Читать книгу The Surgeon's Baby Surprise - Charlotte Hawkes - Страница 8

PROLOGUE

‘DIFFICULT CASE, DR PARKER?’

Evie snapped her head off the cool glass of the vending machine at the unmistakeably masculine voice and tried to quash the fluttering of attraction suddenly tumbling in her stomach, despite her inner turmoil.

When was she going to get over this particularly inopportune attraction?

A moment ago, her brain had been swimming with a particularly challenging case. After a day of fighting for her patient and consistently hitting a brick wall, she was feeling drained and unhopeful, but a question from one of Silvertrees’ foremost plastic and orthoplastic surgeons, Maximilian Van Berg, and she felt more fired up than ever.

Just as she did every time she was around the man.

Evie hastily dredged up a bright smile. Professional but not too flirty. He liked professional, as demonstrated by his use of her title rather than just using her first name as other colleagues did. And he didn’t care much for flirts—any more than Evie cared to be thought of as one.

‘Nothing I can’t handle, Mr Van Berg.’

None of this Dr Van Berg for Max. He was old-school, trained by the Royal College of Surgeons, and he used his right to revert to Mr to reflect that.

‘That I don’t doubt,’ Max murmured to her surprise before turning to the vending machine. ‘Has this thing been swallowing money again?’

Wait, did he just compliment her—and in a voice that was sexy as hell?

Her nerve-endings tingled at the uncharacteristic gravelly tone. She was used to his clipped all-business tone with colleagues. In fact it was a shame Maximilian Van Berg wasn’t a paediatric plastic surgeon—she got the feeling he wouldn’t put his own reputation ahead of the best interests of a patient. He had attended the Youth Care Residential Centre where she normally worked a few times, and they’d always seen eye to eye on the cases then. Part of her itched to run this case by him, too, but he would certainly deem that unprofessional of her. She needed to push all thoughts from today out of her head for the night, think about other things and come back to it, refreshed, in the morning.

Instead, Evie allowed herself a covert assessment of the man beside her. He was wearing off-duty gear, which, she concluded grudgingly, only managed to underscore a muscled, athletic physique more suited to some chiselled movie star than the gifted surgeon the man actually was. As a psychiatrist, Evie only came to Silvertrees when she referred a case from her centre for troubled teens, but even she knew that Max was the golden boy of the hospital. And it hadn’t surprised her to learn how high a proportion of the hospital staff had apparently attempted to land the man, succumbing to the heady combination of undeniable surgical skills and brooding good looks.

But it seemed that what made him most irresistible was the fact that Max was also intensely private. He was committed to his career, notoriously elusive, and inflexible in his rules about keeping emotions and personal life out of his department; on the rare occasions he was snapped by the media at high-profile events, his dates were always the most stunning media starlets, hanging perfectly on his arm. He strongly disapproved of co-workers dating and had even earned himself the moniker Demon of Discipline. She had never known him to break his own rules, and she could still hear the censure in his tone when he’d heard about her semi-relationship with one of his colleagues.

And yet, during her not infrequent visits to Silvertrees, hadn’t she sensed some kind of spark between the two of them whenever they’d met?

Not that she meant to act on it, of course. She knew his rigid reputation only too well, which was one of the reasons she’d enthused about whatever—in reality, lacklustre—relationship she’d been in at the time they’d first met. And it had worked: Max had relaxed in her company, assured that she wasn’t flirting with him. Still she’d sometimes felt there was an uncharacteristic softness from him during the rare moments they’d been alone together.

‘Dr Parker?’ He broke into her musings. ‘I asked if the vending machine has been swallowing money again.’

Evie glanced through the glass panel to the item currently lodged, frustratingly precariously, on the half-open metal distribution arm, and sighed.

‘The last of my small change...’ she nodded, unable to help herself from adding ‘...and I’m starving.’

Evie tried not to gape as he fished in his pocket for coins for her. Or to notice the way his trousers pulled tantalisingly taut around well-honed thighs as he did so.

‘What were you after?’ he asked, his eyes not leaving hers.

Evie startled. If it had been anyone else offering to buy her a vending-machine snack she doubted she would have hesitated, but with Max it somehow seemed a more intimate gesture.

