by Annie O'Neil
Her reaction was a bit delayed. As if her thoughts had been somewhere else entirely.
“Oh...” She tugged her new wrap around her shoulders a bit more snugly. Protectively. “An hour or two of cheese? Hmm... Let me think...”
Her hips swiveled back and forth beneath the light cotton of her dress. It was too easy to picture her long, slender legs beneath the fabric. The gentle curve and jut of her hip bones. His hands swooping along the smooth expanse of her belly before he slid them along the length of her thighs...
A tug of desire eclipsed his pragmatism. The number of times he’d pulled her to him, snuggled her slender hips between his own, fitted her to him as if they’d been made for each other...and then teased her away, holding her at arm’s length, reminding her of the long shifts at the hospital they each had in store.
“We have all the time in the world to make love,” he’d murmured into her ear, again and again.
Now he knew it hadn’t been enough. A lifetime of Beatrice wouldn’t have sated his desire for her. And he’d only had those two precious years.
“You know...you’re right.” He did a quick about-face, no longer able to go through with the charade of being “just friends.”
She looked up at him, startled.
“About what?”
“It’ll take too long. The chairlift and all. I’m not even certain they’ll be open with the Midsummer Festa.”
“What?”
“The enoteca. I’ve been up there a few times when I’ve needed a break from the clinic. A glass of wine... A bit of cheese and bread... It’s lovely.”
And it was. But going up there with Beatrice the way he was feeling... Chances were he’d tell her how he really felt. And he couldn’t let her have access to that part of his heart. Not anymore.
“It was a silly idea in the first place. There’s plenty to eat here. And you said yourself you weren’t in the mood for gooey cheese. Um...what if we...” He looked past her to the square—busier now than when they’d left it, if such a thing was possible.
“Actually, Jamie...”
He knew that tone. The polite one. The well-mannered Principessa backing out of an awkward situation.
“I’m feeling a bit tired. Perhaps I’ll just head off. We can go to the enoteca another time. Rain check?”
When he looked back at Beatrice she appeared to him as if through an entirely new prism...fragile. Delicate. Two things he’d never imagined her to be.
Feminine, yes. But for every ounce of grace and beauty she possessed he’d always thought of her as having a solid core of fierce intellect and passion. More than enough to stand on her own two feet.
“I’m happy to walk you back to your apartment. You’re not too far from the clinic?”
“Si, an apartment in one of the baita.” She held up her hand in the stop position and took a step away from him. “Don’t worry about walking me. There’s a little café downstairs. I’ll grab something there. I could do with a quiet stroll.”
Guilt swept through him. He wanted to pull her to him, wanted to push her away. “I don’t mind, honestly.”
From the look she shot him it was pretty easy to tell she did.
Hell. There wasn’t exactly a guidebook on how to deal with the love of your life reappearing just when you thought you’d pulled yourself together.
“Thanks for the wrap.” She threw the words over her shoulder, smoothing her hand along the fine cashmere, her feet already picking up speed. “It’s really beautiful. Buonanotte.”
He said the same words as he spun in the opposite direction, felt the hard lines of a man trying to keep his head above water returning to his face.
It wouldn’t be a good night. He felt it in his bones. It would be restless. His pillow would bear the brunt of his frustration.
He shifted course, taking a sharp turn into a calle that would deposit him at the only place he could burn off this excess energy for the greater good. Work.
Sure, it hadn’t worked out well at Northern General, but one of the reasons he’d chosen a clinic for tourists was the limited chance of getting attached. People were in, out, referred, transferred, never to be seen again. Only rarely did they see a patient twice. Enough times to start caring? Just about never.
He gave his hands a quick rub, forcing the doctor back into this man he’d not seen for a while. Peach slices? Cashmere wraps? Those were things lovers shared. Not platonic colleagues.
