Читать книгу Alessandro and the Cheery Nanny - Amy Andrews - Страница 5

NAT DAVIES was instantly attracted to the downcast head and the dark curly hair. There was something about the slump to the little boy’s shoulders and the less than enthusiastic way he was colouring in. He seemed separate from the other children laughing and playing around him, and it roused the mother lion in her.

He was the only stationary object in a room full of movement. And he seemed so…forlorn.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked, bumping Trudy’s hip with hers to get her boss’s attention.

Trudy stopped chopping fruit and followed Nat’s gaze. ‘Julian. It’s his second day. Four years old. Father is ooh-la-la handsome. Italian. Perfect English. Just moved from London. Widower. Recent, I think. Doesn’t smile much.’

Nat nodded, well used to Trudy’s staccato style of speech. ‘Poor darling.’ No wonder he looked so bereft. ‘How awful to lose your mother at such a young age.’ Not that it mattered at any age really. She’d been eight when her father had left and it still hurt.

Trudy nodded. ‘He’s very quiet. Very withdrawn.’

Nat’s heart strings gave another tug. She’d always had a soft spot for loners. She knew how it felt to have your perfect world turned upside down while life continued around you. How alienating it could be. How it separated you from the bustle of life.

‘Well, let’s see if I can fix that,’ she murmured.

Nat made a beeline for the lonely little boy, stopping only to grab a copy of Possum Magic off the bookshelf. In her experience she found there was very little a book couldn’t fix, if only for a short while.

‘Juliano.’ Nat called his name softly as she approached, smiling gently.

The little boy looked up from his lacklustre attempt at colouring in a giant frog. His mouth dropped open and he stared at Nat with eyes that grew visibly rounder. She suppressed the frown that was itching to crease her forehead at the unexpected response. Surely he was used to hearing his name spoken in Italian?

He was looking at her with a mix of confusion and wonder, like he was trying to figure out if he should run into her arms or burst into tears.

She kept her smile in place. ‘Ciao, Juliano. Come sta?’

Nat had learnt Italian at school and spent a year in Milan on a student exchange after completing grade twelve. Given that she was now thirty-three, it had been a while since she’d spoken it but she had been reasonably fluent at one stage.

Julian’s grave little face eked out a tentative smile and Nat relaxed. ‘Posso sedermi?’ she asked. Julian nodded and moved over so Nat could share the bench seat with him.

‘Hi, Juliano. My name’s Nat,’ she said.

The boy’s smile slipped a little. ‘Papa likes me to be called Julian,’ he said quietly.

The formality in his voice was heart-breaking and Nat wanted to reach out and give him a fierce hug. Four-year-olds shouldn’t be so buttoned up. If this hadn’t been St Auburn’s Hospital crèche for the children of hospital staff, she might have wondered if Julian’s father had a military background.

Maybe Captain Von Trapp. Before Maria had come on the scene.

‘Julian it is,’ she said, and held out her hand for a shake. He shook it like a good little soldier and the urge to tickle him until his giggles filled the room ate at her.

She battled very uncharitable thoughts towards the boy’s father. Could he not see his son was miserable and so tightly wound he’d probably be the first four-year-old in history to develop an ulcer?

She reminded herself that the man had not long lost his wife and was no doubt grieving heavily. But his son had also lost his mother. Just because he was only four, it didn’t mean that Julian wasn’t capable of profound grief also.

‘Would you like me to read you a story?’ Nat pointed to the book. ‘It’s about a possum and has lots of wonderful Australian animals in it.’

Julian nodded. ‘I like animals.’

‘Have you got a pet?’

He shook his head forlornly. ‘I had a cat. Pinocchio. But we had to leave him behind. Papa promised me another one but…he’s been too busy…’

Nat ground her teeth. ‘I have a cat. Her name’s Flo. After Florence Nightingale. She loves fish and makes a noise like this.’

