Dear Reader,

Welcome to One Night, Twin Consequences. This is the first time I’ve written a duet with someone—and let me tell you Susanne Hampton is fabulous to work with! Kind, thoughtful and, lucky for me, riding exactly the same train of thought. She was the ying to my yang, and I hope you enjoy the intertwined lives and love stories these two sisters share.

I absolutely fell in love with writing about Harriet and Matteo. Matteo because he’s totally gorgeous and I’m a sucker for an accent. Harriet because she has about as much grace and elegance as I do—read: very little!

So strap on your seatbelts—and I hope you enjoy the ride!

Annie O xo

PS Don’t be shy. Be sure to get in touch! You can reach me at my website, annieoneilbooks.com, or on Twitter @AnnieONeilBooks.

ANNIE O’NEIL spent most of her childhood with her leg draped over the family rocking chair and a book in her hand. Novels, baking and writing too much teenage angst poetry ate up most of her youth. Now Annie splits her time between corralling her husband into helping her with their cows, baking, reading, barrel racing (not really!) and spending some very happy hours at her computer, writing.

One Night,
Twin Consequences
Annie O’Neil

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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I absolutely loved writing this book—in large part because it was about a big sister…even if she is older only by a minute! Always competitive, me! Whilst completely different, Harriet and Claudia share the unbreakable bond of sisterhood—and for that reason I dedicate this book with unfathomable love to my sister, Michelle. Xxx

Praise for Annie O’Neil

‘This is a beautifully written story that will pull you in from page one and keep you up late and turning the pages.’

—Goodreads on Doctor … to Duchess?

‘A poignant and enjoyable romance that held me spellbound from start to finish. Annie O’Neil writes with plenty of humour, sensitivity and heart, and she has penned a compelling tale that will touch your heart and make you smile as well as shed a tear or two.’

—CataRomance on The Surgeon’s Christmas Wish

Contents

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Praise for Annie O’Neil

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU WANT ME to do what tonight?” Harriet all but choked on her freshly dunked ginger biscuit. How did her boss know the perfect way to throw her off balance? Besides, didn’t he know nice cup of tea and ginger biscuit o’clock was sacrosanct?

“Give the lecture tonight. You never take enough credit for your work and this would be the perfect way to showcase your research.” Dr. Bailey handed her a serviette with a smile. “Crumbs.”

“Ack! Oops!”

More mortification. Disintegrated biscuit was now decorating the front of her navy uniform. Typical graceful behavior. Not! Normally the fitted dress flattered Harriet’s slim build—created the illusion she was more woman than tomboy. But with a mushy bit of biscuit on her front resembling something more akin to...well... You saw everything in a children’s hospital. She accepted the serviette with an embarrassed laugh. She’d had all sorts on her uniform through the years, so this was hardly a disaster. Not that scrubbing her bosom in front of her boss was the epitome of a comfortable moment.

“I don’t know...” She opted for the old reliable, “My sister needs me—”

“Your sister lives in Los Angeles. Nice try, Harriet.”

“Actually, she’s coming over?”

Hmm. That wasn’t meant to come out like a question.

“When?” Dr. Bailey was no stranger to Harriet’s advanced conversational duck-and-dive technique. This was their drill every time he wanted her behind a podium. Although this time she really did have a legitimate excuse. Maybe.

“She rang last night to say she was coming over.” That much was true.

“It’s a long flight from Los Angeles and in my experience they tend to arrive the next day. Which means you’re free to give your lecture tonight.”

“Yes, but she’s having twins!” Harriet explained, knowing, as the words came out that her very, very pregnant sister hadn’t strictly said she was arriving that night and was incredibly unlikely to be appearing until well after the twins were born. A good three months away. Flying weeks before you’re due with twins? Not a good idea. Probably not even allowed. Although when her sister set her mind to something, it happened. So that little problem about turning their childhood home into a baby friendly zone over the next few weeks was a nut that needed cracking. Not to mention it being the first time in years her independent sister had well and truly needed her. Enough to add a little kick to her step. Harriet the Reliable was back in action!

Harriet chanced a glance up at Dr. Bailey. Yes. He was still patiently waiting for her to answer.

“You know public speaking isn’t really my forte.” And that was putting it mildly.

“Since when have you backed away from a challenge?” her boss riposted.

“Since always if it involves public speaking!”

“Most people would kill to be the opening act for Dr. Torres.”

Harriet kept her lips tightly clenched to hold in a spontaneous sigh. Swoon! Dr. Matteo Torres—the unwitting man of her dreams.

“Harriet...” Dr. Bailey narrowed his eyes. “Has Dr. Torres done something to offend you during his stay here?”

“Uh...no?” Apart from being drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent, a leader in his field and so far out of her league she couldn’t see straight. Not that she’d talked to him or anything. Tactical avoidance had been her approach and it had worked just fine during his fortnight of “observation” at St. Nick’s. His presence hadn’t just made her feel jittery. It made her... Oh, blimey...it made her lusty.

Along with ever other red-blooded female in a mile or so’s range of the man.

Smokin’ hot. Burn the tips of your fingers hot with extra hotness.

And she never said that about anyone. She wasn’t trendy enough. By a long shot.

Just catching a glimpse of the man made her feel giddy!

No!

Distracting. Off-putting. Non-essential. Which was why she’d been playing her very own, proactive game of hide-and-don’t-seek whenever he was within a ward’s reach. If she didn’t see or speak to Dr. Torres, she wouldn’t go all rubber-kneed and act like an idiot. That was her plan anyway and she was sticking with it.

“Matteo is particularly interested in hearing your talk.”

“You mean your talk.” She grabbed hold of the counter edge and feigned a little finger drumming along the worn Formica. Nope! No rubber knees here!

“Harriet...there’s no need to be modest. It’s a chance to shine for our guest!”

“If he’s into muttering and stuttering, sure. No problem,” she grumbled. Fat chance she’d be able to form a sentence, let alone an entire speech in front of the Latin Lothario, as he was now referenced in the tearoom. Not terribly original, but everyone knew who they were talking about. It wasn’t like the corridors of St. Nick’s were overridden with gorgeous, swarthy obstetricians.

