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Mind you, with those dark Mediterranean eyes, that proud haughty jaw and thoughts of what was under those scrubs, it was probably a good thing. And it would be hard to concentrate on her talk with that glower searing a hole in her soul.
‘Okay, Miss Leigh …’ Becca handed her the folders of hand-outs for the participants. ‘One each and a few to spare. Morning tea’s at ten-thirty. Catering will deliver at about ten-fifteen.’
‘And lunch? You know how these things go. If they don’t get regularly fed and watered they get grouchy.’
‘One o’clock. In the Steadman Room. Oh, and the laptop’s all set up with the projector, you’re good to go. Good luck.’
Excellent. Everything was running perfectly, apart from a niggle of a headache. ‘Thanks, and, Becca, please, please, drop the formality and call me Ivy. I know the last incumbent had you calling him sir, but I do things differently.’
‘Okay. If you’re su …’ Her assistant’s face grew a deep shade of puce as her gaze fixed on something over Ivy’s shoulder. ‘Oh … Just, oh.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, yes. Just peachy. Such a shame he’s a break-your-heart bad boy.’ Becca grinned, and moved forward as if levitated and as if breaking your heart was some kind of spectator sport and he was the numero uno world champion title-holder. Which he probably was. ‘Mr Finelli, please grab a coffee first and then take a seat. Let me show you where the cups are.’
Great. For some reason Ivy’s heart jigged a little. First-time nerves, probably. She was always jittery at the beginning of a workshop. There was so much to think about … technology not working, correct air-conditioning levels—too hot and everyone fell asleep, too cold and no one could concentrate—snacks arriving on time, holding everyone’s attention, keeping track …
Suddenly he was walking towards her. She imagined Becca would think him hot, all brooding chocolate-fudge eyes and unruly dark hair. But Ivy had switched off her sexy radar years ago when she’d learned that men wanted their women perfect, and that she didn’t fit that bill. Since then she’d watched her flatmates have their hearts broken and her mother reduced … just less, diminished somehow … because of a man—and Ivy had decided she wasn’t going there. Give her books and her career any day. There was something perfect about a beginning, a middle and an end of a novel—a whole. Complete. And, truth be told, reading was just about all she had the energy to do after a day’s work.
Unlike the other consultants, he’d adopted informal dress—no suit and tie for Dr Delicious of peachy-bottom fame. Just a white T-shirt over formidable shoulders, with dark jeans hugging slender hips. The same uniform she’d seen on every youth in Florence when she’d been there on a weekend break. She imagined him with dark aviator sunglasses on, perched on a moped like something out of a nineteen-fifties movie. Then her mind wandered back to that picture of him naked, and the knowledge of exactly what was under that uniform made her feel strangely uncomfortable. Heat shimmied through her. It was unseasonably warm in here—a spring heatwave, perhaps? Too many bodies in such a small room? She must ask someone to fiddle with the air-con at once.
Where was she? Ah, yes, keeping … what? Keeping track. Focus.
‘Good morning, Miss Leigh. And so it begins.’ Oh … and then there was the accent. Kind of cute, she supposed. If you were Becca and easily taken in by deep honeyed tones melting over your skin. She let it wash right over her, along with the irritated vibe that emanated from his every pore.
‘Mr Finelli, glad you could eventually join us. I hear you kicked up a bit of a fuss about it all, though.’
A frown appeared underneath the dark curls that fell over his forehead. ‘The HR director is as enthusiastic about this as you are, it seems. Does no one in this hospital have any common sense, Miss Leigh?’
‘That is exactly what I’m trying to engender with this course, but some of our staff seem to want to flaunt themselves at every opportunity. And, please, call me Ivy.’
‘Ivy, ah, yes. But only if you call me Matteo. Or if you can’t manage that, Matt will do. Ivy.’ He smiled as if something other than this conversation was amusing him. He took a sip of black coffee and winced. ‘Dio, more poison. Why is coffee so bad here?’
More poison? What in hell did that mean.? Uh-oh, she could guess. ‘Poison ivy? Really? Is that the best you can do? I’ve been hearing that since I was in kindergarten. I expected better … more … from you, Mr Finelli. Oh, sorry, Matteo. Please, do try harder.’