Nat mimicked the low rumbling of her five-year-old tortoiseshell, embellishing slightly. Julian giggled and it was such a beautiful sound she did it again. ‘She’s a purring machine.’ Nat laughed and repeated the noise, delighted to once again hear Julian’s giggle.

As children careened around them, immersed in their own worlds, she opened the book and began to read aloud, her heart warmed by Julian’s instant immersion into its world. Page after page of exquisite illustrations of Australian bush animals swept them both away and by the end of the tale Julian was begging her to read it again, his little hand tucked into hers.

‘I see you’ve made a friend there,’ Trudy said a few minutes later, plonking a tray of cut-up fruit on the table in front of them and calling for the children to go and wash up for afternoon tea.

Julian followed the rest of the kids into the bathroom, looking behind him frequently to check Nat was still there. ‘I hope so, Trude,’ Nat replied.

If anyone needed a friend, it was Julian.

An hour later the chatter and chaos that was usually the kindy room was filled only with the beautiful sounds of silence as the busy bunch of three- to five-year-olds slumbered through the afternoon rest period. Nat wandered down the lines of little canvas beds, checking on her charges, pulling up kicked-off sheets and picking up the odd teddy bear that had been displaced.

She stopped at Julian’s bed and looked down at his dear little face. His soft curls framed his cheeks and forehead. His olive complexion was flawless in the way of children the world over. His mouth had an enticing bow shape and his lips were fat little cherubic pillows.

Unlike every other child in the room, he slept alone, no cuddle toy clutched to his side. With the serious lines of his face smoothed in slumber he looked like any other carefree four-year-old. Except he wasn’t. He was a motherless little boy who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

More like forty than four.

He whimpered slightly and his brow puckered. Her heart twisted and she reached out to smooth it but he turned on his side and as she watched, his thumb found its way into his mouth. He sucked subconsciously and her heart ached for him. He seemed so alone, even in sleep. It was wrong that a boy who had just lost his mother should have nothing other than a thumb to comfort him.

She made a mental note to talk to his father at pick-up. Ask him if Julian would like to bring along a toy, something familiar from home. Maybe she could even broach the subject of counselling for Julian. Something had to be done for the sad little darling. Someone had to try.

It may as well be her.

It was early evening when Nat found herself curled up in a bean bag with Julian in Book Corner, reading Possum Magic for the third time. The room was once again quiet, most of the children having gone home, their parents’ shifts long since finished. The few remaining kids had eaten their night-time meals and were occupied in quiet play.

Despite her best efforts to engage him with other children, Julian had steadfastly refused to join in, shadowing her instead. Nat knew she should be firmer but in a short space of time she’d developed a real soft spot for Julian.

His despondent little face clawed at her insides and she didn’t have the heart to turn him away. He looked like he was crying out to be loved and Nat knew how that felt. How could she deny a grieving child some affection?

She didn’t notice as she turned the pages that Julian’s thumb had found its way into his mouth or that one little hand had worked its way into her hair, rhythmically stroking the blonde strands.

All she was really aware of was Julian’s warm body pressed into her side and his belly laugh as she mimicked Grandma Poss and Hush on their quest to find the magic food. As ways to end the day went, it wasn’t too bad at all.

Dr Alessandro Lombardi strode into the crèche. He was tired. Dog tired. Emotional upheaval, months of no sleep, moving to the other side of the planet and starting a new job had really taken their toll. He wanted to go home, get into bed and sleep for a year.

If only.

He pulled up short in the doorway as his son’s laughter drifted towards him. It had been months since he’d heard the sound and he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. And after an arduous day it was a surprising pick-me-up.

His midnight-dark gaze followed the sound, his eyes widening to take in the picture before him. His son cuddled up next to a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes exactly like Camilla’s. His fingers absently stroked her hair while he sucked his thumb, just as he used to do with Camilla.

His welcoming smile froze before it had even made a dent into the uncompromising planes of his face. He crossed the room in three strides. ‘Julian!’

