by Fiona Lowe
She smiled. ‘Hello, Tom.’
He didn’t offer his hand but gave her a nod and stood back from the door. ‘Come in.’
She stepped into his apartment and stopped abruptly, instantly struck by a sense of space. It took her a moment to realise this was because he had hardly any furniture and what he did have was spaced a good distance apart. She noticed dents in the carpet and realised that once there’d been a lot more furniture, but the side tables and coffee table had now gone. A glossy black grand piano was the only piece of non-essential furniture.
As if reading her mind, he said in a manner-of-fact voice, ‘Less to bump into and no sharp corners, which are murder on shins.’ He stretched his hands out in front of him. His palms collided with her breasts.
For a split second his fingers brushed across her skimpy Lycra running top. A rush of delicious tingles swooped through her breasts, making them push against her bra and filling the curve of his palm. The rest of her body moaned as a shiver of need rocked and coiled between her legs with a jealous throb.
Tom quickly dropped his hands and stepped backwards, colliding with the now-closed door. Pain and discomfiture streaked across his face before he spoke through tight lips. ‘I apologise.’
She wanted to die on the spot. Not because he’d touched her breasts—that had been pure pleasure—but because she’d caused him embarrassment and hurt in his own home. ‘Please, there’s no need to apologise.’
His eyes deepened to moss green and there wasn’t a trace of humour on his face. ‘So you’re happy with men you barely know touching your breasts, are you?’
Her chin shot up. ‘No, of course not. It’s just that—’
‘What?’ He folded his arms over his chest and glared ever so slightly to her left.
‘Well, it was an accident. I should have given you more space by moving further into the room.’
He’d stepped forward while she was speaking, all predatory intent, and a sizzle of something very strong arced between them, draining her brain and making her sway towards him.
‘I might be blind, Hayley, but, believe me, I’m still very much a man.’
He stood so close that she felt his low words vibrating against her face. She could smell the crisp, fresh scent of his cologne, which mocked her as it was in stark contrast to the dangerous currents of lust and leashed restraint that circled him.
Currents that circled her too, buffeting her and taunting her. She slowly raised her hand and placed it on his chest in the exact place he’d put his hand on hers. When she spoke, her voice came out slightly breathless. ‘Not for one moment have I ever doubted you were a man.’
His nostrils flared as he breathed in deeply and for a moment his face shed its tension and his sightless eyes flared with the same need she knew burned hotly in hers. His hand touched her bare waist and she rose on her toes, ready to brush his lips with hers.
A heartbeat away from her kiss, he tensed under her palm. Without a word he lifted his hand away from her waist, peeled back her fingers from his body and with a firm grip put her hand back by her side.
A chill like an arctic wind cooled her from the inside out.
He took five careful steps away from her. ‘Why are you here, Hayley?’
Because you fascinate me. Because my subconscious led me to you, knowing I would have fought it otherwise.
Neither reply would work so she thought on her feet, making up a reason for a visit that had none. Ignoring the fact she wasn’t dressed for lunch, she said, ‘I had to leave abruptly the other night but today’s my day off. I thought we could try lunch, only this time we can manage to finish an entire meal.’
His fingers flexed. ‘I believe we’d both finished eating our meal before you had to leave.’
She laughed. ‘But I didn’t get dessert.’ Shut up. The moment the words left her lips she wanted to bury her face in her hands. The quip was supposed to have come out light-hearted and breezy, but instead her body had betrayed her by dropping her voice to an alto purr, making her sound like she was trying to seduce him.
He instantly raised a brow, but not even a hint of a smile cracked the tension on his face. ‘It might be your day off, Hayley, but I have to work. I’m giving an afternoon lecture.’
‘Oh. Right.’ It was crazy to feel so disappointed when a moment ago the idea for the invitation hadn’t even existed. Perhaps it was because she’d enjoyed their dinner the other night or perhaps it was some other reason altogether, but she surprised herself by asking, ‘What about tonight, then?’
He shook his head. ‘I have a dinner with Eric Frobisher.’
Against growing regret, she made herself sound very casual. ‘Perhaps another time, then? Consider it an open invitation between two friends.’
The shadows that dogged him darkened even more, placing his cheekbones in sharp relief. ‘I don’t think so.’ He turned away from her, out toward the multimillion-dollar view. The one he couldn’t see.
There was no ambiguity in his words or his stance. This was an unequivocal rejection.
He doesn’t like you.
She stood staring at his back, feeling out of place and completely in the way. How had she got this so wrong? The other night they’d got along in a funny sort of way and a few moments ago an attraction had pulsed so strongly between them that every part of her still vibrated with the remnants of desire.
She couldn’t possibly have imagined it all, could she? And yet right now every fibre of his being screamed at her to leave.