He put the cup into his saucer, clearly much more insulted by his drink than her words. ‘I was just seeing what it would take to wind you up—not a lot, it seems.’
She played it cool, ignoring the fluster in her gut. ‘Oh, make no mistake, I’m not wound up. Just disappointed by your performance so far.’
The smile he gave her was wicked and it tickled her deep inside. ‘Oh, trust me, Miss Leigh, no woman has ever been disappointed by my performance.’
Heat hit her cheeks as she realised she’d been drawn in and chewed up—worse, he was flirting and she could barely admit to herself that she was a little intrigued by someone so sure of himself. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she willed it to slow. This sort of battleground tactic was way out of her league—flirting wasn’t something she was used to. A cold, hard stare and feigned disinterest had always been enough to keep any potential lovers at bay, that and her refusal to undress in anything other than darkness. Plus a side helping of reservation had helped, and a desire to not end up like her mother.
No way would she let a man have any kind of effect on her … no way would she let this man have any kind of effect on her.
What she needed was to put him on side and a little off balance. She looked at his cup and wondered … maybe if she let him in on her little coffee secret he might just be so taken aback he’d sit quietly at the back of the class and listen, instead of—She could only imagine what he had in store. Creating merry hell about her subject matter. What better way to derail him than by being friendly? She leaned a little closer and whispered, ‘There’s a coffee shop down the road on the corner, Enrico’s, great coffee. I always make sure I get one on my way into work, it keeps me going. I don’t like to offend the catering staff here so I decant it into one of their cups.’
‘And now we have a secret shared. Me, too. And who would have thought you could be so subversive? Maybe there is more to you than I thought.’ His eyes widened and then he winked. ‘Enrico’s a friend, and, yes, his coffee is the best this side of the English Channel. Although that isn’t hard.’
‘No. I guess not.’ Subversive? Subversive? And to her chagrin that thought made her feel damned good. Although it was a stretch even for her imagination—she’d spent the better part of her life working hard and toeing every line she found. Her gaze roved over his face, all swarthy and handsome … no, beautiful, if you were the sort to get carried away by tall, dark and breathtaking. She wasn’t.
Then she caught his eye. For a second, or two, maybe more, he looked at her, those dark brown eyes reaching into her soul and tugging a little. There was something about him that was deeper than she’d imagined … something more … She was caught by the hints of honey and gold in his irises, his scent of cleanness and man, and out of the two of them she realised that she was the one a little off balance. So not the plan.
The chatter in the room seemed to dull a little and he turned away, the connection broken. Ivy took a breath. For a moment he’d almost seemed human. But then he turned back, all trace of the friendliness she’d thought she’d seen wiped clear.
His voice lowered. ‘So, I am keeping my side of the bargain and here I am. I’m losing valuable operating hours so you’d better blow my damned socks off with this. I’m looking forward to you joining us tomorrow. We have a double whammy for you. In theatre one we have a live donor retrieval. And next door, in theatre two, we will be performing, for your delight and delectation, a renal—that means kidney—transplant on a twelve-year-old girl. I hope you’ve got stamina as well as balls because you’re going to need it. It’s going to be a long day.’
He thought she had balls? Was that a compliment? Or did he just see her as an equally worthy opponent? She hoped so. ‘I am well aware of what renal means, and cardio, hepatology and orthopaedic … Throw me a word, Mr Finelli, and I’m pretty sure I’d be able to translate from medico to legal to layman and back again—I aced Latin and my mother’s a GP. I won my high school creative writing prize five years in a row and my favourite subject was Classics, so I think I cover all linguistic challenges. And I’ve got a lot more stamina than most.’ She just wasn’t going to mention the teeny-weeny little fact that she was also a fully paid-up member of the hemophobia club. One speck of blood and she was on her back.
So far in her hospital career she’d been able to avoid any incidents by making sure she was never in the wrong place at the wrong time—or always getting out quickly. No way would she admit to being nervous or in any way intimidated at the prospect of watching an operation—no, two operations. A real baptism of fire. ‘Actually, I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Me, too.’ His mouth curled into a smile that was at once mesmerising and irritating. Heat swirled in her chest and she felt an unfamiliar prickling over her skin. Maybe her sexy radar had flickered back into life?
