His Emergency Fiancée (12 page)

‘And you’d better make them big ones,’ she retorted, laughing. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Just wanted to say wish you both the best, that’s all.’

Ben cast Kirsty a rueful glance. ‘So how long have you been in?’

‘It took Jenny less than a minute to notice,’ she told him.

‘What about Chambers?’

‘Gave me a lecture on hygiene.’ She shrugged. ‘You paged me before I went into Theatre. And I’m about to be busy for the rest of the afternoon, thanks to you, so he won’t be able to nag me until teatime at least.’

‘If he lays a finger on you—’

‘I’ll be fine, Ben.’ She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘See you later.’

* * *

Ten minutes later, she was scrubbed up and ready to operate. Joe Marinelli, the anaesthetist, was waiting for her by the patient. ‘All ready when you are,’ he said, his eyes crinkling to show the smile his mask hid.

‘Cheers, Joe.’

‘Hey—I hear you’re finally doing the decent thing by Ben. Congratulations.’

‘Don’t you mean, he’s doing the decent thing by me?’

‘I know exactly what I mean, Kirsty Brown.’ He winked at her.

She nodded, and turned to her patient. Adrenaline made the back of her neck prickle; the first incision always made her feel nervous and wired. And then the years of practice took over and she worked confidently, quickly yet surely, removing the railing and repairing the damage it had left behind.

It was a long, long, afternoon, but a satisfying one, Kirsty thought as she finished closing, her stitches neat and even. Although the operation itself had been delicate work, there hadn’t been any extra problems with the patient going into shock on the table, worrying blood-pressure changes or heart arrhythmias. ‘Let’s hope he chooses the pitch for his next skateboarding practice a bit more carefully,’ she said lightly. ‘And does it out of school hours, too.’

She headed back to the surgical ward, but Jenny didn’t have time to warn her before Chambers marched to the door of his office and barked, ‘Brown, my office—now.’

Jenny sent her a sympathetic glance and Kirsty did as she was told, the euphoria she always felt after a successful operation fading swiftly.

‘Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?’ Chambers demanded. ‘I had to hear third-hand that you were operating. You’re supposed to check with me first.’

‘I’m sorry, there wasn’t time. I needed to operate,’ Kirsty explained carefully. ‘But the A and E registrar called you.’

‘Left a message, actually,’ Chambers said crisply. ‘That might have been the way you worked with Tony, but not with me. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

His eyes flashed, as if he’d detected sarcasm in her muted ‘sir’. ‘I had to delay two operations because you weren’t here.’

Considering he’d treated her as a spare part rather than a useful colleague since the moment she’d dared to rebuke him for groping her, Kirsty rather doubted that. Though she’d already learned not to challenge the consultant when he was in this sort of mood. Let him bluster and it’ll blow over more quickly, she told herself.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, hoping the apology would pacify him.

‘And I expect your private life not to interfere with your work,’ he continued.

‘It won’t.’

‘Wasn’t the A and E registrar who paged you your fiancé?’

Was he implying that Ben had phoned her for social reasons, not work? Annoyance made her voice crisp. ‘He was simply doing his job—the X-rays showed we needed to operate on the patient immediately.’

‘Next time, he calls me, not you. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’d better take a break,’ Chambers said coldly. ‘We’ll have to slot in some extra time tomorrow. There’s the ward rounds to do, bloods to be ordered.’

Bloods were usually the task of the new house officers, not the registrars, but this was clearly his way of rebuking her. Anything for a quiet life, she thought, deciding not to argue the point. ‘I’ll grab a sandwich and be straight back up here.’

‘Good.’

Kirsty turned on her heel and walked out of his office, repressing her urge to tell him where to stick his job. She marched down the stairs to the staff canteen and, after taking one look at the curled edges of the sandwiches, abandoned the idea in favour of a couple of bits of fruit, a yoghurt and a carton of freshly squeezed orange juice. She was paying for her meal when Nina and one of her colleagues accosted her.

‘You’re a dark horse, Kirsty Brown. All these years you protested you and our Ben were just best mates…’ Babs teased.

‘We are—
were
,’ Kirsty corrected herself.

‘And you sneaked off to Scotland to get engaged. You don’t think you’re going to get away with it, do you?’ Nina asked.

‘I’d love to discuss this with you—really, I would—but I have to get back to the ward.’ She only just stopped herself telling them what a swine Chambers was. The last thing she needed was for the grapevine to pick it up, however well meaning, and Chambers to accuse her of blackening his name.

