Hot Single Docs: The Playboy's Redemption

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘YOU’RE expected to go, Diego!’ Rita was adamant. ‘You can’t not go to the Penhally Ball.’

They’d been having this conversation all morning. Rita had found out that he wasn’t going and it seemed every time he passed her work station, she thought of another reason why he must go.

He’d just come from a family meeting with the parents of Toby Geller, which had been difficult at best, and, really, the last thing Diego cared about was if he was expected to attend some charity ball that was being held on Saturday.

‘You’re going, aren’t you, Megan?’ Rita looked up and Diego rolled his eyes as Megan gave a thin smile.

‘It is expected,’ Megan agreed, but from her resigned voice it was clear she wasn’t looking forward to it.

‘All the units send their senior staff,’ Rita said, still talking as she answered the phone.

‘Spare me,’ Diego said. ‘Is it awful?’

‘No.’ Megan shook her head. ‘It’s actually a great night...’

‘So why the long face?’ He was friends with Megan. Well, not ‘ring each other up every night and why don’t we go for coffee type friends’, but certainly they were friendly and Diego couldn’t help but notice she was unusually low.

‘Just one of those days!’ Megan said, which given they had just been in with Toby’s parents, could have explained it, except Megan hadn’t been her usual self lately. Diego suddenly wondered if it had anything to do with the rumours that were flying around the hospital about Izzy and himself.

Diego hadn’t realised just how many people he knew. And Izzy too.

It seemed that everywhere they went, be it a walk on the beach or to a café near his flat, they would bump into someone from work. But it wasn’t just the rumour mill causing problems. Izzy was almost nine weeks from her due date now, and despite them both trying to be nothing more than just friends, that kiss had unleashed the attraction between them. It was so palpable, so present, it was killing Diego not to whisk her away from the home she was selling and bring her back to his flat, feed her, nurture her and make love to her. Except in a few weeks’ time, Izzy would be a mother, which meant there would be a baby, and that was something way down on his list.

So far down, he hadn’t actually thought whether one day he might want one of his own—let alone someone else’s.

But he wanted her.

‘It’s a lovely night.’ Rita just wouldn’t let up; she was off the phone and back to one of her favourite subjects—prying about Megan. ‘All the money raised goes to the Penhally Rape Crisis Centre. Will you be taking anyone, Doctor?’

Ah, but Megan was always one step ahead. ‘You heard the man.’ Megan flashed Rita a smile that was false. ‘He doesn’t want to go.’

‘Oh!’

Diego couldn’t help but grin as a Rita’s eyes momentarily widened as she wondered if she’d stumbled on the news of year, but then she remembered the latest information from her sources. She turned back to the computer and resumed typing. Attempting nonchalance, she tested the seemingly gentle waters. ‘It’s good to support these things.’ Rita tap tapped away, ‘Look what happened to our own lovely Izzy. I’d have thought you, Diego, more than anyone, would...’ And she stopped, just stopped in mid-sentence, because even if she wasn’t looking at him, even if Diego hadn’t spoken, the atmosphere was so tense, she just knew he wasn’t smiling now. ‘We should all do our bit,’ Rita attempted, typing faster now, hoping she’d rectified it, and hoping Diego hadn’t understood what she had implied.

She was wrong on both counts.

‘Me? More? Than? Anyone?’ Diego’s voice was pure ice as he challenged her—each word separate, each word a question, and Diego looked at Megan, who shook her head in disbelief at Rita’s insensitivity. ‘What do you mean by that, Rita?’

Still she typed on. ‘Well, you’re a nice young man, I thought you of all people...’ Her face was pink and she licked her lips before carrying on. ‘Well, that you’d support such a thing.’

‘Do you know why I hate gossip, Megan?’ Diego looked at his friend.

‘Why?’ Megan answered.

‘Because the fools that spread it get it wrong. Because the fools that spread it are so miserable in their own lives they have to find that part in others...’ Rita stood up.

‘I have to get on.’ She picked up some papers, any papers, and walked off, but Diego’s voice chased her.

‘Because though they insist their lives are perfect, gossiping about others ensures that for that moment no one is gossiping about them.’

Rita spun on her heel. ‘You can’t stop people talking.’

‘Ah, but you can,’ Diego said, and pointedly turned to Megan, ignoring Rita completely. ‘Before you go, I’ve got two in the nursery that need their drug charts re-written and Genevieve is ready to go home. Her mum wants to thank you.’

It was a relief to talk about work.