She brushed that thought away immediately. She had more important things to deal with than wayward, unsatisfied hormones.
Because somehow between now and tomorrow she was going to have to overcome her fear of blood. Maybe a quick phone call to Mum for some anti-anxiety drugs? Hypnotherapy? Although she’d heard the best way to deal with phobias was immersion therapy, she just hadn’t ever put her hand up for it.
She also had to work out how she was going to stand for eight hours straight when her doctors had distinctly advised her against doing any such thing. Never mind. That was tomorrow. Today she had another hurdle to jump.
Stepping away from him, she nodded across the room to Becca, who rang a bell, drawing everyone’s attention.
‘Good morning, everyone.’ Ivy made sure the room was silent before she continued and stepped up to the raised area. ‘Thank you so much for coming today. I have what I hope will be an enlightening presentation that will entertain you as well as teach you something. I hope you don’t mind if I take a seat every now and then up here on the stage—it means you get to see the slides and informative videos and not me, which I’m sure you’ll all agree is preferable.’
In keeping with the presentations skills she’d honed over the years she ensured she made eye contact with as many people as possible. When her gaze landed on Matteo he looked straight back at her from his front-row seat, teasing and daring lighting up his eyes, but she had no idea what was going through his mind. She had no way of reading him, but she got the distinct impression he was weighing her up, his scrutinising gaze making her catch her breath.
Bring it on, Matteo Finelli, she tried to tell him right back. She was ready for this. Bring it on.
This was just the beginning.
‘To recap, we have a social media policy for three main reasons: protecting patient confidentiality; protecting and promoting our brand; and protecting our staff. Be very sure that what you say is how you want to be seen, and remember that if something you put up on networking sites can be connected with St Carmen’s or our patients in any way then that may result in disciplinary action. There is a lot of chatter out there and how we present ourselves is extremely important; it’s very hard to erase a message or a footprint once it’s out. These things have a habit of coming back to bite us in the proverbial behind.’
Matteo watched as Ivy’s eyes flicked to him and he felt the sting of her retort. Okay, so having his behind out there for all the world to see hadn’t been the wisest idea his friend had had, and Matteo was starting to understand a little of the ruckus it had caused. St Carmen’s had a solid reputation for putting children first and he could see that having a connection with a naked man may well have done some damage. But, really, four sessions to get that message across? What in hell could next week’s workshop be about?
Poison Ivy was certainly passionate about her job, he’d give her that. And her presentation skills had been first rate. He got the impression that public speaking was something she could do with finesse but that she didn’t exactly love it. Her voice was endlessly enthusiastic, and he caught a hint of an accent … although not being native to England he couldn’t quite place it. She certainly looked the part with another smart dark trouser suit and silk blouse—today it was a deep cobalt blue that had him reminiscing about the summer skies back home. And he felt another sting—sharp enough to remind him of the folly of thinking too hard and investing too much. And that love, in its many forms, could cut deeply.
But Ivy’s ballsy forthrightness coupled with the curve-enhancing trousers and form-fitting blouse had piqued his imagination. Although why, he didn’t know, she was the exact opposite of everything he usually liked in a woman. He went for tall women, and she was petite. He had a track record of tousled brunettes, and she was blonde with a … what was it? Yes, a pixie cut. He liked to entertain and enthral and she showed nothing but disinterest bordering on contempt. He wasn’t usually spurned—spurning was his role. Ah, no—he never led a woman to believe he would give any more than a good time. Until the good times became more one-sidedly meaningful—and that was the signal to get out.
Putting this sudden interest down to the thrill of the chase, he nodded to her, raising his eyebrows. Do go on.
She gave him a disinterested smile and looked at someone else. ‘I hope you’ve all enjoyed our journey into cyberspace and an overview of social media opportunities—as you can see, they are many and varied and more are exploding onto our screens and into our homes every day. Now that we’ve highlighted our hospital policy, I hope you can see how and when mistakes can be made, even from the comfort of your own sofa when you think you’re engaging in a private conversation. Nothing is ever private on the internet. Next week we’ll be talking about the good, the bad and the very ugly of social networking sites. In the meantime, in the words of someone much wiser than me … when it comes to the World Wide Web, don’t be that person with the smartphone making dumb mistakes.’
