How to Resist a Heartbreaker

CHAPTER TWO

‘I CAN REMEDY THAT.’ Max’s forehead rested against hers, his breathing finally steadying. He’d met his match here. Hallelujah. Things could get very interesting between now and tomorrow morning. ‘I’m not back on duty for a few hours. You?’

Gabby frowned. ‘Early shift. And as it’s my first day in charge, I have to make an impression—so watch out, Mr Maitland. I can be ruthless.’

‘Woo—scary nurse lady.’ But, yes, they would be colleagues from tomorrow. Damn. This was getting too complicated. He hesitated, his judgement getting the better of him. And his conscience too.

He didn’t know her—but what he’d seen so far was that no matter how much of a front she put up, she had shadows, and a past—or else why would she be in the pub on her own, hell-bent on getting wasted?

And he didn’t want to veer into that kind of territory.

But she was intriguing. Strong and strident one minute, sexy siren the next, and all the time with an undercurrent of vulnerability that tugged at his protective instinct.

And right now he wanted to bury himself inside her. Not just anyone. Not someone. Her.

‘Hey.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Earth to Max.’

‘You want to talk about why you were in the pub?’

‘No. I don’t want to talk at all. Don’t ask me anything, and I won’t ask you.’ She placed her finger to his lips. ‘You don’t want more. And neither do I. So forget the sensitive-guy thing.’

‘But.?’

‘But nothing. Tonight we are … friends. Tomorrow we are co-workers. I can cope with that if you can. Seriously. Cross my heart.’

Her fingers tiptoed down his shirt buttons and she drew a cross over his heart. When she peered up at him through thick black eyelashes he caught the flash of desire in her eyes. ‘Now you are severely dropping in my ratings. If you want to get back up to at least a seven, you’ve got a bit of work to do.’

‘Seven? How did that happen?’

She wiggled her hips against his thigh. ‘You, Mr Maitland, are all talk and no action.’

‘You want action? Right.’ Max walked her across the deserted street and into his apartment block. Crazy stuff. He never offered his place. One of his rules, and he had a few—no staying the night. No promises of anything. Anything. No sharing his private cave. That was way too personal—and he didn’t do intimacy on any level, not if he could help it. But his apartment was close by. And what they needed right now was hot and quick. He punched ‘P’ and the lift jolted.

‘You live in the penthouse? Wow.’

‘Sure. You have a problem with heights?’

He couldn’t resist the smile. It had taken a lot of damned hard work to earn enough to get this place—but it had been worth every hour and every cent just to see the look on his uncle’s face. ‘We could go back to the ground floor. I own an apartment there too—but it’s rented out at the moment—could be a bit crowded.’

‘Now you’re just showing off.’

‘Oh, believe me, I haven’t even started.’ He nibbled her ear and watched her squirm with delight further into his arms. Her scent coated everything—her hair, her skin—his skin. And it fired a zillion nerve endings in his groin.

He swiped his card and opened the apartment door, activating the lights.

He couldn’t help the smile when Gabby gasped. Whether it was at the one-eighty-degree view of Auckland’s glittering night skyline or his kisses on the back of her neck he didn’t know. Either way, with her sharp intake of breath he was all turned on as hell. He took her hand and led her into his space.

‘Wow! Look! The lights. You didn’t even touch a switch.’

He laughed. ‘There was me thinking my kisses made you gasp.’

‘You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?’ But she traced a finger down his cheek and over his lips. ‘Do it again.’

He waved a hand and the room plunged into darkness again. ‘Like that?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Palms worked their way down to his chest.

Then the lights came on again.

Then off.

Then on.

She grinned as he caught her, her arm in mid-air. ‘Oops. In the real world we have flicky switch things. This is so cool.’

As the room plunged into darkness again he found her mouth, the pressure of her fingers on his back stoking the fire in his belly. He guided her to the couch, raking his hands through those thick curls he’d been aching to touch all evening.

With every stroke of his tongue she moaned with pleasure, sending him dangerously closer to the edge. He undid the buttons on her blouse, slid his hand under her bra, felt the delicious contraction of her nipples against his palm.

He struggled with an intense need to take her. Here. Now. But he sensed he needed to take it more slowly with her. Wanted to take it more slowly. They only had a few hours before morning and he felt as if time was running out. If he hurried, the magic would be lost too soon.

When he pulled away slightly he watched her face transform from beguiling to bewitched as she gazed across the room to the city view.