Nat felt the word crack like a whip across the room and looked up startled as Julian’s thumb fell from his mouth and he dropped his hand from her hair as if it had suddenly caught fire.

She didn’t need Trudy to tell her Julian’s father had arrived. They were carbon copies of each other. Same frowns, same serious gazes and brooding intensity, same cherubic mouths.

But where Julian’s appeal was all round-eyed childhood innocence, his father’s appeal was much more adult. There was nothing childish about his effect on her pulse. He looked like some tragic prince from a Shakespearean plot to whom the slings and arrows had not been kind.

Put quite simply, at one glance Julian’s father was most categorically heart-throb material. A tumble of dark hair, with occasional streaks of silver, brushed his forehead and collar, a dark shadow drew the eye to his magnificent jaw line and that mouth…

She knew without a doubt she was going to dream about that mouth.

She suddenly felt warm all over despite the chill that blanketed her as cold dark eyes, like black ice, raked over her. Nat was used to men staring. She was blonde and, as had been pointed out to her on numerous occasions, had a decent rack. She was no supermodel but she knew she’d been blessed with clear skin, healthy hair and a perfect size twelve figure.

Until today she’d thought living in Italy had immunised her against being openly ogled. As an eighteen-year-old blonde with pale skin in a country where dark hair and olive complexions were the norm, she’d certainly attracted a lot of interest from Italian boys.

But there was nothing sexual about this Italian’s interest. Rather he was looking at her like she was the wicked witch of the west.

And he was definitely no boy.

‘Julian,’ he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the strange woman who was eerily familiar. From the way she folded her long pale legs under her to the blonde ponytail that brushed her shoulders and the fringe that flicked back from her face, she was just like Camilla.

His gaze strayed to the way the top two buttons of her V-necked T-shirt gaped slightly across her ample chest. They lingered there for a moment, unconsciously appreciating the ripe swell of female flesh. It had been a long time since he’d appreciated a woman’s cleavage and he quickly glanced away.

His gaze moved upwards instead, finding the similarities to Camilla slapped him in the face again. Same wide-set eyes, same high cheekbones, same full mouth and pointed chin complete with sexy little cleft that no doubt dimpled when she smiled.

Hell, he must be tired, he was hallucinating.

He held his hand out to his son. ‘Come here.’

Julian obeyed his father immediately and Nat felt the beads of the bean bag beneath her shift and realign, deflating her position somewhat. She looked up, way up, at a distinct disadvantage in her semi-reclined state on the floor.

From this angle Julian’s father looked even more intimidating. More male. His legs looked longer. His chest broader. He loomed above her and she was torn between professionalism and just lolling her head back and looking her fill.

She couldn’t remember ever having such an immediate response to a man.

His pinstriped trousers fell softly against his legs, hinting at the powerful contours of his quadriceps. The thick fabric of his business shirt did the same, outlining broad shoulders and a lean torso tapering to even leaner hips.

Unfortunately he was still staring down at her like she was one of those insects who ate their young and reluctantly professionalism won out. She floundered in the bean bag for a few seconds, totally annihilating any chance of presenting herself as a highly skilled child care worker before struggling to her feet.

Snatching a moment to collect herself, she smiled encouragingly at Julian. She noticed immediately how, even standing next to his father, Julian still looked alone. They didn’t touch. There had been no great-to-see-you hug, he didn’t take his father’s hand, neither did his father reach for him. There was no affectionate shoulder squeeze or special father-son eye contact.

It was obvious Julian wasn’t frightened of him but also obvious the poor child didn’t expect much.

Nat returned her gaze upwards. Good Lord—the man was tall. And seriously sexy. She smiled, mainly for Julian’s benefit. ‘Hi. I’m Nat Davies.’ She extended her hand.

Alessandro blinked. He’d braced himself when she’d opened her mouth to speak, half expecting a cut-glass English accent. But when the words came out in that slow, laid-back Australian way, still unfamiliar to his ear, he relaxed slightly.

