Page 11 of Her Desire (Pulse Medical #3)

HOLLY

I t was barely nine a.m., and the pile of charts sitting in front of Holly resembled Mount Everest. Not that she was paying them any attention.

Her mind was elsewhere—somewhere between the swish of hospital traffic around her and a specific someone with dark brown hair and espresso-brown eyes that always seemed to light up like a candle when she was talking to one of her patients.

Not that it was unusual for Holly to think about Gianna—after all, they’d been working together for three years—but today, her thoughts were different.

She was noticing things. Things she never saw before, like how Gianna’s gaze seemed to linger just a bit longer this morning when they’d both stumbled into the break room mumbling about a long day ahead.

Or how that quick brush of fingers at the beach had felt less casual and more electric enough to quickly pull away as though about to be shocked.

Or how Gianna’s laugh seemed different, stronger, like a magnet pulling Holly in.

But that didn’t mean anything, did it? They were just friends.

Right?

And for some reason, over the last three days, ever since the beach, Holly found herself thinking about Gianna more often—and not during the work day when anything happened she might normally want to tell Gianna about—but at night.

In bed. When she was supposed to be sleeping.

It was almost as if something was shifting, as if she was taking that first step and realizing the ground wasn’t as solid as she thought it was.

She wasn’t as solid, certainly, because all of a sudden she found herself wondering what it would feel like to kiss Gianna.

To kiss a woman. She’d never kissed a woman before, let alone even considered it, and the thought made her feel panicked, dizzy—and strangely, excited.

But before she could dig deeper into that feeling, a voice yanked her out of her reverie.

“Doctor Lucas,” Nurse Clara called from behind her, her husky voice easily recognizable in a crowd of voices. “Maybe you should cut back on chewing your pen.”

Somewhat startled, Holly turned just as Clara raised an eyebrow, grinned like she was fighting back a smile, and pointed to her face. “You’ve got ink all over your chin.”

Holly froze, her stomach doing a small flip. She reached up and felt the smear of ink on her skin. Shit. The pen. She’d been so lost in thought about Gianna she hadn’t even noticed that she was chewing on her pen or that it was leaking.

“Great,” Holly muttered, grabbing a tissue from the tissue box the nurses kept in full sight of the ward. She wiped at her chin and gave Clara a sheepish smile. “It’s not my day.”

“You’re making it worse,” Clara said chuckling. “Might want to go and check yourself out in the bathroom.

Holly, feeling every bit of the awkwardness settle deep into her bones, gave Clara a quick nod before she turned and rushed to the nearest restroom.

Of course, this had to happen this morning, right before she had a big, complicated surgery coming up with none other than Gianna.

If she didn’t pull herself together and soon?—

Suddenly, Holly collided with someone.

“Whoa—oh,” she muttered, heat flooding not just her face but her entire body as if she’d just been dipped into a hot, steaming bath. “It’s you.”

Standing in front of her was Gianna, looking completely unbothered by the collision. Her eyes flicked immediately to the ink smeared across Holly’s chin and a smile spread wide across her face.

“You’ve got a little something,” she said, pointing at her own chin.

“I know,” Holly said, her voice coming out more like a moan than anything else.

She covered her chin with her hand, but the damage was done.

Gianna had already seen the mess, and that wouldn’t have been an issue three days ago when she’d thought of the surgeon as nothing more than a great friend.

But now…Well, now it felt like more. “Clara already told me. I’m going to wash it off. ”

“Soap’s not going to help much.”

She was right. Normal soap wouldn’t do the trick. She needed something stronger, perhaps a whole new face.

Holly sighed, feeling flustered, and for some reason, extremely embarrassed—more than she thought she’d be.

Gianna seemed to sense it. She stepped closer.

“Let me help you,” she said, gripping Holly’s shoulder with one hand, while the other was already reaching the bathroom door.

Before Holly could protest, Gianna pushed her inside.

“We can try some hand sanitizer,” Gianna said, walking over to the dispenser stuck on the wall. “They usually contain alcohol which can be pretty effective at breaking down ink.” She grabbed a small paper towel and squirted a generous amount of hand sanitizer onto it.