And everyone around him seemed to have enjoyed themselves immensely. She gave a shy smile at their applause and then concentrated on logging off the laptop and clearing away her papers.
He followed the queue to the door but before he’d made it out he heard her voice. ‘Mr Finelli?’
‘Yes?’
She stepped down from the small stage and walked towards him, trying hard but not quite managing to hide the limp that now, at the end of a day when she’d mostly been standing, clearly gave her pain. ‘I hope that was insightful?’
‘It could have been a lot quicker.’
‘Not everyone is as quick thinking as you.’ She bit her bottom lip as if trying to hold back a smile. ‘Besides, we have some very recalcitrant staff members who insist they know better than we do on these matters. I need to make sure I hammer out our message loud and clear.’
Remembering her barb, he gave her a smile back. ‘I felt the hammer.’
‘Good. My job here is done. I hope in future you’ll be contemplating how to send positive messages that reflect the nature of our business. Or, indeed, not sending messages at all.’
‘The only positive messages I need to send are in the numbers of children I and the renal department save. And in how many families don’t have to endure suffering or loss of life.’
She studied him. ‘Well, maybe a bit of help in drumming up support for your unit is in order? You could harness the wave, do some awareness campaigns and get … what? What is on your wish list?’
He didn’t need to think twice about this—the same thing every transplant unit across the world wanted. ‘More organ donors, more people willing to sign up to donate when they die. More dialysis machines. More research.’
‘So put your thinking hat on and see if you can come up with a way of reaching out to people across the internet. Without taking your clothes off? There are plenty of people here in London wanting to help a good cause … but many more reaching out across the internet. Just imagine … Well, have a good evening, I’ll see you in the morning. Bright and breezy.’ Then she gave him a real smile. An honest to God, big smile that lit up her face. And, Mio Dio, the green in her eyes was intense and mesmerising. Her mouth an impish curl that invited him to join her in whatever had amused her. And something in his chest tugged. It was unbalancing and yet steadying at the same time.
‘Where are you from?’ For some reason his longing-to-leave brain had been outsmarted by his wanting-to-stay mouth.
Her smile melted away. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Your accent. I’m not used to all the different ones yet. Other people say Landan … you say Lundun.’
Gathering all her gear together, she shovelled folders under one arm and carried a laptop in her hand. With a hitch of her shoulder she switched the lights out and then indicated for him to leave the conference room ahead of her while she pressed numbers into a keypad that sent the area into lockdown. ‘York. I’m from York, it’s in the north. A long way away. Three and a half hours’ drive—on a good day.’
‘Of course I have heard of it.’ He noticed a slight narrowing of her eyes and her voice had dropped a little. ‘And that makes you sad, being away from family?’
She shrugged. ‘No. Well … yes, I suppose. You know how it is. You do miss the familiar.’
‘I suppose you do.’ Maybe others did. He hadn’t been able to leave quickly enough and trips back home had been sporadic. Betrayal and hurt could do that to a man.
They neared the elevators and she paused, put her bag on the floor and pressed the ‘up’ button. ‘And you? You must feel a long way from home. Which is?’
‘A small village near Siena. Nothing special.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘You’re joking, right? Every Tuscan village is special.’
His village was. The inhabitants, on the other hand, not so much. ‘How do you know? Have you visited there?’
‘Florence, that’s all, just a quick weekend trip. It was lovely.’ Her ribcage twisted as she tried to hitch the now falling papers back under her arm.
He reached for them, his hand brushing against her blouse, sending a shiver through his gut. Strange how his body was reacting to her. Very strange. ‘Let me take those papers from you.’
‘I can manage.’ She stopped short and shook her head with determination and resolve, obviously trying to be strong when she didn’t need to be. He got the feeling that Ivy Leigh put a brave face on a lot—to hide what? Some perceived weakness? Something that was more than a problem with her foot.
‘I know you can manage. But you have too many things to carry and I have nothing. Let me take them.’ Without waiting for her to answer, he took the folders and slipped them under his arm, wondering what the hell the point of this was. She was on the other side—the annoying, bureaucratic, meddling middle-men side.
Talking with the enemy, helping the enemy, whatever next? Sleeping with the enemy? Pah! As if he would do anything so foolish.
