Leanne stopped laughing and motioned her head toward the hall behind me at the same time I heard Guy’s voice. I wanted rounds over so I could be done with this day. I was exhausted, and more importantly, there was a cocktail waiting with my name on it.
I grabbed my tablet and pivoted on my heel to come face to face with a presence that sent a sudden shiver down my spine. Storm cloud grey eyes locked with mine and cut me like glass. It was hard to tell if it was deliberation or anger, but his intensity startled me. My breath hitched and I took a step back. The small amount of extra space allowed the face possessing those eyes to come into focus. Strong jaw. Sharp nose. Razored cheekbones. Chiseled. Every defined line brought focus right back to those eyes. His bronze skin looked a shade darker than his five o’clock shadow, while dark chocolate hair hung unruly over a faint linear indentation across his forehead. Evidence of the surgical cap he wore all day. This man was intimidating beyond belief. Everything about him screamed hard. And his eyes had not wavered from mine.
A flush warmed my face. The pulses in my neck and wrists bounded. Were you supposed to feel your pulses? I was never so physically affected by the sight of someone, and not from fear. I needed a pause to break his gaze before everyone around me realized how completely overwhelmed I was. But I was paralyzed. Please god, somebody needed to say something. The nape of my neck dampened with sweat. His eyes were still locked with mine. Guy’s voice answered my prayer and my temporary paralysis ended.
“Hey doll.”
My head snapped toward Guy, who was standing close to him? Who ... oh please ... you had to be fucking kidding me. This … this was my luck?
“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Ms. Porter.” His voice was gravelly and stern. I turned back to address him and his eyes captured mine. Again.
“Um ... you must be Dr. Colton. It’s, um, nice to meet you.”
The team was dead silent and the tension was palpable. This man commanded respect.
“First, it’s Chase. Second. I take it you got your pager fixed.”
Zero humor. Point made. This was humiliating.
“Um. Yes, it’s all good now.” Shoot me.
“Perfect.” He finally severed our stare to focus on Sam and Guy, the rest of his team. “From now on we all round at six and six. Got it?” It wasn’t a question.
Guy and Sam silently nodded like obedient soldiers, while I involuntarily studied the rest of this captivating man. Chase hovered a good three inches over Guy, who was pretty tall. Making him really tall, and even more intimidating. Already changed out of scrubs, he was dressed in dark charcoal slacks that hung low from his hips. Topped with a crisp white and grey pinstripe dress shirt that gently hugged his broad chest and gloved his taut arms perfectly. No tie. His top two buttons were undone, leaving a window to a ridiculously chiseled collarbone and a smooth sun-kissed chest. There was no hiding his muscular physique, even fully clothed. If I encountered him alone in a dark alley, there was no doubt panic would set in. But here, in this setting, he was ... hot.
“Good. Let’s move,” Chase barked.
He removed his right hand from his pocket and gestured the team to move forward. The entire time, his eyes never wavered at all, like he owned my exclusive viewing rights. Then without hesitation his other hand found the small of my back, raising my core temperature by ten degrees on contact. It was going to take an early June ocean wave to cool me down. The action was completely unexpected and too intimate for my malfunctioning self-control. And Sierra was worried about my libido ... hell, I was worried about my libido.
This bordered on humiliation. Sam and Guy were already halfway down the hall when my legs remembered how to move. The heat from Chase’s hand lingered on my lower back as we caught up to them. I was completely disarmed by my reaction to this man. My body totally betrayed me, like a star-struck moron who couldn’t remove her eyes from her idol.
This was the part of the movie where you pushed stop or fast-forward, because it was just that embarrassing it made your stomach hurt. Pull. It. Together. There was only one possible explanation: I was having a full-out stroke. What was that term? Cerebral vascular accident. Yep, that had to be it. Either a huge blood clot or a popped vessel spewing blood in my brain caused this sudden hormonal explosion. Good thing my new hot boss was a brain surgeon. Crap. This man was my boss! At least for the next four weeks.
I finally snapped out of my stroke-like state when we stopped in front of the first patient’s room. Guy and Sam both looked tired but focused, all business. Chase nodded, giving the green light to go in.
We semi-circled Kelly Peterson’s hospital bed, Guy on my right and Chase on my left. My libido, which was extinguished three years ago, was just doused with high-octane gasoline without a fire extinguisher in sight.
Suddenly, I was all too aware of my clothes sticking to my body. This was a sick joke. Shouldn’t my early morning irritable bowel have caused dehydration? No such luck. There was even a sheen of sweat in my cleavage. The hospital thermostat never wavered past sixty-eight degrees, but I felt like I was stuck at the beach, mid-August, wearing black ski thermals. I was a hot mess. This man, who I had never laid eyes on until ten minutes ago, and who spoke a total of maybe twenty words to me, completely rattled my core and managed to awaken every hormone in my body with one look.
Kelly struggled to lift her frail body up in the bed to greet us. She softly smiled, recognizing me from my earlier visit. Thankfully, her brave facade pulled me from my internal inferno and reminded me why I was here. This was the only real social-work-like part of my job, and she needed my support. My issue needed to wait.
It was not my place to speak first, so I returned her smile and gave her a ‘hey-you, you-can-do this’ little wave. Being in and out of the hospital enough times in the past few months, she knew the drill. Evening rounds were the attendings’ show, intended for teaching, but it usually turned out to be an ego-stroking session. Where morning rounds were typically the senior resident’s understudy performance of the evening before. Bottom line: it was two hours I wouldn’t mind skipping on a Monday to Friday basis.
Suddenly, Chase’s “six and six” comment rang back in my ears. Fan-freakin-tastic. He obviously wasn’t feeling the once a day rounding idea. This hormonal mutiny needed some control if I was going to see this man twice a day.
Chase stepped up to Kelly’s sterile white bed with his strong right hand outstretched. “Mrs. Peterson. I’m Dr. Chase Colton. I apologize for not getting down here sooner to introduce myself. I was in the operating room all day, not that it’s an excuse.”
Chase shook her hand then enveloped their joined hands. His intensity slowly started to soften, replaced by pliability, or a softness. If I didn’t know any better, I would believe it was true compassion.
“Thank you. I do appreciate that. So … are ... are you as brilliant as they say, or should I be wor-worried?” she said quietly, trying to hide the quiver in her voice.