‘This place is freakin’ huge! Incredible! Look at all those lights, the harbour. I can see a cruise ship down there in dock. It’s magical.’ Then she glanced around the moonlit room, her delight evident, like a kid in a sweet shop. ‘The glass … so much glass … must cost a fortune in window cleaning.’ She laughed, ran her hand along the top of the couch. ‘And all these white fixtures, the blonde wood … but no knick-knacks? Pictures? Photos?’

‘No.’ He wouldn’t explain.

‘What about Jamie? Your family? You must have photos of them.’

‘I don’t like clutter.’ He’d managed to live like that for a long time. No mess—physical or emotional. ‘I keep things simple.’

‘I see. Noted.’ She paused and seemed to take that in. Then she nodded, understanding his hint not to probe further. ‘It’s stark, but breathtaking. I’ve never seen such a space. It’s like something out of a magazine.’

‘Metro House Monthly—February edition.’ At her frown he explained. ‘The interior designer was pretty happy with it so she booked an editorial. There’s a spa, too, out there in the garden.’

‘You have a spa and a garden all the way up here? Oh. My. God.’ She ran to the Ranchslider doors but he flicked the remote and they opened before she got there.

‘Oh.’ Disappointment laced her voice as she stepped out. ‘That’s not a garden, it’s a desert. There’s nothing here.’

‘I don’t have time to look after plants. I hardly have time to sleep these days.’ He tutted, took her hand and walked her across the empty decking space towards the spa.

Looking at it all through her eyes, yes, it was kind of sparse. Just how he’d planned it. Uncomplicated, stressfree.

Just like Gabby seemed to be. Instead of all the pretence that he usually went through with women—the faux affection, the predictable seduction, the craning of their necks to see the colour of his credit card before they said yes—Gabby seemed undeniably, ruthlessly real.

Her bright-eyed reaction to his apartment was genuine, not greedy. She’d been honest about her expectations. And flirty and unexpectedly fun.

A pinky-orange glow shimmered across the balcony, illuminating the red and gold highlights in her hair, her dewy skin, warm eyes. She fitted perfectly into his arms, soft curves filled with promises.

No, it wasn’t his flat that was breathtaking—Gabby was. How amazing to make love with her out here in the moonlight … in the spa.

Anywhere.

She leaned back against the railings, her forehead crinkled with frown lines. For a moment he felt like he’d disappointed her, but then she smiled. ‘If I lived here I’d have an oasis—somewhere I could come sit and read, relax. A sky garden with lots of plants. A home isn’t a home without flowers and plants.’

Where’s home? The question almost tripped off his tongue, but he remembered their agreement—no questions. His hands ran over her shoulders, down her triceps, and he realised she was shivering in the early-winter breeze. He locked her into his arms. ‘I’m not into flowers and plants. That’s girl stuff.’

‘No. Real men get their hands dirty.’ Taking his hand in hers, she examined it. ‘You’ve got surgeon’s hands. Wow. Just think of all the lives these hands have saved.’ She pressed her lips into his palm, kept her eyes locked with his, then slowly placed his hand over her breast. Went up on tiptoe and filled his mouth with her tongue.

Maybe this was a dream. A post-surgery dead-on-his-feet hallucination. A beautiful woman. A still night. Promises … Anytime soon and his cellphone was bound to go off. He was going to wake up.

On paper she was his perfect woman: she didn’t want a relationship, didn’t want more than one night. Was happy to forget it all tomorrow. Just like him. Sure, on paper she was perfect, but there must be a catch. There was always a catch. ‘Are you for real?’

‘No, I’m a figment of your imagination. Open your eyes and I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke … gone …’ she whispered, and giggled.

‘Then I’ll keep them shut. I don’t want you disappearing on me. Not just yet.’ He kissed her again hard and fast, cupping her breast. Her excited moans of pleasure spurred him on. Just the simple act of kissing her was a sensual feast that he didn’t want to end. Her hips ground against his and suddenly a fire blazed in his groin, hot and hard. Tearing at her straps, he removed her top, lifted her bra and took one nipple into his mouth.

Watching the reaction on her face—concentrated joy—spurred him to give the other nipple the same treatment.

She clutched at his hair. ‘Oh, God, this is so good. I don’t suppose this place has a bedroom?’

‘I have three.’

‘Goody. Which one do we start in?’

Her skin against his mouth fired spasms of need through him. He dragged his lips from her shoulder. ‘Master. Now.’

‘Don’t stop, though. Don’t stop.’ Ignoring her groans of protest, he took her hand and led her into his bedroom. ‘Wow. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more impressive.’

