All Hot and Bothered

Anita focussed on the dachshund pup wriggling cheekily in Brad’s left hand rather than the broad, tanned set of knuckles in which it was cradled. NO SURGERY ROMANCES, said her contractThe heat was stifling. Still, the probie nurse must perform.


She blinked. “Huh?”

“Thermometer, please!”

She dropped it wide of Brad’s waiting palm, blushing as he exhaled, hard.

The surgery atmosphere did not improve.

On kitten-vaccination day, she over-heated the sluice. Wednesday, Brad rolled his sleeves to his elbows; she dropped a tray of scalpels. Thursday they loosened uniform and shirt buttons respectively and she nearly squished a hamster. On Friday, he tracked her every move with a fevered, glassy stare, keeping solid furniture between them.

Monday rainy drive to Brockett’s Pasture brought the torture of sexy fingers curled round the jeep’s wheel. Already wet, she soaked herself slipping in freezing mud.

“Need a hand?” Volcanic palms eased her up.

Oh, don’t… She gulped. “I c-can’t do this. I can’t take the heat of the…job.”

“They’re fixing the aircon today.”

“Huh?” She blinked at him.

“Why else drag you out here?” He bent, nuzzling her neck.

She let him. “Um…about ‘no surgery romances’?”

“We’re not in the surgery.”

© 2015 Sam Thorne. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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