For Megan to fill in the drug charts and then to head to the nursery where Genevieve was wearing a hot pink all-in-one with a hot pink hat, and a car seat was waiting to finally, against all the odds, take her home. Diego smiled as Megan picked up the little lady and gave her a cuddle, and he could see the tears in her eyes too because, unlike Diego, Megan did get attached. She gave her heart and soul to her patients, took it personally when a battle was lost. Diego wasn’t sure it was a healthy thing for her to do, but today was a good day and those, Diego suddenly realised, were the ones Megan struggled with most.

‘We can’t thank you enough.’ Genevieve’s mum was effusive in her gratitude. ‘It’s because of you that we get to take her home.’

Yes, today was a good day.

‘Good job,’ Diego said before he headed back to his charges. ‘For a while there I didn’t think we’d get to this day with Genevieve. You never gave in, though.’

‘I never would,’ Megan said, and then she paused and her voice was more pensive than jubilant. ‘Be careful, Diego.’

He knew exactly what they were talking about.

‘We’re just friends,’ he said, but he could hear the protest in his heart and Megan could hear it in his voice.

‘She’s fragile...’

‘She’s getting stronger,’ Diego countered, because he would not label Izzy, because he could feel in his soul all she was going to be.

‘Just, please,’ Megan said, and it was the most she would say to him, ‘handle with care.’

* * *

‘You’re looking well.’ Gus smiled as he called Izzy into his surgery.

He was a wonderful GP. He read through her charts and checked her blood pressure, even though the midwife had done the same and told Izzy it was fine.

‘How is it?’

‘Perfect,’ Gus said. ‘How have you been feeling?’

‘Very well,’ Izzy said, and it was the truth. For the first time in her pregnancy it wasn’t Henry and the nightmare of her past that consumed her, it was something far nicer.

There had been no repeat of that kiss, but there was an energy and promise in her days now and Izzy knew it was just a matter of time.

‘You’re eating well?’ Gus checked, and though his face never flickered, Izzy was a doctor too and could hear the slight probing nature of his question. Often her antenatal visits seemed more like a friendly catch-up, but today Gus was going through her notes, double-checking everything.

‘I’m eating really well.’ Which was true. In the very dark weeks after Henry’s death, even though eating had been the last thing on her mind, Izzy had made herself eat, for the baby’s sake. She had even gone as far as to set a reminder on her mobile, forcing down smoothies or even just a piece of toast. But since she’d been back at work, and of course since she’d met Diego, her appetite had returned—for food, for life. She was laughing, she was happy, she was eating—except her weight, Gus said, was down.

It seemed ironic that when she was eating the most, when she was happiest, she hadn’t put on any weight. Gus asked her to lie on the examination bed, and though he was always thorough, today his examination took a little longer than usual.

‘You’re a bit small,’ Gus said, and Izzy lay there staring at the ceiling, because if Gus said she was a bit small, then she was small. He ran a Doppler over her stomach and listened for a couple of moments to the baby’s heartbeat, which was strong and regular. ‘How’s the baby’s movement?’

‘There’s lots,’ Izzy said, trying to keep her voice light and even.

‘That’s good.’ He was very calm, very unruffled and he helped her sit up and then she joined him at his desk.

‘Are you worried?’ Izzy asked.

‘Not unduly,’ Gus said. ‘Izzy, you’ve had unbelievable stress throughout this pregnancy—but you’re thirty-one weeks now and this is the time that the baby starts to put on weight, so we really do need to keep a slightly closer eye on you. I was going to schedule an ultrasound for a couple of weeks, but let’s bring that forward.’ He glanced at his watch. It was six on Friday evening. ‘Let’s get this done early next week and then...’ She was due to start coming to fortnightly visits now, but Gus was nothing if not thorough. ‘Let’s get the scan and I’ll see you again next week.’

‘You know that I’m working?’ Izzy felt incredibly guilty, but Gus moved to reassure her.

‘Lots of my mums work right up till their due date, Izzy. You’re doing nothing wrong—for now. I just want you to try and reduce your stress and really make sure you’re eating well. You need some extra calories. I’d suggest you add a protein shake to your breakfast.’

‘I’m supposed to be going to the Penhally Ball tomorrow...’

Out of the blue Diego had suggested they go together— face the gossip and just get it over and done with, and what better way than at the Penhally Ball, when everyone would be there. They had, Diego had pointed out, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. To the world they were friends and friends went out! Except Izzy still cared what others might think and almost hoped Gus would shake his head and tell her that the weekend might be better spent resting on the couch with her feet up, thus give her a reason not to go, but Gus seemed delighted. ‘That’s good—I’m glad you’re starting to go out.’

‘Shouldn’t I be resting?’

‘Izzy, I’m not prescribing bed rest—I want you to relax and a social life is a part of that. I just want to keep a closer eye on you.’

