Love Without Measure

He studied the plates quietly, then pursed his lips.

‘We can’t do it all at once. I’ll get a fixator on to hold it all a bit steady, but he’ll need plating and pinning once the bleeding has settled at the fracture sites. I’ll have to do the femurs today, though. Any abdominal damage apart from the pelvis?’

‘No evidence of any. He’s in very good shape really—in pain, of course. We’ve given him Entonox gas, because his circulation is too close to collapse to risk diamorphine, but it isn’t really anything like enough.’

‘It won’t be,’ Nick agreed. ‘We’ll soon knock him out. What about blood?’

‘He’s been cross-matched and we’re boosting his circulation as fast as we can. We’ll be able to do more when we get the whole blood.’

Nick nodded. ‘OK, I’ll have a word with him and then we’ll get him up to Theatre. Has he signed the consent form?’

‘He’s not in that good shape,’ Anna said drily. ‘His wife’s here—I’ll get her to do that.’

‘Thanks. Right, where is he?’

Anna left them with the patient and went into the office.

Nick joined her a few minutes later. ‘All done?’

She nodded. ‘His wife’s signed. She’d like to see him before he goes up to Theatre.’

‘I’ll go and find her. Give me the forms, I’ll take them with me.’

He headed off towards the waiting-room, X-rays and forms in hand, and Anna watched him go. Another gorgeous hunk, one that half the hospital were apparently in love with, including most specifically his wife Cassie, the only scrub-nurse he would tolerate and who would tolerate him, so rumour had it.

His temper in Theatre was legendary, but his results were astonishing and he was tipped for stardom. It made her laugh that Mr James had queried his competence. He was probably the most skilful and intuitive orthopaedic surgeon in the hospital, bar none.

And yet he left her cold. No, not cold, she acknowledged, just warmed with admiration and a genuine liking.

Whereas Patrick—!

How had he managed to break through her reserve and reach that part of her so carefully guarded that even she scarcely knew it existed?

But break through it he had, and now her skin shivered when he approached, her heart beat faster, and when he looked at her with those melting brown eyes her insides turned to mush.

And when he touched her …! Even an accidental brushing of his hand against hers made her heart race and her skin heat. She was like a teenager, anticipating her first kiss. Her breath caught in her throat at the image that provoked, and she rolled her eyes in self-disgust. If it hadn’t been so worrying it would have been laughable.

But she was worried. She was too vulnerable, too inexperienced to deal with a sexy, meaningless flirtation—or, worse still, a casual affair with a married man.

Her heart thumped at the thought, and her mind recalled with absolute clarity the vivid dream she had had the night before.

Her cheeks heated at the memory, and she quickly busied herself with the admission details for Nick’s patient, Clive Ronson. How she had managed such a provocative dream anyway, she didn’t know. She had no experience of any of the moves he had made, or any of the feelings she had quite definitely felt!

She cobbled up the form and tried again.

Patrick was cross with himself. He was trying to write up notes and all he could think about was the feel of Anna’s body beside his as they had worked together on Clive Ronson. She was too thin, he thought critically, but still she managed to stir him. The jut of her hip was still unmistakeably feminine, the brush of her thigh like the soft stroke of fire against his leg as she had leant across to cut away the patient’s trousers. He had been in her way, and yet a perverse part of him had refused to move.

He wanted her.

It shocked him, the realisation that she was capable of getting past the ice around his heart and setting his body on fire like this.

It was only physical, he knew that. It could never be anything more meaningful, but that didn’t diminish its power. Oh, no. Almost the reverse. Because it was just sex, just meaningless, hot, physical lust, his mind could allow it.

His body was helpless. He shifted uncomfortably, embarrassingly aware of the heavy heat that suffused him, the very present evidence of his desire.

He glanced down at the notes, at his hands lying on the desk, and saw the scar.

Deliberately, enduring the pain, he dragged his mind back. Heat, noise, clouds of choking dust clogging his pores and making it difficult to breathe, and the screams. Always the screams.

Desire drained away, as he had known it would, leaving him empty and shaken.

He stood up and went out of the office to the staff-room, pouring himself a cup of coffee with hands that were not quite steady.

‘Hi. Any left?’

The voice behind him was soft, and his breath jammed in his throat again. He let it out consciously.

‘Just about enough,’ he said, and his voice sounded harsh, scrapy.

He was conscious of her eyes on him, mellow with concern. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit preoccupied.’

It was clearly a dismissal, and he felt a kick of self-disgust as rejection flickered over her gentle face and she withdrew into herself.

He made himself smile. ‘Sorry. Clive Ronson. He was a bit of a mess. I was just writing up the notes.’

‘Nick will sort him out if anyone can.’

She sounded very confident.

He felt he ought to warn her, just in case the worst happened. Ridiculous. She was a professional. If the man died, she would take it in her stride. Even so… ‘He’s bad,’ Patrick warned. ‘It’ll be a few days before he’s out of the woods, you know.’

‘I know, but Nick’s good,’ she replied. ‘Too good for the likes of Mr James and his private ankle. Pompous idiot. I gather he’s still on the phone.’

Patrick felt the tension ease as they shared a smile. He noticed again how thin she was, how fine-drawn the skin over her delicate jawline.

‘How about lunch?’ he suggested into the ensuing silence.

‘Lunch?’ She said the word as if she had forgotten what it meant. He reminded her, and she laughed. ‘I know what lunch is, silly. I just didn’t realise it was time yet.’

He snorted softly. ‘It’s nearly one.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Shall I go and find a few sandwiches again?’

‘That really isn’t necessary—’