Praise for Louisa George:

‘How to Resist a Heartbreaker keeps you hooked from beginning to end, but make sure you have a tissue handy, for this one will break your heart only to heal it in the end.’

—HarlequinJunkie

‘A moving, uplifting and feel-good romance, this is packed with witty dialogue, intense emotion and sizzling love scenes. Louisa George once again brings an emotional and poignant story of past hurts, dealing with grief and new beginnings which will keep a reader turning pages with its captivating blend of medical drama, family dynamics and romance.’

—GoodReads on How to Resist a Heartbreaker

‘Louisa George is a bright star at Mills & Boon®, and I can highly recommend this book to those who believe romance rocks the world.’

—GoodReads reader review on How to Resist a Heartbreaker

A lifelong reader of most genres, LOUISA GEORGE discovered romance novels later than most, but immediately fell in love with the intensity of emotion, the high drama and the family focus of Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™.

With a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication and a nursing qualification under her belt, writing medical romance seemed a natural progression and the perfect combination of her two interests. And making things up is a great way to spend the day!

An English ex-pat, Louisa now lives north of Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, two teenage sons and two male cats. Writing romance is her opportunity to covertly inject a hefty dose of pink into her heavily testosteronedominated household. When she’s not writing or researching Louisa loves to spend time with her family and friends, enjoys travelling, and adores great food. She’s also hopelessly addicted to Zumba®.

Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon
Louisa George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for picking up Matteo and Ivy’s story.

The idea for this book came from a news article I read about a doctor getting into trouble for commenting about a case on social media. The dos and don’ts of stepping into that very public place the internet as a professional person intrigued me. What if someone did something silly and inadvertently brought their place of work into the glare of the media? What would the ramifications be? How do medical providers deal with social media platforms? And, best of all, how would a very English uptight hospital lawyer deal with a super-sexy, rule-breaking Italian man?

These two professionals with very different approaches to life have no idea what’s about to hit them when Ivy summons Matteo to her office for a dressing-down!

Both of them have been hurt before, and neither wants to trust anyone any time soon—but having to live a little in each other’s world opens them up to the potential of letting their guards down and falling in love. And they fight it every step of the way.

Matteo and Ivy were such fun to write about—possibly my favourite characters so far (although I always think that!). But what’s not to like about a handsome Italian surgeon and a good old feisty Yorkshire lass? (I’m slightly biased, I know …)

For all my writing news and release dates visit me at www.louisageorge.com

Happy reading!

Louisa x

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Louisa George

About the Author

Title Page

Dear Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHAT ON EARTH …?’ Ivy Leigh blinked at the image downloading to her inbox, pixel by tiny pixel.

A … bottom?

A beautiful perfectly formed, tanned, bare bottom. Two toned thighs, a sculpted back … a naked male body, in what looked like a men’s locker room. A tagline next to the pert backside read: Dr Delicious. As perfect as a peach. Go on … take a bite.

She swallowed. And again. Fanned her hot cheeks. She might have imposed a strict dating hiatus but she still had an appreciation of what was fine when she saw it. But why on earth would her work computer be the recipient of such a thing?

Maybe the spam screens on the hospital intranet server weren’t up to scratch. Adding a new note to her smartphone to-do list—Call IT—she let out a heat-infused sigh that had nothing to do with sexual frustration and everything to do with this new job. Two weeks in and yet another department she needed to pull into order. Still, she’d been employed here to drag this hospital into the twenty-first century and that was what she was going to do, no matter how many toes she trod on.

Twisting in her chair to hide the offending but not remotely offensive bottom from anyone who might walk past her open office door, she sneaked a closer look at the image, her gaze landing on a pile of what looked like discarded clothes on a bench. No, not clothes as such …

Scrubs?

Please, no.

Dark green scrubs bearing the embroidered name of St Carmen’s Hospital. She gasped, and whatever vague interest she’d had dissolved into a puddle of professional anxiety … her bordering-on-average day was fast turning bad.

So who? What? Why? Why me?

She slammed her eyelids shut and refused to look at the accompanying email message.

Okay, big girls’ pants.

Opening one eye, she took a deep breath and read.

From Albert Pinkney. St Carmen’s Hospital Chairman. His formidable perfectly English pronunciation shone through his words. ‘Miss Leigh, what in heaven’s name is this? Our new marketing campaign? Since when did St Carmen’s turn into some sort of smutty cabaret show? This is all over the internet like a rash and is not synonymous with the image we want to present. The benefactors are baying for blood. We are a children’s hospital. You’re the lawyer—do something. Make it disappear. Fix it.’

Because she was probably the only person who could solve this—when all else failed call in the lawyer to shut it down, or drag some antiquated law out and hit the offender with it.

And, damn it, fix it she would. Although making it disappear would be a little harder. Didn’t Pinkney know that once something was out on the net, it was there for ever? Clearly he was another candidate to add to her social media awareness classes.