‘The thing is...’ She was testing the water, just dipping in her toe. She respected Gus, and his reaction mattered. ‘Things have been awful, but for the last few weeks, for the first time since I’ve been pregnant, I haven’t had any stress or, rather, much less, and I have been eating better...’

‘Well, whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up,’ Gus said, and Izzy gave a small swallow.

‘I’m going to the ball with a friend, Diego.’

‘Ramirez.’ Izzy frowned as Gus said his surname.

‘You know him?’

‘There aren’t too many Diegos around here. The neonatal nurse?’

And she waited for his shock-horror reaction, for him to tell her she should be concentrating on the baby now, not out dancing with male friends, but instead Gus smiled.

‘He seems a nice man.’

When Izzy just sat there Gus smiled. ‘You deserve nice, Izzy.’

She still didn’t know it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE’D cancel.

Izzy could hardly hear the hairdresser’s comments as she sat with a black cape around her shoulders, pretending to look as a mirror was flashed behind her head.

‘It looks fantastic!’

Well, she would say that, Izzy thought to herself. The hairdresser was hardly going to say, ‘It looks awful and what on earth were you thinking, taking a pair of scissors to your locks, you stupid tart?’ But as the mirror hovered behind her Izzy actually did look, and for once she agreed with the woman who wielded the scissors.

Okay, maybe fantastic was stretching things a touch, but it had been three months and three trips to this chair since that moment of self-loathing and finally, finally, she didn’t look like a five-year-old who had taken the kitchen scissors to the bathroom. The last of her home-made crop had been harvested, the once jagged spikes now softened, shades of blonde and caramel moving when her head did, which it did as Izzy craned her neck for a proper look.

‘I’ve hardly taken anything off at the front or sides, just softened it a touch, but I’ve taken a fair bit off the back...’

Izzy could have kissed her but instead she left a massive tip, booked in for six weeks’ time, skipped out to her car and somehow made it home without incident, despite the constant peeks in the rear-view mirror at her very new ‘side fringe’.

And then she remembered.

She was cancelling.

So why was she running a bath and getting undressed?

A tepid bath so it didn’t fluff up her hair.

She couldn’t do it, couldn’t go, just couldn’t face it.

So instead of climbing in to the water she wrapped herself in a towel and padded out to the living room.

She had every reason to cancel, Izzy told herself as she picked up the telephone, except there was a voice-mail message. It wasn’t Diego stuck at work, as she had rather hoped, but the real estate agent with

a pathetic offer. ‘It’s a good offer, you should seriously consider it,’ played the message. Henry had been a real estate agent

and had practically said those words in his sleep so she deleted it and got back to fretting about Diego. The fact that she was pregnant and had worked all morning, the fact that she wasn’t ready for the inevitable stares if she walked into the Penhally Ball with a dashing Spaniard on her arm when she should be home...

Doing what? Izzy asked herself.

Grieving, feeling wretched...

Her introspection was halted by the doorbell. No doubt the postman had been while she was out and it was her neighbour with another box of self-help or baby books that she had ordered on the internet during one of her glum times—a book that at the time she had convinced herself would be the one to show her, tell her, inform her how the hell she was supposed to be feeling...

‘Diego?’

It was only five p.m. and he shouldn’t be there, the ball didn’t start till seven.

There was no reason for him to be there now and, worse, she was only wearing a towel.

‘I thought I’d come early.’ He leant in the doorway and smiled, and either the baby did a big flip or her stomach curled in on itself. He was in evening wear, except he hadn’t shaved, and he looked ravishing, so ravishing she wanted to do just that—ravish him, drop the towel she was clinging to, right here at the front door. ‘To save you that phone call.’

‘What phone call?’ Izzy lowered her head a touch as she let him in, wishing there had been a warning sign on the kitchen scissors to inform her that it would be a full twelve to eighteen months before she could again hide her facial expressions with her hair if she chose to lop it all off. A fringe simply wouldn’t suffice. Her whole body was on fire, every pulse leaping at the sight of him.

‘The one where you tell me your back is aching, or you’re tired or that it was lovely of me to ask, but...’

‘I was just about to make it,’ Izzy admitted.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s too soon.’

‘For what?’

‘For me to be out, for me to be...’ She blanched at the unsaid word.

‘Happy?’ Diego offered. ‘Living?’

Neither was quite right. Izzy didn’t correct him at first, she just clung to her towel, not to keep him from her but to keep her from him, and she stared at a man who had brought nothing but joy into her life. She wanted more of the same.

‘For me to be seeing someone,’ Izzy corrected. ‘Which I think I am.’

