Читать книгу Hot Single Docs: Waiting For You - Sarah Morgan, Carol Marinelli - Страница 13
ОглавлениеMEGAN’S hand shook as she opened the door that led to the neonatal intensive care unit.
All day she’d been in a daze of happiness. A daze of happiness that nothing could blunt—not even the knowledge that technically she’d slept with a married man.
Married, but not together, she told herself, wondering why the fact that Josh and Rebecca were almost divorced didn’t make her feel any better.
Her head was in a spin and she’d found it almost impossible to concentrate.
She’d thought of nothing else all day, ever since that knock on the door that had sent Josh springing from the bed before they’d had the opportunity to talk about what they’d shared. She had no idea who had been at the door, but whoever it was had been important enough to make sure that Josh didn’t return.
Megan had waited for twenty minutes then dressed quickly and exited the on-call room quietly. Her heart had been working double time all the way back to the paediatric ward but she was fairly confident that no one had seen her.
She’d spent the rest of her day stopping herself from checking her phone every two minutes to see if Josh had called. It was like being a teenager all over again.
The extended silence made her jittery and sent her imagination into overdrive.
Was he embarrassed? Did he regret what they’d done?
Reminding herself that Josh was a senior doctor whose working day was ridiculously intense and demanding, she tried to rationalise the fact that he hadn’t called. She told herself that it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t want to publicise their relationship. They were colleagues after all, and affairs between colleagues could so easily become messy.
Having convinced herself that she wasn’t likely to see him that day, it came as a shock to see Josh sitting at the computer at the nurses’ station.
Megan felt a tiny thrill of excitement bloom inside her.
He wasn’t avoiding her. He was here, on her ward.
Her heart pounded against her chest and she was relieved that the other staff appeared to be occupied elsewhere.
Just for this first encounter she wanted to be alone with him. She didn’t want to share the memories of the night with anyone but Josh.
Remembering the look he’d given her just before he’d left the on-call room, she gave a little smile and her stomach fluttered with anticipation.
‘Hello, Josh.’
‘Ah, Megan, I’m glad you’re here. We had an emergency delivery in the department. Thirty-four-weeker.’ He turned to her, his tone crisp and professional. ‘Showing signs of respiratory distress, so we’ve transferred him to you.’
There was nothing intimate in his gaze—nothing to hint that they’d spent the night together.
Taken aback, Megan glanced behind her but there was no one within earshot.
The baby was ill, she reasoned, and he was an exceptional doctor. Josh would never put his personal life before the well-being of a patient.
Slowly, she put her bag on the floor, controlling her disappointment. ‘Was it a normal delivery?’
As he told her, she found herself looking at his hands and the dark hairs dusting his forearms. Those same hands had touched her. Everywhere. Held her. It had been genuine, she had no doubt about that. She still remembered the look in his eyes as he’d driven her wild.
That knowledge gave her confidence. ‘Josh—’
‘I need to get back.’ He rose quickly to his feet, interrupting her before she could finish her sentence. ‘You might want to spend some time with the mother. She’s very upset. The whole thing took
about twenty minutes from start to finish. Precipitate doesn’t begin to describe it.’
It was a verbal dismissal but it may as well have been a physical slap for the pain it caused.
‘Of course.’ Megan pushed the words through stiff lips and stood frozen to the spot as he walked past her, careful not to touch. He was as cold as he’d been eight years before. It was as if their night together hadn’t happened.
She wanted to say something. She wanted to grab his arm and demand to know what was going on in his head. She wanted to know why he was hurting her like this.
But his face was a frozen mask and her pride kept her hands by her sides as she let him walk away.
* * *
Tasha took her time strolling towards the shower.
He was watching her. She could almost feel the heat of his eyes on her back.
Get a load of that, she thought happily as she stepped into the shower. Flat-chested? I don’t think so.
From the moment she’d decided to do her striptease, her heart had been hammering. First she’d checked he was awake through the crack in the door, then she’d choreographed her walk across the room to ensure that he witnessed every move.
After that all she’d had to do was not give in to temptation and look round. She’d done everything in her power to push up his blood pressure. What she hadn’t done was ask herself why she would want to.
Until now.
