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‘Does it hurt? I can give you some more medicine to take the pain away. You must tell me if you need more.’
The girl shook her head.
‘I’ll do it slowly and carefully. I promise.’
But Safia raised a heavily bandaged arm and pulled the sheet over her head. The spaghetti of tubes reverberated at the swift move. An alarm rang out.
Kara took a moment to compose herself, checked the drips were patent, reset the machines and tried again. And she would continue trying until the poor girl agreed. However long it took. The theatre was booked from eight tomorrow morning. That gave her about eighteen hours. She hoped it would be enough. ‘Your Highness …’
‘Let me try.’ Sheikh El-Zayad of Aljahar, the girl’s father, stepped forward. ‘For goodness’ sake, Safia, do as you’re told. We’ve been waiting for twenty-five minutes for your bandages to come off and it’s getting past a joke. The doctors can’t do their job and you won’t get better.’
‘I’m never going to get better. This is it. Scarred for life. So get used to it.’
The Sheikh frowned. ‘Do as the doctor says. Stop behaving like a child.’
She is a child. Kara bit that thought back. He had just endured the worst thing any parent could live through—watching his child suffer—and no doubt wanted her full co-operation to get better. But seventeen was barely mature, and the ramifications of such injuries would surely make anyone scared and fractious.
She shot a look over to Declan as he finished his conversation with the Sheikh’s wife, psychologically prep-ping her for the forthcoming procedures and long-term treatment plan. Throughout the long thirty minutes of cajoling and waiting she’d felt Declan’s eyes on her, assessing, weighing her up, his playful teasing forgotten, cemented now into something much more serious.
‘So to recap—’ He leaned forward to speak to Safia’s parents. ‘We’re planning to do a series of operations over the next few weeks. Because Safia’s wounds are of differing severity and depth each one will be in its own individual recovery phase. Some wounds, I understand from her notes, are ready for closure or grafting tomorrow. Some will have to wait for closure because they need debriding. I’ll keep you fully informed as we proceed.’
Declan’s demeanour was one of total calm and efficiency, yet he commanded an authority that stood him apart as he spoke.
‘Now, it’s getting a bit hot in here. Perhaps Your Highnesses might like a tour of the facility? There’s a particularly nice view out over the river from the roof garden. It’s very private up there and shouldn’t be busy. In fact, I can make sure it isn’t. And I can organise some tea for you both.’
Safia’s mother nodded and wafted in front of her face with her hand. ‘Oh, please. Yes. I need some fresh air.’ Leaning in to her daughter, she whispered, ‘That is, of course, if you don’t mind, darling Safia? We won’t stay away for long.’
The sheets moved a little. ‘Go. All of you. Leave me here. Forever.’
A quick phone call later and Safia, Kara and Declan were alone.
But now what? Even without her parents in the room it was going to be tough convincing Safia to comply.
Kara was just about to broach the dressings conversation again when Declan laughed. ‘Well, would you look at that eejit.’
‘What? Where?’ Kara frowned as she looked over to him. His focus was on a pile of magazines on the table. The latest teen heart-throb was emblazoned on the front cover of BFF! magazine, which had been covered in pink glitter hand-drawn hearts. ‘Oh, that’s Liam from Oblivion.’
‘I don’t care where he’s from,’ he continued. ‘He looks like he needs a decent feed and a new belt. Are those his grandaddy’s trousers he’s wearing? Because they don’t seem to fit.’
Kara looked up again and noticed he was watching the sheet move down. Just a little.
She joined in. ‘How can you say that? Don’t break my heart. Liam is hot, hot, hot. And what do you know, Mr Fuddy-Duddy? Those baggy trousers are all the rage. Maybe you should get a pair.’
‘Maybe I should. D’you think all the girls would come screaming after me then?’ He gave a very poor rendition of Oblivion’s number one hit. ‘“That’s what makes me looooove you …”’
‘Screaming to get away from you, more like. Save our poor ears and stick to the day job.’ She leaned closer to the sheet that was now making little noises that sounded a lot like hesitant surprised laughter. ‘Great doctor, really, don’t let the singing put you off. I heard that Oblivion’s doing a tour soon—they’re playing in London in a few weeks.’ And going to see her favourite singer might well give Safia the motivation she needed to get better.
