The Best Of The Year - Medical Romance

I formed the words in my head but I couldn’t get them past my lips. I couldn’t bear to tell anyone, least of all him. I felt sick at the thought of it spreading throughout the hospital. I could just imagine the looks I would get. The behind-the-hand comments people would murmur. I had seen the gossip network operate in every hospital I’d worked in. It was the same as the schoolyard network. It was cruel and unstoppable.

I thought of the way Matt had criticised my research project. I couldn’t bear to have him mock my personal life as well.

Besides, I wanted to keep my distance from him. He was far too potent for me to handle. He was clearly a man of the world. The world in which his father moved, one where women were prizes to be collected, toys to be played with and then discarded when they lost their appeal. He might have given the impression he didn’t approve of his father’s treatment of his mother, but wasn’t he doing the very same thing with me? He knew I was off limits and yet he’d kissed me. He’d made the first move … hadn’t he? Or even if he hadn’t he had been the one who had come and stood right in front of me, looking at me in that intensely mesmerising way until I’d had no choice but to meet him halfway.

I wasn’t used to feeling such wild, out-of-control feelings of lust and longing. I needed time to get my self-control reconditioned.

We came to my door and I took Freddy’s lead from Matt’s hand. Even though we were both wearing gloves I felt the jolt of his touch. It travelled through my body like a hot wire firing up my core so it was thrumming like a tuning fork.

‘Erm, thanks for helping me find Freddy,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what I would’ve done if we hadn’t found him. He might’ve frozen to death.’

He looked at me for a long moment. ‘It’s a big responsibility, minding someone’s pet for them. Did you offer or did your neighbour pressure you?’

How had he guessed that? I wondered. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable he was sensing more about me than I cared to have on show. ‘I was just trying to help.’

He gave a nod as if that made sense. ‘I’d better get going before I freeze to death. Good night.’

I watched him walk down my street from my front door. It was bitterly cold standing there on the doorstep but I couldn’t take my eyes off his tall, rangy figure as he walked along the snow-covered footpath. I let out a long, foggy breath as he disappeared around the corner.

Oh, boy, was I in trouble.

I was in the female change room, putting my bag in the locker, the next morning when Gracie McCurcher came bursting in. ‘Guess what?’ she said, her eyes bright with conspiratorial excitement.

‘What?’

‘Matt Bishop has a girlfriend.’

I hoped my face hadn’t shown my surprise. If he had a girlfriend then why the heck had he kissed me last night? I felt a rumble of anger roll through me. What was it about me that attracted two-timing guys? Did I have a sign on my head that said ‘Exploit me’?

I shoved my bag in the locker and turned the key. ‘How do you know?’

‘He’s got a hickey on his neck,’ Gracie said. ‘I saw it when he took off his scarf when he came in this morning.’

I was glad I was facing the locker bay instead of Gracie. I was so hot in the face I was sure the lockers would melt and drool, like Salvador Dali’s clock. ‘Are you sure it’s a hickey?’ I said in a vaguely interested way. ‘He might have scratched himself shaving.’

‘I know a hickey when I see one,’ Gracie said. ‘I wonder who it is? Do you reckon it’s someone from the hospital?’

‘I have no idea.’ I was scaring myself at how easy it was to lie.

Gracie was watching me in the mirror, where I was attempting to put my hair in some sort of order. ‘I heard he went to the US after he broke up with a long-term girlfriend. She was a speech pathologist.’

‘How long term?’ I asked.

‘Not sure.’ Gracie gave me a speaking glance. ‘For some men a couple of weeks is long term.’

I turned around and gave her arm a squeeze. She hadn’t had much luck with boyfriends. Her first one left her for her best friend and her last one cheated on her the whole time they were together. She was a lot like me, she wanted the fairytale but so far it had eluded her. ‘Don’t give up hope, Gracie,’ I said. ‘You’ll find your handsome prince one day.’

She gave me a thoughtful look. ‘Is it better once you’re married?’

I disguised a gulping swallow. ‘Better?’

‘Your relationship,’ she said. ‘More stable. Secure. Happier. My cousin told me she felt really let down after she got married. She said there’s all that build-up to the big day. Months and months of planning and then it’s all over. Was it like that for you?’