‘That why you’re eating barely enough to keep a sparrow alive?’ Babs asked with a meaningful look at Kirsty’s lunch. ‘Or is that what love does to you?’

‘You know how it is,’ Kirsty prevaricated.

‘Well, the least you can do is buy us all a drink. Tomorrow night, eight o’clock, the Coach and Horses. Both of you. With glad rags on. Or we’ll be round to collect you,’ Nina informed her.

‘Bully,’ Kirsty retorted with a grin.

‘Eight o’clock,’ Nina repeated. ‘And don’t let him make you late.’

‘I won’t,’ she promised.

* * *

When Kirsty finally got home that evening, Ben was already out. There were no messages under the salt-cellar, but the smell of bleach and the gleaming bathroom attested to the fact he’d read her note from that morning. She took a long bath, topping up the water several times and only getting out when the pads of her fingers were distinctly prune-like. Ben still wasn’t back by the time she’d finished her book and headed for bed; she suppressed the tiny murmurs of jealousy. It was none of her business who Ben went out with, was it?

The next day, they were both on early; Ben was up first, and by the time she’d showered he’d already made a pot of coffee and was munching his way through an enormous bowl of muesli.

‘Did Nina see you yesterday afternoon?’ she asked as she made herself some toast.

He nodded. ‘We should have guessed they wouldn’t let us get away with it.’ He filched a slice of toast from her plate before she could slap his hand away. ‘Still, one drink won’t hurt.’

Except it wasn’t one drink.

When they arrived at the Coach and Horses, expecting the bar to be full of their colleagues, the place was almost deserted. Apart from Nina and Babs, who sat there with less-than-innocent smiles.

‘What’s going on?’ Ben asked with narrowed eyes.

‘Nothing. We asked you to meet us for a drink.’ Mischief danced in Babs’s blue eyes.

‘You said buy you
all
a drink,’ Kirsty reminded them.

Nina and Babs exchanged a glance. ‘Never try to get something past a surgeon. All right, we’re in here. Come this way,’ Nina said.

Ben and Kirsty stopped dead in the entrance to the function room.

‘How on earth did you manage all
this
in the space of one day?’ Kirsty asked. A function room, a buffet, a band and all the staff from A and E and Surgical who weren’t on duty. Except, she thought with relief, Guy Chambers. He was the last person who’d congratulate her—unless he thought it meant she’d give up her job within weeks.

‘Tuesdays are always dead, so the function room wasn’t booked. Mandy was on a half-day so she did the whip-round and the food run, and her mum helped her with the buffet. Teresa’s cousin sings in a band so she rang him.’ Nina shrugged. ‘Anyway, you know us. Always up for a party.’

‘Yeah, but this…’

‘C’mon, you didn’t think we’d let Dr Charming go without a proper send-off?’ Babs teased.

Ben coughed. ‘Do you mind?’

Kirsty dug him in the ribs. ‘Everyone’s called you that since med school. You ought to be used to it by now.’

‘Hmm.’ Ben rolled his eyes. ‘Well, I’d better go and see Brian and tell him I’ll pick up the drinks bill.’

‘We’ll
pick up the bill,’ Kirsty corrected.

The evening passed in a blur of congratulations and dancing. And then there was a hush as the band stopped playing and Nina took the microphone.

‘Just in case they decide to do the wedding on the sly as well,’ she said, ‘we thought that Ben and Kirsty ought to do the first dance in advance.’

‘But—I can’t dance,’ Kirsty said, panicking. And the first dance, on their own, in front of everyone, as if they were madly-in-love newlyweds…They couldn’t do this!

‘I don’t think we’ve got a choice,’ Ben said wryly, pulling her to her feet. The band started playing a slow, romantic number. ‘Follow my lead,’ he whispered, ‘and I’ll forgive you in advance for bruising my toes.’

And then they were dancing, cheek to cheek, with Ben’s arms holding her close and everyone watching them.

‘Relax,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘You’re doing fine.’

She moved her head, intending to glare at him, but he moved at the same time and somehow his mouth brushed hers. Lightly, softly, the briefest possible contact. Her body reacted instantly, reminding her how he’d made her feel when he’d made love to her. He remembered, too, she realised, as the arm round her tightened.