Muttering to herself, she turned the shower to cold.
Ten years hadn’t done anything to make him less attractive. Unfortunately. In fact, he’d filled out in places where it counted. His shoulders were wider, his chest stronger and his arms thickened with muscle. Less of the boy and more of the man. Too much more of the man.
Despite the cold water, her body felt scorching hot again and she wondered why on earth she’d agreed to this.
Another one of her stupid ideas.
She’d thought her feelings for him had been no more than a childish crush. She’d thought the pain he’d caused would have inoculated her against his lethal charm. She’d thought she was immune. If you’d been infected with something once, you shouldn’t catch it again, should you?
So why the explosion of chemistry?
Tasha gave a groan of frustration and turned off the shower.
Her brother was right. She needed to get out more.
Wrapping herself in a huge towel, she opened the bathroom door and risked a glance towards his bedroom. It was in darkness. The feeling of superiority drained out of her. If he’d been watching her, he wasn’t now. He wasn’t lying there tortured with unfulfilled desire after seeing her in her underwear.
He was asleep.
Which said it all. You couldn’t torment a man who didn’t even bother looking.
Feeling cross and hot and all sorts of things she didn’t want to feel, Tasha flopped onto the bed and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to have taken one look at him and wondered what she’d seen in him. She wasn’t supposed to be having the thoughts she was having now. Why couldn’t he be a total wimp like all the other men she met on a daily basis? Her last relationship had floundered after less than a week when the doctor in question had taken to his bed with a dose of man-flu. Tasha, who had endless patience with sick children, had been exasperated by his dying-duck impression but she’d dutifully made hot drinks, dished out tablets and made sympathetic noises until finally calling a halt, reasoning that there was no future in a relationship where one of the partners wanted to strangle the other.
Why couldn’t Alessandro provoke the same feelings of irritation?
Why didn’t she want to strangle him?
‘Ugh.’ Blocking out images of his broad shoulders, she burrowed under the pillow. The man had to be in agony. The bruises on his chest were the worst she’d ever seen. But had he uttered a murmur of complaint? No. In fact, he’d been so stoical about the whole thing it had been a struggle to persuade him to take painkillers. She wanted him to be a wimp, but he was anything but. And as for the chilli...
Clearly he liked his food hot.
Tasha thumped the pillow angrily and rolled onto her back. So he was tough. So what? That just proved the man had no nerve-endings and she already knew that. A man with the slightest sensitivity wouldn’t have treated her the way Alessandro had treated her.
Had she seen a flicker of remorse?
Had he apologised?
No. And she hadn’t exactly progressed in her plan to make him suffer. In fact, so far her plan had totally failed to get off the ground.
Wishing she hadn’t wasted her limited finances on sexy underwear, Tasha rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
So far she’d failed spectacularly to make him feel remotely guilty for the way he’d treated her, but she couldn’t very well back out now without exposing herself to relentless questioning and teasing by her insensitive brother. Which meant she was stuck here.
She lay in the dark, unable to sleep, wondering how someone with a chest that bruised had somehow managed to get himself to and from the bathroom without help. It hadn’t just been the physical strength that had impressed her, it was the mental strength. Somehow he’d pushed through the pain.
He didn’t just look like a warrior, he had warrior mentality.
There was a hardness to him that hadn’t been there ten years before. He wasn’t the same person.
And neither was she.
Tasha was pondering on that when a loud crash echoed around the house.
She was out of bed in a flash, her mind already working through various scenarios. If he’d fallen out of bed, it could have seriously aggravated his injuries. They’d need an ambulance. Paramedics... ‘Alessandro?’ Sprinting into his bedroom, she saw a lamp lying on the floor where he’d knocked it off the bedside table. On the wall in front of him a football match was being played out on the wide-screen TV and he was watching avidly, his hand locked around the remote control.
‘Tash, you’re standing in front of the screen!’
‘You’re watching sport?’ Her heart was hammering and she felt weak at the knees. ‘You frighten the life out of me and then all you can say is “You’re standing in front of the screen”?’ Incredulous, she rescued the lamp and waited for her heartbeat to reach a normal level. ‘I thought you’d fallen out of bed. I thought you’d broken the rest of your ribs and your skull to go with it.’