“Harriet.” Dr. Bailey put on his stentorian tone. The “dad voice” as she liked to think of it. “This is a chance for you to present your work to the world’s largest collection of pediatric elite. People who work with orphaned children all the time. What you’ve proved here at St. Nick’s, and elsewhere, is groundbreaking and could change how wards of the state are treated around the world. Don’t you want that for yourself?”

“No!”

Dr. Bailey’s expression crumpled to one of pure dismay.

Oops. Wrong answer.

“But I do want it for St. Nick’s.” A smile lit up her face when an idea hit her. “Hey! What if we have my sister do it by remote video link? She’s a gifted speaker and no one would know the difference!”

“Harriet Monticello.” Dr. Bailey lost his battle with hiding his exasperation. “You’re not an identical twin. What I recall from her odd visit here is that the only thing you two have in common is a surname.”

Just because she was a homebody and her sister was exotically thrilling didn’t make them all that different!

“Love, you’ve got this.” He gave her arm a reassuring pat. “There is nothing to be intimidated by. I know you prefer being ‘the girl behind the screen’ but it’s time to get you out there. Put yourself in the limelight.”

“Dr. Bailey, you’re really the public speaker for the department. I’m not sure the Child Care Symposium is really the place—”

“Tush and nonsense!” Her boss cut in. “You’re more than capable of delivering the lecture. Apart from which, my wife won’t hear of my doing it as it’s our anniversary tonight and...I may have accidentally forgotten last year’s so you’d be doing me quite a favor. I’m officially in the doghouse until she has a glass of champagne in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other.” His voice shifted back to the confident tone that had won him the trust of countless colleagues and patients. “You’re every bit as qualified as I am to give the lecture, Harriet. It was your research that got us the invitation to speak for the CCS in the first place. You should take the credit...” He leaned in for added emphasis. “For once.”

Harriet waved away his kind words. “You’re the one who gave me the time to do the research.”

“And you’re the one who connected the dots about the impact of staffing rotas on the children. Take some credit where credit is due! Don’t you think it’s time to stop hiding behind your sister’s shadow?”

“My sister has a very nice shadow, thank you very much,” Harriet replied primly, slightly abashed he’d seen through her. Again.

“It’s a fascinating topic and many orphanages could benefit. One I know a lot of health professionals will be keen to hear. Including...” Harriet watched the older doctor’s eyes scan the ward as if he’d misplaced something. Or, rather, someone.

Their eyes simultaneously lit on the man who’d just set the swinging double doors at the end of the ward in motion as if cued to make a dramatic entrance.

He was tall, ebony-haired and had an easygoing grace about him. Not movie-star-ish. More...cowboy...or fighter pilot. Not a drop of vanity about him. But, sweet cherry pies, did that man ever exude confidence. Hair long enough to see it had a sexy wavy thing going on. Was that a bit of a five o’clock shadow? And...mmm...he didn’t just wear clothes, he showed them off. Or did they show him off? Either way, the effect...oh, the effect! Trousers just skimming along his trim hipline. Long legs you could take a zip line ride on if you were into that sort of thing. Shoulders filling out his open-at-the-neck shirt. Not too much. But enough to know that if he lifted a child in his arms there would be some biceps action. Not that she’d imagined him doing that or anything.

Maybe once or twice?

The first time she had seen him—ensuring, of course, she’d been safely tucked behind the curtained confines of a patient’s cubicle—her eyes had nearly popped out of her head. Pretty much each time she’d seen him after that? No change.

Raw, unadulterated lust.

There was no other description for it. She had the hots for this man and hiding each time she saw him coming had been her only salvation. Not that she was five or anything. She was just acutely tuned into the child within. It helped with her work. Besides, behaving like a grown-up was highly overrated. Particularly if survival was a factor.

For her entire life, Harriet had been “the sensible twin”, the “shy twin”, the “wallflower twin” and for about as long as she could remember she’d always happily agreed. Her twin sister, Claudia—pronounced like a beautiful, fluffy cloud versus a gray, dull clod—was about as vivacious, gorgeous, gutsy and go-get-’em as a girl could get... And Harriet? Polar opposites was a pretty good starting place.

As the doors phwapped shut, a surge of energy shot through her so powerfully there was no doubt she would always remember this instant in time. Another daydream to tuck away for the years ahead when Dr. Torres was safely back in his homeland.

The dozen or so patients between them faded into soft focus, their chatter and laughter muted by the thump of her heartbeat ascending to her ears. Everything slowed down, sensations quadrupled and her very breath caught in her throat then released in a sigh as her gaze linked with his incredibly green eyes.

Was that heat she felt flickering away below her waist?

Heat?

How inopportune. And... What were those?

Tingles?

Harriet Monticello didn’t get tingles, for goodness’ sake! And now she was being tickled with flickering tingles of heat? What was going on?

The closer he got to them, the more she felt everything inside her shift and twist and lift... Good grief!

It wasn’t like she was a complete novice in the world of romance. There’d been a handful of boyfriends over the years. Sort of. All of whom she’d parted from amicably. No point in letting them know they hadn’t really baked her cake. But responding to a virtual stranger on such a primal level? Brand spanking new.

Was this what blossoming was? At a few months shy of thirty, she was a bit late for that, wasn’t she? Love at first sight? Or just pure, undiluted desire?

Each microscopic change in her body was wholly in response to him. And utterly involuntary.

He was taller than her, which wasn’t difficult—her being the “petite” one to her sister’s “statuesque beauty”. As he neared, Harriet’s chin tipped upwards, opening up the length of her throat in a way that almost felt suggestive. Her shoulder blades shimmied down her back as her shoulders gave a little wiggle to better present themselves. As if such a thing were possible in a staff dress. Sure, it had a clingy cheongsam cut, but it was, at the end of the day, a uniform.

