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I glance back at the wound and start numbing him up, traveling down one side of the cut and repeating the process on the other. Zane doesn’t flinch.
“Not your first time,” I surmise.
“Not my first time,” he parrots. His voice is a low rumble that stirs something in my lower stomach.
“Does that hurt?” I ask him while I start to wash out his wound.
“No.” His hand is steady and still as he answers.
I remove the nylon suture from the package and load it onto the needle driver. I sense Zane watching my every move as I throw the first stitch.
“I like watching you work,” he says.
I glance up at him with a smile, then pull my attention back to my hands. “It’s definitely not my first time.”
“I can tell. You have steady hands.”
I laugh. “I’m surprised that I do. You make me nervous.”
“Me?” he says, his eyebrows lifting an inch.
“Yeah, you,” I say, cutting the suture after tying it off. I throw another stitch.
“Why?”
I shrug but keep working, blowing that same strand of hair out of my way as it drifts across my cheek again. “I guess it’s the way you watch me. You’re intense.”
I freeze for a second when Zane reaches across and tucks my hair behind my ear. His touch is light and soft, but I feel it everywhere.
“It’s not my fault I can’t keep my eyes off you. You shouldn’t be so beautiful,” he murmurs.
His expression is serious when I glance at his handsome face. A soft blush filters across my cheeks without permission.
“No wonder all the ladies fall for you. You’re too smooth, Zane Sullivan.”
“Smooth like butter,” he says, but then he snorts like I was joking. I wasn’t.
“Anyway, I know you’re lying because I look like I’ve been put through the wringer tonight.” The scrubs I am wearing hold up well over long shifts. But I’m sure my eyes are tired, and I know my hair is a mess.
“Not even close,” he murmurs. “A woman in scrubs is a huge turn-on. Something I had no clue I liked until I saw you in them.”
I don’t say anything, just keep quietly working.
“Have you had a hard day today, Lo?” he asks.
I nod and sigh. “It’s been a rough.”
Zane asks for details, and I give him a few. He listens quietly as I finish up, washing the Betadine and dried blood from his skin before wrapping him in a fresh dressing.
“There,” I say, squeezing him briefly. “Good as new.”
He catches my hand in his fingers, holding me hostage as I stand. A bolt of electricity shoots down my spine when our eyes connect. His grip tightens before he releases me. I start to clean up my supplies, attempting unsuccessfully to ignore the heat swirling in my belly.
“Are you finished for the day?” he asks.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s ten minutes after eight.
“Yeah. I just need to update your chart.”