First, find out who this … specimen belonged to. Now, that was going to be an interesting task. ‘Becca! Becca! ‘

‘Yes, Miss Leigh?’ Her legal assistant arrived in the doorway and flashed her usual over-enthusiastic grin. ‘What can I help you with?’

‘Delicate issue … You’ve been here a while and have your ear to the ground. You must know pretty much all of the staff by now. Have you any idea who this … might belong to?’ Ivy twisted away and made a ta-da motion with her hands towards her computer screen.

‘Oh, my…’ Becca fanned her face with the stack of manila folders in her hand. ‘Take a bite? I’m suddenly very hungry.’

Me, too. ‘That is so not the point. Can you see our logo? Right there. We can’t have this sort of thing happening, it’s very bad for our reputation.’

‘Not unless we’re trying to attract a whole tranche of new nurses … No? Wrong response? Sorry.’ Becca gave a little shrug that said she wasn’t sorry at all and that, in fact, she was really quite impressed. ‘It’s very nice. It is kind of perfect. And it says it belongs to a doctor so we can narrow it down. We could do one of those police line-ups, get the main suspects against the wall and …’ She looked back at the picture, her voice breathy and high-pitched. ‘I’m happy to organise that.’

‘Get in line.’ But, seriously, how many years at law school? For this? This was what she’d studied so hard for? This was why she’d hibernated away from any kind of social life? Her plan had always been to get into a position where she could safeguard others from what she’d had to endure, to prevent mistakes that cost people their happiness. Not chastise a naked man about impropriety. Still, no one could say her job didn’t have variety. ‘I don’t want to narrow it down, Becca, I want it gone. We need to send out a stack of take-down notices, get the PR team onto damage limitation. And whoever put this out there is going to learn what it’s like to feel the wrath of Ivy Leigh.’

It was late. The cadaver transplant he’d just finished on a ten-year-old boy had been difficult and long, but successful, with a good prognosis. He had a planned surgery list lined up for tomorrow and a lot of prep to work up. A ward round. And now this—an urgent summons to a part of the hospital he had not even known existed. Or, for that matter, cared about. The legal team? At six-thirty in the evening? Wouldn’t all the pen-pushers have gone home? Matteo Finelli’s mood was fading fast. He rapped on the closed door. Didn’t wait to hear a response, and walked right in. ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Yes.’ The woman in front of him sat up straight behind an expensive-looking wide mahogany desk that was flanked by two filing cabinets. Beyond that a large window gave a view over the busy central London street. It was sunny out there and he imagined sitting in a small bar or café with the sun on his back as he downed a cold beer. Instead of being in here, doing this.

Apart from a calendar on the desk there was nothing else anywhere in the room. Nothing personalised, no photos, no pens, stapler … anything. She either had a bad case of OCD or had just moved in. Which would explain why he had not heard of her or seen her around. She ran a hand through short blonde hair that made her look younger than he’d imagined she must be to have achieved such a status and such a large office.

Cool green eyes stared at him. The blouse she wore was a similar colour—and why he’d even noticed he couldn’t say. Her mouth, although some would say was pretty, was in a tight thin line. She looked buttoned-up and tautly wound and as if she had never had a moment of pleasure in her life. She met his anger with equal force. ‘Mr Finelli, I presume? Please, take a seat.’

He didn’t. ‘I have not time. I was told you needed to see me immediately … What is the problem?’

‘Okay, no pleasantries. Fine by me. I’ll cut to the chase. Tell me …’ The eyes narrowed a little. Her throat jumped as she swallowed. Emerald-tipped fingers tapped on a keyboard and an image flickered onto the screen. ‘Is this you?’

There was no point in concealing his laugh. Whoever had taken the photo had held the lens at a damned fine angle. He looked good. More than good. He whistled on an out breath. ‘You like it?’

‘That’s not the point.’ But her pupils flared and heat hit her cheeks.

‘You do like it? It is impressive, yes? And you summoned me all the way to the other side of the hospital for a slide show of naked bodies … interesting.’ He turned to go. ‘Now, I can leave? I have work to do.’

‘Not so fast, Mr Finelli.’

Ma che diavolo? ‘Call me Matteo, please.’

The woman blinked. ‘Mr Finelli, why did you post this picture on the internet? Were you hoping for it to go completely viral, because, congratulations, it did. It seems that cyberspace can’t get enough of your … assets. Have you any idea what damage you have caused the hospital by posing for this with the St Carmen’s logo available for the world to see?’

‘Everybody calls me Matteo, I do not answer to Mr Finelli—too formal. Too … English. I did not post that picture anywhere. And with all due respect, Miss …’ His eyes roved over her face—which was turning from a quite attractive pink to a dark shade of red—then to her name badge. Her left hand. No wedding band. Definitely Miss. ‘Miss Ivy Leigh. I was not posing.’

‘Do you deny this is your bott … er … gluteus maximus?’

