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‘A glass of wine, please. Red.’ Make it a big one.
‘They do a nice merlot. Oh, look …’ Becca pointed across to the admin crowd, who were grinning and waving back. ‘Everyone’s so pleased to see you.’
‘Or they’re laughing at me.’
‘So, Miss Ivy Leigh, you decided to brave it out after all?’ Great. Matteo’s voice behind her thrilled down her spine. She couldn’t see him but every tiny hair on her body was standing to attention in some sort of annoying hormonal salute to his arrival. Maybe the admin crowd hadn’t been waving at her at all, maybe they’d all been giggling and flirting and fluttering their eyelashes at him.
As she turned she controlled her breathing. She would not be impressed. She would not be impressed. She would not … Wow. Every time she looked at him his eyes pierced her—so dark and intense. And right now they were sparkling with mischief. The shadows and dips of his cheekbones seemed more acute today and he certainly rocked the swarthy tall, dark and handsome cliché. In a collared black shirt that showed off his broad chest and snug jeans that hugged his legs he looked dangerous and sinful and so out of her league. Not that she had a league or even wanted to be in one. But, it was safe to say, if she did, he would be stratospherically out of it.
‘Good evening, Mr Finelli. Yes, I’m here. My assistant insisted and it looks like the whole hospital is here too, so that’s good, I’ll get the humiliation over and done with in one clean swoop. I’m just showing my face, having a quick drink and then …’ She lifted her overloaded workbag, the zipper almost splitting with the contents. ‘Work.’
‘Ah, yes. It never stops.’ Shoving a hand in his pocket, he pulled out a wad of notes and gave them to the barman. ‘I’ll get these.’
Becca grinned her starstruck thanks and went to join the group in the far corner. Double great. Thanks a bunch. Leave me here with him, why don’t you? Traitor. Ivy picked up her glass and nodded to him. ‘Thanks. I owe you one.’ Then she took a step towards her crowd.
‘Not so fast.’
‘Sorry?’ Ignoring the flustered feeling in her chest, she turned back to him, wondering what the Italian for cold shoulder was. Because that was what she intended on giving him. Freddo shouldero, matey. ‘I’m on my way over to Becca …’
But he didn’t take the hint. Instead, he smiled. For a fleeting moment it was almost genuine. ‘How are you feeling, Ivy? No ill effects? No more fainting episodes?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Absolutely hunky dory. I’ll see you … Thursday? For my workshop?’ Round two.
‘Again with this.’ His voice was grim, but his smile was infectious as he took her arm and gently steered her away from the busy bar to a quieter corner. And, to her chagrin, she went with him. Was it her imagination or could she feel everyone’s eyes on her back? ‘We’re away from work now on neutral ground, and it’s the weekend. People just want to relax and have a good evening, me included. How about we drop our guard a little?’
This could be interesting. ‘This is where you lull me into a false sense of security then you pounce, right?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t need to do that. We could just have a conversation and see where we get to?’
Nancy squeezed past them to get to the bathrooms. ‘Hey, Ivy. How are you feeling? Okay? Is Matteo giving you some tips?’ She winked. ‘He’s very good.’
Ivy looked at the curve of his mouth and imagined a million things he’d be good at. Then ignored the flare of heat circling in her gut. ‘I’ll bet he is.’
‘With fainting cures, that is …’
‘Obviously.’
As Nancy disappeared into the bathroom Ivy put her bag on the floor, took a long drink and felt the warmth of the wine suffuse her throat. ‘She’s a stirrer.’
‘She’s a joker, but she has a good point.’ Matteo’s smile hadn’t dropped. ‘How on earth are we going to get you ready to face the scalpel again next week?’
Aha. Plan A. ‘I’ll be fine. I was going to start by watching a few videos online. Type “kidney transplant” into a search engine and there are hundreds of operations right there to pick from. You get a bird’s-eye view, too, and commentary. It’s almost as if you’re actually there in the room, without all the smells or noises or …’ Without you, she thought, all large and looming and stealing her breath. So it would be videos all the way until she was inured to the gore, with the sound turned to mute and a decent bottle of wine for Dutch courage. Anything not to lose face again next week.