‘Ben,’ she breathed, and then he was kissing her properly, exploring her mouth in a way that made her knees go weak; if he hadn’t been holding her, she would have fallen to the floor. Her hands were wrapped round his neck, her fingers tangled in his silky hair, and…

And everyone in the room was cheering, whistling and clapping.

Horrified, she pulled back slightly, and Ben broke the kiss.

She realised that he was shaking as much as she was. His mouth was swollen and his hair was mussed, and she’d have bet huge sums that she looked even worse.

‘Ben, I…’

The tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head silenced her. His eyes were unfathomable in the dimmed lighting, and Kirsty started to panic. What on earth had she—had
they
—just done? Her mouth dried. Scotland had been excusable—they’d both been reacting to the events of the day. Tonight, there was no good reason.

‘Don’t you ever dare claim again that you two are just best friends,’ Jenny said when they escaped from the dance floor. ‘That was virtually X-rated!’

Kirsty flushed deeply, and Jenny’s smile softened. ‘Hey, I’m pleased for you. We all are. It couldn’t happen to a nicer couple.’

Except they weren’t a couple. They were lying to even more people, and this whole situation was getting completely out of control. Tonight, after the party, she’d tell Ben that this all had to stop. Right now. They’d tell the truth to Morag and—well, the way things were going with Chambers, she’d end up leaving the hospital anyway, so everyone could just assume that she’d deserted Ben for a new job. He’d get plenty of offers of consolation.

So why did that thought make her feel even more miserable?

‘Have a drink,’ Jenny said, pressing a glass of wine into Kirsty’s hand.

Kirsty expected Ben to drop his arm from her shoulders then, but he didn’t. He stayed with her for the rest of the evening, keeping her close to him. And he kept his arm round her shoulders when they walked home.

‘Ben, no one’s about. You don’t have to play the concerned fiancé any more,’ Kirsty told him quietly.

‘I know,’ he said, but he didn’t move his arm.

Her heartbeat speeded up. He knew. So why was he still…? He’d had too much to drink, she decided.

She was shivering by the time Ben unlocked the front door. And shivering even more when he closed the door behind them and pulled her into his arms.

‘Ben, we—’ she began.

‘Not now, Kirst,’ he said, and bent his head.

CHAPTER NINE

T
HIS
wasn’t her bed. Her pillowcases had soft pastel designs, not uncompromisingly masculine geometric patterns in deep colours. Her bed was single, not double. And her bed most definitely didn’t contain another person.

Kirsty swallowed hard. How could she have been so stupid? Once—well, a one-off she could excuse. But why, why, why had she let Ben carry her up to his bed last night?

Mainly because she hadn’t been able to help herself. Once he’d started kissing her, once his hand had slid underneath her shirt and stroked past the lace of her bra to her swelling breasts beneath, she’d been lost. Remembering what it had felt like the first time Ben had made love with her—when he’d taught her how much she’d missed.

This time round, it had been even better. She’d matched him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. And now she was lying in his arms, a trail of her clothes leading from his bed all the way down the stairs…

Oh, Kirsty, you fool, she thought. You utter, utter fool. This wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. They’d have three weeks at most: that was as long as Ben’s relationships ever lasted. She should have just told him no, kept him at arm’s length.

And then Ben kissed the nape of her neck. ‘Good morning.’

‘Ben. I—um…’

‘Mmm.’ His hand slid lower, nudging between her thighs, and she was powerless to resist. ‘You feel good, Kirsty. Soft and warm and…mmm.’ He nuzzled the skin on her shoulder. ‘You smell nice, too.’ He touched the tip of his tongue to her skin. ‘And taste good.’

‘We shouldn’t—’

He pulled her closer, so she could feel his arousal. ‘We’re both on a late today. It’s eight-thirty. Which means we have three whole hours before we have to even think about getting up,’ he murmured sinfully into her ear.

Kirsty pulled her last remaining shreds of sense together. ‘We can’t—’

He cheated. Because he didn’t argue; he simply turned her round to face him, rubbed the tip of his nose against hers and kissed her.

By the time she was capable of thought again, they’d made love twice and Ben had gone downstairs—wearing absolutely nothing—to fix them some coffee.

She should get up. Now. Have a cold shower to shock some sense back into her. Except if Ben heard the shower running, he was more than capable of turning the heat back up. Or letting his body turn the temperature up for them until she was oblivious of the freezing water as he soaped her skin, lifted her up and—