It wasn’t fair to smile again. But he did. ‘Of course I don’t deny it. I’ve already agreed that it is mine. But clearly I did not take the picture and I did not pose. It looks to me like I’d had a shower, I was stretching to get my clothes out of the locker, with my back to the lens, you cannot see my face. I can’t take a photo of the back of my head from that distance, can I? Besides which I am a very busy doctor and I do not have time to sit around playing on the internet like some people.’ Like you, he thought. But he let that accusation hover in the silence. ‘I don’t know for sure who took the picture, but I can guess.’

‘Oh? Who?’ She leant forward, her eyes fixed on his face, eyebrows arched. In another lifetime it might have been fun to play a little more with her. To see where her soft edges were, if she had any. But not in this life.

‘Ged Peterson.’ Touché, my man. You win this round. ‘My registrar, he loves playing pranks.’

‘Peterson. Peterson. Ged? Short for Gerard?’ Those green-tipped fingers tapped into some database on the computer. ‘He doesn’t work here.’

‘No. But he did. Until last month when he went to work in Australia. He said he was going to give me a leaving present. I didn’t realise it would be this.’ Matteo stepped back, primed to leave. ‘And now we have solved the mystery I must go.’

‘Absolutely not. Stay right there.’

That got his attention. No woman had ever spoken to him like that before. It was … well, it was interesting. ‘Why?’

‘Again, I ask you; have you any idea of the damage you have caused? Lady Margaret has withdrawn her funding for the new family rooms in protest already. Parents are complaining that this is not what they expect from an institution responsible for their children’s lives. Surgeons who complain about being overworked and underpaid and yet have time to flaunt their bodies make us look ridiculous. It’s not professional.’

‘Everyone needs to stop overreacting. It is nothing.’

With a disdainful look that suggested he was in way over his pretty little head, she shook hers. ‘Image is everything, Mr Finelli. In this technological age it’s all about the message we send out to gain trust and respect. We need people on side to volunteer, raise funds, hit targets. We do not need some jumped-up surgeon flashing his backside with our logo in the picture.’

He strode forward and leaned towards her, pointing at the picture getting a nose full of honeysuckle scent in the process. Overly officious she might be, but she smelt damned good. He edged away from the perfume because it was strangely addictive and he didn’t need any more distractions today. This was enough and he still had a few hours’ work ahead of him. ‘If you are worried about funding I have an idea … why not take another eleven pictures of me and make some calendars you hospital administrators all seem to love so much? Sell me?’

‘I am a lawyer.’ As if that explained anything. Actually, it explained a lot. With one brother already qualified and another working his way through college, Matteo knew that law school was just as rigorous as med school. That those dark shadows under her eyes weren’t from late nights drinking in bars but from studying into the early hours. That this woman had worked diligently amidst strong competition. Along with her English-rose complexion and porcelain skin, it also explained that she’d probably spent the best part of her life cooped up indoors with her nose in a book, not exploring the world, not simply lying in the last rays of a relaxing afternoon letting the sun heat your skin. It explained why she was so damned coiled.

She shook her head. ‘The money you’ve already lost us is in the thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands, Mr Finelli. Calendars only make a few pounds per copy.’

‘With my backside on them it would make a lot more.’

‘You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?’ Her voice had deepened and he got the feeling she was trying very hard to be calm.

Good, because that meant he was niggling her, probably not as much as she was niggling him … but, well, he had more important things to do. Like go check on the transplant patient. ‘Sure. Why not?’

In what he could only describe as a power play she stood up and walked around the desk. If he wasn’t mistaken it took her a moment to steady herself, then she grabbed a file from a filing cabinet and slammed it shut with finesse and flair. She sat back down again, but not before he’d taken a good long look at the cinched-in waist, curve-enhancing, slim-legged trousers and wedge heels.

Even more interesting …

Opening what he now realised was his employment file, she gave him a cold stare. ‘Look, Mr Finelli, it’s obvious you are not taking this issue seriously. I need to make sure you are aware of the consequences of having your naked body sprawled over the internet with our name and logo on it. I have discussed the issue with the HR department and the chairman and we are all in agreement that we need to instigate some courses for the staff on the whys and wherefores of social media etiquette. These will be mandatory for every—’

‘Because of this? I did nothing wrong.’

‘Because of this. Because we can’t run risks with people’s lives, or be distracted from our true purpose as a hospital. Because we can’t make mistakes. Distraction causes death or damage.’ This was clearly very important to her—personal, maybe, judging by the passion in her eyes and the slight shake in her hands.

She took a sip of water from a glass next to her elbow. And didn’t, he noticed, offer him anything to drink. She waited a moment and seemed to settle herself before continuing. ‘We have to control how we are seen, and this episode has just cemented my point. I ran the classes very successfully at my last place of employment and am starting them here on Thursday. You will be required to attend.’

No way. ‘I operate on Thursdays.’

‘And Tuesdays and Fridays. I know. There are only four sessions. You will be expected to attend them all, like every other person in this hospital, then no more will be said about the matter.’