‘You are,’ he confirmed, and crossed the room. It was a relief to be kissed, to kiss him, to be kissed some more, to kiss back. He was less than subtle, he was devouring her, and any vision that their next kiss would be gentle and tender was far removed from delicious reality. Diego had waited long for another kiss and he was claiming it now, pressing her against the wall as she rejoiced in him, her towel falling. He kicked it away and all she wanted was more, more, more.

He tasted as he had that morning but decisiveness made it better. He smelt as he always had, just more concentrated now, and this close to Diego, this into Diego, she forgot to be scared and hold back.

Izzy just forgot.

She could have climbed up the wall and slid onto him he felt so delicious, but just as her senses faded to oblivion, Diego resurrected one of his.

‘Is that a bath?’

Now, this bit she didn’t get.

Sense should have prevailed.

In her mad dash to turn off the taps, okay, yes it was okay that he followed, but then, then she should have shown him the door, should have closed it on him and had a few moments’ pause, except she let him help her into the bath and then she remembered to be practical. ‘Diego, we can’t.’

‘I know.’ He took off his jacket, hung it on the doorhandle and then sat on the edge and looked at her, and she couldn’t believe how normal it felt.

‘We can’t,’ he confirmed, because of the baby she carried. ‘How far along are you again?’ He grinned and then rolled his eyes as he did the mental arithmetic, because this thing between them had already been going on for a couple of weeks!

‘Poor Diego.’ Why was she laughing? Lying in the bath and laughing like she was happy. And the fact that she was made her suddenly serious.

‘How can this work—ever?’ Izzy asked, because surely it was impossible. ‘You’re going back to Spain.’

‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t apply.’

‘There’ll be other jobs though. One day you will go back.’ And he couldn’t argue with that, so instead she watched as he rolled up his sleeves and two tanned olive hands took a lilac bar of soap and worked it. She could see the bubbles between his fingers, see the moist, slippery sheen of his hands, and her body quivered and begged for them to be on her. As his hands met her shoulders her mind stopped looking for reasons to halt this and her brain stopped begging for logic and all she did was feel—feel his strong fingers on her tense shoulders, feel the knots of tight muscles spasm in momentary protest as this large Spaniard had the nerve to tell them to let go. For months, no, maybe a year, or had it been longer, those muscles had been knotted with the serious job of holding her head up high and now they were being told to let go, to give in, that they could relax, regroup and get ready for the next mountain Izzy was certain that she would surely have to climb. But Diego’s hands worked on and convinced her shoulders, if not her mind, to do as the master skilfully commanded, and let go.

Her fringe almost met the water with the relief.

Like popping a balloon she just gave in, just groaned as her tension seeped into the water and then steamed out into the room.

She just couldn’t let go for long, though.

‘I can’t get my hair wet!’ She flailed at all his hands were offering, she just couldn’t relax and enjoy it in long stages. ‘How can this work, Diego?’ she asked again.

‘Sencillo,’ Diego said, ‘It doesn’t have to be complicated. Why not just for now? Why not for as long as we make each other happy?’

‘Because in nine weeks I’ll be diving into postnatal depression and I won’t be making anyone happy!’

She wanted guarantees.

Wanted a little piece of paper stamped with I won’t hurt you to be handed to her now, except she’d had that once, Izzy realised as she lay there, a big piece of paper called a wedding certificate, and it hadn’t counted for a thing.

Before Diego had come along living had been like essential surgery without analgesia.

Why would she deny herself the balm of relief?

And there was a wobble of guilt there, but for him. ‘What if I’m using you!’ God, she had never been so honest, and certainly not with a man. All her relationships had been Izzy pleasing others, Izzy saying the right thing, and now here she was, ten minutes into a new one and saying the wrong thing, saying truthfully what was on her mind. ‘What if I’m using you to get through this?’

And he thought about it for a moment, he actually did, and then he came to his decision.

‘Use away!’

‘What if I’m avoiding my pain by...?’

‘Shut up.’ He grinned and leaned over and kissed her a nice lazy kiss. Then he kissed her shoulder and along the slippery wet lines of her neck.

Oh, Diego loved women. He loved curves on women and two of Izzy’s were floating on the water, just bobbing there, and his hands moved to her shoulders, because it seemed more polite. But then his hands just moved to where they wanted to be and he caressed them, caressed her. His big, dark hands cupped and soaped her very white, rather large, to Izzy rather ugly breasts, but maybe they weren’t so ugly, because from the trip in his breathing and the bob of his tongue on his dark lips, she had the feeling that one tug of his tie and he’d be in the water with her, and there would be two empty seats at the Penhally Charity Ball.

‘We can’t,’ she said again and it was the feeblest of protests, because the stubble of his chin was scratching her breast now, his tongue on her nipple and her fingers in his hair.