‘A little, I guess,’ I said, which at least was the truth. I was let down. Massively. Everything I had planned and dreamed for myself had been blown away as soon as I’d opened that bedroom door and seen Andy in bed with another woman. Someone younger and far more beautiful than I could ever be. And taller and thinner. She looked like one of those bikini models on a billboard. I’d felt short and dowdy and fat ever since.

‘When can I see the photos?’ Gracie asked. ‘Have you got time now?’

‘Sorry.’ I glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I have to get going. I have to check on a patient before Theatre.’

I came back from Theatre and Jill Carter, the ward clerk, looked up from some filing she was doing. ‘Have you heard the latest gossip?’ She shut the filing-cabinet drawer and gave the same conspiratorial gleam Gracie had shown earlier.

I prided myself on my indifferent expression. I’d been practising behind my surgical mask in Theatre. ‘No.’

‘Apparently Dr Bishop is—’

‘Right behind you,’ Matt said from the office doorway.

Jill and I both turned around like schoolgirls caught out smoking behind the toilets. Jill recovered quicker than I did but, then, she probably hadn’t spent half the night lying awake fantasising about his mouth kissing her.

‘Oh, hello, Dr Bishop,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘How did your heads of department meeting go?’

Matt’s expression had the high wall with barbed wire at the top look about it. ‘Fine. Dr Clark?’ His gaze nailed mine. ‘My office in ten minutes.’

I couldn’t stop my gaze drifting to his neck. His shirt collar covered half of it but anyone with a history of necking as a teenager would have recognised it for what it was. I could feel the slow, hot crawl of colour spread over my cheeks as my eyes came back to his. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll just check on a couple of patients first.’

I was longer than ten minutes as I wanted to talk to Jason Ryder’s parents about a new type of therapy I was keen to use with him. Childhood awakening therapy was still in its experimental stage but there was some anecdotal evidence of people in comas responding to stimuli from their childhoods. Playing music, favourite movies or reading well-loved childhood stories had produced responses in some patients. I felt sure it wouldn’t compromise the care Jason was already receiving, and I was quietly confident it might be the key to getting him to wake. From what I’d gathered from his parents, he’d had a happy and contented childhood, which made him a perfect candidate.

Jason’s parents were keen to try anything to get their boy to wake up and his young wife, Megan, was also supportive. I didn’t want to offer them false hope but I was keen to try whatever I could to get the breakthrough everyone was hoping and praying for. The human brain had much more plasticity than the scientific community had realised up until recent times. It was an exciting time to be involved with neurosurgery as there were new techniques and advances in technology that brought relief and hope to patients who in the past would have had little or no hope of recovery.

I was on my way to Matt’s office twenty-five minutes later when Professor Cleary stopped me in the corridor. He was Head of Geriatrics and I generally avoided him as I found him so negative. He drained my energy if I hung around him too long. I often wondered how his patients put up with his bedside manner. I always had to remind myself to call him Professor Cleary instead of Dreary. One of the residents almost got fired when he let slip the nickname on a ward round.

But this time Prof Cleary wasn’t frowning or glowering in his usual doom-and-gloom manner. ‘Hello, Bertie,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘I’ve been hearing about your research project at the heads of department meeting.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘Best joke I’ve heard in years.’

I lifted my chin and eyeballed him. ‘What did you find so amusing about it?’

‘S.C.A.M.’ He chuckled again, a deep belly laugh that made the already frayed edges of my nerves rub raw. ‘Harrison Redding is kicking himself for not seeing it earlier. Clever of you to poke fun at the establishment like that. But it won’t win you any favours with the boss. He’s a sharp tack, isn’t he? Got a good reputation for getting the job done. You’ll have to watch yourself. I can’t see him letting you read his palm or his aura or whatever else it is you do.’

I clenched my jaw so hard it clicked audibly. I didn’t respond other than to give him a hard, tight smile and continued on my way to Matt’s office. But the sound of Professor Cleary’s chuckle followed me all the way down the corridor.