‘Ah, yes. The joys of the web. Amazing what you can find.’ His smile glittered teasingly.
She ignored that, too, knowing damned well he was referring to his glorious backside. Which she did not want to see. Or think about. At all. ‘Like I told you, some people do actually put useful things up there. It can be very educational.’
‘And you are not at work now, so you don’t need to give me the chat.’ He emphasised chat with a sarcastic twitch of his fingers. ‘Enjoy whatever you find on the internet … but make sure you take your hands away from your face first. And that you’re sitting … no, lying down. You’ll have less far to fall.’
‘Ha-ha. You really are enjoying this.’
‘What’s not to like?’ he said, in a voice filled with smugness, like the cat that had got the grappa-laced cream. ‘But I’m glad you want to come back and see the wager through. You have strength. You have this hard outer shell, but underneath there is a softer side to you. A side you don’t always want other people to see.’
That touched a raw nerve. She was only protecting herself, something she’d learnt to do because of experiences with men like him. She’d already lost enough to a selfish, inadequate man who’d wanted to play God, so she intended to keep herself whole and had no desire to fall prey to any guy’s wishes. Plus, she’d seen her mother curl up in a ball and weep over someone who she’d given a part of herself to. Watched her crumble until she’d thought she couldn’t live without him, couldn’t put one step in front of another. Couldn’t function. Ivy had no intention of crumbling. ‘Don’t we all keep a side of us private? I imagine there’s more to you than what you show, too, Matteo. It’s just how we project ourselves to the world, that’s all. We don’t have to show all our sides to everyone.’
He looked at her for a moment, his eyebrows raised, then shook his head, clearly perplexed. ‘I am me. This is it.’
‘Sure it is.’ All annoying and smug and profound Italian with raw sex appeal and, she decided, probably not a lot of substance.
He shrugged as if he was reading her mind and he didn’t give a jot what she thought. He probably didn’t. ‘Okay, whatever you think. You have your mind made up, I don’t intend wasting my time trying to convince you otherwise. But, seriously, take a few small steps. Watch a video or two and concentrate on your body’s response. Make sure you even out your breathing. Make sure it’s deep and slow and regular, not jumpy, like it is right now.’
Ivy took a long slow breath in, felt a thump of palpitation in her chest as she willed her heart to slow. ‘My breathing is fine.’
‘Really? Could have fooled me. Because right now I’d say you were about to hyperventilate.’ He reached a hand to her earlobe and checked out her silver hoop earring, ran a finger across the sensitive part of her neck. ‘See. When I do that … up it goes. You need to be aware of that.’
Hello, I am very aware. Too aware. Her heart jittered, her hand started to shake again as she rubbed the spot he’d touched. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ And, for the record, if she was to have a thing with anyone, it wouldn’t be with a sexed-up macho surgeon. She would choose someone interested in the kind of things she liked, art, literature, someone with class and sophistication.
Not just a nice ass. And nice hands. And a devastating smile.
The smile spoke. ‘And relax. Know your body well enough that you can identify signs of tension and consciously relax. Or, another method if you start to feel lightheaded, tense your arms and legs and get the blood flowing well. Wiggle your toes to make sure your venous return is sufficient.’
‘Yup. Thanks.’
‘And why not just start with watching someone take blood first … move on up to renal transplants in a day or so? You don’t want to run before you walk. Yes?’
‘No. Yes. Whatever. Thanks for the pep talk.’ She tried, but failed, to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. ‘You trained in psychology as well as medicine?’
‘No.’ His eyebrows rose. ‘But I had to get back into that theatre on day two somehow.’
‘Oh. You were serious earlier about being sick in the OR? I thought you were just saying that to make me feel better.’ Something really had rattled the great Dr Delicious once upon a time? ‘And even after that you went on and trained to be a surgeon? Why? Why didn’t you go into something less gory if it made you throw up?’