Dio santo. She was serious. ‘Have you any idea how precious operating theatre time is to a surgeon?’

She looked away and her eyes flickered closed for a moment. Then she gathered herself together. ‘I have some understanding, yes.’

‘And if I refuse?’

She tapped his folder. ‘You will have to face a disciplinary hearing. Then there will be no operating time at all. It will be time-consuming and messy. There may even be a stand-down period. Who can say?’

Now the niggling descended into outright anger. ‘On what grounds?’

‘Bringing the organisation into disrepute. Refusing mandatory training. It’s all quite clear in the employment contract … expected behaviour, training requirements, dress code, et cetera. Mr Finelli, many hospital boards don’t allow their physicians to have a public face on social media. We are not unusual in wanting to protect ourselves.’

Round one to Ivy Leigh. Ivy … wasn’t there a plant … poison ivy? Sommaco velenoso. It described her perfectly. He just needed a counter argument to bring Poison Ivy down a peg or two. ‘Perhaps I could sue you too.’

Now her eyes widened with a flicker of nervousness. ‘What the hell for?’

‘Breach of my privacy. I could suggest that I did not give my permission for my body to be used in such a poorly contrived advert.’

She laughed and it was surprisingly soft and feminine. ‘Go on and indulge yourself in any fantasy you like. But you and I both know this was not an advert. You have no grounds, but I do. In fact, section three of the Workplace—’

‘Forget it. I’m not listening any more. I will not attend your sessions.’

‘Okay. Your choice.’ She reminded him of his younger sister, Liliana, who would not give up. Ever. Arguing with her was like arguing with a brick wall. ‘Then I will have to invite you to attend a meeting with our human relations director first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘No.’ Take more time out of his work schedule?

Maybe Mike would swap his cardiac roster from a Wednesday for one week just to make this insufferable woman go away?

‘Mr Finelli, we are both on the same side.’

‘Like hell we are.’ But he did not have any more time to waste on this. Better to get it over and done with. ‘You leave me with no choice. I’ll do the four sessions.’

‘Then it’s sorted. After that you won’t hear anything more from me on this matter. Thank you for your time.’ She put out her hand and, grimly, he shook it. It was warm and firm and confident. And a little something reverberated through his body at her touch—which he steadfastly ignored. Clearly she felt none of it as her voice remained calm and cool, like her eyes. ‘I’m sure you’ll find the sessions most interesting.’

‘I’m sure I won’t. Now I need to rearrange my day. Four sessions shouldn’t take up much time. I will be free from what time? Lunch?’

Amusement flashed across her features, as if she’d won a well-fought victory. ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t I make myself clear? By four sessions I meant four days.’

‘Four days? No. No way. I’m not doing it.’

‘But you agreed. And we shook hands. Is an Italian man’s word as good as his honour?’

He held her gaze. His honour was fine and intact, unlike others he could name. He would never betray anyone the way he had once been betrayed. ‘It is. But I have one condition.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Her expression told him she thought he was not well placed to be making conditions.

‘For every minute I have to spend in your ridiculous class you have to spend an equal amount of time with me, doing my work. The work this hospital is so famous for doing. Saving lives. Then perhaps you’ll see just how badly you have wasted my time.’ He held her gaze. Saw the flicker of anxiety stamped down by determined resolve as she nodded.

‘Okay.’ Her smile was like condensed milk—way too sweet. ‘Seeing as I’m new to the hospital, I have to familiarise myself with each department anyway. And it’ll give me invaluable insights into the specific kind of legal issues that could arise there and a chance to review policy. This way I’ll be killing two birds with one stone.’

How had he thought it might be fun to play with her? Fun was over. This was war. ‘Believe me, Miss Leigh, the only killing going on in my OR is of your determination to make a damned fool of me. Goodbye.’

CHAPTER TWO

HE WASN’T GOING to come.

Ivy surveyed the conference room filled with porters, nursing staff, ward clerks and doctors, all chattering and drinking copious cups of coffee before the first session started in less than two minutes. And why the heck, with a room full of attendees who looked interested and invested in learning about social media, she was shamefully disappointed that she couldn’t see Mr Finelli’s famous backside in the foray, she couldn’t fathom. Only that she now appeared to be locked in some sort of battle of wills with the doctor and she’d been looking forward to showcasing her side and proving her very valid points. The man may have been infuriatingly narcissistic but she’d believed him a worthy adversary. Clearly not. Typical that he hadn’t bothered to turn up.

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.

She pulled away. ‘So. I’ll see you tomorrow. Show me what you’ve got, Mr Finelli, I’m expecting to be very impressed.’

He felt strongly that he could show Miss Leigh a thing or two and she’d be very impressed indeed. Work. Work. Reminding himself of what was truly the most important thing in his life, he took a step back too. Che stupido. ‘Do not bring me back to that issue again. Those damned workshops. This social media thing. Miss Leigh, you make my blood boil sometimes.’

‘I try my best. All part of the service.’

