The overhead fluorescents glared off stainless steel as the clamp slipped from Maya’s gloved fingers and clattered against the retractor.
She didn’t flinch at the metallic clink; she felt only the accidental slide of Enzo’s knuckles across her pulse-point, the thin latex of their gloves doing nothing to mute the spark that leapt between skin and skin.
The patient’s diaphragm lifted and fell in mechanical rhythm, ventilator hissing, but the room itself seemed to breathe with a different, hungrier cadence.
Their shoulders brushed again when they both reached for the same forceps. Instead of pulling away, Enzo let the width of his torso linger. Maya caught the scent of iodine and his perspiration, felt the rise of her own smaller frame as her breasts strained against the cotton scrub top.