For a second, Holly thought Gianna was just going to hand her the paper towel––like any normal person would. But then Gianna didn’t. She didn’t even hesitate. She just reached up to Holly’s chin, one hand holding her face and the other holding the paper towel as she gently dabbed the ink away.

Holly’s breath hitched at the touch, her body reacting before her mind could even catch up.

There was something about Gianna’s closeness, about the way her fingers brushed over Holly’s skin with such care, that had Holly feeling more than just embarrassed. She felt…exposed. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made her nervous.

It was as if everything inside of her was waking up, flickering to life in a way she’d never experienced before.

“It’s coming off,” Gianna said, smiling slightly, her gaze still focused on Holly’s chin.

Holly, on the other hand, couldn’t bring herself to look at Gianna.

Her eyes were darting anywhere but at her—to the stalls, to the sink, to the mirror with water stains on it.

Anywhere but into those warm espresso eyes; eyes that, for the first time since they’d met, since they’d become friends, good friends, made her heart beat louder than was entirely appropriate.

“All gone,” Gianna said, stepping back. The hand sanitizer was long gone from Holly’s skin, but that touch stayed.

Holly swallowed and tried to steady her breath, but every cell in her body was on high alert.

“Thanks,” she muttered, desperate to get out of there, to run from the surgical ward, race to her car, and find the nearest body of cold water where she could throw herself in and cool down, drown the damn heat that was radiating from every pore.

“You’re welcome,” Gianna replied, walking to the bin to toss the paper away. “Wouldn’t want you looking like that when we meet Charlie’s parents. You ready for the surgery?”

Holly nodded, pushing those chaotic thoughts aside and nodded. “Ready as always.”

The patient, three-week-old Charlie, had been born with a rare condition known as hypoplastic left heart syndrome, which basically meant the left side of his heart was severely underdeveloped.

The surgery involved a series of staged operations to reconstruct the heart’s anatomy.

Gianna would have to navigate the tiny, delicate structures of his heart while simultaneously managing the risk of bleeding and complications arising from Charlie’s compromised condition.

Meanwhile, it was Holly’s role to keep Charlie as stable as possible and ensure his heart received proper blood flow.

It was an incredibly demanding surgery, and any mistake could no doubt lead to catastrophe. Not that there would be one. Gianna didn’t make mistakes. She fixed them.

“Good,” Gianna said, already heading toward the exit. “I’ll see you in the scrub room in an hour.”

Holly watched Gianna go. She didn’t move, not when the door swung closed and not when she could hear Gianna’s voice outside talking to someone else.

Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe .

Because in an hour a baby boy’s life was in their hands, and she would never forgive herself if her mind wasn’t one hundred percent in the game.

“Pull yourself together,” Holly muttered under her breath. She walked to the nearest sink, dabbed water on her face, and exhaled so loudly she would be surprised if no one heard her in the hallway. “Gianna’s your friend. Your colleague. That’s it.”

“Another successful surgery,” Gianna said, grinning as she pulled off her scrub cab and ran her fingers through her hair.

Holly barely heard her. She was still decompressing after six intense hours in the OR where the stakes had been impossibly high and every second mattered.

The surgery had been meticulous, nerve-wracking, and exhausting.

Holly wasn’t like many other anesthesiologists who sat on stools and read magazines to pass the time.

Nope. She was on her feet the entire time, monitoring vitals, adjusting medication, and anticipating problems before they even thought about arising.

Six hours of careful drug titration, fluid management, and watching every flicker on the monitor.

And yet, somehow, despite the physical and mental exhaustion pressing in on Holly, the moment she’d seen Gianna—flushed, glowing in the way she always did after a long, successful surgery—she felt something else entirely.

Something warm. Something unsteady. Something that made her very, very nervous.

“How about we celebrate,” Gianna said, glancing over at Holly, who was leaning against the wall, her back aching and feet feeling like she’d spent the last six hours walking on rocks.

“We can grab a drink. You can even pick the place.” She raised both brows and then smiled a smile that didn’t just send butterflies through Holly’s stomach but something more chaotic. Bees. A while damn swarm of them.

Not that there was even a reason for such a reaction. It was just a friendly invitation. A drink. They’d had hundreds of drinks together. Countless celebrations after successful surgeries. And not to mention, Gianna was her friend . That was it. Nothing more.