With that she gave him a very satisfied smile that he imagined would grace her lips at the end of a particularly heavy lovemaking session. For a fleeting second he imagined her naked and on his sheets. Spent and glowing.

‘Goodbye, Mr Finelli.’

He watched the lift door swish closed, thanking the god of good timing that she’d had the good sense to put a stop to whatever dangerous game had been about to play out. She made his blood boil indeed, the heat between them had been off the scale. No woman had made him so infuriated and so turned on at the same time. He spoke to the metal doors as the lift lurched upwards. ‘Goodbye, Ivy.’

Then he turned to walk up the stairs and back to the surgical suite. A ward round beckoned, then some prep, allaying the fears of his patients and their parents … then a quick gym session, a decent meal, some sleep.

He needed to be ready for tomorrow, for Ivy and for round two.

CHAPTER THREE

THIS IS YOUR JOB, for goodness’ sake. Pull yourself together.

As long as Ivy focused on that she’d be fine. She’d put everything on the line for her job her whole adult life and had got exactly where she wanted to be: Director of Legal at a fabulous, age-old and well-respected institution. So this was just another hurdle. Just an incy-wincy hurdle that she would jump with ease.

If only for two little things …

Shut up. Blood and a bloody-minded man would not get to her. She dragged the scrubs top over her head and straightened it, leaned in to the mirror and watched her hands shake as she slid the paper hairnet hat thing over her hair, squashing her fringe in the process. Great look, girlfriend.

Then she took a little more notice of her surroundings. The scrubs with the St Carmen’s logo and the locker room reminded her of the photo … Would she be for ever condemned to remember that image for as long as she lived?

Half of her hoped so. The other half tried to blot it from her mind.

‘Hey, Miss Leigh, are you ready?’ Nancy, the OR assistant, called through the door. ‘We’re going in now, the surgeon’s here.’

And she so hadn’t needed to hear that. ‘Just a second, I’m almost there.’ Okay. Breathe. Deeply. In. Out. In. Out. You can do this. It was just a case of mind over matter. She was in control of this.

She didn’t know what she was dreading most: the red stuff or the man she’d had the dirtiest dream about last night. The man she’d almost grabbed in the lift and planted a kiss on those too smug lips of his. Who she’d spent an hour trying to describe to her flatmate and had ended up with annoyingly sexy.

So, yes, she thought he was sexy. Just as Becca did, and, frankly, the same as all the women in the hospital did. So she was just proving she had working hormones—nothing else to see here, move right along. The man who was out to make her look a fool but, God knew, he might not need to try too hard, because if things didn’t go as planned she’d be managing that quite well all on her own.

Popping two more herbal rescue sweets into her mouth and sucking for all she was worth, she took a couple of extra-long deep breaths and steadied her rampaging heart. Give her a sticky mediation case, two ornery barristers and an angry, justice-seeking client any day. Words … that was her thing. Words, debate, the power of vocabulary. Not medicine. Not blood. Not internal stuff. Exactly why she hadn’t followed in her mother’s footsteps.

Here we go.

The smell hit her first. Sharp, tangy and clinical, filling her nostrils, and she thought it might have something to do with the brown stuff a man in scrubs and face mask was painting onto the abdomen of an anaesthetised woman. Then the bright white light of the room hit her, the noise. She’d thought it would be silent—remembered only a quiet efficiency from those endless surgeries, but someone had put classical music on the speakers. It was the only soothing thing in the place.

So much for the rescue sweets. Her heart bumped along, merrily oblivious to the discomfort it was causing her, and now her hands were starting to sweat too. Someone sat at the head of the woman and fiddled with tubes. The anaesthetist, Ivy knew. She had enough experience to be able to identify most of the people in here. Another woman smiled at her and bustled past with a tray of instruments that looked like torture devices … hooks and clamps. Ivy shuddered and hovered on the periphery, not knowing what to do and feeling more and more like a spare part. Should she stand closer? But that would mean she’d get a bird’s-eye view of the action.

The man painting the brown stuff raised his head and she realised it was Matteo. Matteo—she’d got to thinking of him like that. Not Mr Finelli. Not something over there and out of reach. But someone here … someone personal. Matteo. Someone she’d almost kissed, for the first time in what felt like a thousand years. All she could see of his face were those eyes, piercing, dark and direct as he looked at her. ‘Ah. Miss Leigh. You’re here. Come closer, please. Glad you could tear yourself away from your paper pushing.’

‘Good to be here.’ Liar.

‘Nancy got you some scrubs. Good. We don’t want to get your lovely office suits messed up with bodily fluids. Do come and get a better view of the procedure, my team will make space for you. I’m sorry we didn’t reserve the gold-tier seating. And it’s a little crowded as I need to teach as well as operate. Perhaps one day you’ll be able to help us raise money for a decent viewing room? That would make all of our lives easier.’