‘I knocked the lamp off when I was reaching for the remote control.’
‘It’s two in the morning. What is it with men and the remote control?’
‘I wanted to watch sport. I couldn’t sleep.’
Him too?
Only she’d been lying there thinking about him while he’d been thinking about football. The knowledge scraped at her nerves and strengthened her resolve. ‘Is it the pain?’ Tasha straightened the lamp. ‘I thought you’d fallen.’ And she’d been terrified of what a fall could do to his broken ribs. Not that she cared, she told herself quickly, but she didn’t want to be stuck here nursing him any longer than she had to be.
‘It isn’t pain. Go back to bed, Tasha. I’m sorry I disturbed you.’ He didn’t shift his gaze from the screen, watching unblinking as the crowd roared its approval. He was a typical man, obsessed with sport, just like her three brothers. She could walk across the room naked and he wouldn’t look up because some feat of sporting prowess was being enacted on the giant plasma screen.
Why had she bothered buying expensive lingerie to drive him wild? she thought crossly. She may as well have worn her ancient Mickey Mouse T-shirt.
The glass doors were still open onto the terrace and a cool breeze wafted into the room. ‘Shall I close these now?’ She walked across the room. ‘You must be freezing.’
‘I like the cold air.’ Something in his tone made her look at him closely and it was only because she was trained to notice subtle clues that she realised he wasn’t actually watching the game. True, his eyes were fixed on the screen, but they were blank. Empty.
And suddenly she knew that the football was an excuse.
Tasha switched on the other lamp and for a fleeting second saw the expression on his face. The humour was gone and in its place was exhaustion and pain. She hesitated and then sat down on the chair, hating herself for not just being able to walk away. It wasn’t that she cared, she told herself quickly. It was because he was in pain. She’d never been any good at watching someone in pain. ‘You look rough.’
‘Go to bed, Tasha.’ It was a dismissal she chose to ignore.
She wondered whether he was thinking about his injury or the loss of his brother.
‘Things always seem worse at night,’ she said casually. ‘I see it on the ward with both the kids and the parents. There’s something about being in the dark. It makes you think too much.’ And she knew that sometimes it helped to talk to pass the time. She’d spent hours keeping frightened kids company at night, playing cards, chatting quietly while the rest of the ward slept. ‘What were you doing back in Cornwall anyway? I imagined you in some gilded palace, doing prince-like things.’
‘You imagined me?’ His head turned and she wanted to bite her tongue. Suddenly she was staring into those dark eyes and everything inside her melted, just as it had when she was a teenager.
‘Just a figure of speech. You’re the crown prince.’ Suddenly she felt awkward, and she wondered why she found it so much easier to talk to children than adults. ‘I was sorry to hear about your brother. That must have been very hard for all of you.’
‘It’s life.’ His voice was hard and she floundered, wondering how it was possible to want to comfort and run at the same time. ‘What are you doing here, Tasha? Why did you really volunteer to look after me?’
Her heart jumped in her chest. So he wasn’t just brave, he was as sharp as a blade.
It wouldn’t do to forget that.
‘I wanted to help.’
‘Really?’ The bleak, cold look in his eyes had been replaced by smouldering sexuality that made it impossible to breathe or think. Time was suspended. In the background the crowd roared its approval at some amazing feat of sportsmanship but neither of them looked towards the screen. They were looking at each other, the chemistry a magnetic force between them, drawing them together.
And then he turned his head and closed his eyes. ‘Go to bed, Tasha.’
Embarrassment drove her to her feet. Another minute and she would have kissed that mouth. She would have leaned forward and—
Oh, God.
‘Right. Yes. Good. Well—try not to knock over any more lamps.’ She fled to the door, wondering what it was about this man that affected her so badly.
She was a career-woman. She was dedicating her life to her little patients. The only thing she was interested in was getting another job as fast as possible.
This time when she walked into her bedroom she closed the door firmly behind her.
* * *
The dark rage inside him mingled with frustration. The inactivity was driving him crazy. Almost as crazy as living with Tasha. Even when she wasn’t there, she was there. He smelt her perfume, spied a pair of feminine shoes discarded next to a chair.
