She squeaked.

Mary giggled.

‘He does weights,’ Mary told Pippa, bemused. ‘What you said… that’s a red rag to a bull.’

‘He’s crazy.’

‘He is at that,’ Mary said, chuckling and holding the door wide to let Riley pass. ‘You try getting workers’ compensation after this, Doc Riley.’

‘Workers’ comp is for wimps.’ Riley had her secure, solid against his chest, striding briskly along the corridor, past rooms full of patients and visitors, carrying her as if she was a featherweight and not a grown woman in trouble.

Trouble was right. If a doctor did this in her training hospital… To a nurse…

Worse. She was a patient. This was totally unprofessional.

She needed to struggle but she didn’t have the energy. Or the will.

Trouble?

She was feeling like she really was in trouble. Like she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. He was making her feel…

‘I should never have allowed you to help,’ he muttered as he strode, his laughter giving way to concern. Maybe he was feeling just how weak she was.

She wasn’t really this weak, she thought. Or maybe she was.

She thought about it, or she sort of thought about it. The feel of his arms holding her… the solid muscles of his chest… the sensation of being held… It was stopping lots of thoughts-and starting others that were entirely inappropriate.

This was why they’d invented trolleys, she thought, to stop nurses… to stop patients… to stop her being carried by someone like Riley. It was so inappropriate on so many levels. It made her feel…

‘You’re exhausted,’ he said. ‘It was totally unprofessional of me to allow you to help.’

That shook her out of the very inappropriate route her thoughts were taking. Out of her exhaustion. Almost out of her disorientation.

‘To allow Amy to have a support person?’ she demanded, forcing her voice to be firm. ‘What does that have to do with lack of professionalism?’