She gave him a sarcastic smile, which she knew he couldn’t see behind her mask so she stuck her tongue out instead. Then levelled her voice. ‘You know very well that I’m a lawyer, not a fundraiser. However, I’ll add it to your wish-list. Which is getting longer by the day.’

‘I know. We surgeons are so demanding, yes? You’d think we were wanting to save lives or something.’ For a moment he regarded her with humour, but it was gentle and not rude, and then he became very focused and professional. ‘Okay. This patient is Emily. She’s donating her left kidney to her daughter, who is twelve years old and suffers from polycystic kidney disease. Emily is a perfect match in tissue type and blood type. She’s a very active lady with no medical history of any note. With one kidney she is giving her daughter the chance to have a normal life. That is, of course, as long as her body doesn’t reject it, although live donors are generally better tolerated than cadaver ones. Once the kidney has been removed, I, and a team of other surgeons, will …’ He paused and looked over at Ivy. ‘Are you okay, standing there?’

‘Yes, thanks. I’m fine.’ Shifting the weight from her left foot, she eased more heavily onto her right. And then realised he was still watching her.

His eyes flicked to her feet and then back to her face. ‘This is a long procedure—in fact, it’s going to be a long day. Would … er … anyone like a seat?’ His voice, she noted, had softened, the jokey teasing quite gone. Which was not what she wanted or expected from him. He must have noticed her limp. Goddamn. When had that been? She didn’t want anyone’s pity; she could hold her own as well as the next person. He called out to the orderly, ‘Eric …? Do we have any chairs?’

And look weak in front of all these people. In front of her colleagues? Him? No way. She shook her head vehemently.

Matteo paused with a large green sheet in his hand. ‘If you’re sure? Everyone?’ But she knew he meant just her. ‘This is your last chance. We’re going to start imminently and then we all need to concentrate.’

Oh, God. Objection! she wanted to shout. Stop! But instead she fisted her fingers into her palms, dug deep to distract herself from her raging heartbeat. ‘I’m fine. Please, just do the operation.’

‘As you like.’ He nodded to her, the scalpel now in his hand catching the light and glinting ominously. ‘Here we go, everyone. One laparoscopic donor nephrectomy begins.’

An hour later and Ivy had run out of places to look other than at the patient and risk the chance of seeing blood. She knew the right-hand corner of the room intimately now and could have recited the words on the warning sign above the electrical sockets blindfolded. The ECG monitoring machine bleeped and she focused once again on the LED display. Lots of squiggly lines and numbers. A niggly pain lodged in her lower back and her legs were starting to ache. She didn’t even have anything to lean against—that would have been helpful. So she stood rooted to the spot, trying to blot out the chatter, the music, the smell. Words like tubular … renal ligament … haemo … blood. She knew that. And sorely wished she didn’t.

But while her heartbeat was jigging off the scale it was clear that Matteo’s wasn’t. As he worked three probes jutting out from the woman’s abdomen while watching his handiwork on a large TV screen, his voice was measured and calm. For all his macho Italian remonstrating, the man was a damned fine surgeon, she’d give him that. He was also a decent teacher, taking time to explain to everyone exactly what he was doing—which really was amazing. Keyhole surgery was detailed, precise and very, very clever.

Okay, so she’d misjudged him. He was not narcissistic when it mattered, he was giving of himself to his patients and to the assistants. But he was still annoying. And sexy. And had she mentioned annoying? ‘We need to divide the adrenal vein so it is the optimal length for transplantation …’

She focused on the music because his running commentary was making her feel slightly woozy. Or maybe it was the heat in the room. Her gaze drifted over to him again, down his mask-covered face to his throat. The V of skin visible on his broad chest was suntanned, his forearm muscles contracting and stretching as he worked.

He stopped and arched his back, checked the screen, and, as he dipped his head to resume his work, he caught her eye. She could tell by the crinkles at his temples that he was smiling—what kind of a smile it was, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to. Just one look at those eyes made her gut contract in a sizzling, heat-filled clutch. She wondered what it would be like to wake up to those eyes, that skin … Or what would have happened in that lift yesterday if she hadn’t pulled away.

She was darned glad she had pulled away … frustrated, but glad.

But what if she hadn’t? Would he have kissed her? And why? Why her when there were so many beautiful women for him to kiss?

My God. Her mouth dried. She couldn’t be thinking like that. She couldn’t be imagining what it would be like to have Matteo touch her. To kiss him … Not when someone’s life was on the line—although, thank goodness, not in her hands.

Not at all. She wasn’t the kind of girl to have flings and she didn’t want anything else. Didn’t even want a fling … unless …

No. Not a fling. Not with Matteo damned Finelli.