She felt her breasts pressing against the well-worn cotton of the snap-fronted dress, and for the tiniest of moments wondered what it would feel like if Matteo were to trace a finger along the diamond shaped neckline then begin, one by one, to pop open each of the snaps. Would his fingers be rough or smooth? How would it feel if he were to draw one of his hands across her belly and begin to explore elsewhere? Would she touch him back? Or, for the very first time, luxuriate in letting herself be caressed before seeing to her lover’s needs? Would his unruly black hair feel as silky as it looked? Would he moan if she scratched his back in an untamed moment of desire? Or call out mi corazon! Or whatever hot Latin doctors called out in a moment of passion.

The roar of blood in her ears shot up a few decibels.

When he arrived in front of them—a smile playing across his full lips—a heated flush flashed across her cheeks. Could he read minds as well? Anyone with eyes so lusciously green surely had access to the deeper reaches of a woman’s soul.

Er... Get a grip!

Harriet silently tsked at herself. Too many romance novels during the overnight shift. Nevertheless, she did a quick check to see if he really did have thick, dark eyelashes. The final dab of icing on a very tasty-looking cake.

Yup! Of course he did.

“Matteo! You found us. I’m so pleased.” Dr. Bailey reached out to shake his hand.

She watched as Matteo—Matteo!—extended his long, lovely fingers with sun-bleached hairs, not too thick, running along the length of his forearm, and shook hands with her boss. They turned to her, an expectant look in Matteo’s eyes, which was when Harriet realized the entire time he’d been walking towards them in slow motion she’d been wiping her disintegrated biscuit into the fabric of her dress right...over...her breast. Classy.

Cheeks properly on fire now, she stuffed her hands into the front patch pockets of her dress, squeezing her eyes tightly shut in a lame attempt to regroup.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” she heard Dr. Bailey continue, either oblivious to or trying to cover for her gaffe, “this young woman here is the reason you’ve come along to see us!”

Harriet’s eyes popped open to take an involuntary glance over each of her shoulders. Had one of their colleagues arrived without her knowing? She thought she’d left the rest of the nurses deep in discussion over how to rearrange the supplies cupboard.

Nope. Still just her. All alone with... Matteo...and, of course, Dr. Bailey, who was now looking at her with a particularly bemused expression. Maybe she should shut her mouth. Gape-jawed wasn’t really her look.

“This is Sister Monticello?”

Oh, sweet wonders of the universe. He had a scrummy accent to boot. Of course he did! The man was Argentinian. What did she expect? Cut-glass British? Even so... It was all sexy and smoky. Yum.

She was pretty sure they didn’t make men this—this male over here on the sceptered isle. Or if they did, they were already taken and hidden away by their lucky wives and girlfriends. Too bad she’d all but shelved dreams of having a family of her own... Stop dreaming! She adjusted her gaze, eyes narrowing just a bit. Maybe she could dream just a little bit?

Matteo made her want to howl. He probably ate steak. Lots of it, searing it nightly over a naked flame. Without wearing a shirt. Just buckskins and a deep caramel tan illuminated by the flickering fire and a splash of starlight. At which point Matteo turned to her with a smile so warm she hardly knew what to do with herself.

“I was expecting...” Matteo stopped to give a self-effacing laugh. “I am such an idiot. Sister Monticello! I’ve heard so much about you and I’m still not used to calling the nurses ‘Sister.’ I was expecting a nun!”

“Aha-ha-ha!” Harriet could hear herself giving a weird, cackly, laugh-along laugh. The oh-ho-ho wasn’t that funny variety, but if there was anyone in the world who could bewitch the knickers off a nun she would bet her entire sensibly accrued pension Matteo could. Not that her knickers had fallen off or anything. Yet.

He reached out and took her hand, his cheek moving towards hers faster than she could react. As their cheeks met, she inhaled a delicious waft of peppery gingerbread and heard a kissing noise, but didn’t feel the touch of his lips. Pity.

“Encantada.”

Oh, blimey. Had he just whispered a sweet nothing into her ear?

“It’s nice to smell—I mean meet you!” she all but shouted.

What was that? She didn’t even know this guy and she was falling to bits right in front of him. Sure, she’d been watching him from afar for the past fortnight. But afar was safe. And right here was...really, really close. He smelled distinctly delicious. So much so, she mused, he really should be a cologne. Eau de Argentine Doc. Man Scent by Matteo. The ad campaign would be a cinch.

Why did her sister have to be eight blinking thousand miles away in Los Angeles just when she’d be incredibly handy? Claudia could dig her out of this socially awkward moment without breaking a sweat. Then again, Claudia was drop-dead gorgeous and if she met Matteo before Harriet did, it wouldn’t be very good, would it? Even heavily pregnant with twins, her sister was a knockout. She had the pictures to prove it. Harriet felt an unexpected attack of let-him-be mine come over her.

She’d never really cared when the hot man in the room took a shine to her sister in lieu of her. That was how things had always been. But this time...

Calm, calm, calm yourself, Harriet.

It wasn’t like she stood even the slightest of chances in the universe of having a man like this one desiring, let alone falling completely and madly in love with her. Like she already virtually was with him. Just a few more minutes and she’d have their china pattern and curtains all picked out.

She ran a hand through her blonde pixie cut, jutting out her lower lip as she did so to blow some air up into the fringe. Another sexy move she’d crafted in how-to-look-like-an-idiot class.

“Nice to meet you, Sister.” Matteo held out his hand, which she took and pumped up and down too hard because she was already picturing her cobweb-laced spinsterhood spreading out before her now that she’d ruined any chance of marrying the man of her dreams.

“Harriet’s fine—uh...” She made her, yeesh, I don’t know what to call you face.

“Matteo works—or Dr. Torres if you prefer. I know how formal you Brits are.”

“Yes, well...yes.”

Was it too soon to dive into the nearest broom cupboard?

“Harriet,” Dr. Bailey interjected. “Perhaps you’d like to show Dr. Torres around the hospital? Give him your perspective on how St. Nick’s works. He’s been trying to track you down for the past fortnight and for some peculiar reason has found it near impossible to find you.”

“Excuse me?” Harriet tried her best to wipe the horrified expression off of her face, realizing in an instant she hadn’t been successful.

