Читать книгу Italian Doctor, No Strings Attached - Kate Hardy - Страница 9

SYDNEY’S head was telling her that this was a bad, bad idea. Going out with Marco—just the two of them. But she couldn’t get that kiss out of her head. The way he’d made her feel, those little sparkles of pleasure running through her as his mouth had moved over hers. Maybe it was the adrenalin rush from the abseil still scrambling her common sense, but it had been too long since she’d let herself have fun.

He was only going to be at the London Victoria for six months. And he was asking her out on a date, not suggesting a long-term commitment. So on a need-to-know basis he didn’t actually have to know about her neurofibromatosis, did he?

There was only one other reason she could think of why she ought to say no. ‘We work together. It’s usually not a good idea to date someone in your department,’ she hedged. ‘Things can get a bit—well, awkward.’

‘We’re both adults,’ he said softly, ‘and I think we can be professional enough to keep what happens outside work completely separate from what happens inside work.’ He paused, keeping eye contact. ‘So will you have dinner with me tonight?’

Clearly the adrenalin from the abseil was still affecting her head, because Sydney found herself returning his smile. ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

‘How about we go out now, straight from work?’ he suggested. ‘Then neither of us has to go home, dress up and drag ourselves out again.’

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘Marco, you’re already way more dressed up than anyone else in the department. I hate to think what your definition of “dressing up” might be.’

He laughed. ‘Before they retired, my parents designed clothes. My older brother and sister run the business now, and they tend to use me as a clothes horse—which is fine by me, because it means I never have to drag myself round the clothes shops, and my wardrobe’s always stocked.’

‘What happens if they give you something you really hate wearing?’ she asked, sounding curious.

‘They only did that when I dated their favourite model,’ he said. ‘To make the point that they didn’t approve.’

‘So you’re an Italian playboy,’ she teased.

‘Sometimes,’ he teased back. ‘Actually, I’m starving. Where do you recommend we go?’

‘Normally if I go straight from work it’s to a pizza place or a trattoria.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Not that I’d dare suggest either of those to an Italian.’

He laughed. ‘I’m not that fussy.’

‘Do you like Chinese food?’

‘I love it.’

‘Good. Then I know just the place.’

The restaurant wasn’t in the slightest bit romantic; it was very workmanlike, with bright lighting, but the food was terrific and Marco was glad that she’d suggested sharing several dishes. Well, apart from the fact that their hands kept accidentally meeting as they served themselves, because the touch of her skin against his was sending little flashes of desire up and down his spine—desire he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He had a feeling that she was affected in just the same way, because her pupils were huge; in this harsh lighting, he’d expect them to be almost pinpoint.

He really hadn’t expected this. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt this attracted to someone. The times he’d dated during the past year had been in a failed attempt to forget Sienna, and the relationships had fizzled out by the end of the second date.

But there was something about Sydney. Something that felt different. Something that intrigued him and made him want to know more.

‘So are you enjoying London?’ she asked.

‘Very much.’

‘What made you decide to come to England?’

‘It was a good opportunity,’ Marco prevaricated. He could hardly tell her the truth—that he’d needed to get away from Rome. Away from the memories, away from the guilt. Two years of toughing it out had just worn him down, and all that trying hadn’t stopped the bad feelings. At least here he didn’t have to think about it all the time. He could simply block it out, because he and Sienna had never been to London and there were no memories of her here to haunt him. ‘It’s one of the busiest departments in one of the busiest hospitals in London. It’ll be good experience for me and, when I go back to Rome, I’ll have a better chance of promotion.’

Last time he’d been promoted, it had ended in heartache. In his life falling apart completely. Next time, he was determined it would be different.

He kept the conversation light until the meal had ended. ‘Can I see you home?’ he asked.

Her eyes widened slightly. Fear? he wondered. But why would she be afraid of him? Worried that he was taking this too fast, maybe?

‘That wasn’t a clumsy way of saying I’m expecting you to take me to bed just because I took you out to dinner tonight,’ he said softly. ‘You’re female, and you had dinner with me, so I need to see you home safely. That’s all.’

That made her smile. ‘That’s very gallant of you. Old-fashioned, even.’

‘It’s how I was brought up.’

‘Nice manners. I like that.’ She bit her lip. ‘And thank you.’

He frowned. ‘For what?’

‘For not taking this thing between us too fast. I’m …’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m not really used to dating. I’ve been focused on my career.’

‘I’m not really used to dating, either.’ He’d been in a relationship with the same woman since he was eighteen. Since his first day at university. Until the day two years ago when he’d taken that phone call and his world had fallen apart. ‘And I’ve just started a new job in a new hospital.’

‘And a new country,’ she finished.

He nodded. ‘So. This thing between you and me—no pressure. We’ll just see where it takes us, yes?’

‘Thank you. That works for me,’ she said softly.

When they reached her flat, she looked at him. ‘If you want to come in for a coffee, you’re welcome.’

‘Coffee meaning just coffee,’ he checked.

She smiled, and he was glad to see a tiny bit of the wariness fade from her eyes. So had she had a bad experience with someone who’d pushed her too far, too fast? Was that why she avoided dating and concentrated on her career—why she’d thanked him for not taking this too fast? Not that it was any of his business; and now really wasn’t the right time to ask.

He followed her into the kitchen, noting that her flat was small but neat. There were lots of photographs everywhere, and they were people who looked quite like her; clearly she was as close to her family as he was to his. Another thing they had in common.

‘I’m afraid it’s only instant coffee,’ she said as she switched the kettle on.

‘Instant’s fine.’