He steered his thoughts away from the glow he’d seen in Beatrice’s eyes when he’d slipped the peach between her gently parted lips. There were bound to be people who enjoyed a bit too much high-altitude revelry on a night like tonight. Sprains, dehydration, the occasional fallout from a silly brawl over the last piece of prosciutto... They would keep him busy. The staff at the clinic wouldn’t think anything of him showing up to relieve them for an hour or so.
A huge boom sounded not too far-off. He looked up to the sky, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and then the explosion of colored lights.
Instantly he dropped his gaze and sought out Beatrice’s pixie cut. She should be seeing this. They should be watching it together. Hands brushing. Shots of heat igniting his every nerve ending as if he was discovering what it meant to be a man for the very first time.
He looked up into the sky one last time then turned back toward the clinic with a shrug.
Fireworks.
They weren’t all they were cracked up to be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BEA KNEW SHE should be at home, but restless sleep was worse than a bit of focused work, right? Just the idea of going back to her lonely apartment, with its plain single bed, and no green-eyed pediatricians lying in wait to pull up the covers and have a good snuggle...
“Are you sure you’re happy to cover for me?” Rhianna handed over a stethoscope, not even waiting for an answer.
“You said a couple of hours, right?”
She smiled as Rhianna turned her Irish brogue up another notch and launched into an assurance that, with heaven as her witness, she’d be back before Cinderella had a blessed thing to be worried about.
Bea pursed her lips and gave them a little wriggle. The fairy-tale princess reference wasn’t lost on her, but a quick glance to Rhianna, who was busy slicking on a fresh layer of lip gloss and lavishing her lashes with a thick coat of mascara showed she was being silly.
Stop being so sensitive!
Bea sat down on the long wooden bench and undid the straps of her sandals to change them for her sneakers, surprised to see her feet were a tiny bit swollen. Pregnancy symptom? Her mind raced through all the worst-case scenarios swollen feet at this point in a pregnancy might mean, then gave her head a sharp shake.
Probably just too much walking in flat sandals and having all her hopes and dreams plummet to the soles of her feet. Or something like that anyway.
“Ooh!” She put on a cockney accent and repeated something she’d heard a teenager say the other day as she gave her feet a rub. “My dogs are barking!”
“Hold on, there.” Rhianna ducked her head down so she was level with Beatrice’s eyes. Quite the feat now she’d popped on impossibly high cork-heeled sandals. “Is that you backing out already?” She swiftly pulled out her mobile phone and held it at arm’s length. “Am I going to have to send a text to the lads and tell them no?”
“The lads?” Beatrice raised her eyebrows. She’d heard of a few summer romances beginning to blossom among the collection of seasonal staff, but...lads?
“Sure!” A blush appeared on Rhianna’s cream and freckled complexion. “There’s a whole squad of ’em over here—from Denmark, I think. They’re all blond and rugged, and I’m sure half of ’em are called Thor.”
“Thor?” Beatrice intoned drily.
“Or Erik.” Rhianna stru
ck what she guessed was meant to be a Viking pose, waved away Bea’s disbelief, then adroitly twisted one of the male doctors’ shaving mirrors to her advantage, lowering her eyelids to half-mast to receive a whoosh of eyeshadow as she continued her story. “They’re up here on some sort of epic paragliding trip, or some such. One of them was in earlier today. He had a right old bash on his thigh from where he’d landed on some gravel instead of the meadow he’d been aiming for.”
She gave a swift eye roll. Clearly the injury hadn’t stood in the way of a bit of flirtation.
“Either way, they’re all down at the piazza and looking mad keen for some company, if you get my drift. A couple of the chalet girls and I are going to play Eeny-Meeny-Miny-Mo!” Her eyebrows did a swift little jig as a naughty grin appeared on her lips. “I’ll tell you what, Dr. Jesolo. They’re a right handsome bunch of lads. If there’s any left over, I’ll be sure to keep one for you when I come back in.”