And she obviously had a full appreciation of that. ‘I know what you’re doing, Matteo. You’re trying to get me on side and then you’re going to strike. Pounce … or something. Try to catch me unawares, try to convince me to set you free from my course and then hit me where it hurts.’
‘Never. I would never hit anyone.’ There had been a few times when he’d come close—okay, once when he’d stepped over that line and with good reason. But never again.
She looked confused. ‘Don’t panic, it’s a turn of phrase. I didn’t mean you’d really hit me. I know you wouldn’t do that.’
‘Good. And, actually, I was just being nice.’
‘Well, that is unexpected. Who knew you could be?’
The fleeting anger at the memories melted into humour. Ivy Leigh was good at sparring. He admired that. Always good to respect the enemy. Laughter bubbled from his chest. ‘Strange, yes, considering we are on opposite sides. The next thing we know we’ll be doing something ridiculous like going for a drink.’
‘Oh, no. I can’t do that.’ She jabbed the lift button again and tsked. ‘I never mix business with pleasure.’
‘I’m intrigued that you think having a drink with me would be pleasurable?’
Again there was a smile, but it belied a look in her eyes that was … half wistful, half anxious. ‘I’m sure the drink would be very pleasurable indeed. I’m very partial to a decent red. But, as I say, it’s not something I do.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘Then I’m glad that we agree on something.’ But that wistful look remained, until she turned away.
There was no one else around. The place was silent. The conference area had all closed down for the night so it was just him and her and a buzz in the air between them that was so fierce it was almost tangible. ‘And you are going where now?’
She shrugged. ‘Back to the fifth floor, if this lift ever arrives. I have work to do.’
‘After five o’clock? All the other paper-pushers have long gone.’
Her lips curled into a smirk. ‘Pen. It’s pen-pushers not paper-pushers.’
‘I know, I know. I apologise. I’m still getting used to your idioms.’ And she was stunning when she smiled. Which, it appeared, made him tongue-tied too. Really? What in hell was wrong with him?
‘Where the hell is this lift?’ Jab-jab on the button with those emerald fingernails. ‘I don’t think about the time I put in. I just do what’s needed, and if that keeps me here all hours then so be it. Like most lawyers, I expect to work hard.’
‘Then you’d make a fine doctor too.’
‘Believe me, I wouldn’t.’ She gave a visible shudder and he wondered whether she’d been hurt at some point. Maybe a doctor had broken that well-protected heart of hers. And, again, why that was remotely relevant to anything, he didn’t know.
‘You don’t like doctors? A hospital is a strange place to work, then.’
‘Most doctors are fine. In fact, my mum’s one.’ Finally the lift arrived with a jolt and the doors swished open. Taking the folders from his hand, she fixed her gaze on him. ‘Only a few of them ruin the reputation for the majority …’
What? As she stepped into the lift he put a hand out to stop the doors from closing. ‘You mean me? I have a reputation?’ He laughed. ‘Good to know. Let me guess how that goes … I am too outspoken. I am a maverick. I am too committed to my job. Worse, I leave broken hearts in my wake …’
‘Apparently so.’ Her fingers tapped against the cold steel of the wall panel. ‘And a lot more that I couldn’t possibly say …’
‘I am also very attentive to detail. Some would say passionate. I have a sense of humour. I play very hard indeed …’ His gaze drifted over her face. The detail there was stunning. The eyes that gave away her emotions regardless of how hard she tried to keep them locked away. That mouth, the keeper of barbs and insults and a perfect smile. Those lips … How would it feel if he were to kiss her? How would Miss Prim and Proper react then? Would she let him see a little of what was under that hard surface? Because, dammit, he knew there was more to her. A softer side—a passionate side. Just waiting to be set free. Lucky man who ever achieved that.
The door jolted against his back, reminding him that this was neither the time nor the place to be kissing Ivy Leigh. And yet … he reached a hand to her cheek and he could have sworn he saw heat flicker across her eyes, just enough to mist them and to tell him that he was not the only one struggling with this wildly strange scenario. Her mouth opened a little, he could see her breathing had quickened, and her eyes fluttered closed for a microsecond. Enough to show he had an effect on her … and she liked it. Didn’t want it, not at all, but she liked it.