And now she was surfing. Alessandro watched from the terrace as she carved into the wave, graceful and perfectly balanced. It was like watching a dancer. Some bolder tourists had chosen to visit the beach to take lessons on the soft sand and then try the bigger surf created by the rocks. They huddled in groups, learning to stand on the board, learning to balance, practising the ‘pop-up’. Then they ventured into the water and spent the time falling off their boards in the shallows.
Tasha had none of those problems.
Watching her was sheer poetry. He turned away from the window, envying her the opportunity to push herself physically. Before the accident he would have been out there with her. Or maybe not with her, exactly. He frowned, not sure how he felt about having her there. She was the reason he was home, and those new painkillers had certainly taken the edge off the agony. But other parts of him weren’t faring so well. The inactivity was driving him mad.
As were the phone calls from Miranda.
She wanted to visit.
But he wasn’t ready to see her.
Wasn’t ready to make the decision everyone wanted him to make.
Driven by a burning desire to recover as fast as possible, he hauled himself to the bed and started the exercises the physio had shown him.
He worked without rest, channelling all his anger and frustration into each movement, pushing himself hard.
By the time Tasha arrived back in the apartment, he was in agony. Still in her wetsuit, her feet bare, she stood and looked at him.
‘Did you take your painkillers before you started?’
It cost him to speak. ‘No.’
‘That’s what I thought. Let me tell you something about pain—once it comes back, it’s harder to manage. The trick is to head it off before it returns. You should have waited for me. I was going to do the physio with you.’ Dropping her towel and her bag on the floor, she walked over to him. Her hair lay in a damp rope over her shoulder and she smelt of the sea. ‘The surf is fantastic.’
Her enthusiasm and sheer vitality sprinkled salt into his wounds. ‘I saw you. You took a risk with that last wave.’
‘I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me about risk given that you lay down under a horse.’ She glanced down at his ankle. ‘How’s that feeling?’
‘It’s fine, thanks.’ Speaking required energy he didn’t possess and she gave him a knowing smile.
‘Fine? Yeah, I bet. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll check you over.’
Despite the agony, his entire body heated and he reflected on the fact that having Tasha as his private nurse was the worst torture anyone could have invented. ‘You already checked me over.’ And he’d had a sleepless night as a result.
‘Sorry, but while I’m in charge, I’ll check you whenever I feel it’s necessary.’ Cool and calm, she faced him down. ‘You’re my responsibility. No one dies on my shift, got that?’
‘I have no intention of dying.’
‘You might, if you carry on being uncooperative.’ Her smile managed to be both threatening and sweet as she gestured to the bed. ‘Lie down.’
It was an awkward manoeuvre. ‘When will they take this damn thing off?’
‘That cast is holding your joints in the right position while they heal. When the surgeon is happy that your bones are healing, they’ll remove it. Usually about six to eight weeks. So that gives you at least another month. Better get used to it.’
‘And once it’s removed?’
‘Intensive physio—hydrotherapy—’
‘Hydrotherapy?’
‘Basically exercising in the water.’ Gently, she pushed him back against the stack of pillows. ‘Good for strengthening muscle without stressing bone and joint.’
Alessandro lay on the bed and tried to ignore the pain licking through his body. He wondered if she planned to change out of the black stretchy wetsuit before she examined him. She looked like Catwoman. ‘I just want to be fit.’
‘You will be, but it’s going to take time.’ Tasha reached behind her and unzipped the back of her wetsuit slightly. ‘If you’re worried that you’ll never be fit again, don’t be. I’ve seen your X-rays and I’ve talked to your surgeon. There’s no reason why you won’t be back to normal in a few months providing you’re sensible. If you do the wrong thing now—if you push it when you should be resting—you’ll just do damage. You need to take it steadily and do as you’re told.’
Relief mingled with humiliation that she’d read him so easily. ‘I’m not good at doing as I’m told.’
If he were, then he’d have bowed to pressure and married.
‘I know, but if you want to be fully fit again, that’s what you’re going to have to do.’ Tasha dropped her hands from the zip. ‘I need to get out of this gear and take a shower. Then I’ll give you a massage to try and relax those muscles of yours. Don’t move until I come back.’