Despite herself, Bea laughed. She’d never really been that boy crazy, but she certainly remembered the giddy feeling of looking forward to a night out...the swirls of frisson...the nineteen trips to her wardrobe to make sure she’d put on just the right skirt or blouse or dress, only to turn away from the mirror and start all over again.
With Jamie it had never really been like that, it had just been...easy. Sure, she’d wanted to look her best, her sexiest, her most desirable, but he’d always had a remarkable way of making her feel beautiful. Even at the end of a day’s long shift, when her hair had been all topsy-turvy, her makeup long gone and the shadows under her eyes had predicted a need for lots of sleep.
Quickly she finished tying her shoe and pressed herself up from the bench.
A bit too quickly as a hit of dizziness swamped her.
“Whoa! You all right there, girl?” Rhianna swooped in and steadied her. “You’ve not been out on the lash, have you?”
“No.” Bea shrugged herself away from her colleague, trying her best not to look ungrateful. “Just got up a bit too quickly, that’s all.”
“Would you like me to get you some water or anything? A wee lie-down before I head off?”
“No.” Bea shook her head firmly. “Absolutely not. Off you go. Have a good night, all right?”
Rhianna tipped her head to the side, her multicolored eye shadow on full display as she gave Bea a sidelong glance. “You’re absolutely sure?”
“Absolutely sure about what?”
Both women turned sharply as the door to the locker room swung open.
Bea’s heart swooped, then cinched tight.
One glimpse into those familiar green eyes told her she might be better off saying no.
“Dr. Jesolo here’s a lifesaver!” Rhianna jumped in.
“Oh?”
If she’d thought Jamie had flinched at the sight of her he was showing no signs of any discomfort now. Just the cool reserve of a man who...
Wait a minute.
“Aren’t you meant to be off tonight?” Rhianna veered off topic. “And you?” She wheeled around, her index finger wiggling away as if she were divining water instead of looking for answers. “What are the two of you doing here when the whole of Torpisi is out celebrating the longest day of the year?”
Collectively they reacted as a huge boom of fireworks sounded in the distance. Well, not Jamie. He was still frozen in the doorway, as if someone had sucked every last inch of joy out of him. Terrific. No guessing that her turning up for a few hours of burying her head in the sand had ruined his own plan to do the exact same thing.
Great minds...per carita!
Rhianna was the first to recover, pulling a sky blue pashmina out of her locker and swirling it around her shoulders. “Dr. Jesolo—this is your last chance. I’m telling you it’s good craic out there.”
“Craic?” Nice to have a reason to look away from Jamie. She hadn’t known how powerful his not-happy glare was before.
A shard of guilt pierced through his skull. Because you didn’t bother to stick around.
“Sure, you know good craic when you see it, Bea. A party. A good time—fun.”
She took a quick glance between the two of them, clearly immune to the thick band of what-the-heck-are-you-doing-here? thrumming between them.
“What with Dr. Coutts being here when I guess he doesn’t have to be they can spare you, sure? This is grand. You don’t have to cover me at all—right, Dr. Coutts? You’re all right here, aren’t you? Happy to let the lovely ladies go out for a wee bit of gallivanting?”
Rhianna looked up to Jamie, seemingly undaunted by his unchanged expression. And then, just like that, it brightened.
“What a delightful idea.” He unleashed a warm smile on Rhianna. One of those smiles Bea had used to get when she’d suggested they either stay on at the hospital for a couple of extra hours, just to talk through some cases, or go to bed early.
Ouch.
“Don’t let me stand in the way of some gallivanting. Just the thing for a pair of young maidens on Midsummer Day.”
“That’s exactly what I was saying.” Rhianna turned to Bea, arms crossed over her generous bosom with an I-told-you-so expression on her face. “C’mon, girl. What’s the point of being up here in this rural idyll if you don’t run into the arms of a Viking?”
“Oh, it’s Vikings tonight, is it, Rhianna?” Jamie dropped her a playful wink, clearly no stranger to the young doctor’s quest for a summer romance. Or seven. “Please. Feel free to go, Dr. Jesolo. We’ve got more than enough staff. Unless you were hoping for an early night?”