She felt her cheeks heat, shook her head to clear her mind and realised it took longer than normal for her vision to catch up. Nausea ripped through her, rising up her gut. She focused on his hands. Hands that were red with blood now. Thick and red … and … The heat in the room was toxic … and she felt cold and hot … and she could feel the blood drain from her face …

‘So you are with us again? That is good.’ Matteo tapped Ivy’s hand with as little force as he dared muster, but enough that she’d at least open her eyes. She looked so pale, so young lying on the trolley covered with a blanket. And as she was his responsibility in the OR he’d deemed it only right to check on her. That’s what he told himself anyway as she stared at him, her cheeks reddening. She started to sit up but he coaxed her back down. ‘Lie still. Your blood pressure dropped and you fainted. Are you feeling okay?’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Please, go in and finish the operation. Leave me here.’ Her eyelids fluttered closed, more, he figured, out of embarrassment than feeling faint again.

People fainted in the OR on a regular basis. Nothing extraordinary. Except that this time had been the first and only time he’d felt a need to barge in and carry the victim out. But even though he had stood there helplessly as she’d fallen to the floor he’d known that he was not in a position to run to her—no matter what. His patient was his first priority. ‘It is all done—it takes more than a vaso-vagal to make me leave someone on the table. You were well cared for by the recovery nurses?’

She gave him a smile. ‘Yes. And I’m so sorry I took up their valuable time. It wasn’t necessary and neither is this visit. You’re busy.’

‘Nonsense. I have ten minutes before I go into the transplant. I thought I’d better check on my unexpected patient.’

She twisted to sit up, ignoring any attempt to keep her out of harm’s way. ‘You didn’t need to. Honestly. No one should have looked after me. I’d have been fine.’

‘Oh, yes, we always leave the sick ones scattered across the OR floor like the battlefield wounded. We just step over them, like little human hurdles whenever we need to move around the room. Did you have breakfast this morning?’

‘Yes.’ Which was contrary to what he’d assumed and didn’t explain why a strong woman like Ivy would faint. ‘A little.’

‘So you fell over. Why?’

She shrugged. ‘It was hot.’

‘We were all hot, it gets like that. The air-conditioning is faulty—just another thing to add to my wish-list.’ Maybe it had had something to do with her leg. Maybe she’d been in pain? Pazzo, he berated himself. Idiot. There he’d been playing games with her and she’d been unable to stand for so long. Physically unable to, for whatever reason. And he didn’t want to pry into something that wasn’t his business. But … ‘It was something more, I think.’

She looked like she was debating how to answer. ‘Okay. Yes.’

He waited for her to elucidate. ‘And …?’

‘I think I overdosed on rescue sweets.’

‘What?’ He had not been expecting that. He held back a laugh because he could see she was serious. ‘Rescue sweets? Really? You were nervous about the operation? And be honest. You have the kind of face that gives away all your emotions.’

‘That is not what someone of my profession wants to hear.’ She seemed to fold a little. ‘It’s not my usual workplace, is it?’

‘Which isn’t an admission of nerves, just a statement of fact.’ Ever the lawyer. ‘Were you scared?’

‘No comment.’ But her eyes dipped down and he knew he had her answer.

‘So yes. What of?’

‘No comment.’

‘Which might work in the courts, Ivy, but won’t stop me asking the questions. This is my domain now, not yours. You have a phobia? Needles? Blood? People?’ Me? That thought made him smile even more. Because he had no doubt that Ivy believed him to be her equal. Maybe it was the buzz between them that she was afraid of. Of what that might lead to unless they both held themselves in check.

The way she pursed her lips reminded him of his sister Liliana again—reluctant to admit any kind of weakness. She’d started to look less fragile, stronger, back to her fighting self. Almost—but was that a little humility there too? ‘Okay, if you must know, yes, I get a little woozy with blood …’

‘Aha, so you are afraid of something. Interesting …’ He’d found a weak spot. Excellent. Although seeing a young woman so pale wasn’t excellent at all. Fainting in front of a group of colleagues was pretty embarrassing too, and made anyone feel washed out and often came with a thumping headache. And now he felt compelled to help her. Again. It was becoming a habit. An unusual habit that he needed to shake off. ‘Okay, we’ll talk about it later. I may have some suggestions to help you with that. Now, I must go and see my next client.’

‘Wait. Matteo. Please.’ She reached a hand to his arm and a thousand jolts rattled through him. He knew exactly what that was. Chemistry. Physics. And basic biology. There was a connection between them that overrode sense. That ignored his brain and went beyond any interest he’d felt for a woman before. What was it about Ivy Leigh that had him reacting so strongly? Why did he want to help her? What was going on with his body that this attraction was so intense, so fierce?

He wanted answers so he could stop it and get back to normal. He’d never become so interested in a woman that he’d thought about snatching a kiss at work, in an elevator. That was the stuff of romance books and definitely not for a sane, level-headed scientist like himself. He liked to have control in who he kissed … not some sort of urgent, frenzied need. Because he knew exactly where that kind of wild, irrational love got a man. And he wasn’t going there ever again.

Her smile broadened. ‘Thank you for your concern. But what about the transplant? I’d like to watch … from a safe distance.’

