Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon (9 page)

Friends?
What the hell? A debate began to rage in his head. A man could have female friends, couldn't he? But friends with the woman he'd locked horns with last week? With the
woman who enraged and entranced him? He'd find being friends with her very hard indeed. It would have to be work colleagues or nothing. ‘So, we won't do it again. But for a moment last week I had a glimpse of what you could be like. You let me see a tiny chink of who the real you is. And then, bam, it was gone, all hidden behind the designer suit and the frumpy blouse.'

Her voice rose as she looked down at her top. ‘It is not frumpy. It was exclusive—'

‘And you are always so antagonistic, always fighting. Why did you have to learn to be like that?' His chest tightened a little, because he knew damned well that no one was born like that, knew that slamming up defences and fighting your corner was a learnt response. He'd been through that and out the other side, learning to withhold his need to fight back. Because, in the end, all that did was make situations worse.

Except, of course, when it was to do with a mandatory training course. He'd keep on fighting against that.

‘I didn't realise. Oh.' Two hot spots blossomed on her cheeks. ‘Is that how I come across? Antagonistic?'

Her frown deepened and he immediately regretted what he'd said. ‘Maybe only to me.'

‘I'm ambitious, I want to do well,' she railed
at him. ‘And I've earned my stripes, so in certain situations I get to call the shots.'

‘I understand.'

She glanced at him as she dragged the door open with her free hand and held it open, leaning against it. ‘Do you? Really? You understand how hard it was for someone like me to have achieved what I have?'

‘Someone like you? What does that mean?'

‘Oh, nothing. Forget it.' With that she stalked out of the room, favouring her left foot as always, and walked down the corridor.

‘No. Tell me.' He caught her arm. There was a dare in her, a level that he connected with that was fresh and new and challenging and he liked it. A lot. She had depth, layers. Layers he'd like to unwrap. So, what the hell, he was never one to flinch from a challenge. ‘I want to know.'

Her shoulders hitched nonchalantly as she slowed to a halt, surprise lacing her eyes as she looked first at his hand on her arm and then at his face. She was hiding behind bravado that was flimsy and fragile.

‘Let's just say I didn't exactly have the most conventional route to getting to where I am now. At times it was a struggle and I had to fight very hard, to push myself. I have high expectations and I expect everyone to have the same. Sadly, they don't. I don't like to call it fighting or antagonistic,
I prefer determined. Gutsy. And damned hard work. But, whatever it is, I learnt that to get anywhere you have to be prepared to go further than anyone else. And you always have to do it on your own. Because, in the end, you're the only person you can rely on.'

So, somewhere along the line she had been hurt. He got that now. And a dark feral anger shook through him, the ferocity of it shocking him so much he took a step backwards. But he shook it off. Not his problem. Not his fight. He never allowed himself to get swept up in a woman's dramas.

So he was startled by his reaction, his need to fight on her behalf. To protect her. And by the rush of something that clutched at his chest as he saw the pain in her eyes, and the fight. He dropped his hand from her arm but followed her, picking up her pace. ‘They certainly picked the right person for the job here, then. I love St Carmen's but they do need to be brought into the twenty-first century. You'll have a challenge on your hands to do that.'

Once again they found themselves at the lift and she pressed the button. No jab-jab-jab this time; she didn't appear to be in such a hurry to get away from him. ‘At least we agree on something. For sure, they do. I don't know when the
employee contracts were last brought into line with the most recent laws, or the sexual harassment policies, not to mention the complaints procedures, but it wasn't this side of the millennium. So it's a hard enough job as it is, without having to be sidetracked by some jumped-up surgeon's bottom.'

‘Touché, Ivy. Touché.' He leaned forward and whispered, ‘That's not Italian for “You can touch it,” by the way.'

‘Ha! In your dreams, Finelli.' She flung him a disdainful sideways glance and shook her head. But he could see, as she hit the lift call button again, that her hands had a tremor. She was all talk of ballsy and brave, but underneath she was bubbling and boiling. ‘Now, you must have something more important to be doing?'

More important, undoubtedly, but not as interesting. ‘Yes.'