‘It’s just a granola bar, Dr Parker.’ He sounded almost amused, as though he could read her thoughts.

She was being ridiculous; she gave an imperceptible shake of her head. It was foolish to allow her own futile attraction to him to lead her to imagine there was more to the simple act than he actually intended.

‘As it happens,’ she managed wryly, ‘it was the raspberry and white chocolate muffin.’

‘A sweet tooth.’ He smiled. ‘I didn’t imagine that.’

A charge of heat fizzed through her. Logically, Evie knew he meant nothing by it but she couldn’t shake the idea that he’d imagined anything about her at all. Just a shame it wasn’t the same X-rated images she’d been unsuccessfully fighting whenever she imagined him.

‘It’s a weakness.’ She fought to show a casual smile, but she couldn’t help her tongue from darting out to moisten suddenly parched lips.

As Max’s eyes flicked straight down to the movement, Evie could have kicked herself for giving too much away. All she could do now was hold her ground and feign innocence, fighting the tingling heat as his eyes tracked up to meet hers. Boy, she hoped he couldn’t really read her thoughts.

‘Mine’s dark chocolate,’ he replied eventually, releasing her gaze as he turned flippantly back to the machine.

‘Sorry?’ She drew in a surreptitious deep breath.

‘My weakness. At least seventy per cent cocoa solids, though probably not more than eighty-five.’

As weaknesses went it was hardly significant yet she felt a thrill of pleasure. In all the time she’d known him she’d never once known him to make such small talk. It loaned her an unexpected confidence.

‘I didn’t think the lauded Max Van Berg had any weaknesses,’ she teased daringly.

‘I have them.’ He met her gaze head-on again. ‘I just make it a point not to show them.’

She swallowed abruptly before taking the proffered muffin from him and promptly tearing off a chunk as her empty stomach growled its appreciation. It had been a long, busy day.

‘I can’t believe you’re still here, going through patient files. Shouldn’t you be home, sleeping after a long shift? Or is that another weakness in your book?’

It was meant to be a joke but in her nervousness it came out more clipped than she’d intended. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice as he cast a grim gaze up the corridor.

‘No, I was boxing off my open cases before I leave next week.’

‘Oh, that’s right.’ Evie dipped her head; she remembered hearing something about that. ‘You’re going away to work with Médecins Sans Frontières, aren’t you?’

‘An eight-month project in the Gaza Strip,’ he acknowledged grimly, shadows chasing across his handsome profile as he turned his head away. ‘Helping burn victims, performing reconstructive surgery, amputations.’

‘From the fighting?’ Her heart flip-flopped at the idea of him risking his life in such an environment.

‘Sometimes.’ Max shrugged. ‘But around seventy-five per cent of my patients will be kids under five years old.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Electricity is cut off on a daily basis so the people rely on power from domestic-size gas containers for cooking or to heat their homes. But because the canisters are such poor quality, explosions are an everyday occurrence, and children are usually the victims.’

‘It sounds like...rewarding work,’ she managed weakly, studying his expression of grim determination.

‘It is,’ he agreed.

And it was essentially Max Van Berg. On the occasions she’d been to Silvertrees, Evie had found he was the surgeon every trauma doctor wanted to hear was on call for any orthoplastic cases with trauma victims from the A&E. She certainly wasn’t surprised that MSF had snapped up a surgeon of Max’s calibre.

‘I wish every surgeon had your desire to help,’ she murmured.

‘Problems?’

Why was she hesitating? What did she have to lose?

‘It that why you were leaning on the glass, staring so grimly into the machine when I first came into the lounge?’ he enquired. ‘Because it wasn’t for your lost muffin.’

Evie wrinkled her nose. He moved to the coffee machine as she followed on autopilot, refusing to let him intimidate her and trying to ignore the defined muscles that bunched and shifted beneath his black tee shirt.

‘I was just thinking about my patient,’ she hedged.

‘Go on.’

She smiled as his interest was instantly piqued. She could have taken a bet on that. Anything patient-related and it had Max’s attention.

‘Like I said, nothing I can’t handle.’

‘I imagine you can,’ he repeated. ‘We’ve worked together a couple of times now, Dr Parker. You’re focused and you’re dedicated to your patients but you don’t make rash decisions. I respect your opinion as a psychiatrist, Doctor, and I like that.’

