingers pressed against the side of her neck.

He was checking her pulse.

Sophie’s eyes snapped open. Ethan was watching her, his expression unreadable, his fingers warm against her carotid artery.

"Tachycardia," he whispered. "Heart rate is one-twenty."

"I'm in a hospital," Sophie defended breathlessly. "White coat syndrome."

"I'm not wearing a white coat," Ethan said. His thumb grazed the sensitive skin of her throat. It wasn't a medical touch anymore. It was a caress.

"Is it the pain, Sophie?" he asked, his voice rough. "Or is it me?"

Sophie swallowed. She wanted to lie. She wanted to make a joke about the dinosaur. But with him this close, with the memory of his hands on her body flooding back, she couldn't.

"It's you," she admitted. "It’s always you."

Ethan’s eyes darkened. His hand moved from her neck to cup her jaw. His thumb brushed her lower lip.

"Sophie," he groaned.

The curtain rings rattled.

"Dr. Thorne?" Nurse Brenda’s voice came from the other side. "Trauma One needs you. MVA coming in five minutes."

The spell shattered.

Ethan closed his eyes for a second, a look of pained frustration crossing his face. He took a deep breath and pulled his hand away. The loss of contact made Sophie shiver.

"Right," Ethan said. He stood up abruptly, the professional mask sliding back into place like a steel shutter. "Coming, Brenda."

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