Bea opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it tight shut again. Where she should have felt a sting of hurt that Jamie was trying to get rid of her, she decided to take up the gauntlet from another direction. She wasn’t the only one who’d told a fib in order to burn off some energy at the clinic.
“Actually, I was really looking forward to a few hours here. Special research on a—” she quickly sought a reason from the ether “—on a dissertation I’m writing.”
“A dissertation?” Disbelief oozed from Rhianna’s response. “What are you wasting time writing a dissertation on when you could be having fun? Isn’t that the point of working up here?”
Bea’s gaze flicked from Rhianna to Jamie. No way was she getting cornered into going out for a bit of fun!
Um...wait a minute.
“Dr. Coutts?” A nurse stuck her head in the doorway. “We’ve got someone I think you should see right away.”
“I’ll go.” Bea pulled on her white coat, ignoring Rhianna’s plaintive sigh and mumblings about leading horses to water—or something like that anyway—and swept past Jamie.
But not before getting a full lungful of Northern-British sexpot disguised as a surly doctor. Humph! She’d have to start holding her breath when she passed him from now on.
* * *
“I’m pretty certain I was the doctor requested.”
Jamie was matching Beatrice step for step as she hotfooted it toward the waiting room.
“It doesn’t matter, really,” the nurse said, jogging a bit to keep up with the pair of them. “It’s a lady. Midthirties, I’m guessing. She’s presenting with severe gastrointestinal pain. I just thought—”
“I’ll get it.”
Jamie and Beatrice spoke in tandem, each with a hand on the swinging doors leading to the waiting room, their eyes blazing with undisguised sparks of frustration.
“What shall I tell the patient?” asked the befuddled nurse.
“Tell her I’ll see her.”
Again they spoke as one.
And then, as quickly as the fire had flared between them it shape-shifted into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.
“You go ahead.” Jamie swept a hand in the direction of the waiting room.
“N
o, really, I’m fine—”
A scream of pain roared past the double doors, jarring them out of their increasingly ridiculous standoff.
“Two heads are better than one?”
Jamie enjoyed the spark of recognition in Beatrice’s eyes at his roundabout invitation to join him. It had been his oft-used excuse for pulling her into a consultation back at Northern General.
The adage still held true, and immediately dissolved any tension between them.
When they pushed into the room a flame-haired woman was staggering from a chair, one hand clamped to her back, one clutching her stomach. “Please help me! I can’t stand it any longer!”
“Right you are, madam—oops!” Jamie swept under one of her arms, only just stopping her from falling to the ground.
“I want to lie down!” the woman howled. “Or crawl. Or something. Just make it stop!”
From her accent he could tell she was North American. There was a wedding ring on her finger. The flesh was puffed up around it. It looked like swelling. Water retention?
A quick glimpse down and he saw shiny white tennis shoes on her feet. The American tourist telltale. Not Canadian, then. He’d keep his maple syrup and moose jokes to himself.
“She had some of those cheese-stuffed flowers.” A rusty-haired man with the most remarkable sky blue eyes rushed over from the desk, where he had been filling out some paperwork. “Marilee, honey, I told you not to try the flowers. They’re probably hallucinogenic.”
“Do you mean the pumpkin flowers?” Beatrice asked gently.
“Jesse, I’m going to kill you for making me try those things—ooh! Make. It. Stop!” She doubled over again and her husband tucked himself under her other arm.
“Those are the ones,” Jesse said, sending quick looks to Jamie and Beatrice, his gaze taking on a dreamy aspect as he continued to speak. “They were deep-fried. Filled with some sort of soft cheese and a truffled honey. We were at the enoteca. The one up at the top of the chairlift. Have you been there?”
He looked at Beatrice, who shook her head and gave him a rueful smile before looking behind her—presumably for a wheelchair.