Drawing his arm away from her touch, he shook his head. ‘You have nothing to prove, really. But you have to be able to hold your own in there, otherwise you become a liability, and perhaps today is a little soon for you to try to conquer your fears. So, no. You can’t come in and watch. I need to make sure you are strong enough—’

‘Strong? Of course I am … I was just a little overcome.’

‘We don’t need that kind of distraction in there. Try again next week?’ By which time he’d have this snagging interest in her under control. ‘I’ll try to find something less intrusive for you to watch.’

Jolting upright, she fixed him with those dark green eyes. ‘Damn it, I can do this.’

‘Not today and that decision is final.’

Shaking her head, she lay back down on the trolley and covered her eyes with her forearm. ‘So you won in the end.’ She sounded disappointed but retaliatory.

‘This round, yes.’ Although there was less satisfaction in that fact than he’d imagined there would be.

Nancy arrived and handed Ivy a plastic cup filled with water. ‘You’re fine to get up now, Miss Leigh. Your blood pressure is back to normal. Why don’t you have a drink first, then pop along to the locker rooms and get changed.’ His OR assistant turned to him. ‘Matteo, I’m sorry to interrupt, but just wanted to remind you we’re having Friday night drinks tonight. Will you be coming along?’

‘Of course.’

Nancy’s eyes flicked over to Ivy. ‘Oh, and Miss Leigh, of course. You must come too.’

Matteo guessed Nancy was playing the polite card because generally the department was pretty tight, but it would be rude not to ask her when this conversation was going on within her earshot. He ignored a little leap in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again. If that was how his body was reacting then maybe he wouldn’t go tonight if she was going to be there. It was better not to fuel this attraction any further. Bad enough she’d been the first thing he’d thought about when he’d woken up this morning.

‘Why does everyone insist on calling me Miss Leigh? It makes me feel like I’m a ninety-year-old spinster. Please, it’s Ivy …’ Ivy shook her head vehemently. ‘And thanks for the offer but, no. I can’t come tonight.’

Nancy chipped in. ‘But we all go, every Friday, across the road to the Dragon, straight after work. It’s tradition. If you work in OR it’s mandatory …’

Matteo added with a grin, remembering how forceful Poison Ivy had been about attending her ridiculous course, ‘And we all know what that means. No getting out of it.’

Ivy swung her legs over the edge of the trolley and straightened her scrubs, her blonde hair stuck up in little tufts, and she looked very far from the sophisticated, competent lawyer. In fact, she looked pretty damned cute all mussed up. ‘But I didn’t exactly do any work here, I just made a fool of myself.’

‘And now you have me feeling sorry for you all over again.’ He leaned closer. Big mistake—a nose full of her fresh scent had his senses zapping into full-on alert. He stepped back again. ‘Let me tell you a secret … the first day in Theatre as a medical student, I vomited.’

‘In the theatre?’ Both Nancy and Ivy asked at the same time.

He shrugged. ‘No, in a bin outside. I managed to leave just in time. A coronary bypass—messy. It takes a bit of getting used to. There’s a lot of smells and noise and the blood … and looking inside … It’s something you learn to live with. You can’t expect to be okay with seeing these things on the first day. Luckily, you have another three chances to get up close and personal.’

‘Yay. Three.’ Ivy’s cheeks blazed as she drained the cup and popped it on the table next to the trolley. ‘Er … well, yes. Hypnotherapy’s good, I hear. Drugs. Total avoidance has been working really well for me for years. But I really do need to apologise to everyone for inconveniencing them.’

‘What better place to do it than at the pub?’ He couldn’t believe he was convincing her to come. ‘You said you needed to get to know the departments. People will chat to you more freely with alcohol in their bellies.’

‘Yes,’ Nancy chimed in. ‘Come on, it’s usually a good crowd. And if you do come I promise not to let anyone make fun of you.’

Matteo sniffed. ‘Apart from me, obviously.’

‘Of course, Matteo. Whatever.’ With a shake of her head Nancy jabbed him in the ribs and winked at Ivy. ‘Don’t be taken in by him. He’s just a softie really.’

‘Nancy, how could you ruin my reputation?’

‘Your reputation’s already in tatters, my boy. We’ve all seen the picture … Bite me? Yes … oh, yes. Wouldn’t we all love to do that.’ Laughing, Nancy ducked away down the corridor. Leaving just him and a bed-ready Ivy, who was laughing and not making any attempt to hide it.

He gave her a smile. ‘Now I definitely need you to come out tonight to fight my corner, tell them what penance I’ve had to serve for that damned picture. They’ll be merciless.’

‘This I have got to see.’ Ivy patted his hand and he felt a comforting warmth that, as he looked into her sparkling eyes, transformed into a sizzle running through him. He wanted to kiss her. Right there. To see what that mouth tasted like, how it felt slammed against his. This was a struggle he was already losing. He wanted her. As he watched her she stopped laughing, but the smile remained. ‘Sorry, Matteo, it’s no more than you deserve. This is one battle you’ll have to fight on your own. And I don’t think you’ll have a hope in hell of winning.’

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