The similarities between this woman and his dead wife were startling on the surface. Same height, same build, same eye colour, same blonde hair worn in exactly the same style, same facial structure and generous mouth. Same cute chin dimple.

No wonder Julian had taken a shine to her.

But looking at the fresh-faced woman before him, he knew that’s where the similarities ended. This woman exuded openness, friendliness, an innocence, almost, that his wife had never had.

Her hair had been dragged back into its band, rather hurriedly by the look of it, with strands wisping out everywhere. It hadn’t been neatly coiffed and primped until every hair was in place.

And Camilla wouldn’t have dared leave the house without make-up. This woman…Nat…was more the girl-next-door version of Camilla. Not the posh English version he’d married.

Even her perfume was different. Camilla had always favoured heavy, spicy perfumes that lingered long after she’d left the room. Nat Davies smelled like a flower garden. And…Plasticine. It was an intriguing mix.

Most importantly, her gaze was free of artifice, free of agenda, and he felt instantly more relaxed around her then he ever had with Camilla.

Alessandro took the proffered hand and gave it a brief shake before extracting his own. ‘Alessandro Lombardi.’

Nat blinked as the fleeting contact did funny things to her pulse. His voice was deep and rich like red wine and dark chocolate, his faint accent adding a glamorous edge to his exotic-sounding name. But the bronzed skin that stretched over the hard planes and angles of his face remained taut and Nat had the impression he wasn’t given to great shows of emotion.

No wonder Julian rarely smiled if he lived with Mr Impassive. Nat looked down at Julian, who was inspecting the floor. ‘Julian, matey, would you like to take Possum Magic home? It’s part of our library. Maybe your papa could read it to you before bed tonight.’

Nat watched as Julian glanced hesitantly at his father, his solemn features heartbreakingly unhopeful.

Alessandro nodded. ‘Si.’

Nat passed the book to Julian, who still looked grave despite his father’s approval. Did he think perhaps his father wouldn’t read him the book? She had to admit that Alessandro Lombardi didn’t look like the cuddle-up-in-bed-with-his-son type. ‘Go and find Trudy, matey. She’ll show you how to fill out the library card.’

They watched Julian walk towards Trudy as if he was walking to his doom, clutching the book like it was his last meal.

Nat’s gaze flicked back to Julian’s father to find him already regarding her, his scrutiny as intense as before. ‘Senor Lombardi, I was—’

‘Mr, please,’ he interrupted. Alessandro was surprised to hear the Italian address. Surprised too at the accuracy of her Italian accent. ‘Or Doctor. Julian knows little Italian. His mother…’ Alessandro paused, surprised how much even mentioning Camilla still packed a kick to his chest. ‘His mother was English. It was her wish that it be his primary language.’

It was Nat’s turn to be surprised. On a couple of counts. Firstly, Julian knew a lot more Italian than his father gave him credit for if today was anything to go by. And, secondly, what kind of mother would deny their child an opportunity to learn a second language—especially their father’s native tongue?

But there was something about the way he’d faltered when he’d talked about his wife, the hesitation, the emptiness that prodded at her soft spot. He was obviously still grieving deeply. And maybe in his grief he was just trying to do the right thing by his dead wife? Trying to keep things going exactly as they had been for Julian’s sake. Or desperately trying to hang onto a way of life that had been totally shattered.

On closer inspection she could see the dark smudges and fine lines around his eyes. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t slept properly in a very long time.

Who was she to pass judgment?

‘Dr Lombardi, I was wondering if Julian had a special toy or a teddy bear? Something familiar from home to help him feel a little less alone in this new environment?’

Alessandro stiffened. A toy. Of course, Camilla would have known that. There was that mangy-looking rabbit that he used to drag around with him everywhere. Somewhere…

‘I’ve been very busy. Our things only arrived a few days ago and there’s been no chance to unpack. We’re still living out of boxes.’

Nat blinked. Too busy to surround your child with things that were familiar to him when so much in his world had been turned upside down?