‘Shower.’ Alessandro closed his eyes, not daring to think about the word ‘massage’. ‘Now you’re torturing me.’
She paused, her hand on the doorhandle, a frown in her eyes. ‘You could take a shower if you wanted to.’
He gave a sardonic smile and gestured to his cast. ‘Oh, yeah—easy as anything.’
‘Not easy, but possible. We just have to cover it in plastic to protect it.’
There was a long, pulsing silence. ‘You’re offering to help me in the shower?’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
Alessandro wondered if he was the only one feeling warm. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t suggested it. Nurse, he told himself. She was offering as a nurse, not anything else. ‘I was joking. I can manage.’
‘Well, you can’t shower on your own, no matter how macho you are.’ Her voice was mild. ‘But if you don’t want a shower, that’s fine. I don’t want to push you if you’re shy.’
Shy?
It had nothing to do with being shy and everything to do with the fact that she was standing in front of him wearing a form-fitting black wetsuit.
‘Yeah.’ His voice was a hoarse croak. ‘That’s right. I’m shy. So we’ll give the shower a miss for now.’
As she strolled away from him he took comfort in the fact that at least there was one part of his body that appeared to be working normally.
* * *
By the end of two weeks, Tasha had reached screaming pitch.
As plans went, this one had backfired big time.
The tension that had been there on the first day seemed to grow with each passing minute.
If revenge was supposed to be pleasurable then she was definitely doing something wrong because she was in agony. The only one suffering was her.
Instead of giving her the opportunity to be aloof and distant, she was being sucked deeper and deeper into his life. His lack of mobility inevitably meant that she did everything from physio to answering the phone.
Even as she had that thought, the phone rang again and Tasha rolled her eyes and answered it, wondering which of Alessandro’s many female friends it would be this time.
A brisk voice informed her that the Princess Eleanor wished to speak to her son, but before Tasha could hand over the phone a cool, cultured voice came down the line.
‘Are you his nurse?’
Tasha frowned. ‘Well, no, actually, I’m a—’
‘Never mind. I’m better off not knowing.’ In a cold, unemotional tone she demanded to speak to her son and Tasha passed the phone over without question, feeling defensive and irritated and about as small as a bacterium.
Just what was his mother implying?
She’d been expecting to be asked for a clinical update on progress, but clearly his mother didn’t consider her worth speaking to.
Angry with herself for caring, Tasha busied herself tidying up and tried not to listen to the conversation, but it was impossible not to pick up the tension between the two of them, even though the conversation was conducted in Italian.
Alessandro replied to what appeared to be a barrage of questions in a similar clipped, perfunctory tone and afterwards he flung the phone down onto the sofa, picked up the crutches and struggled onto the terrace. The loud thump of the sticks told her everything she needed to know about his mood.
Startled by the lack of affection between mother and son, Tasha stared at his rigid shoulders for a while and then followed him outside. Was she supposed to say something or pretend it hadn’t happened? This wasn’t her business, was it? And she wasn’t supposed to care...
Torn, she stood awkwardly. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No. Thanks.’ He kept his gaze fixed on the surfers in the bay. ‘Not unless you can conjure up a new, fit body. I need to heal instantly so that I can get back to my life.’
A life he clearly hated.
‘I know it feels frustrating, but if you rush things you’ll just do more damage.’ She tried to put herself in his mother’s shoes. Alessandro was her only surviving son. To hear about his accident must have given her a shock. Perhaps it was anxiety that had put that chill in her tone. ‘Your mother must be worried.’
‘She’s worried I’m not doing my duty. Apparently while I’m “lounging” here, enjoying myself with pretty nurses in attendance—that’s you, by the way...’ he threw her a mocking smile ‘...my image is suffering.’
So that explained Princess Eleanor’s frigid tone on the phone. She’d assumed there was something going on between the ‘nurse’ and her son. Irritated rather than embarrassed, Tasha glanced at the bruises visible through the open neck of his polo shirt. ‘Does she know how badly you were hurt?’
‘Yes. Josh called her while I was in Theatre the first time.’
‘And?’
‘And she said it was no more than I deserved for indulging in high-risk sports. My accident is badly timed. I had fifty official engagements scheduled over the next month, including opening the annual May ball at the palace.’