The girl sighed. ‘He played at my sixteenth birthday party. He said I was beautiful.’ Safia slowly pulled the sheet back. ‘But he wouldn’t say that now.’
Declan sat next to the bed and looked at her. Kara wondered what on earth he could say to make her feel better. ‘Don’t you know you’ve gorgeous eyes, Safia? Beautiful. A boy could lose himself in there.’
‘Once, maybe. But not now.’
‘Oh, definitely now.’
Safia met Declan’s gaze, still cautious, but she didn’t tell them to leave.
Seizing this moment of calm, Declan reached out and began to remove a dressing with painstaking care. When Safia put her hand out to stop him he gave her a quick shake of his head and a reassuring smile. The girl lay back and closed her eyes.
Kara opened another dressing pack and covered the bed as he kept his focus on his patient and smiled softly and gently, as if she was the most beautiful person in the world, the only person in the world. As if the horrendous discolouration and raw melted skin didn’t make his heart jerk or his professional eye wonder how in hell they could ever restore her back to her previous beauty.
She’d heard about his slick surgical skills and knew how well respected he was. Heck, the Sheikh had personally requested Declan did the surgery—and judging by his extensive client list both here and at the Hunter Clinic he was well sought after. So she hadn’t expected a doctor as talented as Declan to have such grounded humanity.
‘There. There. Nearly done now. You’re doing grand, sweetheart. Just grand. It’s not nearly so bad as I thought it’d be.’
He spoke in a mesmerising, soothing voice that felt as if he was stroking the raw wounds back together again. Kara didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so touching.
‘I bet you’ve broken a few hearts already, Safia?’
The girl opened her eyes and gave him a sad smile. ‘Yes … you mustn’t tell my father.’
‘Cross my heart.’
‘But I never will again. Who’s going to love me with a face like this? Skin like this?’ She lifted the arms she’d tried to shield her face with and showed him the skin that had been so damaged. Finally tears began to fall. ‘Don’t tell me that beauty’s skin-deep. Or that scars are sexy. Because they’re not. And please don’t tell me that looks don’t matter—because in my world they do.’
And that was the heart of the matter. A young girl’s life was broken and no one could truly fix it.
Kara’s throat closed tight.
Declan ran his hand over the girl’s hair. ‘Ah, now, sweetheart. That’s it. That’s it. I know. Believe me, I know. Let it out. Just let it go.’
‘I’m … so … tired … of being brave,’ Safia sobbed. ‘Of trying to pretend it’s okay when it’s not. And all they do is make promises that I’ll be back to normal soon. How can I?’ She looked up at him, eyes pleading but with a glimpse of trust. ‘Can you make me better, Dr Underwood?’
‘Call me Declan, please. Actually, call me Dec if you like—my sisters call me that.’
‘Okay.’ Safia nodded and smiled again. ‘Dec.’
‘Listen, Safia, I will be honest with you because you deserve that at the very least. I can’t ever make it go away completely.’ His voice caught a little as he thumbed away the girl’s tears.
A few months ago Kara had watched him smooth his way across a dance floor, his charm and flirtatious manner catching her in a moment of weakness. But there was a genuine depth to him that she hadn’t imagined.
He cleared his throat. ‘But I promise I can make it a whole lot better. Will you let me try?’
‘At first glance, Safia’s burns are a mix of partial and full thickness—some will need further debridement and then grafting,’ Declan said to Kara as they grabbed a coffee en route to the media room.
His head was a whirl of the emotions that always shook through him at this stage of assessment—emotions he had a tight hold of and would never allow to interfere with any professional judgement. Flashbacks from seventeen years ago haunted him each time he removed a dressing, but they made him more determined to improve his skills and techniques.
Another woman damaged. It made him sick to his stomach.
His new junior surgeon took a sip of coffee, oblivious to what was going on in his head. Which was a damned fine thing—no one needed to know his motivations, just his achievements. She smiled and his gut tightened. He put it down to stress.
‘So, Declan, do you prefer autograft or zenograft?’