‘This is none of my business, of course, but I understand you were recently widowed.’

Alessandro saw the softness in her eyes and wanted to yell at her to stop. He didn’t deserve her pity. Instead, he gave a brief, controlled nod. ‘Si.’

If anything, he looked even bleaker than when he’d first entered but despite his grim face and keep-out vibes Nat was overwhelmed by the urge to pull them both close and hug them. Father and son. They’d been through so much and were both so obviously still hurting. She couldn’t bear to see such sadness.

‘I was wondering if Julian had had any kind of counselling.’ Or if the good doctor had, for that matter. ‘He seems quite…withdrawn. I can highly recommend the counselling service they run here through St Auburn’s. The child psychologist is excellent. We could make an appointment—’

‘You’re right,’ Alessandro interrupted for the second time, a nerve jumping at the angle of his jaw. ‘This is none of your business.’ He turned to locate his son. ‘Come, Julian.’

Nat felt as if he had physically slapped her and she recoiled slightly. Alessandro Lombardi had a way with his voice that could freeze a volcano. He was obviously unused to having his authority questioned.

She’d bet her last cent he was a surgeon.

She watched Dr Lombardi usher his son towards the door. Julian partially lifted his hand, reaching for his father’s, then obviously thought better of it, dropping it by his side. He turned and gave her a small wave and a sad smile as he walked out the door, and Nat felt a lump swell in her throat.

They left side by side but emotionally separate. There was no picking his son up and carrying him out, not even a guiding hand on the back. Something, anything that said, even on a subliminal level, I love you, I’m here for you.

Nat hoped for Julian’s sake that it was grief causing this strange disconnectedness between father and son and not something deeper. There was something unbearably sad about a four-year-old with no emotional expectations.

Having grown up with an emotionally distant father Nat knew too well how soul destroying it could be. How often had she’d yearned for his touch, his smile, his praise after he’d left? And how often had he let her down, too busy with his new family, with his boys? Even at thirty-three she was still looking for his love. She couldn’t bear to see it happening to a child in her care.

But something inside her recognised that Alessandro Lombardi was hurting too. Knew that it was harsh to judge him. As a nurse she knew how grief affected people. How it could shut you down, cut you off at the knees. He had obviously loved his wife very deeply and was probably doing the best he could just to function every day.

To put one foot in front of the other.

Maybe he was just emotionally frozen. Not capable of any feelings at the moment. Maybe grief had just sucked them all away.

She sighed. It looked like she’d also developed a soft spot for the father also. Yep, it was official—she was a total sucker for a sob story.

The next day Nat had finished her stint in Outpatients and was heading back to the accident and emergency department for her very late lunch. She’d been sent there to cover for sick leave and was utterly exhausted.

She didn’t mind being sent out of her usual work area and had covered Outpatients on quite a few occasions since starting at St Auburn’s six months ago but it was a full-on morning which always ran over the scheduled one p.m. finish time. There hadn’t been time for morning tea either so her stomach was protesting loudly. She could almost taste the hot meat pie she’d been daydreaming about for the last hour and a half.

Add to that being awake half the night thinking about Julian’s situation, and she was totally wrecked. And then there’d been the other half of the night. Filled with images—very inappropriate images—of Julian’s father and his rather enticing mouth.

She’d known she was going to dream about that mouth.

‘Oh, good, you’re back. I need another experienced hand,’ Imogen Reddy, the nurse in charge, said as Nat wandered back. ‘It’s Looney Tunes here. Code one just arrived in Resus. Seventy-two-year old-male, suspected MI. Can you get in and give the new doc a hand? Delia’s there but she was due off half an hour ago and hasn’t even had time for a break. Can you take over and send her home?’

Nat looked at the bedlam all around her. Just another crazy day at St Auburn’s Accident and Emergency. And they wondered why she kept knocking back a full-time position. Nat’s stomach growled a warning at her but she knew there was no way she could let a seven-months-pregnant colleague do overtime on an empty stomach.

