It Happened One Night Shift. Amy AndrewsЧитать онлайн книгу.
didn’t … you haven’t told anyone about the other night, about what I…?’ He caught her nervous swallow as he faced her. ‘About how I reacted? Please … don’t …’
Gareth regarded her seriously. If she’d known him better he would have given her a what-do-you-think? look. But she didn’t, he reminded himself. It just felt like they’d known each other longer because of the connection they’d made less than a week ago.
It was hard to think of her as a stranger even though the reality was they barely knew each other.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t tell tales out of school, Billie,’ he said.
He didn’t kiss and tell either.
The sudden unwarranted thought slapped him in the face, resulting in temporary brain malfunction.
What the hell?
Pull it together, man. Totally inappropriate. Totally not cool.
But the truth was, as he busied himself with opening the door and getting as far away from her as possible, he’d thought about kissing Billie a lot these last few days.
And it had been a very long time since he’d wanted to kiss anyone.
FIVE HOURS LATER, Gareth knew he was going to have to put Billie’s I-don’t-want-you-protecting-me convictions to the test. He had a head laceration that needed suturing and everyone else was busy. He could leave it until Barry was free but, with the Royal Brisbane going on diversion, a lot of their cases were coming to St Luke’s and things had suddenly gone a little crazy.
They needed the bed asap.
If he’d still been in the army he would have just done the stupid thing himself. But civilian nursing placed certain restrictions on his practice.
Earlier Billie had demanded to know if he’d have given another doctor the kid-glove treatment he’d afforded her over the IV and had insisted that he not do the same to her.
Would he given any other doctor a pass on the head lac?
No. He would not.
Gareth took a deep breath and twitched the curtains to cubicle eight open. Billie looked up from the patient she was talking to. ‘I need a head lac sutured in cubicle two,’ he said, his tone brisk and businesslike. ‘You just about done here?’
She looked startled at his announcement but he admired her quick affirmative response. ‘Five minutes?’ she said, only the bob of her throat betraying her nervousness.
He nodded. ‘I’ll set up.’
But then Brett, the triage admin officer, distracted him with a charting issue and it was ten minutes before he headed back to the drunk teenager with the banged-up forehead. He noticed Billie disappearing behind the curtain and cursed under his breath, hurrying to catch her up.
He hadn’t cleaned the wound yet and the patient looked pretty gruesome.
When he joined her behind the curtain seconds later, Billie was staring down at the matted mess of clotted blood and hair that he’d left covered temporarily with a green surgical towel. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I haven’t had a chance to clean it up yet.’
She dragged her eyes away from the messy laceration and looked at him, her freckles suddenly emphasised by her pallor, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. ‘I’ll be … right back,’ she said.
She brushed past him on her way out and Gareth shut his eyes briefly. Great. He glanced at the sleeping patient, snoring drunkenly and oblivious to the turmoil his stupid split head had just caused.
Gareth followed her, taking a guess that she’d headed for the staffroom again. The door was shut when he reached it. He turned the handle but it was locked. ‘Billie,’ he said, keeping his voice low, ‘it’s me, open up.’
The lock turned and the door opened a crack and Gareth slipped into the room. She was just on the other side and her back pushed the door shut again as she leaned against it.
Billie looked up at him, the swimmy sensation in her head and the nausea clearing. ‘I’m fine,’ she dismissed, taking deep, even steady breaths.
‘I’m sorry. I had every intention of cleaning it up … so it looked better.’
Billie nodded. ‘It’s okay. I’m fine,’ she repeated. ‘I just need a moment.’
Gareth nodded as he watched her suck air in and out through pursed lips. She lifted her hand to smooth her hair and he couldn’t help but notice how alarmingly it shook.
She didn’t look okay to him.
‘You look kind of freaked out,’ he said. ‘Do you need a paper bag to blow into? Are your fingers tingly?’
She glared at him. ‘I’m not having a panic attack. I just wasn’t expecting … that. I’m better if I’m mentally prepared. But I’ll be fine.’ She turned those big brown eyes on him. ‘Just give me a moment, okay?’
‘Okay.’
She nodded again and he noticed tears swim in her eyes. Clearly she was disappointed in herself, in not being able to master her affliction.
Gareth shoved a hand through his hair, feeling helpless as she struggled for control. ‘Try not to think about it like it is,’ he said. ‘Next time you go out there it’ll be all cleaned up. No blood. No gore.’
She nodded. ‘Okay.’
But her wide eyes told him she was still picturing it. ‘You’re still thinking about it,’ he said.
‘I’m not,’ she denied, chewing on her bottom lip.
Gareth took a step closer to her, wanting to reach for her but clenching his hands at his sides. ‘Yes, you are.’
She gnawed on her lip some more and he noticed she’d chewed all her gloss off.
‘Look. I’m trying, okay?’ she said, placing her palm flat against his chest. ‘Just back off for a moment.’
Her hand felt warm against his chest and he waited for her to push against him but her fingers curled into the fabric of his scrub top instead and Gareth felt a jolt much further south. As if she’d put her hand down his scrubs bottoms.
Oh, hell. Just hell.
Now he was thinking very bad things. Very bad ways to calm her down, to take her mind off it.
For crying out loud, she was a freaked-out second-year resident who needed to get back to the lac and get the stupid thing sutured so he could free up a bed. Gareth had dealt with a lot of freaked-out people in his life—the wounded, the addled, the grieving.
He was good with the freaked out.
But not like this. Not the way he was thinking.
Hell.
And that’s exactly where he was going—do not pass ‘Go’, do not collect any money—because all he could think about now was her mouth.
Kissing it. Giving her a way to really forget what was beyond the door.
It was wildly inappropriate.
They were at work, for crying out loud. But her husky ‘Gareth?’ reflected the confusion and turmoil stirring unrest inside him.
The look changed on her face as her gaze fixed on his mouth. Her fingers in his shirt seemed to pull him nearer and those freckles were so damn irresistible.
‘Oh, screw it,’ he muttered, caution falling away like confetti around him as he stepped forward, crowding her back against the door, his body aligning