My skin rose in a hot prickle. Who else would be laughing at me by the end of the day? I had walked down a lot of corridors during my childhood and adolescence with that sound ringing in my ears. My face boiled with embarrassment. I was furious with Matt but I was even more furious with myself. I had set myself up for mockery and I hadn’t even realised it.

Honestly, a transactional analysis psychologist could conduct a whole conference on me.

I knocked on Matt’s door and he issued a curt command to come in. I stepped inside his office to see him sitting behind his desk with a grim look on his face. ‘You’re late.’

I pulled my shoulders back. Jem calls it my bracing-for-a-punch-up pose. I wouldn’t know the first thing about throwing a punch but I can look intimidating when I have to. Well, sort of. ‘I’m not at your beck and call, Dr Bishop,’ I said. ‘I have responsibilities and commitments that have nothing whatsoever to do with you. And while I’m on the subject of commitments and responsibilities, you had no right to use my project title as a source of amusement at your heads of department meeting.’

A challenging light came into his grey-blue eyes. ‘Are you asking to be fired?’

I held his look with equal force. ‘Are you threatening me?’

His eyes moved over my face, settling on my mouth as if he was remembering how it felt against his own. I couldn’t stop myself from moistening my lips. It was an instinctive reaction and my belly quivered when I saw him follow the movement.

His eyes came back to mine and I heard him release a short, whooshy sort of breath, as if he’d had a long, trying day. ‘I wasn’t responsible for that,’ he said. ‘One of the other department heads commented on it. It created a few laughs, sure, but I encouraged everyone to stick to the agenda. What you need to concentrate on is producing data.’

I wasn’t ready to be mollified even if he had stood up for me, which I very much doubted. I could imagine him smirking along with the rest of them, having a laugh at my expense. ‘I don’t appreciate being the butt of puerile boardroom jokes,’ I said. ‘My research is important to me and I know it can bring about better outcomes. I just need time to prove it.’

‘I have no issue with that,’ he said. ‘But that’s not why I asked you to come in here.’

I hooked one of my eyebrows upwards. Jem calls it my schoolmarm look. ‘Asked?’ I said. ‘Don’t you mean commanded?’

He gave me a levelling look. ‘One of the nurses mentioned you’re planning to do some extra therapy with Jason Ryder. I’d like you to explain to me exactly what it is you intend to do.’

I could see the scepticism in his expression. He had already made up his mind. He would rubbish my childhood awakening therapy like he’d rubbished my project. ‘What would be the point?’ I said. ‘You’ll just call it a whole lot of hocus-pocus.’

‘Hocus-pocus it may well be, but I would still like to know about it first rather than hear it second-hand from a junior nurse. That is not how I want to run this department.’

The clipped censure in his tone made my back come up. I could feel every knob of my spine tightening like a wrench on a bolt. ‘Even scientists have to have open minds, Dr Bishop. Otherwise they can be blinded by bias. They only see what they expect to see.’

His eyes battled with mine as his hands came down hard on the desk in front of him. ‘I’ll tell you what I expect to see, Dr Clark. Patients being treated with proven, testable treatments, not sprinkled with fairy dust or having crystals waved over them. I’m running an ICU department here, not a freaking New Age mind and body expo.’

I clenched my fists by my sides to stop myself from grabbing him by the front of his shirt. ‘Is there any space in that closed mind of yours for good old-fashioned hope? Or do you always expect the worst just to keep your back covered?’

A muscle moved in and out in his jaw as he straightened from the desk. ‘It’s not fair to offer hope when there is none. People’s lives—the ones left behind—get ruined by empty promises. Jason’s family needs reliable information and support right now, not sorcery.’

My eyes flared in outrage. I was so incensed I wanted to hit something. ‘Is that all you wanted to see me about? Because, if not, I have some spells to work on in my cauldron.’

A flicker of amusement momentarily disrupted the hardened line of his mouth. I got the feeling he was trying not to laugh. Somehow that made my anger cool a little. I liked it that he had a sense of humour. I liked it a lot more than I wanted to admit. ‘There’s one other thing,’ he said.

I folded my arms like a sulky teenager. I even pushed my bottom lip out in a pout. I know it was childish but he deserved it. Sorcery? Good grief. I hadn’t been to one of my parents’ seances in months. ‘What?’

‘We have a situation.’