She smiled at her boss. ‘Resus. Sure thing.’

Nat stopped just outside the resus cubicle and pulled a pair of medium gloves out of a dispenser attached to the wall. She snapped them on, took a deep breath, flicked back the curtain and entered the fray.

‘Okay, Delia. You’re off,’ she said, smiling at her colleague who happened to be the first person she saw amidst the chaos. ‘Go home, put your feet up and feed the foetus.’

Delia shoulders sagged and she gave Nat a grateful smile. ‘Are you sure?’ She turned and addressed the doctor. ‘Are you okay if I go, Alessandro? You’re getting a much better deal. Nat here is Super-Nurse.’

Alessandro? Nat swung around to find Alessandro Lombardi, all big and brooding, behind her. The bustle, the sounds of the oxygen and the monitors around her faded out as she stared into those coalpit-black eyes.

They were alert, radiating intelligence, but if anything he looked more tired than he had yesterday. He stared back and Nat felt as if she was naked in front of him.

She dropped her gaze as some of the images from last night’s dream revisited. Bloody hell. He was the new doctor? Working part-time generally kept Nat out of the loop with medical staff rotations and she’d just assumed Imogen had meant a new registrar. Surely Julian’s father was a little too old to be a registrar?

So much for her surgeon theory.

Alessandro took in the woman who had been the cause of another sleepless night. A new cause, granted, but still a complication he didn’t need. She was different today, out of her shorts and T-shirt. Very professional looking in the modest white uniform with the zip up the front. Her hair was a little neater in her ponytail and in this environment he felt on a more even keel around her.

Still, his gaze dropped to the zip briefly and before he could stop it, an image of him yanking the slider down flitted across his mind’s eye.

He looked at Delia briefly. ‘Yes. We’ve met.’

Then he turned back to the patient and Nat felt thoroughly dismissed. If only he knew what he’d done to her in her dreams last night…

Had she had time she might have been miffed but her patient caught her attention. ‘Super-Nurse, hey?’ he croaked behind his oxygen mask.

Nat dragged her gaze away from the back of Alessandro’s head to look at the patient. He was sweaty and grey with massive ST changes on his monitor. Multiple ectopic beats were worrying and as she watched, a short run of ventricular tachycardia interrupted his rhythm.

His heart muscle was dying.

He was also in pain despite the morphine that she noted had already been administered, but there was still a twinkle visible in his bright eyes. He was obviously one of those stoic old men who didn’t believe in complaining too much.

‘Yes, sir.’ She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘That’s me. To the rescue.’

The patient gave a weak chuckle. ‘Ernie,’ he puffed out. ‘Looks like I’m in safe hands, then.’

Nat glanced at Alessandro. She hoped so. She hoped he was better at doctoring than he was at communicating. At fathering. ‘The very best.’

‘What’s the ETA on the CCU docs?’ Alessandro asked no one in particular.

Seeing Nat Davies from the crèche was a bit of a surprise but he didn’t have time to ponder that, or her damn zip, now. He had to focus on his patient, who needed that consult and admission to the coronary care unit pronto.

Ernie’s ECG was showing a massive inferior myocardial infarction. They were administering the right drugs to halt the progress of the heart attack but these patients were notoriously unstable and with age against him, Alessandro worried that Ernie would arrest before the drugs could work. Or that his heart was already too damaged.

‘Couple of minutes,’ someone behind him said.

As it turned out, Ernie didn’t have a couple of minutes and Alessandro’s worst fears were realised when the monitor alarmed and Ernie lost consciousness.

‘VF,’ Nat announced as the green line on the screen developed into a series of frenetic squiggles. Her own heart rate spiked as a charge of adrenaline shot through her system like vodka on an empty stomach.

Alessandro pointed at Nat. ‘Commence CPR. I’ll intubate. Adrenaline,’ he ordered. ‘Charge the defib.’

