Absolutely terrible for my emotional stability.
“Sir,” I said professionally, “can you hear me?”
His gaze held mine.
Directly.
“I can.”
Low voice.
Rough edges.
Far too familiar.
Something flickered through my mind instantly.
Late nights.
His hand against my waist.
Sleep-heavy murmurs against my hair.
I crushed the memory immediately.
Dead.
Buried.
Gone.
Professional.
I straightened.
“The patient is conscious but experiencing respiratory distress.”
My fingers moved toward the buttons of his shirt.
One.
Two.
Three.
The second my fingertips brushed his skin…
His breathing changed.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
I froze for half a heartbeat.
Then continued anyway.
Because I refused to be affected.
Absolutely refused.
“The airway must remain unobstructed,” I continued st