“Seeing that you could be working together in the longer term, it’s probably a good idea to get to know each other.”

Harriet’s jaw dropped again. Who’d stolen Dr. Bailey and replaced him with this man who was yanking away all her safety blankets?

Matteo grinned, a glint in his eye betraying something akin to frustration. “Dr. Bailey didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Her voice was so strangled she was pretty sure the dogs of London would be howling in unison if she continued.

“This trip—my ‘visit’ here...” He left a small silence to see if she could fill in the air quotes, but there was nothing jostling away the question marks careening round her mind.

Dr. Bailey jumped in. “Harriet, I was going to tell you all about this in good time, but—”

“It looks like—in the hope of some funding—you might be coming to Buenos Aires,” Matteo finished for him, an appraising eyebrow arching upwards as he spoke. “To assess me.”

His expression shifted into something strangely neutral. It was difficult to tell if he was pleased by the scenario or resentful. Something told her it was the latter. Great. Five seconds with Mr. Perfect and already he hated her.

How did one respond to that? Her head swung from Dr. Bailey’s consternated face to Matteo’s unreadable smile. Funding was very dependent on conditions. Lots of i-dotting and t-crossing—

Uh-oh. Wait a minute. She forced her brain to play catch-up.

Was he saying she was the condition? She sought each of their faces for answers, feeling a bit like she was watching a tennis match at close range minus the tennis bits.

“Buenos Aires?”

She had been hoping to sound casually interested. Noncommittal. What came out instead was a high-pitched, dog whistle screechy thing. Not really what she’d been going for. Particularly since a trip to Buenos Aires would be about the scariest, most exciting, incredibly interesting, totally top of the list of things she’d never be brave enough to ever consider doing sort of trip. Which was why she had barely ever left the hallowed borders of London town.

“Don’t worry.” Matteo waved away her response. “I know what it’s like to be handed something unwelcome when you least expect it.”

“I didn’t even know I had been invited anywhere and now I’m unwelcome?” She didn’t mean to sound churlish, but c’mon! Every single speck of this was news to her.

“No, no. It wasn’t meant like that—but don’t worry. It might not even happen. Nothing’s set in stone.”

“What if I wanted to see the stone? Part of the stone even?” Harriet pinched her fingers into her best little-bit visual aid. Could you miss something you hadn’t even known was going to happen?

* * *

Matteo considered Harriet a moment before answering. Apart from looking entirely different from what he’d anticipated, she struck him as a woman who preferred facts over spin. Action over coddling. Someone he could, potentially, work with. Which made a change from most of the research-based medical personnel he came in contact with.

“It’s all to do with a possible expansion. More of a new build, actually,” Matteo corrected himself. “A clinic. A proper one. And one that’s dependent, I am afraid, on charitable donations. Strangely, homes for pregnant teens and orphaned babies aren’t big money spinners.”

Matteo enjoyed seeing the light enter Harriet’s blue eyes at his words. The click of recognition. The spark of interest.

“If they did, I bet Casita Verde Para Niños would rake it in!”

“You know it?” Impressive. Most people couldn’t name an orphanage in their hometown, let alone one on the other side of the world.

“Of course I know it!” She gave an embarrassed giggle. “Even if I can’t pronounce it properly.”

All tension dropped from her face and was replaced by utter engagement. Work talk, it seemed, put her at ease. Interesting. Maybe the stories floating round St. Nick’s were true. All work and no play made Harriet Monticello a delightful woman—because work was her play. The pretty blonde was a far cry from the dried-up nun he’d been picturing.

“Didn’t you single-handedly drag children’s homes in Argentina into the twenty-first century?”

“Well...” Matteo felt an unfamiliar wash of modesty come over him. “People don’t usually see what I do that way.” Particularly his socialite parents, whose business dealings saw more money change hands in a single day than he had as annual budget. “Black hole with no economic return” was the more frequently used description. “Of course, you’ll know it’s quite specialized. It’s a place pregnant teens can receive the support they might not be getting at home or are afraid—” He caught himself on the brink of speech-making and held back. “It’s nice to hear someone thinks highly of the Casitas.”

She gave him a flustered smile and looked away, sidetracking Dr. Bailey with a question about rosters. Matteo examined Harriet again. Given she didn’t look a thing like the mental image he’d conjured up, it was little wonder he hadn’t singled her out over the past couple of weeks. Particularly given the role her bosses seemed keen for her to play: The Woman Who Would Deign Him Worthy of Funding.

And now she didn’t know a thing about it? If the joint clinic meant that little to the board of St. Nicholas Hospital, he may as well turn around and go home. He’d enjoyed the two-week secondment to the high-tech hospital’s obstetrics unit, but his main aim was a clinic for his own. Then again... Harriet knew Casita Verde and the work he did without so much as a prompt. Best not to be too hasty...

He’d been prepared to go into his usual charm offensive routine. It worked a treat in Argentina’s moneyed circles. The elite of Buenos Aires rarely if ever went for earnest, over-keen do-gooders. Appearing as though he could live with or without their money always seemed the best tack. That, and a lavishing of compliments. He had yet to meet an ego that didn’t like to be fed. Something told him cocktail-party chatter and superficial compliments wouldn’t work with this woman.

She was pretty, in a completely natural way. Gamine, honey-blonde hair, a single swish of mascara on lashes overhanging a doey pair of bright blue eyes. A sweet splash of pink grew on her cheeks when she realized he was looking at her. She seemed...kind. A far cry from the dolled-up heiresses his parents wished he spent more time courting.

“You can’t expect your grandfather’s trust fund to keep Casita Verde’s doors open forever!” they warned on a regular basis—making it more than clear which way their wills wouldn’t be bent. Which was fine. He’d done all right so far. And they were family. Definitely not perfect, but they were all the family he had left.

“Great!” Dr. Bailey clapped his hands together and gave them a quick rub as if they’d all just agreed on a ground-breaking deal. “I’ll leave you two to it, shall I?”

“No!”

Matteo couldn’t help but laugh. It seemed Harriet disliked the position of the “chooser” as much as he hated being the beggar.