‘We do?’

I was the one with A Situation. It was getting more and more ridiculous by the minute. Why, oh, why had I been so wretchedly cowardly about being jilted? Why hadn’t I told everyone the truth right from the start? I felt like all my lies had followed me into his office. They were stealing all the oxygen out of the air. It was like being in an overcrowded lift. I was finding it hard to breathe when he looked at me in that all-seeing way.

‘Last night—’

‘Was a mistake and it won’t be repeated,’ I said, before he could go any further. ‘I can’t believe I did that … we did that. I blame it on the champagne. I never drink on an empty stomach. It was totally out of character and I apologise for any …’ my eyes glanced briefly at his neck ‘… erm … inconvenience.’

His eyes continued to hold mine but his gave nothing away. It was like a drawbridge had come up. ‘I like to keep my private life out of the corridors of the hospital.’

‘Because of your ex?’ I said.

A flash of something hard moved in his gaze. ‘As I said, I like to keep my private life private.’

‘Fine. Me too.’

He gave me a long, measuring look. ‘If people were to put two and two together, things could get rather awkward for you.’

They couldn’t get any more awkward than they already are, I thought. ‘How is anyone going to know that what happened last night had anything to do with me?’

His poker face was back on but I was pretty sure there was a glint of amusement lurking in the back of his gaze. ‘So I take it you didn’t tell your husband?’

I pressed my lips together. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because … he wouldn’t understand.’ It sounded like a tawdry cliché. The bored and lonely, misunderstood wife looking for a bit of fun on the side.

Matt came around his desk and perched on one corner, his ankles crossed, his arms folded across the broad expanse of his chest. It was the sort of casual but incommand pose that signified a man who knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it.

It hit me then.

He wanted me.

I saw it in the gleam of his eyes as they held mine. I felt it in the electric charge of the air we shared. I felt it in the core of my body where a throb had started like a low, deep ache, slowly building to a pulsating need that radiated throughout my system. I folded my arms, as if that would help contain the fire that was raging in my blood.

‘Have you thought about my offer?’ he asked.

I swallowed tightly. ‘Um … your offer of what?’

His eyes tethered mine. ‘Exploring this thing between us.’

This thing between us … It was more than a thing. It was taking me over. My insides coiled with desire. I wanted him as much as he wanted me. The thought of an illicit affair with him was suddenly very tempting. I’d had such a boring sex life. This would be my chance to stretch my boundaries a bit. Gain a bit more experience with a man who truly wanted me. I could throw off my inhibitions and have a fling, like every other girl my age.

But how could I agree to such a thing while he thought I was married?

I unfolded my arms and held them stiffly by my sides, shooting him a caustic glare. ‘I suppose you think just because I allowed you to kiss me that it means I’m desperate to jump into bed with you. Well, guess what? I’m not. Going to jump into bed with you or kiss you or allow you to touch me or even look at me like that.’

‘Look at you like what?’

I glowered at him through eyes so narrowed I could barely see out of them. It was like peering through the eye of an embroidery needle. ‘You know exactly what I mean. You’re doing it now. You’re looking at me as if you’d like to strip me naked and have me on your desk.’

I really should think before I speak. It’s a bad habit of mine. The erotic premise of my words filled the air with a crackling tension that made the hairs on the back of my neck lift. The heat of his gaze seared its way through my body to gather in a molten pool between my legs. I even felt the skin on my body tingle and tickle all over, like the rapid spread of goose bumps.

In fact, I don’t think I’d ever been more aware of my body before that moment. All my erogenous zones—including some I hadn’t known I had—were flashing red hot, like a computer motherboard malfunctioning. My breasts tightened behind the lace shield of my bra. They felt twice their size—which would have been fabulous if it were physically possible—and overly sensitive. My mouth ached to feel his against it, in it, conquering it, devouring it. I ran the tip of my tongue over my lips and watched as he tracked its moist passage. My body silently screamed for him to close the distance, to crush his mouth to mine and do exactly as I’d so crudely said.