Nat hiked the skirt of her uniform up her thighs a little as she climbed up onto the narrow gurney. She planted her knees wide and balanced on the edge of the mattress, a feat she’d performed a little too often, as she started compressions.

Any ill will she may have been harbouring towards Dr Lombardi fizzled in an instant at the totally professional way he ran the code. It was textbook. But that wasn’t doing him justice. It was more than textbook. He didn’t see a seventy-two-year-old man and give up after a few minutes. He gave Ernie every chance. It wasn’t until the down time reached thirty minutes that he finally called it.

He placed his hands on Nat’s, stilling their downward trajectory. ‘Thank you,’ he said. Then he looked at the clock. ‘Time of death fifteen twenty-two hours.’

Nat looked down at his hands. She could just see her own through the gloved fingers of his. She noticed for the first time his sleeves were rolled back to reveal the dark hair of his bronzed forearms and she absently thought how strong they looked. How manly.

She glanced at him and their eyes locked, a strange solidarity uniting them. She could see the impact of this loss in his bleak stare. As she watched, his gaze drifted briefly south, lapping her cleavage, and she felt her nipples bead as if he’d actually caressed them. When he looked back at her, all she could see was heat.

Two beats passed and then as quickly as the heat had come it disappeared and he was removing his hands, extending one to help her off the gurney. Dragging her gaze from him, she accepted, easing back to the floor.

Her knees nearly buckled and Nat snatched her hand away, grabbing for the edge of the trolley to steady herself.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked as he watched her wobble slightly.

Nat rubbed her at her knees. ‘Fine’

Except, staring down at Ernie, she knew it wasn’t. Ernie was dead. And whatever was going on between her and Alessandro didn’t matter next to that. Neither did it matter that she’d only known Ernie for only a handful of minutes—he was still dead. Gone. The twinkle in his eyes extinguished for ever. In fact, it made it worse that she didn’t know him. It was wrong that a person should die surrounded by strangers.

She felt as she always did, overwhelmingly sad.

Alessandro nodded. ‘We need to talk to his family.’

His cold onyx gaze bored into hers with an air of expectation, no trace of the heat from a moment ago.

Looked like she was going with him.

Confronted with the businesslike professional, she wondered if she’d imagined the fleeting glimpse of sorrow and passion she’d seen. Her tummy growled again and she bargained with it for another half an hour.

Alessandro strode briskly ahead and Nat worried as she followed him. Sure, the view was good. His trousers hugged the tight contours of his butt and each stride emphasised not only the power of his legs but pulled at his shirt, emphasising the broadness of his back.

But none of that meant this man was remotely equipped to talk to grieving relatives. He was still grieving himself. Had Ernie’s death resonated with him? Had this death reminded him of his dead wife, of his own grief?

He was obviously a consultant, she didn’t think for a moment this was his first time. But if he was as emotionally disconnected with this family as he was with his son, it could be disastrous for them. As a nurse she was used to being involved in these conversations but did he only want her there to fill in the emotional gaps for him? Was she going to be left to pick up the pieces like she’d done too many times before in her career because too often doctors were ill equipped for this sort of situation?

She contemplated saying something. But despite the brief flare of desire that had licked her with heat, his terse This is none of your business from yesterday still rang in her ears and she didn’t want to annoy him before this heart-wrenching job. But he seemed as tense as yesterday, as distant, and not even the growling of her stomach could override the foreboding that shadowed her as she tried to keep up with his impossibly long stride.

Telling someone their husband/child/mother/significant other had died was always dreadful. As a health-care worker, Nat would rather clean bedpans all shift than witness the devastating effects of those awful few words. But she knew Ernie’s wife and kids deserved the truth and she knew they’d have questions that only someone who had been there could answer.

And that was her.

She couldn’t back away from that. No matter how much she wanted to.

Much to her surprise, Alessandro again totally confounded her. He spoke softly, his accent more apparent as he gently outlined what had happened and how they’d tried but in the end there had been nothing they could do to bring Ernie back. The family cried and got angry and asked questions and Alessandro was calm and gentle and patient.