“I’m pretty good at being invisible, if you need to get work done.” Matteo gave her an out. The last thing a busy nurse needed was a hanger-on weighing her down.

“Sorry, Dr. Torres, I didn’t mean you. I just...” The pleading look she sent in Dr. Bailey’s direction brought another smile to his face. Harriet Monticello didn’t just wear her heart on her sleeve—what she felt was written all over her face. From the looks of things? The idea of spending time with him was pretty low on her list.

Perfect! That made two of them, then. She didn’t want someone tagging along after her and he didn’t really want a research nurse being posted in the heart of Casita Verde to see whether she deigned him worthy of funding.

But unless teenaged pregnancy became a thing of the past, there would never be a day when the center didn’t need more money. Not to mention the fact that money wasn’t printed on tears and there would be plenty of those if he didn’t get the go-ahead. Their resources were limited, and he was having to toughen his already thick exterior with each girl they were forced to turn away because of a lack of resources.

“Could you tell me just a bit more about this Argentina thing before you disappear off to your candlelit dinner?” Harriet had a hand on her boss’s arm now, her blue eyes virtually begging him not to leave.

Dr. Bailey looked like a deer caught in headlights. Matteo leaned against the nurses’ counter, trying to look casually interested instead of downright humored. If his own fate hadn’t been dangling from the threads of their conversation he would have laughed out loud.

“The board of directors thinks you need some fieldwork. After speaking with Matteo about how things stand at the casitas—the board suggested seeing how you go tonight. How you present yourself.”

“So you’ve known all along I needed to give the speech tonight?” Harriet’s eyes opened so wide she almost looked like a child.

“If—when—everything goes well...” Her boss stopped to clear his throat and throw an apologetic look Matteo’s way. “The board would like you to go out to Buenos Aires for a few weeks—maybe months—to see whether your research could be implemented at Casita Verde. If so, St. Nick’s would open a clinical outpost—in cooperation with Matteo, of course. A partnership.”

Interesting.

Matteo hid his surprise. She was the one being played. Not him. Unusual.

“You’re bartering me?”

And it sat with her as well as it sat with him. He was genuinely starting to warm to this woman. Again—unusual.

“One good turn does deserve another, Harriet,” Dr. Bailey continued with a patient smile. “You hardly ever leave the hospital, let alone Britain. I thought putting your research into practice in a different—”

“Apologies, Dr. Bailey.” Matteo stepped forward, his expression quite sober as he nodded in Harriet’s direction. “I probably shouldn’t interfere, particularly with the board’s decision pending. But I must be clear. Sister Monticello’s nursing skills would be valued at Casita Verde, but as far as her research goes? She is welcome to come, to observe and to offer suggestions. Lend a hand where necessary. But changes are down to me. In my experience, academic studies are often just that.”

“I beg your pardon?” Harriet’s hackles went straight up. “I think you’ll find my study comprehensive enough to see the changes we’ve implemented in numerous children’s homes here in the UK, including St. Nicks, are making a very, very big impact on the children’s well-being. My methods work.” She ground out the word with an imperiously arched eyebrow for emphasis.

Matteo rocked back on his heels and smiled broadly. He liked this woman. She was passionate and about as into playing politics as he was. Not at all.

But if Harriet were to come to Buenos Aires, she would need to toughen up to deal with his “every day”. St. Nick’s had amenities. Lots of them. He watched as the set of her jaw tightened enough for a muscle twitch. Then again...maybe a stint on his patch would be good for her. And him.

“Shall I leave you two to the ward tour, then? It’s Harriet’s showcase!” Dr. Bailey had already turned to go, not leaving them much of a choice. Harriet nodded curtly, just the tiniest hint of “don’t leave me” left in her eyes as he and Dr. Bailey shook hands.

“Sister?”

Matteo couldn’t help grinning as she unclenched her lips and forced on a “guess we’re stuck with each other” smile.

His amusement increased as Harriet excused herself for a moment to fiddle round with some charts in faux preparation for his tour. She obviously wasn’t happy about the avalanche of information she’d just been handed. Not to say he was ready to click his heels up in the air in a fit of glee, but none of this was of her making. An unfamiliar urge to make sure Harriet came out of this unscathed niggled away at his conscience. If anything, she was the biggest pawn in the scenario. No point in dumping all of his reservations onto her plate. She tugged her form-fitting uniform down a notch, accenting the perfect swoosh of waist to hip ratio.

Hmm... Perhaps this whole palaver would be easier if she had been a nun.

Nuns? He could deal with nuns. Unlike most of his childhood friends, he’d enjoyed Catholic boarding school—the structure had suited him. A nice contrast to his parent’s whirlwind, round-the-globe lifestyle. He’d take a nun over a Buenos Aires socialite any day of the week. Not literally, of course. He shuddered away the thought. Nuns and socialites. Ugh. He stopped another shudder. He’d rather a night of romance with Harriet than—

Uh... Que paso? One second he was keeping Harriet at arm’s length, the next he...?

No. He didn’t. Casita Verde kept him busy. Incredibly busy. Not to mention his “no children” policy that sent most Argentinian women flying out the door. “What kind of man doesn’t want children of his own?” they all asked.

One whose sister had died in childbirth. That’s who. One who worked with scores of orphans no one wanted to adopt every day. One who’d vowed to be a doctor and nothing more to said orphans, the teens who gave birth to them and anyone else who crossed the threshold into the casita. That’s who. Not that he had issues. He had facts. And perspective. Children of his own? Not an option.

He looked across at Harriet, still engaged in her chart-juggling. From what he heard, she spent as many hours at St. Nick’s as he did at the casita. Birds of a feather? He watched her face break into a smile as a sock puppet fell out of one of the record folders.

He doubted it.

She was a wisp of a thing, slight. Complete with flushed cheeks, an untidy swish of honey-blonde hair and clear blue eyes that didn’t seem able to lie. Real. He liked her. And, coming from him, that was saying a lot. He didn’t “do” personal. Couldn’t broach “real”. Cool, calm reserve. It served him well. And yet...