He moved away from the desk and came a step closer. I should have stepped back but, just like the time before, my feet felt clamped to the floor. He lifted my chin with the tip of his finger, just like those romantic heroes do in the movies. No one had ever done that to me before, which was kind of why I was acting so bunny-in-the-headlights. His fingertip felt warm and strong and yet gentle at the same time. I felt the tingle of his touch all the way to my toes. His gaze locked on mine, his pupils flared to deep pools of black ink. ‘What are you doing for dinner this evening?’ he asked.

I glared at him even harder, which was quite hard to do with him that close and smelling so lemony and citrusy. ‘Did you even hear what I just said?’

‘I’m free if you are.’

I tried for my best haughty tone. ‘It’s none of your business what I’m doing.’

‘You made it my business by kissing me.’

‘I did not kiss you!’ I stamped my foot for emphasis. ‘You kissed me. I just responded, which is perfectly understandable given I’d had a full glass of champagne.’

His eyes smouldered darkly as they held mine. ‘How about we try it without the champagne this time? See if we get the same response. That would be more scientific, wouldn’t you agree?’

I should have got away while I could but before I knew it his hands were on my upper arms and his mouth was on mine. It was a hard kiss, a proving-the-point kiss, but it was no less mind-blowing. My mouth opened under the heated pressure of his, my tongue mating with his in an erotic duel that made my insides shiver with lust.

I was hardly aware of doing so but suddenly my arms were snaking around his neck, my fingers lacing through the silky thickness of his hair as his mouth plundered mine. My breasts were so tightly jammed against him I could feel my nipples poking into his chest. My pelvis was on fire; I moved it against his in an attempt to assuage the grinding, empty ache of my body. His erection surged against me, potent and hard, powerful and dangerously tempting. I imagined him entering me, dividing my moist, hungry flesh and driving hard and repeatedly into me. I was so turned on I could feel the tingle of arousal tightening my core, the sensitive nerves pulsing in anticipation.

His hands cradled my head, his fingers strong and firm against my scalp. His teeth nipped and pulled at my lower lip, cajoling me into a payback game that made the base of my spine splinter into a million pieces like party glitter. I could barely stand upright. The sensations were earth-shattering as they coursed through me like the shot of a powerful drug. I was so pliable in his arms I was like a rag doll. I was melting into his hard frame as if I never wanted to be separate from him. I wanted to be fused to his body, to have him possess me and make me feel alive in a way I had never quite managed before.

‘God, this is crazy,’ he said against my mouth. I loved the tickling and tingling sensation his words created against my lips. It had an incendiary effect on me, making me kiss him with all the more shameful, wanton enthusiasm. I went back in search of his tongue, warring with it, teasing it to come and play with me.

His hands slid down my body to grasp me by the hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as if he never wanted to let me go. I could feel the throb of his arousal against me. It excited me to think I’d had that effect on him. But his hands didn’t stay for long on my hips. One went to the base of my spine to bring me hard against him while the other cupped my breast through my clothes. It wasn’t enough for me. I wanted his mouth on my breast. I tugged my shirt out of my jeans and guided his hand to my lace-covered breast.

He stroked his thumb over my budded nipple, creating a maelstrom of sensation that travelled through my body. He pushed my padded bra out of the way and lowered his head and took my breast in his mouth. Yes, it’s actually small enough to do that. Well, maybe not quite all the way into his mouth, but you get the idea. But it didn’t seem to matter to him that my breast was a little on the small side. He treated it like it was the most gorgeously ripe breast in the world. Seriously, you would’ve thought it was a Playboy Bunny’s breast. His tongue played with my nipple, circling it and teasing it into a tight pucker. I tilted back my head as he moved his mouth over the upper curve of my breast.

He did the same to the under-curve, which was even more tantalising. I hadn’t realised how sensitive my skin was there until his warm mouth and the sexily raspy skin of his chin and jaw moved against it.

He left my breast to come back to my mouth, subjecting it to a passionate onslaught that had me breathless and throbbing from head to toe with longing. I was aching with the need to have him inside me. I hadn’t even felt this turned on as a teenager. It was like discovering my female hormones for the first time. They were surging through my system like an unstoppable force. I wanted him and I wanted him now.

One of my hands went for the waistband of his trousers but he stilled my hand, pressing it against the turgid length of him. ‘Not here,’ he said.