The Rebel Doc: Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon / The Doctor's Redemption / Resisting Her Rebel Doc

CHAPTER FIVE

‘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.’

One of the other doctors chipped in, ‘How about a charity run or a bike ride? A run might work better—around one of the parks? Hyde Park would be good. I know they allow a certain number of small events like that. Or Regent’s? Or a skydive?’

Ivy beamed and shot an I told you so look at Matteo. ‘All of these things can catch the public’s eye—given enough warning, they would embrace it. We could get the message out via our usual social media outlets—contact radio stations directly, and get their followers to get involved—it’s a chain reaction. A personal message in a public forum often gets huge hits and a better positive response. Something like Want to fly high for St Carmen’s? Charity fundraising skydiving event—have fun and do some good! DM us back for details … Or something. That’s off the top of my head, and you’d need to do it in conjunction with marketing.’

Matteo nodded, impressed with the enthusiasm, although daunted by the amount of time it would need to do all this. ‘It sounds like a lot of work.’

‘And we’re not afraid of that.’ Ivy tapped her marker pen against her mouth as she thought. ‘It would be a team effort, anyway. Small amounts of time and energy spent efficiently, in the right ways.’

He preferred it, he mused to himself, when that mouth was not talking. When it was kissing him. Who would have thought that was how the evening would pan out? It had been a surprise even to him. More so, the way she’d kissed him back with such hunger had stoked a fierce heat inside him, one that had him wanting more from her in a way that he hadn’t wanted someone in a very long time.

Which was warning enough. No more kissing.

The afternoon crawled along and eventually the workshops came to a close, and he wasn’t sure whether it was such a coincidence that he was, once again, the last person to be leaving the room. His feet seemed to have started a revolution and were taking their time in walking towards the door.

‘Mr Finelli. May I, please, have a word?’ She sounded like a schoolteacher. Which made him grin to himself. That kiss had shaken her. And it had probably been wrong of him to have done it—but, Dio mio, she had looked so uptight and uncomfortable and after the kiss it had been like looking at a different woman. Her hair had become messed a little and her lips had swollen, her cheeks pink, but her eyes—man, her eyes had been alive. That intense green flecked with gold, and sparkling. Just sparkling.

Despite that, he knew bone deep that it had been a crazy thing to do. He had no business kissing Miss Poison Ivy. They were poles apart in everything, not least that he was a one-night-stand man and she looked, as far as he could see, like a one-man-only woman. No—it wasn’t going to happen again.

He turned, but made sure he stayed where he was at the door—all the better to make a quick exit before any more kissing happened. ‘Sure. What can I do for you?’

‘Nothing. That’s exactly it. I don’t want you to do anything else. Ever.’ She walked towards him, her mouth fixed and determined. Her gait, as always, just the tiniest bit off balance. ‘No touching. No kissing. Nothing.’

‘The kiss? You want to talk about it? I thought you would almost burn up with the heat. It was good, yes?’ Just thinking about it again sent hot, sharp need rippling through him.

She shook her head, holding her workbag against her chest. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘You say that a lot.’

‘Say what?’

‘“That’s not the point.”‘ He removed his hand from the doorhandle and tried not to touch her. ‘When you deny how you’re feeling, or what you’re thinking, you close off a corner of yourself.’ And he should learn a lesson from his own words—but, hell, he’d learnt to close himself off to attaching any kind of sentiment to a kiss. It was just human nature. It was lust. It was natural desire, that was all. This time he was in control and calling the shots and, besides, he had no intention of taking it any further. He just couldn’t. ‘It is exactly my point. It is a simple answer, yes? Or no? You liked the kiss?’

‘Is not the poi—Oh …’ she frowned and he thought for a moment she would stamp her foot in irritation, but instead she gave him a haughty smile. ‘You are insufferable.’

‘Hey, come on, I was there. I know that you liked it. Try to be honest, Ivy. Your eyes give you away anyway. You liked the kiss and you want to do it again, but you won’t. You have a very strong resolve and kissing won’t get you where you want to be. Is that right?’

‘Yes. Absolutely.’

‘But still you liked it.’

Now she looked like she was trying not to laugh, that pretty mouth curling at the edges, light in the green eyes. ‘You are very annoying, Matteo. Okay. If I say yes, will you shut up?’

‘Perhaps. Take a chance and see.’ He raised his eyebrows and waited. And waited some more as the silence in the room became amplified and the lack of anyone else there became more and more obvious. They were alone and if kissing was on the agenda it could happen here. Now. And no one apart from them would ever know. He perched on the edge of one of the tables. ‘And …?’

She glared at him, all humour and frustration and tightlipped. And eventually she shook her head and tsked. ‘God, will you never give up? I liked the kiss, okay?’

As he’d thought. ‘Good. You said it and nothing bad happened, so it wasn’t so hard to be honest and open, was it? I liked it too, but it wasn’t a sensible move.’

‘No. It wasn’t.’

‘And if we do it again?’ What was it about her that made him so rash? He wanted to say things to her that he’d never said to anyone else. ‘You will slap me with a sexual harassment complaint?’

‘Oh, no. I wouldn’t do that. I fully acknowledge my part in it.’ The smile gave way to a frown. ‘It is mighty tempting.’

Indeed it was. Achingly so. And a lesser man might well have tried it again. But Matteo knew the score, he had nothing but respect for her and would not step over a line that she drew. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be friends with her, somehow.

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.