“Should I go out then come in again?” Matteo offered, pointing to the swing doors.

“Why would you do that?”

“So we could start over. Or—at the very least—it would buy you some time to pretend being forced to have a puppy dog follow you round all day wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t allow dogs in the hospital,” Harriet blurted, covering her mouth with both hands in horror after the words flew out.

Matteo laughed and put what was meant to be a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her shoulders instantly shot up to her ears, briefly trapping his fingers between them. He only just managed to stop himself from running a finger along her jawline as he withdrew his hand, taking a mental note as he did so: Argentine ways were too tactile. This woman needed her space. And he found himself wanting to respect that.

Winning Harriet Monticello’s confidence seemed like something of genuine value. He totted up a notch in the pro-Harriet camp and another in the watch-it category to check himself. Being emotional about things—about people—didn’t get you very far.

“Let’s say we get this tour underway.”

CHAPTER TWO

“AND NOW FOR one of my favorite places...”

Harriet smiled broadly but widened the gap between them as they made their way to a glass-fronted ward. She definitely liked to keep him at arm’s length. He dipped for a surreptitious sniff of his shirt. He was certain he’d showered this morning...

He covered the move with a smile and an earnest nod. “It’s nice to see changes implemented that don’t necessarily require huge injections of cash.

“The whole world is slashing budgets and we’re no different. But it’s the staffing changes that make the biggest impact and those are completely free. Makes work seem less like...work.”

“It seems to me you do a lot more than work here.” And that was putting it mildly. There were staffers and then there were people whose work was their passion—their calling. Harriet knew every patient, staffer, nook and cranny of St. Nick’s. Not many people were like that. He felt that way. From the day his sister had died he’d known where to pour his energies. His rage. But Harriet seemed fueled by other fires. She was pure compassion.

“Ta-da!” She twirled around, swirling her hands into a presentation pose as his heart sank. A row of little cots filled with pink and blue bundles spread out before him. The infants’ ward. He’d been so busy focusing on Harriet’s take on pediatric staffing he hadn’t even noticed where they were heading.

“Want to go in for a snuggle? I always come here when I’m feeling a bit down. Baby therapy!” Her eyes sparkled in anticipation of his affirmative answer. ‘You know, a whole new world...little tiny fingers, little tiny toes. Endless possibilities!”

Wrong customer. Wrong question. He flicked his eyes towards the large wall clock.

“I think we should probably press on.” He knew his smile was tight, but at least he’d managed one of those. “How about we work our way back to your office and I can get out of your hair.”

She threw him a questioning look, but didn’t press him.

He didn’t do cuddling, cooing or coddling. He helped young women through often complicated births, took care of the casita’s orphans if they required medical attention—but getting attached to any of them? Not his bag. Caring only led to heartbreak and he’d had more than his fair share of that nonsense.

“Not everyone has the stomach for this kind of work.” He tried to cover the awkward silence settling between them. “And yet you choose to be with children most people prefer to ignore. A ward full of dying orphans—”

“Children,” she firmly corrected.

“Orphaned children,” he couldn’t stop himself from riposting. “I’m surprised you, of all people, would wrap everything up in politically correct language to make things softer and fluffier for them. Life is tough and will continue to be so—especially for children like these. Orphans.”

From the flash of ire in her eyes it looked like he’d hit a nerve.

“They’re children first and foremost, Dr. Torres—and that’s how I see them. How we see them. Not a single one of them is harboring an illusion that the world is solely made up of happy families and that they’re on a little spa break, thank you very much. The children in my ward have all most likely come here to die, and they know that. So having things a bit ‘fluffy bunny’ is exactly what we’re after.”

Harriet only just stopped herself from harrumphing. She prided herself on choosing her language at St. Nick’s very carefully and patronizing her about it didn’t go down well, no matter how nice a package it came in.

“‘Fluffy bunny’?” He arched an eyebrow.

Hmm...that may not have had the gravitas she had been aiming for.

“It’s interesting you should ask, Dr. Torres. Terminology is one of the things I was going to talk about tonight in my speech. Something that can make a real difference for the children here. And very possibly at Casita Verde. I wouldn’t like to judge before I set foot in the place.”

Ha! Take that, you—you aspersion-caster, you!

“So you will be giving the speech tonight, then?”

Another amused eyebrow shifted upwards.

Oh. Wait a minute.

“I...” She scanned the ward for an invisible Dr. Bailey. “I think my esteemed boss hasn’t really given me much of a choice.”

“There is a rather nice carrot dangling at the end of the stick if it goes well, no?”

Her eyes caught his. A ridiculous image of Matteo beckoning to her with a single crooked finger as he lay bare chested on a satin-sheeted bed blinded her for a moment. He wasn’t talking about himself, was he?

Was he?

She sought answers in his eyes—almost verdant they were so green. So dreamy green... This wouldn’t do. She turned course abruptly in an attempt to swish away down the corridor, only narrowly avoiding tripping over a six-year-old playing airplane. Grace, it seemed, was continuing to elude her.

“Don’t you want to show me around your part of St Nicholas’s?” Matteo appeared at her side in a couple of long-legged strides. He, apparently, had children dodging down to a fine art.

She didn’t answer. There were a whole host of things she’d like to do with him, but show him the place that mattered to her most? Open herself up to more disparaging comments? Not particularly.

* * *

“I bet you could have done anything you set your mind to,” Matteo pressed, enjoying watching Harriet veer across the corridor to give herself more distance from him. Was she shy, or just repulsed? Not the usual effect he had on a woman, but he was open to firsts. “Were you ever tempted to become a doctor?”

“Ha! Good one. Not for a second. Nursing is exactly where I belong. It suits me perfectly.”

Her words sounded positive, but from the expression on her face Matteo could see Harriet’s laugh-it-off demeanor was a defense mechanism.

“What’s wrong with aiming higher?”

“What’s wrong with life in the trenches?” Her expression dared him to come up with an answer.