‘It depends entirely on the situation. We can get a better look at the viability of the skin and the underlying bed tomorrow in Theatre and take it from there.’
Eyebrows peaked. ‘We?’
‘Yes. Okay, you can scrub in tomorrow. You did well in there. Teenagers are often the most difficult cases to deal with. They don’t know how to act—they’re kids at heart but trying desperately to be adult. We have to get the next few days right. How we deal with these burns will have a huge effect on the rest of that girl’s life. Both physically and psychologically.’ From his experience the mental scarring was often the worst and could change the very core of an injured person for life.
Kara nodded, eyes alight, blonde curls shivering. Something unbidden shivered through him too. She’d been damned good at handling Safia, so he was pleased to have her on his team. But … really it was more than that. She was a weird kind of unsettling—and yet settling at the same time.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t believe the admitting hospital staff didn’t think of offering her some anxiolytics to help raise her mood. Maybe we could have a chat with her about that too?’
‘I guess they were dealing with her immediate issues, like keeping her alive.’ He held the door open to let her through. Which was an action he immediately regretted. The barrage of flashing bulbs that had greeted him that morning met them as they stepped into the room, catching her unawares—but he was interested to see just how well she could handle this part of the job.
‘Is Princess Safia here now?’
‘What can you tell us about her condition?’
Next to him Kara stood tall, her shoulders snapped back, confident. Declan held back a smile as he watched her survey the room with a tilt of her chin. She wore her army upbringing in her stance, and he had no doubt she would answer the press’s queries with aplomb and professionalism, but he wasn’t game enough to test her with that just yet. In fact he wasn’t game enough to do anything that involved any more contact with her than he had to. The woman was mysteriously alluring. So that meant avoiding her at all costs.
No doubt a better man would probably not even allow her to assist him when his hormones were acting as if he was eighteen years old again. But he had stopped being a better man a long time ago—the day he’d lost all faith in love.
Kara’s scent wove around him … something exotic that reminded him of brilliant blue skies and endless heat and the tang of flowers on the breeze. His abdomen tightened as seemingly endless heat rippled through him too.
He took a step away and glanced at the floor, trying to take a moment to focus. But all he could see were those ridiculous but sexy shoes, slender tanned ankles leading up to the hem of her skirt, and farther on up to a place where his imagination ran wild.
He ran a hand through his hair and shook that image from his head. Damn fool. Since when had he allowed a woman to distract him at work? Since the second he’d seen her firing back at the Sheikh’s aide? Or was it that kiss?
He quieted the audience with a raise of his hands and a smile. Keep them on side and they might actually let him have time free to do his job. ‘Thanks for coming to this meeting. We didn’t want you getting chilly out there. We’re already busy enough without dealing with hypothermic journalists as well. Hope you enjoyed the tea and biscuits.’
Laughter rippled round the room. He waited for it to stop.
‘Thank you for your patience, everyone. I have permission from Safia’s family to confirm that she is indeed now here at Princess Catherine’s Hospital and that I am treating her as an in-patient. I’m sure you are all aware of the car accident she had a few days ago. I can confirm also that, thanks to the great care she received at Aljahar Hospital, she is now in a stable condition, but her injuries mean that she will be under my care for some time. The family again asks for privacy. Thank you.’
‘What does the Sheikh think about this?’
‘Naturally His Highness is devastated about his daughter’s injuries, but he is working with us to get the best possible outcome. Of course we are deeply honoured to have him here.’
‘How long will Safia be with you?’
‘That depends entirely on her progress and response to treatment. It could be a few weeks.’ He paused for effect. ‘Okay, I don’t think there is anything more we can tell you. Either myself or a member of my team …’ He indicated to Kara and she stepped forward and smiled, self-confidence rippling off her. ‘This is Ms Stephens, who will be working with me. Either one of us will be updating you on Safia’s progress as and when appropriate.’
‘They don’t teach you that at medical school.’ Kara joked as they walked towards the afternoon out-patient clinic. ‘They should have “Dealing with the Press” lessons. Confidentiality is such a thorny issue—especially when you’re treating someone famous.’