She stared at him in delight until the happiness turned to heat as he pinned her down with an intense gaze of his own.

‘I like that a lot,’ he repeated, his voice a low rumble. ‘In plastics particularly, it’s important to me to know who wants my help, and who truly needs it to turn their life around. Sometimes it’s easy to tell but other times it isn’t so clear-cut.’

Caught in his regard, she felt the atmosphere between them shift slightly. Heat began to rise in her face, travelling down her neck, through her chest until it pooled at the apex between her legs. This was the effect Max always had on her. Sometimes, the way he looked at her almost convinced her he was attracted to her, too.

But that was just fanciful thinking, wasn’t it? She’d give anything to know what he was thinking, right now.

‘Thank you, I—’

‘So, how’s she doing?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your patient with the significant breast asymmetry.’

Another thrill fizzed through Evie. Had he been watching her?

She hastily reprimanded herself. It was the cases Max was interested in, not the fact that she was on them. She shouldn’t be surprised that he knew the patient. She would bet he kept track of all the cases that came through his department—he was that kind of conscientious surgeon.

‘That is why you were staring so distractedly into the vending machine, I take it? I also heard you’ve been reading the Riot Act to one of my colleagues. Are you always this passionate about your patients, Dr Parker?’

Evie blinked, suddenly thrown. His guess might be off, but his assessment of her state of mind was surprisingly on the money.

She had always got deeply involved with her patients, it was true. Her work at the centre had always been more than a job; it had been a calling. But he was right, this case felt personal. She needed to win this battle and help this young girl change her life.

Because this week Evie had received the worst news of her life. Her own body was failing her and soon she might not even be able to help herself, let alone anybody else.

It hadn’t been completely out of the blue. Fifteen years ago she’d been diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease, PKD, but she’d never shown any symptoms. However, during her routine check-up this week, to her shock, decreased kidney function had been detected. Her nephrologist had warned her that, whilst she could continue as normal for now, within the next six to twelve months she would begin to feel too exhausted to even continue as a doctor, and within a couple of years she would need a kidney transplant.

If she didn’t get a new kidney she would never be able to help another troubled child, never have a child of her own. Worst-case scenario, she might not even have her life.

She hadn’t confided it to a soul. She hadn’t wanted to. And part of her had an inexplicable urge to spill all her fears to this man right here, right now. If she could trust anyone with this secret, it would be Maximilian Van Berg.

Yet another part of her held back. Better to stay away from her personal problems, concentrate on someone she could help: her patient.

Evie drew in a breath and sipped tentatively at the hot drink to steady her nerves.

‘Honestly, it’s just that my patient really does need this operation, not just for the obvious physical benefit but, as far as I’m concerned, for her mental well-being. She’s on the brink of psychological depression, becoming more and more disruptive in school, and becoming so reclusive that her social skills aren’t developing.’

‘The issue, as I’ve seen, is that one of her breasts is barely an A-cup and the other is almost a D-cup, so the need for an operation in the future is inevitable?’ he stated abruptly.

‘Right.’ Evie nodded as Max frowned. So he had been looking into the case file.

‘She can’t wear a bra that fits, she can’t go swimming with her friends, or go to friends’ houses for a sleepover. She can’t even change in front of them for a basic PE lesson in school without being taunted. It’s making her withdraw socially, and she’s now developing stress-induced Irritable Bowel Syndrome.’

‘I read the file, Dr Parker,’ he responded, removing his drink from the machine and taking a generous gulp.

The man must have an asbestos mouth.

She gave an imperceptible shake of her head to refocus her thoughts.

‘However, the paediatric surgeon we spoke to doesn’t want to operate due to her young age. He doesn’t want to operate when the patient is still growing and developing, and he doesn’t know if she could cope mentally with the procedures, including an implant.’

‘He has a point.’

‘I appreciate that, and you must know how cautious I am about making such recommendations. But I’ve worked with this girl for almost a year. I don’t believe its body dysmorphic disorder, and I know it’s a fear of all paediatric plastic surgeons that they could miss such a diagnosis. In this case it clearly isn’t an imagined or minor so-called defect in her appearance. It is something which is understandably imposing significant limitations on her life.’