“Good point.” And he meant it. He fixed his gaze to hers—clear and blue, imbued with a healthy dose of trust. Innocent—but not naive. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least to discover that what you saw was what you got with Harriet Monticello. What did surprise him was that he wanted to know more. Another first. He switched course.

“Would I be correct in presuming your father was Italian with a surname like Monticello?”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about me.” She waved off his question.

“I never said any such thing. You did.”

“Was.” She nodded, her mood taking a visible dip. “He and my mother—who was Irish...” she pointed at her blonde hair “...died quite a few years back. Gosh...ten years ago. When I was just starting my nursing training here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And he meant it. Family was precious. He wished he was better at fostering what little relationship he had with his parents. After the fog had cleared in the wake of his sister’s death they had all but gone their separate ways. Acknowledging the work he did meant remembering their daughter. He’d already accepted that might never happen.

“It happens to everyone, eventually.” Her lips arced into a sad smile as she turned to look out a window towards a flourishing garden courtyard. Not as lush as in Argentina—but it was nice. Another Harriet touch?

He turned and saw her fighting a glaze of tears forming, her blue eyes fastidiously taking a swing round the leafy courtyard. He understood instantly. St. Nick’s was filling an emptiness in her. The space her family had filled. The same way his work stood in for what he could never replace. The dreams he would never realize. Would there ever come a day when he’d done enough? A day when he felt at peace?

Something deep within him said no. Something deeper prayed he was wrong.

He pressed his hands onto his thighs before giving them a conclusive clap. This was all getting a bit too deep and heavy and he needed to be on his top game tonight. There weren’t just peers in the audience. There were donors. Ones with deep pockets. Including a very pretty research nurse who could be the key to a new clinic.

“Well, I, for one, am looking forward to seeing you ace that speech tonight.”

“From your lips—” Harriet began as she turned from the window then stopped, her eyes snagged on Matteo’s full mouth. One lip resting atop the other, parting to speak...

“And then you’ll come to Buenos Aires and show me your dazzling research in action?” His smile was leading. He was aware she’d been staring—and that she liked what she saw.

“When you put it that way, how could I resist?” She looked away from his inquisitive gaze. To push boundaries? Change things further afield? Tickles of possibility teased at Harriet’s utilitarian shoes and practical hairdo. To live twenty-four seven with a man who turned her into the equivalent of a weeping Beatles fan? Emotional yo-yo? Oh, yeah. She was riding that thing like it was going out of style.

No. No way.

Her sister did wild and wonderful. She did sensible and sane. It’s why her sister needed her. Why she stayed put, holding onto the family home...just in case. If she wasn’t needed, then... Best not go there.

“So, I guess I’d better offer you some tips on life in my country,” Matteo commented, as if the trip was a done deal. “Lesson number one? In Argentina, there is a lot of kissing. Anything and everything—especially an agreement—comes with a kiss. You’ll have to get used to it if—when—you come.”

He didn’t seem like the flirting type, but... Was he flirting?

She nodded dumbly.

Wait. Were his lips getting closer? Had her eyelashes just fluttered? She didn’t flutter—oh, he was coming closer. Was he aiming for her cheek? Which way was she meant to turn? Right? Left? Was this like the cheek-rub thing earlier with the kissing noise but no contact? Blimey, she wished she’d traveled more.

His hands touched each of her shoulders. Her brain did a little short-circuit before reconnecting with her ability to see straight. Undecided, Harriet changed direction at the precise moment Matteo’s very obviously intended cheek kiss landed squarely on her lightly parted lips.

Everything inside her responded to his touch.

Her entire bloodstream surged and performed a ready-for-Vegas dance routine. Had he stayed there...his lips tasting hers...just a little longer than one would for an accidental snog? Or had she made that up? Fact and fiction were blurring at a rate of knots.

She pulled back and instantly wanted more. Matteo was giving his chin a scrub, a curious expression playing across his features. Had she just grown antlers? Insecurity began to unfurl its fingers through her. If this was how things worked in Argentina, she was definitely going to stay right in England where a handshake was a handshake and cheek kisses were precisely what they said on the label.

She tugged her hand from his, took an unnecessary glance at her watch and backed into her office. Keeping her eye on the prey. Enemy? Something like that.

“I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Matteo stepped back, wondering what the hell had possessed him to give a spontaneous kissing lesson. No one got under his skin and yet...

Harriet gave a nervous laugh and ducked farther into the confines of her office.

No bets on that one. Matteo knew himself enough to know he’d wanted to be close to Harriet, had wanted to touch her. Just a couple of hours wandering around the hospital together and he’d felt a connection he rarely felt. Something genuine. Something real. Not the confident, rule-setting guy who flew to conferences to show his wares in exchange for shiny new clinics. The Matteo whose heart was every bit as much a part of the Casitas as Harriet’s was with St. Nick’s. The part that was searching for...enough and having no idea where to find it.

“I guess I’ll see you at the hall?” She shifted from foot to foot, not unlike a skittish colt.

“Yes, perfect.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wodge of papers he’d folded and refolded into ever-decreasing squares. “I’ve got all of the details here. What do you call it? The bumph?”

Harriet smiled, a little dimple he hadn’t noticed before appearing in her cheek. It made her appear pretty and vulnerable all at once, bringing out a protectiveness in him he hadn’t felt for a woman in a long, long time.

“Yes. The bumph. Well done. You’re going to have to teach me Argentinian lingo—”

“Spanish? No problem. Dinner afterwards?”

“Uh...I don’t know about that.”

“Of course you do. Come to dinner with me after the lectures and we can toast your public speaking success.”

“I’m not so sure—”

“Sister, can you come?” A nurse knocked and stuck her head in the door, her face looking strained with worry. “It’s Cora.”

“Is she seizing?” Harriet scooted round him and was in the corridor in an instant.

“SFS. She says she tastes pickles and has the seasick feeling. She won’t move until you come.”

Matteo didn’t even stop to think. He followed Harriet to the play area the nurse indicated. A simple focal seizure could quickly lead to another much more dramatic attack. Grand mal seizures weren’t uncommon.

“Does she usually have a stage two?”

