Chapter 1
The night shift in the telemetry unit usually smelled of floor wax and stale drip-brew, but at 2:00 AM, the emergency department transferred a telemetry hold that changed the air entirely.
Leah adjusted her stethoscope around her neck and pulled up the chart on her workstation. Romano Mason. Thirty-two years old. Admitted for observation after an electrical surge at a construction site downtown—a near-miss with a high-voltage line that had knocked him flat.
When she pushed open the door to Room 412, she expected a half-conscious patient hooked to an IV pole. Instead, she found him sitting upright on the edge of the mattress, pulling off a standard-issue hospital gown to reveal broad, ink-covered shoulders and a sharp, defined jawline. Tall didn’t quite cover it; even sitting, his frame dominated the sterile room.
“You’re not supposed to be unhooking those leads, Mr. Mason,” Leah said, stepping in and pointing toward the heart monitor dangling from his chest.
Romano looked up, his dark eyes fixing on her with an intensity that made the quiet room suddenly feel very small. A slight, confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—not arrogant, just disarmingly warm.
“The name’s Romano,” he said, his voice a low baritone that sounded like quiet thunder. “And the monitor isn’t necessary. My heart was fine until about five seconds ago.”
Leah felt a sudden heat hit her cheeks, but she kept her professional stance, retrieving fresh electrode pads from her pocket. “Standard protocol for high-voltage exposure. Let me put these back on so the unit clerk doesn’t write me up.”
He didn’t pull away as she stepped closer. Up close, he smelled like rain and charcoal, completely drowning out the hospital antiseptic. As her fingers lightly brushed his collarbone to secure the leads, his gaze never left her face.
“You work long shifts, Leah?” he asked softly, glancing at her name tag.
“Twelve hours,” she replied, keeping her focus on the monitor trace. “Though tonight feels a little longer.”
“Then let me buy you a coffee when you’re off,” Romano said, his tone perfectly steady, like a man used to getting what he wanted without having to demand it. “The real kind. Not whatever they brew down the hall.”
She paused, looking down at him. At twenty, she was used to being treated like the junior nurse on the floor, but the way Romano looked at her wasn’t casual or dismissive. It was focused, electric, and completely overwhelming—a sudden storm rolling in on a clear night.
“I off-shift at seven,” she said, surprising herself.
Romano’s smile broadened, slow and magnetic. “I’ll be waiting at the lobby doors at seven-fifteen.”