‘Because that wasn’t my dream. My dream was to be a renal surgeon. I don’t like to do second best.’
She didn’t doubt that or that he’d fight tooth and nail for what he wanted. He was the kind of guy who always got what he wanted and was used to snapping out orders—and having them followed. ‘Why renal surgery? Why not orthopaedics or plastics, or something else?’
He took a drink from his beer bottle and for a moment looked pensive. ‘My sister needed a kidney when she was eleven. She got one, in the end, although it took some time. And I could see the immediate change in her. I got my little sister back, with no pain and a future and so much energy. It was like a miracle. They saved her life. It seemed such a fabulous thing to do that I set my heart on it.’
Again with the surprise. The man could do serious and personal. This was the side of him she’d thought he hid. But he’d been right—he was up-front and honest. In an irritatingly candid way. Maybe she just hadn’t asked him the right questions.
And maybe she’d be better joining Becca right now. But hell if her feet didn’t root themselves to the spot. ‘Knowing how much demand there is for kidneys, I’d say she was very lucky. You have just the one sister?’
‘No. Two sisters and three brothers. Yes, I know. It’s a huge family by most standards. Even by Italian standards.’
‘Wow. That must have been busy. Are they all like you? Your poor mother.’
‘It was challenging, I think. In lots of ways it was hard for her.’ His face almost dipped into serious, then he broke out into a smile. ‘I am the oldest. I know what you’re thinking, yes, they hated me. I’m bossy and organised and like being in charge. There isn’t any insult you could call me that I haven’t already been called.’
‘I don’t know, I’m sure I could think of a few.’
‘Don’t think too hard.’ He took another drink. ‘And you?’
‘Me? No. Not many people have insulted me.’ Actually, that was a lie, but it had been the pitying looks that had cut the deepest. No amount of physiotherapy and practice could cut the limp out completely. And with that thought the pain came shooting back up her leg, tripping across the scars. She instinctively shifted her weight, wishing she could change out of her work shoes into something more comfortable.
Matteo looked at her as if waiting for her to explain her sudden reverie. ‘Ivy?’
‘What?’
‘I meant family,’ he explained. ‘You have brothers and sisters?’
‘I’m an only child. I did have a stepbrother once, for a few years, and then there was a divorce—make that the second out of three—and they moved away.’ She tilted her head a little to one side and found a smile to try to tell him she was fine with it. Still, it had been nice being part of something bigger. More than nice. And the fallout when Sam had left had been huge in so many ways, losing her stepbrother, Taylor, just one of them. He’s not your real brother, so stop whingeing. Imagine how I feel without my husband. How will I cope without him? How will I survive? ‘Largely it’s been just me and my mum.’ And a string of unsuccessful relationships.
‘The doctor. And you didn’t want to follow in her footsteps?’ He grinned. ‘Ah, no, of course, the fainting thing.’
‘That and the fact that I hated hospitals for a long, long time.’ And now she’d said too much. Looking for an out, she turned to look over at a commotion on the stage. ‘What’s happening over there?’
Again he looked at her with a quizzical expression. ‘Why did you hate hospitals?’
‘Look, I really should go.’
‘I’m sorry, I asked you something you didn’t want to answer.’ His voice softened a little and she was startled and humbled by his honest, straightforward approach. Yes, he had asked. And, no, she didn’t want to talk about it and see his pity and later his revulsion. But he continued chatting, undeterred, ‘It’s charity karaoke. The bar manager lets us have fifty percent of the proceeds if we get the crowd started. Every penny counts. We’re fundraising for a new dialysis machine. We’re always fundraising for a new dialysis machine. We will never have enough. We can only do so much to make our own miracles.’ He picked up her bag and started to walk towards the stage. ‘Come watch?’
‘Er … will I have to sing?’
‘If you want to help us raise money. And you said you did.’