“Yes.” Harriet kept up the quick pace. “Childhood absence. Unresponsive to voice, automatisms. Eyelid flickering and some lip smacking,” she explained.

“So nothing violent?” Matteo matched her stride for stride.

“No.” She shook away her own answer. “She’s had one tonic-clonic, but overall she’s been responding well to meds.”

“Sodium valproate?”

“In combination with lamotrigine. It seems to work well for her. We wanted to steer clear of phenobarbital and phenytoin.”

“Adverse affects on cognitive development?”

Harriet nodded. They’d both clearly read the same studies.

Harriet headed towards a skinny little redhead standing in the center of the play area.

“Hey there, Cora.” Harriet’s tone was soft as she gently lowered herself to the girl’s eye level. Matteo nodded approvingly at how Harriet moved—careful not to give the girl any rapid movements to take in. If she was already feeling unwell, too much commotion could make her feel worse. “What do you say we get you to your bed?”

“I don’t feel well.” Cora’s gaze remained static on the wall.

“I know, sweetheart. That’s why I’m here. Shall we get you to your bed?”

“I’m too dizzy.”

“How about I put my hands on your eyes for a bit and you think of your bed?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Harriet shifted behind Cora. “I’m going to do it now, Cora. All right?”

“Okay.” The girl’s voice was tiny and frightened. The more stressed she became, the more likely another seizure was.

“Matteo.” Harriet’s voice was a near whisper. “Could you grab that chair, please?” She nodded towards a well-worn wing chair with high sides and a deep seat.

“Absolutely.”

Harriet moved to the side, fingers still covering Cora’s eyes, as Matteo brought the chair round—aiming it at a portion of the wall that contained a single horizontal line. When Cora felt well enough to focus her eyes on something, that line could help. Another one of Harriet’s touches? He wouldn’t be surprised.

“All right, sweetheart. Ready to sit down? We’ve got Christopher here.”

Matteo shot her a questioning look. Christopher?

Harriet nodded at the chair. Apparently it was called Christopher.

His instinct was to laugh but common sense caught up with him as they each took hold of one of Cora’s arms and guided her into the chair. The girl was feeling panicked, needed her eyes closed, and required reassurance all at once. If she knew she was going to settle back into Christopher, it would be reassuring. Simple. Clever. He was pretty certain he knew who had thought up the idea and couldn’t stop a big ‘Aha!” smile from forming as they tucked Cora into the chair along with a couple of throw pillows so she’d feel extra cozy and safe.

A few minutes later, Cora was feeling much better and asked Harriet to take her to her room for a rest.

After she’d been tucked into her bed, they each took a side of the door frame to lean on and watch her for a bit, with Harriet making a few notes in Cora’s chart. When she’d finished, Harriet looked across at Matteo, their eyes meeting with a look of mutual understanding. She was much more than an academic. He’d been quick off the mark to slot her into a “books and flowcharts only” file and, while the incident hadn’t been an extreme one, she’d shown swift and effective responses to the girl’s plight.

He’d need to be a bit more generous in the Doctor Knows Best department. Be open to her input.

A little zip of anticipation surged through him at the idea of Harriet at Casita Verde. There could be more advantages to her visit than he’d thought. A clinic at the casita—a proper one—so that they wouldn’t have to send the children away to hospital would be a godsend. It near enough gave him physical pain each time they had to sign a child over to the state but their resources were stretched beyond reason. Perhaps with Harriet on their side...

Would she wear that form-hugging nurse’s uniform? he wondered. Then stopped himself. Re-dressing Harriet Monticello was not the route to getting funding. Not the way to stay focused.

He shook his head to clear it as Harriet slipped the chart onto a hook just inside Cora’s door. “I’m off to see a couple more of the kids. Did you want to come?”

It didn’t sound like an invitation and he needed to get his head straight.

“I think I’ll leave you to it. Make sure I’m at my best tonight.” He was about to give her a wink and a smile, but thought better of it. He was no Casanova, and this was a business trip...

He cleared his throat a bit too pointedly. ¡Qué quilombo! Wasn’t he the one who liked keeping things professional?

He tipped his head towards Cora’s room as they walked away. “Has she been here long? She seems to rely on you.”

“Only a couple of months. She’d been in foster-care, but the parents... The parents weren’t up to it.” Her lips tightened before she quickly shook off any judgment she’d been going to make.

More kudos to her. He was judgmental as hell when it came to backing out on a commitment like that. Better not to make one at all. That’s what he did. The only commitments he made were professional. It made life much easier.

Harriet pointed to a large, colorful chart with names and times on it. “The children know the shifts and have one person of their choice to call on when they’re feeling anxious. She hasn’t chosen yet, so I’m the interim ‘go to’ girl.”

“Is this part of your staffing thing?” How about sounding a bit more patronizing? He could’ve kicked himself.

“It’s part of being consistent with the children. Something, as you well know, most of these kids haven’t had.” She swept away a lock of blonde hair before continuing. “Cora, like a lot of the residents here, had been in a foster home. Well, several foster homes, and she also has minor ADHD that kicks up a notch with each change. The more anxious it makes her, the worse her epilepsy becomes, and the worse her epilepsy becomes—”

“The harder it is to place her,” Matteo finished for her. It was the same drill where he came from. The worse the medical condition, the less likely it was they’d find adoptive parents, let alone foster parents. Who wanted to open their wallets, let alone their hearts, to a child with so many hurdles to leap?

“Got it in one!” She smiled up at him, another one of those hits of connection pinging him straight in the chest. Practical, emotional and as committed as they got. This woman was a medical triple threat.

“It looks like we might have more in common than I thought.” Matteo gave her a rueful smile. “Professionally speaking, of course.”

Her smiled disappeared in an instant.

Why had he said that?

He knew exactly why he’d said it. To keep his emotions where he liked them. All tucked up in his very own...er... Christopher. But taking away that smile of hers? A bad move.

“Of course. Well, then...” Harriet’s voice became clipped. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish seeing the pa—the children and then get home to work on my lecture. I don’t want to be letting you down tonight. Professionally speaking, of course.”

Touché.

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