‘No one wants to know about you if you’re not. But this is a high-profile issue and we have to deal with it—it’s just another part of the job. You have to be careful not to give away too much information but just enough to keep the hacks satisfied.’
‘It’s a bit of a tightrope. I can see I’ll have to be careful.’
‘I can fix you up with our in-house Head of PR, Lexi, at the Hunter Clinic if you like? She could give you some pointers if you think you might need them.’ Why, oh, why was he even thinking of getting further involved in this woman’s life? ‘But I reckon you’ll be fine.’
‘Really?’ Her smile was genuine. ‘Thanks. I’ll see how I go.’
That compliment sat between them as they neared the clinic. He’d have to be careful about that—giving her the wrong impression. But something about Kara drew him to her. Even with his internal alarm bells blaring.
As he tried to walk down the narrow corridor without brushing against her and risking an escalation of his already over-excited libido she spoke. ‘So, how many sisters do you have?’
‘What?’ He stopped short, still getting used to her forthrightness. Maybe it was an Aussie thing. No, maybe it was just a Kara thing. ‘Sorry?’
‘You were telling Safia about your sisters. “They call me Dec,” you said, or something.’
‘Why do you need to know?’
Her forehead furrowed into a deep V and her eyes sparked with humour and intrigue. ‘I don’t need anything. I was just making conversation. It’s what human beings do to fill that very long gap between birth and death. Communication.’
She held his gaze and it felt as if she was throwing down a gauntlet. One he could run with or one he could walk away from.
‘Only, I don’t have any siblings, and I always thought it’d be nice to have some. It’s just a chat, Declan, as we while away the minutes. Not an interrogation.’
She was right. It was just talking. It wasn’t exactly baring his soul. And he’d always been a sucker for gauntlets. ‘Well, if I were you I’d rejoice in your single-child-dom, Kara—because, trust me, you do not need four sisters.’
‘Four? Wow.’
‘All younger. All a giant pain in the ass …’
She laughed. ‘Growing up amongst that must have been busy. But fun, though?’
‘It was messy … crazy … loud. Very loud. And awash with wayward hormones.’ Remembering the madcap phone call that morning, he shrugged, smiling to himself. They might well be irritating, but they were his. ‘Still is.’
‘But it explains how you can deal so well with kids like Safia.’
‘I don’t know about well. The way I see it, all girls want to be treated like princesses. It just so happens she is one. But underneath they’re generally the same. They worry about how they look, who they’re becoming, what they want to do with their lives. Love. Boys … yeah, boys mostly, if my lot were anything to go by. Trouble all round.’
He’d had the job of being the man of the house thrust upon him way too young and had had to make sure they somehow had the basics, like enough food to eat, even when they hadn’t had the money to buy it. Then as they grew up he’d watched his sisters have their hearts broken and wanted to kill the culprits, but decided not to. He had negotiated conversations about teenage pregnancy and underage sex, about dating rules and bedtimes, had nursed sisters with period pains and migraines and tummy aches of dubious origin. And finally he’d escaped only when he’d known they were all grown up and relatively safe. Escaped being a geographical rather than a psychological term.
And yet with all his experience he still couldn’t fathom the workings of a woman’s brain. Except that he definitely knew when it was time to leave—which was around about the time she started talking about a future.
Kara laughed. ‘But I can see the pride in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You love them all, clearly.’
‘Yes, I probably do—but don’t ever let them know that or they’ll take even more advantage. And I chose a job hundreds of miles away from them just to put a good stretch of Irish Sea between us.’ He laughed along with her. ‘Thankfully none of them are any good at swimming, most of them get seasick, and they can’t afford the airfare—otherwise I’m damned sure they’d be here. Making my life hell in England too.’
But in reality he might as well be living back home, seeing as they couldn’t or wouldn’t make a single damned decision without him. Which was why he kept his tiny slice of private time simple. No getting involved on any kind of scale. His life was already too full of responsibilities and women without taking on another one.
Kara smirked as they entered the out-patients’ reception. ‘I guess you have to go where the work is.’
‘Is that what you did? It’s a long way from Sydney to London, and you didn’t have four sisters dragging at your heels.’
‘I needed a change. Coming here was a good move for lots of reasons.’