As she pointed to his bed he was hit with a surge of pride. Okay, so it was a handcrafted masterpiece, imported mahogany, Egyptian cotton. Yeah, it was impressive.

But when she said, ‘It looks so perfect I daren’t mess it up,’ he swooped her into his arms and lifted her onto his bed—her dark hair instantly flaming against the white linens. Her skirt ruched up to her hips, revealing long shapely legs.

Palming her thigh, he joined her on the bed. She edged closer, fitted into his space. Kissed him again, soft and sweet. Then in an electric moment the tension ratcheted, the kissing became more frenetic, the need more explicit.

He slipped her skirt off, kissing across her bellybutton down to the edge of her panties. ‘How am I doing on the rating front?’

‘Oh … nearing eight …’ she breathed out on a sigh.

‘Only an eight? I show you this … I do this … and this …’ He moved back up to her neck, nibbled her ear, slicked a slow trail from her lobe. Tweaked her nipple again with his hot mouth. ‘And I only get an eight?’

‘Hey, a guy’s always got room for improvement.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Grabbing his condoms from the bedside-table drawer, he paused and looked at her. Realised he didn’t want hot and quick. Wanted long and slow. And maybe again tomorrow.

He shook those kinds of thoughts from his head—useless and pointless. People walked through his life, no one ever stayed for long. That was how it worked for him. And for Gabby, too, it seemed. ‘Are you sure?’

Placing her hands on his chest, she frowned. ‘I want you to know this is not something I’ve done in a very long time. I don’t usually … you know … do this … I am on the Pill but, yes, definitely use a condom.’

She seemed hesitant. Maybe the alcohol was wearing off. Good call—he wanted her head to be in full working order if they were going to do this. No regrets for either of them. He brought her fingertips to his mouth. ‘It’s okay, you know. I could take you home. We don’t have to do this.’

‘Oh, yes, we do. You promised me hot and quick.’ Gabby’s courage had begun to waver, but her need to have him hadn’t diminished. No, siree.

Running her hands over his back towards his waist, she pulled him to her and crushed her lips against his. A surge of heat spiralled through her from the small of her back to the top of her head. Mr I’m Sexy was so different from any other man she’d kissed. Not that there’d been many—she’d made sure of that.

Dumb, really, that on today of all days she was doing this. When she should be staying away from any kind of risk. But the headier the risk, the more her body wanted to take it. Take him. Now. And nothing was going to stop her finally taking something for herself.

Because, for the first time in forever, she felt absolutely, totally free.

Scragging his shirt over his head, she slicked kisses down his hard chest, over a smattering of hair, across hard muscle. He pressed against her as he shucked off his jeans. His hands grasped her hips, slipping off her pants, fingers reaching her inner thigh.

For a moment she stiffened, worried about what could happen. If she even knew what to do now. If she would be enough for him. What would happen afterwards. Tried to put out of her mind what had happened last time she’d done this.

But unlike last time she wasn’t an innocent grasping at a fairytale, looking for an escape and dreaming about happy ever after—this time she knew exactly where she was headed. Sex. Need. No promises. No illusions. She was a woman, powerful and in control.

His hands stroked her skin and it felt as if he was stroking her insides too. And she wanted more. His kisses heated her. Banished the cold she’d felt for so long. Stoked the fire that raged from her belly to her breasts and that didn’t stop … couldn’t stop … wouldn’t stop until he was inside her.

Then there he was, edging into her, telling her to relax, calling her beautiful over and over. Until she truly believed she could be. His breathing quickened and his words stopped, and all she could hear was their sighs and the thud of her heart and the blood pounding round her veins. Until he took her over the edge, and all sounds splintered into one explosion of shuddering joy.

A perfect ten.

A harsh, tinny tune jolted Max awake. His first instinctive reaction was to feel across the duvet for the uncompromising Gabby.

His second was to reach for his phone.

God, he was doomed.

And she was gone. He’d opened his eyes and she’d disappeared, just like she’d promised. Which irritated him more than it should have. Most women wanted him to stay, had always been put out when he’d made up his excuses and left.

He’d never had the time or the inclination to invest in anything longer than a fling. And he’d certainly never given any woman time to do the walking—he’d had enough of people he loved disappearing from his life already.

But the room still smelt of her scent. The sheets did. And so did he.

His phone blared again.

Focusing on the lurid green message, his heart began to race. Jamie.

A rising temperature less than twenty-four hours post-op. Dipped urine output. Distressed kid.

Within minutes he was on the HDU, trying to keep his voice in check so as not to spook Jamie’s mum, Jodi. He scratched his head as he approached the bed, still unused to her being round again after so long.