Despite the endless irritation he instilled in her, the thought of spending more time with Matteo really appealed. Really, truly, and she knew it was nothing to do with helping him raise money. Panic took over from the pain in her foot. She could not want to spend more time with Matteo.
She shook her head. ‘This wasn’t what I had in mind. There’s lots of other, bigger ways we can help. Besides, I’ve already made a fool of myself once today, thank you very much. Singing is definitely not going to help my cause of winning over the hearts and minds of the staff.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’m going home.’
‘Matteo! Matteo!’ A guy called over. ‘Come on, mate, stop chatting up the ladies and get that famous peach of a backside over here. We’re starting.’
Matteo grimaced and raised a finger. ‘Give me a minute, Steve.’ Then he turned to her and she could have sworn his eyes flicked towards her feet and then back to her face. ‘I’m never going to live that picture down. Now, how are you getting home? I’ll walk you to the door and get you a cab. Or walk you to the car park.’
‘It’s fine. My bus stop’s just over the road. I can walk across the pub on my own, and, believe me, it’ll be a damned sight easier than walking in.’
‘But you did it, and no one has said anything at all. Except me. And I have kept you all to myself.’ Taking her glass from her hand, he gave her another warm smile. No—not warm. It was possessive. Hot. His hand brushed against hers and heat rippled through her. She tried to shake it off, but it stayed, curling into her, making her hot too. His voice was deeper when he spoke again, and it caressed her insides. ‘Ivy, do you have to get back for the boyfriend? The husband?’
‘No. I told you, I have work to do. I really do.’ Please, don’t ask anything … more. There was something about him that was different from other men, that connected with her on another level. Something about him … Her gaze slammed up against his, the warm tease now a molten heat. She wanted to … do so many things she’d promised herself not to do again. She didn’t want to be beholden to a man. To fall too deeply in love with someone who would have a hold over her emotions and actions. She wanted to stay whole. To be herself, and so much more.
He shook his head. ‘Okay. I know I’m going to regret this, but I’ll let you go this time. Next week I might not be so lenient.’ Was it her imagination or was he flirting again? She didn’t know. Panic and heat rose in her gut. The heat overriding the panic, squashing it. No. This was not how she wanted to feel—she didn’t want to lose control with him. Knew that if that happened she’d be on a spiral to disaster. She didn’t need that in her life, not when she’d finally got where she’d wanted to be. His hand touched her arm. ‘You’re going to leave me to sing to these people, and I’ll end up looking like a fool—as always—but it’s worth it for the money. Don’t work too hard, Ivy. Enjoy the videos.’
‘I will.’ Another lie. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she pushed the door open and inhaled the late spring evening air. Thank God for that. What was happening to her insides she did not know, or want to even think about. But she knew she had to put some distance between her and Dr Delicious. Wrapping her coat around her, she began to walk towards the bus stop and realised …
My bag. Damn.
Without it her evening, her whole weekend, would be lost. Besides, those files held confidential information that she could not lose on any account.
Twirling back round towards the pub, she slammed hard into a wall of muscle. A dark collared shirt. Brooding eyes. A hand holding out her bag. ‘Ivy.’
‘Oh.’ But now she was touching him she didn’t want to let go. Should have but didn’t. Underneath the soft linen of his shirt she could feel every nuance of muscle, every ripple of movement. And there, underneath her fingers, his heart beat strong and regular. Steady. ‘Matteo—’
‘Hush.’ The bag fell to the ground. Then he placed his palm to the back of her neck, pulled her towards him, and pressed his lips against hers.
It took a moment to register that this was Matteo, this was a kiss—so unexpected, and yet everything that their conversations had been leading up to. His mouth was playful as he nipped across her bottom lip and she could feel his smile against her own. Then she stopped thinking altogether—because thinking would throw up too many barriers, and just for once in her life she wanted to be free, to take what she wanted instead of holding back. To open herself up to … this. He tasted exotic, of spice and man, and it set her gut on fire.
Wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her closer, he set the tone, and took control. His tongue slipped into her mouth and danced a fierce dance with hers. She gripped his shirt, pressed her body against his, took everything he gave her and gave it right back to him. All the fighting and the humiliation and the anger and the deep sexual need she’d experienced since she’d crossed paths with him was in that kiss. So too was a longing and heat that she’d never experienced before.
This was bad.
This was good.
This was the biggest mistake she’d ever made. As reality seeped into her brain she stopped. Fighting for breath, she pulled away. ‘My God, Matteo. What the hell was that for?’
‘You looked like you needed kissing.’ And he was all bravado and outward calm but she could see the slight tremor in his body as he inhaled a breath. So it had been an instinctive unthought-out action and had taken him by surprise too. ‘And I was right, you did. Kissing suits you. You should do it more often. Look at you now—alive. Vibrant. No words.’
She daren’t imagine how she looked, but that was the least of her problems. ‘Well, that’s not the way I do things. And now I’m going home.’ Don’t even think of asking to come with me.
‘Okay. If you insist.’ As he appeared to get used to the idea that smile was back on his mouth. A mouth she’d actually, really, truly just kissed, in the street like a … an out-of-control teenager.
Kissing Matteo! She swiped a hand across her lips to remove all trace of him. What the hell had she been thinking? He was all mouth and smug and … Oh, my God, he was good. And she couldn’t find an inch of her body that didn’t want to do it again—but her conscience, oh, dear, her conscience was very unhappy with such a strange and unexpected turn of events.
‘My bag? Please.’ She reached for it.
‘Sure. Here you go. Sweet dreams, Ivy.’ With that he handed her bag over, turned and disappeared back inside the pub, leaving her breathless and hot and shaking.
Sweet dreams? Not if they were going to be filled with him. Please, no. Thanks goodness her bag was stuffed to the gills with papers that would keep her occupied into the early hours, because somehow she was going to have to keep her mind on her work and not on a peachy backside, startling eyes and smug mouth.
Good luck with that.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u0400c727-bc8d-5c8b-a0d8-a279d8c5b44d)
‘SERIOUSLY, I HAVE to sit in a circle and discuss hypothetical scenarios? Really? When there are real ones happening two floors down in ER … and an empty OR across the hospital?’ Matteo looked around at the other members of the group in disbelief. Two doctors, a ward clerk and a phlebotomist. They were okay with this?
‘Okay, then.’ Ivy was hovering around them, going from group to group checking on progress, a smile plastered to her face. A smile, he could see, that wasn’t comfortable every time her eyes settled on him. ‘Why don’t you share with everyone what the specific problems are for your department? We could do a brainstorm and set something in motion. It could be a true test of the skills you’re learning here on the course.’
Marjorie, the ward clerk from ward three, nodded in agreement, her gaze homing in on Matteo. ‘Okay, big-shot bottom, tell us what you need.’
He smothered a grin. That photo had certainly been one way of getting attention, unwanted but nevertheless—people certainly knew him now. ‘I need, in simple terms, a new dialysis machine, or funds to buy one.’
‘Ball park?’ Ivy again.
‘Around thirty thousand.’
‘That’s a lot of calendars you’d have to sell, Mr Finelli. How about you approach a fund starter website? That would be a great place to start. Some people are seeing amazing results … Ivy certainly got impassioned and enthusiastic about some things. ‘Set up an account and get people to pledge money. Those kinds of forums work because it’s a little more personal than just donating. You could have giveaways with each level of pledge—say, a plaque for a platinum sponsor. Plus a brochure and a personalised photograph or something …’
‘We’ve already got a perfect picture for that, eh, Matteo?’ It was Marjorie again. His backside had certainly gone viral.
Ivy rolled her eyes. ‘That’s enough about that picture, please. I am so over it. Really. As I’ve already explained to Mr Finelli, that’s not the sort of image we want associated with St Carmen’s—as we can clearly see it distracts us from our purpose. Still, great work. Brainstorming certainly helps.’