She gave him a sidelong look. ‘I bet you only have fresh coffee at your place.’

He laughed. ‘Yes. But I’ve been either a medical student or a doctor for sixteen years, so I’ve learned not to be too particular. Coffee’s coffee.’

‘I do have something to go with it.’ She rummaged in the fridge and produced a box. ‘My bad habit.’

‘Chocolate?’

‘Better than chocolate,’ she said with a smile.

He looked more closely at the packaging, and smiled as he recognised it. One of his own bad habits, too. ‘Gianduja. I’m impressed. You’re a woman of taste.’

She gestured to him to sit down at her kitchen table, and put some music on: a solo female singer, backed by guitar and piano, gentle stuff that he rather liked.

‘How do you like your coffee?’

‘Strong, no milk, please.’

She handed him a mug, and sat down next to him. But then they reached for a piece of gianduja at the same time and their fingers touched. He saw the sudden shock in her eyes, the way her mouth parted as if inviting a kiss.

And he really, really wanted to kiss her. Just like he had after the abseil. He needed to feel her mouth beneath hers, warm and soft and sweet and generous.

Except she’d thanked him earlier for not taking things too fast.

So, instead, he took her hand, pressed a kiss into her palm and folded her fingers over it.

‘What was that for?’ she asked. The wariness was back in her eyes.

‘Because I’m trying very hard not to take this too fast,’ he said. ‘This is a compromise. A kiss that won’t scare you off.’ A kiss that wouldn’t scare him off, either, if he was honest about it. The way she made him feel was unsettling, something he really wasn’t used to. His head was telling him that this was a seriously bad idea; did he really want to put himself back in a position where he could lose someone? Hadn’t he already learned that the hard and painful way? And yet there was something about her he couldn’t resist. Her warmth. Her sweetness.

Colour bloomed in her cheeks. ‘I feel like such a wimp.’

‘About this morning. Just so you know,’ he said, ‘I don’t make a habit of going around kissing complete strangers.’

‘Neither do I.’ The colour in her cheeks deepened. ‘And I kissed you back.’

And he could see in her eyes that she’d enjoyed it as much as he had. That she, like him, had mixed feelings: part of her wanted to see where this took them, and part of her wanted to run back to her safety zone. ‘Tell me,’ he coaxed gently. ‘You feel the same thing, don’t you? Something you weren’t expecting or looking for, and maybe it scares the hell out of you because your head’s saying you don’t need the complications. But it’s there and you can’t get me out of your head—just as I can’t get you out of mine, and I’ve been thinking about you ever since I first met you.’

He could see in her expression that she was thinking about denying it; but then she gave in. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, her voice husky. ‘To all of that.’

He stroked the backs of her fingers with the pad of his thumb. ‘I like you, Sydney. You’re calm and you’re good with the patients. I like that. And you’re good company—well, when you’re not stuck on an abseiling rope.’

She groaned. ‘I’m never going to live that down, am I?’

‘If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would’ve said it was a vicious rumour. Someone as calm and confident and efficient as you, panicking. But it’s nice to know you’re not really superwoman. That you have panicky moments, like the rest of us.’

She blinked. ‘You’re telling me that you have panicky moments? I’m not buying that one. I’ve worked with you. OK, so you let me lead, this afternoon, but we both know you have more experience than I do. You were being nice and trying to restore my confidence after the abseil.’

Oh. So she’d picked that up. ‘Mmm,’ he admitted.

‘And I appreciated it. Because it worked.’

‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Do you trust me as a doctor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, that’s a start. And so’s this.’ He leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers. Briefly. Sweetly.

And the second he felt her lips part slightly, he was lost. He couldn’t pull away. He gave in to the desperate need to kiss her properly. Within moments, she was kissing him back, her hands were cradling his face, and it felt as if stars were exploding in his head.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both shaking.

This really wasn’t supposed to happen, Sydney thought. I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to him. This was meant to be just putting a bit of fun back into my life. Seizing the moment. Enjoying a casual date. And now I’m way out of my depth, because I want this to go further—a lot further—and I think he feels the same way.

Which means I’m going to have to tell him the truth about me.

Ice trickled down her spine. Down the scar. The physical reminder of the thing that had smashed up her marriage. The thing that had stopped her having a relationship since her marriage had broken up, because the scar on her back and the ugly patch of skin on her arm were constant reminders of Craig’s betrayal and the reasons behind it, making her want to keep her distance. And there was no way she could bluff her way through it, because if she went to bed with Marco it would mean getting naked. That he’d touch her. Look at her. He’d either feel the scar tissue or see it for himself—and then he’d ask questions. Of course he would. Anyone would be curious. And then … oh, hell, then she’d have to be honest.

She really owed it to him to be honest now. So he knew exactly what he was getting into, if he started seeing her.

But the words stuck miserably in her throat and refused to come out.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘Well, I’m not sorry for kissing you. I enjoyed it. But I am sorry for pushing you out of your comfort zone, for taking this faster than you’re happy with.’

‘I’m sorry, too,’ she whispered. ‘For—for being such a coward.’

He stroked her face. ‘You’re not a coward. I’m rushing you. So I’ll go home now.’ He took her hand again, kissed her palm and folded her fingers over his kiss, just as he had before. ‘And I’ll see you at work tomorrow.’

‘OK.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you for this evening. I enjoyed it.’

‘So did I.’ The expression in his eyes was so sweet, so gentle, that Sydney was close to tears. She ached to be able to trust. To be normal. To be whole.

But that wasn’t going to happen. And somehow, she was going to have to find the right words to tell him tomorrow at work.

The truth.