It was weird enough when Mitch had dated Max’s ex. But even more awkward to have her back in his life, at his work after so long. Not that anything lingered between them anymore, except his wish they could all move on. But Jodi’s hurt was still there, along with his brother’s betrayal. Unmentioned. Unresolved. Like everything with Mitch.

His attempts not to growl at the surgical on-call house officer disappeared along with any trace of post-damned-fine-sex good humour.

‘I need full blood and urine screens, swab drain and catheter sites, keep an eye on central venous pressure and his blood pressure. How long has his temp been this high?’

‘An hour, maybe two.’

‘And you waited to tell me. Why? I said I was to be contacted immediately if there was a change in his condition.’

‘I thought we could control it. I was hoping the paracetamol would hold it in check.’

‘Since when does paracetamol hold an infection in check? You wanted to mask the symptoms and not investigate them. Pretend he hasn’t got a problem, right? Great.’ God, he was surrounded by.

He took a breath. It was the middle of the night. They were tired. He was tired. And poor Jamie. Thick, dark shadows edged the little boy’s eyes as he stared up at them.

Max’s heart squeezed. He never allowed himself to feel anything but professional concern for his patients. But Jamie? Jamie was special. He was the sticking plaster they needed to stick them all back together. They hadn’t come this far for the kid to get sick again. Not on his watch, anyway.

He should never have left them this evening. Even though he’d been exhausted by the surgeries and countless demands on his time.

He shouldn’t have gone to the bar. Even though he’d left clear and strict instructions with his staff.

He shouldn’t have taken Gabby to his apartment. Just in case something like this happened.

So that was a mistake he wasn’t going to repeat. He didn’t need a hefty dose of guilt to add to his conscience.

Although Jodi was a doctor, he tried to explain the turn of events in everyday language. Knowing that in the middle of a long night, with spiralling concern, technical terms wouldn’t be much use.

‘Jamie’s got a spiking temperature. Which could mean one of a few things. Pneumonia, urine infection or just something sticky at the drain sites.’

‘Or it could be rejection, right?’ Her palm covered her mouth as she held in the tears Max knew she wanted to shed.

Accelerated acute rejection—death of the kidney soon after operation. He didn’t want to imagine it.

He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he would with any other patient’s relative, but did she think that was strange coming from him? So far he’d played out the ex card pretty well, but everything normally clear-cut had become muddied. He focused instead on upholding his professional manner. Hiding behind that was preferable to dealing with emotions.

‘It’s a very real possibility, but he has a reasonable urine output. We’re doing a blood scan and antibody check. Honestly, it could be anything. It’s quite common to have some sort of low-grade infection post-op. So we’ll increase the antibiotics and titrate his fluid input. That should keep him comfortable.’

‘Okay.’ Jodi’s lip wobbled as she looked equally uncomfortable. ‘Er … thanks. For everything.’

‘Hey, it’s my pleasure. Anytime.’ Although heading up the team operating on his twin brother and his nephew in a double-whammy of transplant surgeries was a one-off he hoped never to repeat.

As he injected more antibiotics into Jamie’s Luer, Max dredged up a smile for Jodi. ‘How’s Mitch doing?’

‘He’s fine. He was wheeled in for a few minutes to say good-night to Jamie, but he was wiped out after his operation so he went to sleep. He says to say thanks, mate.’

Mate? Since when was he his brother’s mate? Maybe they were finally getting somewhere. Such a shame it had taken something so drastic to get them talking again. Max huffed out a breath.

Jodi managed a tired smile in return and he felt a strange pang of regret. Not of losing her—because she had been so wrong for him and so right for Mitch—but because he’d never seen anyone have that love-filled, misty-eyed look over him.

Must be getting soft.

‘You look bushed. Why don’t you have a lie-down?’ He dragged over a foldaway bed, grabbed some pillows and covers, and made her sit down. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll stay right here with him.’

‘But what about his temperature? Or if he cries?’ She was terrified and exhausted and what she needed was a rest, away from the eternal twilight of the hospital ward. A foldaway bed was the closest he could come to providing that.

Not for the first time he wished he could do something, anything, to prevent his estranged family from suffering through this.

‘Then I’ll wake you up. Trust me. We’ll be fine.’ Resisting an urge to drop a kiss on his cute cheek, he scruffed the boy’s hair instead. Keeping a lid on his emotions at work was his mojo—and he intended to keep it that way.

The boy murmured a little but finally went back to sleep, leaving Max in the cold silence with too many thoughts.

Too many worries about the fate of this little chap.