Amy Andrews - The Surgeon's Meant-To-Be Bride

His eyes flicked back to what he was doing. He really needed to concentrate, damn it! He was too aware of her. Today in particular. Today, the day he’d signed pieces of paper that would put them asunder for ever—it was most distracting! He was excruciatingly aware of her every move around the theatre. Opening things, writing things, murmuring something to Helmut and humming along to Ella.

‘Could you adjust the light, Harry?’ he asked. Why, he didn’t know. The light position was just fine. But then she moved closer and reached up so the fabric of her scrubs pulled taut across her chest and he could smell her perfume, and he was very glad he had asked.

She’d moved it a millimetre when he said, ‘That’s fine.’

Harriet glanced at him, a puzzled look in her eyes—she’d barely moved the wretched thing! Only his eyes were visible to her gaze and she raised her eyebrows at him. Their gazes locked and she saw a flicker of desire brighten the grey. She rolled her eyes at him and stepped back.

After another twenty minutes of looking, he finally located a small nick on the posterior wall of the ascending colon not far from the appendix.

‘Bingo,’ he murmured. ‘Suture.’

Gill over sewed the minor tear, and then gave the entire area a good lavage with warmed saline to wash out any debris that might have found its way into the abdominal cavity through the small hole. Fortunately the patient already had triple antibiotics on board to cover infection. Siobhan suctioned the saline out again as Gill reinserted a new drain through the old tract.

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