‘And what about realising the impact of these procedures? Does your patient understand that her body will never be perfect, that she will have to deal with the scars from the operation?’

‘She absolutely does understand that. But, in her own words, the scar is something she could live with. It wouldn’t prevent her from wearing a bra, or a swimsuit, or a prom dress. All things she currently can’t do.’

He pinned her with a look that was more about the undercurrents running between them than the conversation they were ostensibly having.

‘And your assessment is that this procedure isn’t just about rectifying the physical problem but is necessary for developing well-being?’

‘I think it’s essential to her self-esteem and her social development at this crucial time in her life, Mr Van Berg.’

Her hands shook as she took another steadying sip of her coffee, her eyes still locked with his over the plastic rim.

‘Then I’ll take a look at the case before I leave.’

‘You would do that for her?’

‘I told you before, I respect you as one professional to another,’ he growled. ‘So, how’s the boyfriend?’

Evie stiffened. As it happened her latest attempt at a boyfriend had resulted in being unceremoniously dumped when his mother had deemed her not good enough for her precious son, after Evie had revealed that she would never be able to give the woman the longed-for grandchild.

She hadn’t loved the guy, but, still, it had been painful. It had hurt being told that she wasn’t good enough, an echo of the hurt she’d felt when her father had walked out all those years ago.

But surely Max couldn’t know about her pathetic love-life? She’d be a laughing stock. Hospital gossip was an unstoppable machine, everyone knew that, but, not working at Silvertrees permanently, she’d always convinced herself that she escaped the worst of it. Still, if people did know, then she couldn’t afford to lie to Max now.

‘Gone.’

She fought to affect nonchalance.

‘Good. He didn’t deserve you anyway,’ Max murmured, his hand reaching slowly up to lower the cup from her lips.

‘You didn’t know him,’ she protested mildly.

‘I know if he lost you, he’s a loser.’

Evie swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes away from his.

‘I’m going to check on your patient now. All I ask in return is that you join me for a drink in the bar across the way as soon as I can get away from this farewell party I’m supposed to be at right now.’

‘What about your business and pleasure rule?’ she whispered.

‘In a few days, I won’t even be in this country, let alone this hospital.’ He gave a lopsided grin, so sexy it made her toes curl. ‘I think we can bend the rules this once, don’t you?’

His head inched closer until his nose skimmed hers. It was like some kind of exquisite torture.

She knew she should be strong, back away. But didn’t she know only too well that life was short?

Stretching her neck, she closed the gap between them, a small sound of pleasure escaping her throat as her lips met his.

Max responded without hesitation. One hand slid around the back of her head as the other pulled her firmly to him. The reality of the feel of his solid body even more impressive than the eye had allowed the mind to imagine. His teeth grazed her lips as his tongue danced seductively. He might seem dedicated to his career and refuse to date within the hospital pool, but there was no doubting that Max had dated. He knew exactly what he was doing to her.

It was all Evie could do to raise her hands and grip his shoulders and she hung on for the ride.

‘Is that you?’

‘Is what me?’ she muttered, frustrated that he’d pulled away from her.

‘The beeper.’ His voice was laced with amusement.

Slowly a familiar sound filtered into her head.

‘Oh, that’s me,’ she gasped as her brain slowly clicked back into gear.

‘Yes...’ the corners of his lips twitched as she stood dazed and immobile ‘...Evangeline. You need to go now.’

‘I do,’ she murmured, muscle memory allowing her legs to start moving, backwards but in the right direction, even as her brain felt frazzled.

‘I’ll go and see your patient. When you’re done with whatever your message is you can come and find me. I’ll be back in my office.’

‘I... Okay, I’ll...see you later, Mr Van Berg.’

She watched Max turn smoothly and walk towards the double doors at the far end of the corridor, unable to stop him or say anything. It was only when her back slammed into something solid that she realised she’d reached the double doors at her own end.

She wanted to say something, but no words would come.

‘Oh, and, Evangeline?’ Max twisted his head to call over his shoulder. ‘For the rest of tonight shall we agree that it’s Max, and not Mr Van Berg?’

A slow grin spread over her face as he disappeared through the doors.