She nodded, all businesslike, as a queue began to form behind them for the lift. ‘So, I'll see you tomorrow morning.'

‘On Ward Four. Seven-thirty. We'll meet there.'

‘Be prepared, Finelli. I've been doing my homework.'

Prepared? Sure. He kept trying to be, but just when he thought he'd got everything under control Ivy Leigh knocked him backwards or sideways or just plain upside down.

* * *

As Ivy stepped onto Ward Four she was consumed by the memories, the smell, the rush-rush of the nurses as they bustled by. The fear. That was it, the place smelt of fear. And no doubt that had not been the intention of the interior designer who'd recently been appointed to cheer the place up. Sure, they'd done a great job with the bright primary-coloured walls and the jungle-animal theme.

But it still smelt of fear.

Or maybe that was just her impression. Surely it was, because the kids she could see were cheerful and smiling and the parents too. It was just her and her memories. Of learning to walk again. Of the pain. And the loss. Of not knowing who was going to turn up to take her home. If, indeed, she had a home to go to.

Brushing those memories away, she fixed on a smile and headed towards the huddle of medics standing around a bed. As she closed in on them she heard Matteo's voice, soft and soothing, chatting to a little boy who was wearing Spiderman pyjamas and sitting up in front of a giraffe mural, with more tubes coming out of him than she'd ever seen.

Matteo stroked the kid's blond hair back from his eyes. Eyes that were dark and sunken and ringed and skin that was tinged with the grey
pallor of sickness. ‘So, Joey, what's so special about Spiderman? I mean, he can jump a bit, right? But that's all.'

‘
Fly
. He can fly, silly. And he saves everyone. The whole world.' The boy's face was animated as he spoke, but depleted of energy, like a deflated balloon. ‘He's very cool.'

An anxious-looking woman, whom Ivy presumed was the boy's mother, sitting on the bed next to Joey, smiled and said, ‘Like Matteo? He's going to give you a new kidney, so he's very cool, too.'

‘I do not think I'm all that cool. But maybe I should get a vest saying
Kidney Man!
on it? And a cape? Will that help me fly too? I quite like that idea.' Matteo examined one of the tubes, then grinned, his face boyish but wise. ‘But first we have to make you better. And I'm going to do that this morning. We're going to go along and see my friend Mo who's got special medicine that helps you to go to sleep, and when you wake up you'll be feeling a bit sleepy, but much better. And you'll have a new kidney that means you can stop all the dialysis and a lot of the medicine and then we'll just have to see you sometimes and not every week. And soon you'll be able to go back to school and not be tired. How d'you feel about that?'

The boy nodded sagely. ‘Good. Will it hurt?'

‘We'll give you special medicine, and if you have any bits that hurt we'll make them all better for you.' As if he sensed Ivy's presence, he glanced over and raised his eyebrows, beckoning her over. ‘Hey, this lady works at the hospital. She's new and she's learning how we do things. Is it okay with you all if she watches the operation?'

‘Yes. Hello.' The boy stuck out his hand in such an old-fashioned, too grown-up gesture that tears pricked Ivy's eyes. He should be out playing, running around with his friends, getting into mischief, not here in a bed, waiting for the gift of life.

She blinked the tears away—because what use were they to him?—and took his sweaty little hand in hers. She'd never had a broody bone in her body but, heck, she felt everything soften at the faith the boy put in Matteo, and his acceptance of everything. Such trust. And the injustice that someone so little and innocent would even have to go through this. But Matteo was handling it so perfectly Joey didn't appear concerned. ‘Hey, Joey. How are you?'

‘Okay.'

His mum interrupted, ‘He was a bit nervous earlier, but he's fine now Super-Matteo is here, aren't you, Joey?'

Ivy knew exactly how all that felt. The sick
feeling in the pit of your stomach, the panic, the fear of the general anaesthetic. The fear of not knowing if she was going to wake up again. The fear of a pain that was uncontrollable.
Run
, she wanted to say, Run! But before she knew what she was doing she stepped forward, her voice low but as friendly and reassuring as she could make it.