He was compassion personified.

And at the end when Ernie’s wife tentatively put out her hand to bridge the short distance between Alessandro and herself and then thought better of it and withdrew it, it was he who reached out and took her hand.

It should have melted her marshmallow heart in an instant. But it didn’t.

It reminded her of yesterday and Julian reaching for his father’s hand and it had the opposite effect. She was furious. It felt like a red-hot poker had been shoved through her heart. She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of food or the lack of sleep but she felt irrationally angry.

Was this man schizophrenic? Was he some sort of Jekyll and Hyde? How could he offer Ernie’s wife, a relative stranger, the comfort he denied his own child?

He’d shown this family, this previously unknown collection of people, more sensitivity, more emotion, than he’d displayed for his four-year-old son. Yesterday she’d thought he was emotionally crippled. Grieving for his wife. Today, as they’d walked to do this, she’d worried about it again. Worried about his ability to empathise when he was buried under the weight of his own grief.

But it wasn’t the case. He was obviously a brilliant emergency physician with a fabulous bedside manner. He just didn’t take it home with him. To the most important person in the world. To his own child. To his son.

They left Ernie’s family after about twenty minutes and Nat had never been more pleased to be shed of a person in her life. She steamed ahead, knowing if she didn’t get away from him she would say something she would regret.

Alessandro frowned as Nat forged ahead. She seemed upset and as much as he didn’t want anything to do with the woman who could almost have been Camilla’s twin, they worked together and he knew that sudden death, such as they’d both just been part of, took its toll.

He caught her up. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine.’ She repeated her response from earlier.

Except she wasn’t. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something was bothering her. He grabbed her arm to prevent her walking away any further. ‘I don’t think you are.’

Nat looked at his bronzed hand on her pale arm. She looked at him. Oh, Senor, you really don’t want to mess with me now. She pulled her arm away but he tightened his grip.

Heat radiated from his hand and spread up her arm to her breasts and belly. Damn it, she did not want to feel like this. Not now. She was mad. Furious. She sucked in a breath, ragged from her brisk walk and the rage bubbling beneath the surface.

They were standing in the corridor facing each other and it was as if time stood still around them and they were the only two people on the planet. Nat couldn’t believe how it was possible to want to shake someone and totally pash their lips off at the same time.

‘I’m fine.’ The denial was low and guttural.

Alessandro could see the agitated rise and fall of her chest, see the colour in her cheeks. His gaze drifted to her mouth, her parted lips enticing.

He dragged his gaze away. ‘I don’t believe you. I know these cases can be difficult—’

Nat’s snort ripped through his words and gave her mouth something else to do other than beg for his kiss. ‘You think this is about Ernie?’ She stared into his handsome face, at his peppered jaw line. How could she want someone who was so bloody obtuse?

‘It’s not?’

Nat snorted again and she knew she couldn’t hold it back any longer. ‘Tell me, how is it that you can reach out and hold a stranger’s hand and yet you can’t offer your own son the same comfort?’

Alessandro froze at the accusation in her words. He dropped his hand from her arm as if he’d suddenly discovered she was suffering from the ebola virus. Nat watched his black ice eyes chill over as he paled beneath his magnificent bronze complexion. But she was on a roll now and she’d come this far.

‘Nothing to say?’ she taunted.

‘Oh, I think you’ve said enough for both of us. Don’t you?’

And before she knew it he’d turned on his heel, his rapidly departing figure storming along the corridor ahead.

She sucked in a breath, her body quivering from anger and something else even more primitive. She guessed she should feel chastised but she couldn’t. If he could show this level of compassion at work, even if it was just an act, he sure as hell could show it at home.

If she could save Julian from the emotional wasteland she’d trodden, trying to please her father throughout her childhood, then she would. Attraction or no attraction.

So, no. She hadn’t said enough. Not nearly enough. Not by a long shot.