I quickly walked over to the monitor array at my workstation and sat down before my body could betray me again. The monitor was turned away from the patient area and facing me.
“Breathe normally,” I instructed as I watched the screen come alive with a steady green tracing. I studied the sinus rhythm and was satisfied to see normal oxygen saturation. But the satisfaction didn’t last long. His resting heart rate was too high for a man with Reed’s conditioning, and it wasn’t coming down.
I switched to different tabs, checking all the possible biomarkers. I spent several long moments making a thorough sweep.
Reed was healthy, but I was seeing clear signs of elevated sympathetic activation. I glanced up from the monitor and looked at him—actually looked at him, not through my lust haze but through a medical lens. My heart sank as I noticed what I had missed earlier: the dark circles under his eyes. There was some capillary redness as well.
“What’s wrong?” Reed straightened up. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“When did you last sleep?”
He frowned. “I slept before the rescue call.”
“What about since then? The medevac was more than twenty-four hours ago.”
He looked down at his clasped hands on his thighs. “New station, new place, didn’t get much shut-eye. Nothing you need to—”
“Don’t even try to finish the sentence.”
“Okay.” He smiled, but it was a quiet one, tinted with something close to grief. My heart twisted. What was going on with him?
I turned toward the treadmill against the far wall. “Get on the treadmill. I want to run some more tests. I’ll start the speed low and increase it in increments. The test runs until I have a complete cardiovascular picture.”
I picked up my iPad and, using the stylus, started setting up the test. He slid off the table, crossed to the treadmill, and then a sound reached me that made me stop tapping.
Reed was undoing the zipper of his flight suit further down.
“You don’t need to remove your pants.”
“I know.”
He unzipped down to his legs and stepped out of them in two easy movements, folding them over the exam table. Underneath, he had nothing on except a pair of thin shorts, barely covering his ass and leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Makes me feel more free,” he remarked casually.
I had to fight to tear my gaze away from the curve of his ass. “Get on the treadmill.”
The belt started slow, barely faster than a walking pace, the motor producing a low, steady hum. I tapped the stylus against the screen, and the speed climbed one increment. The wires trailing from the electrodes on his chest swayed with the movement.
“Breathe normally,” I repeated, willing myself to keep my eyes on the readout, not on the way his muscles bunched under his skin. I knew that he had grown up in the Australian outback, the harsh life of a cowboy, and his body showed that. The man was carved of granite and callouses.
I heard his low chuckle. “I am breathing just fine. Why do you sound so winded?”
He knew exactly why. Why did he need to do this to me? Running semi-naked, all six foot eight inches of his raw beauty on display. I could kill him right then. Smug asshole.
I ignored his question and tapped again. The belt accelerated, pulling his stride longer and making his flimsy shorts ride higher up.
Jesus Christ. This had to be the toughest evaluation I had ever conducted in my life.
I focused on his gait, his arms finding their natural swing, and his long, powerful legs pounding rhythmically on the treadmill. The monitor beeped steadily on the counter beside me. I watched the numbers, made a note, and tapped again.
The motor hummed louder as the speed increased another notch and then another, the sound filling the small room. Reed shifted from a jog into a full run, his feet finding the faster cadence without difficulty, his breathing deepening.
A bead of moisture gathered at his hairline and began tracking down his temple, down the side of his throat, collectingat his collarbone where the first electrode was pressed flat against his skin. I watched his chest expand fully on every inhale, ribs lifting the wires and dropping them on the exhale.
I felt dizzy, all my blood suddenly rushing south.
Sweat was running freely down his forehead now, dropping from his strong, square jaw onto his heaving, glistening chest, down his abs, darkening the trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts. The sound of his pants mixed with my own breath, which was coming hard. My pulse spiked through the roof.