‘Oh. Well, perhaps she’s worried that—’
‘Tasha, she isn’t worried.’ He cut through her platitudes, his dark eyes hard and cold. ‘My mother only worries about two things—duty and responsibility. My love of polo was bad enough. Having injured myself, I’ve committed the cardinal sin of making life very inconvenient for her.’
‘You’re her son and I’m sure that—’
‘Let’s get one thing straight.’ Alessandro shifted his position so that he was facing her. ‘As far as my mother is concerned, the wrong son died. It’s because of me that Antonio is no longer Crown Prince. I can’t bring him back so I’m expected to fill his shoes...’ He hesitated and then muttered something under his breath. ‘In every way.’
Tasha frowned. In every way. What did he mean by that? ‘It wasn’t your fault. Why are you blaming yourself?’
He turned away abruptly and Tasha felt the tension flowing from him. Darkness surrounded him like a force field and suddenly she knew that the change in him, the hardness, was all to do with the death of his brother.
Her insides softened. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
‘But—’
‘Not everything can be healed by good nursing, Natasha.’ The bitterness sliced through her own defences and she stretched out her hand and touched his arm.
‘Is that why she rang? To tell you you’ve made her life difficult?’ Anger glowed inside her and suddenly Tasha wished she hadn’t passed him the phone.
She should have screened the call.
‘She rang to order me to see my advisers, who apparently have a plan for, and I quote, “pulling something positive” out of this disastrous mess I’ve made.’ A cynical smile tilted his mouth. ‘Apparently an injured prince may appeal to a certain age group, so she thinks there may be some mileage in media interviews. So that’s my contribution to society—providing entertainment for bored housewives.’
‘Next time I’m going to tell her you’re asleep and can’t be disturbed.’ Part of her wondered why she felt the urge to rush to his defence and clearly he was asking himself the same question because he stared at her for a long moment. The hardness left his eyes and he lifted a hand and touched her face. The attraction flickered between them, live and dangerous.
Tasha tried to speak, tried to move, but her body seemed to have shut down and Alessandro gave a low groan, slid his hand behind her head and brought her mouth down on his in a hungry, explosive kiss.
Heat burst through her. Last time she’d kissed him it had been a childish experiment, a desperate desire to grow up fast. There was nothing experimental about this kiss. It was hot and sexual and the explosion of desire gripped her so fiercely that she moaned against his seeking mouth and dug her fingers in the front of his shirt.
It was only as she felt him flinch that she realised how much she must be hurting him. The backs of her fingers were pressed against his bruised chest and she’d leaned into him, instinctively drawing herself closer to his hard body. Closer to heartbreak.
‘Damn you—no.’ Angry with herself, and even more angry with him, she pulled back quickly. ‘I didn’t want you to do that. I came out here to give you sympathy and support.’
‘I don’t want sympathy or support. I want you.’ He spoke with the assurance and conviction of someone who’d never been turned down by a woman in his life, and she started to shake.
‘Don’t start that, Alessandro.’ She virtually spat the words. ‘Don’t start all that smooth talk, seduction thing—I’m not interested.’
‘Tasha—’
‘Age may have given you wider shoulders and longer legs but it obviously hasn’t given you a conscience. Do you honestly think I’d put myself through that a second time? Do you think I’m that much of a masochist?’ Her voice rose and she saw his dark brows rise in astonishment. ‘I’m not interested, Alessandro. I don’t want you to kiss me, I don’t want you to touch me—’ She broke off, aware that her voice was shaking as much as the rest of her. And he was looking at her as if she’d gone mad. Oh, God, she was overreacting. She should have laughed it off. Or said she didn’t feel anything. Or... Her hands raised, she backed away. ‘Coming here was such a mistake. I should have said no when Josh asked me. I should have...’ She breathed deeply, struggling for control. ‘I should have said no.’
‘Tasha, wait a minute.’ He reached for her but she slapped his hand away and he was forced to grab the rail to regain his balance.
It was a measure of her dedication as a doctor that she made sure he was stable before she walked away.
‘Touch me again and I’ll break your other leg.’ She turned and stalked out off the terrace, her heart crashing against her ribs and terror in her heart.