‘It does feel a bit scary at first, doesn't it? I know, I really do. It's perfectly normal to feel like that, but you'll be fine. Honestly.' She hoped to God he would be. ‘Matteo and his friends are really great and you'll be all fixed up.'
And I'll be in there, making damned sure it'll happen
.

And if anything cemented the rightness of her taking this job it was this. Right here. That she was in the perfect place and that she would do her best to make sure everything went exactly to plan, for Joey and kids like him. She couldn't do it for the whole city, or the country, or right the wrongs of the world, but she could do this, make a difference here to these lives. Of course she recognised that Matteo, and his colleagues, were not at all like the surgeon who had operated on her—that these guys were capable and competent and fully aware of their expertise and limitations. And that this child's life and future was in their hands.

She also knew, without a shadow of a doubt,
that Matteo would never take a needless risk. And that she would trust him wholeheartedly with her own child's life. And that recognition shuddered through her. She believed in him. Was swept up in the passion with which he attacked his job—and, to her chagrin, the humility too. He may have been the single most irritating man she'd ever met but she trusted him. To do his job properly, at least. Anything more than that was a step too far for her right now.

He was looking at her with a strange expression and she realised she'd given away more than she'd intended. ‘Yes, thank you, Ivy. We'd better all get along now. You want to bring anything with you, Joey? A special bear? Teddy?'

‘Can Spidey come?' The boy held up a plastic miniature of the superhero, which Matteo took and stuffed into the boy's pyjama pocket. ‘Absolutely. Where would we be without him?'

And with that he gave them all a nod, his gaze lingering on her for just a little longer than she felt comfortable with.

Game on.

S
EVEN HOURS AND
two operations later Ivy was definitely feeling the effects of standing and tensing and standing and tensing. Trying to stop herself from swaying, she shifted from one foot to the other, ignoring the sharp pain that shivered up her leg, and was so very grateful that she hadn't fallen over or fainted or shown herself up in any way. In fact, she was feeling pretty proud of herself.

At the operating table Matteo was deep in conversation with the medical students, showing them the difference between a renal vein and an adrenal one. She knew that herself, having studied it ad infinitum on the internet—firstly through her fingers and with noise-cancelling headphones. Then, as her confidence had grown and she'd remained upright, with more and more ease. Still not exactly comfortable, but less at risk of falling over. The good thing was that she knew what to expect, what was going to happen, and
so knew when to look away or sing a little song in her head to mask the commentary.

Watching him work, she had a full flush of something like nerves, which she knew was all part of the attraction she now admitted she felt for him. And it was rash and stupid and she just wanted it to go and leave her in peace. Because before she'd ever laid eyes on that spectacular pair of buttocks she'd been quite happy. Okay, so maybe she'd been feeling a little like she was missing out on something in her life. But not enough that she'd been bothered to care. Work had been too all-consuming and she'd liked it that way.

But now? Now she wanted to put her hands on him again. To feel that chest fall and rise under her fingertips. To feel his lips pressed against hers.

His voice floated over to her as she focused on the floor and controlled her breathing. ‘Yes…thanks for the help, guys. Great job. Now we can go and talk to the boy's parents with an update. Then off to the Dragon for Friday night drinks,' he was saying. ‘Not too late for me today as I have to prepare for tomorrow. It's going to be an incredible game. You just wait, we'll give your team a good thrashing.'

‘Can't believe you got tickets for Twickenham,'
someone answered him. ‘How much did you pay for them?'

Matteo laughed. ‘I sold my soul. But it will be worth it. This time tomorrow we'll be two tries up, three if we stick to the game plan. Go, Italia! Okay, everyone, let's go.'

So they were finished for the day. Just fine. The OR staff bustled around her as Matteo flicked his gloves into the bin. ‘Congratulations, Ivy, you have mastered the art of watching an operation.'

She smiled—not wanting to admit that she'd spent the better part of the time not looking where everyone else had been looking. She knew the floor intimately. ‘Well, it hardly warrants congratulations, but I'm feeling pretty elated for the patient and his family after such a long wait and worry. How long will it take Joey to feel better?'