More than anything she wished the floor would open up and swallow her or that she could just wave a wand and vanish. If this was what happened when she gave in to impulsive thoughts then she was done with them. She stomped down hard on the new and unsettling feelings that had led her straight into this demoralising situation. Gulping in a steadying breath, she accepted she had to leave but, damn it, she was going to exit with grace, style and good manners.
Rolling her shoulders back, she said, ‘If you regret your decision, the hospital switchboard can give you my number.’
He didn’t turn around or say another word.
A spark of anger flared at his rudeness and total disregard for her feelings. ‘I won’t impose on you any longer. Goodbye, Tom. I’ll let myself out.’
Tom didn’t hear her feet moving against the sound-absorbing plush carpet, but he heard the quiet click of the door and he knew she’d gone. His trembling hands found the doorhandle to the balcony and he hauled the door open. Once outside he let out an almighty roar—one that was filled with anger, pain and frustration, and he let the winter breeze take it away and dump it out over the harbour.
Breathing heavily, he tried to find some calm. The last person he’d ever expected to ring his doorbell was Hayley. Hayley, who’d felt as soft and as warm as a kitten but whose voice had told another story—the story that promised tangled sheets, sweaty bodies and the bliss of ultimate release.
He’d sensed the change between them, hell, he’d smelled it on her, and heard it in her voice after he’d accidentally pressed his hands to her breasts. Her soft, round breasts that had felt so glorious in his hands. It had been a clear invitation from her to explore and to see what might happen—a man’s perfect fantasy and he’d kicked her to the kerb.
He slammed his hand hard against the metal railing, trying to silence the itch that had pleaded with him to touch her again, but the impact of the blow didn’t affect it. Neither did it cool his body, which burned to feel hers moulding to his. No, all it had achieved was to make him want to kiss her even more and taste the scent of her. That potent scent he’d been inhaling from the moment she’d walked in, the interplay of sweat and desire, culminating in a powerful aphrodisiac that had made him hard and ready to lose himself in her.
But he’d also smelled sweetness and that scared him because it was a sweetness unsullied by the bastard that was fate. The bastard that had stolen his sight and continued to mock him.
He pulled his phone out of his po
cket and said, ‘Jared,’ to activate the call, before pressing it against his ear.
‘Hey, Tom.’ Jared’s voice sounded muffled due to the hands-free device. ‘I’m pulling in now. I just saw that doctor you met the other day, only this time she was smokin’ in Lycra. She’s got one hot body, dude.’
Lycra he’d just had his hands all over. One nipped-in waist he’d cupped, and soft, soft skin he’d longed to explore. Skin he couldn’t explore. Damn, he’d wanted her.
She offered you friendship.
The tempting thought tried to settle but he shrugged it away. There was no point. His life had changed the moment his brain had been jolted violently on its axis and dinner the other night had left him in no doubt that being with Hayley only reminded him of everything he’d lost. That’s why he’d hurt her feelings and sent her away. He couldn’t risk her coming back.
It was all about survival, pure and simple.
His survival.
He thought about the lecture hall full of medical students waiting for him, and waiting for him to make a mistake. How long would it take before they considered his experience passé?
‘Tom, do you want me to come up?’
‘No, stay there, Jared. I’m coming straight down.’
He picked up his computer and his cane, patted his pocket for his wallet and keys and opened the door. He paused for a moment, visualising the route: thirteen steps to the lift and avoid the ornamental palm in the unforgiving ceramic pot at step nine.
Yes, it was all about survival.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘HAYLEY, come talk to us.’ Theo winked and patted the space on the couch next to him. ‘Been having any more dinners with dark-haired doctors?’
All the other night-duty nurses’ heads turned toward her so fast she could hear cervical vertebrae cracking. Damn it, why had she asked Theo about Tom?
‘ I know it won’t be Finn Kennedy.’ Jenny looked up from her cross-stitch, sympathy in her eyes. ‘I see you’re back on the night-duty roster again. That’s his way of saying, “Behave and don’t usurp your superiors.”’
Thank you, Jenny, for moving the conversation away from Tom and thank you, Mr Kennedy, for a week of nights and seven days of sleep. ‘I promise I’ll be well-behaved from now on.’
‘Good.’ Theo pulled a green badge from his pocket and handed it to her.
She stared at the picture of a light bulb with a red line through it. ‘What’s this?
‘It’s to remind you to turn out the lights. You’re my worst offender. Do you realise everywhere you go you leave a trail of light behind you and that’s adding to global warming? Meanwhile, ICU is whipping us and I want to win the sustainability grant. Everyone …’ he paused and glared at all the staff ‘… has to get on board. If you’re not in a room, turn out the lights.’
‘I didn’t realise you had a scary side, Theo.’ Hayley forced a smile and stuck the badge on her scrubs, knowing that was the easy part. Turning lights off went against years of ingrained behaviour, years of using light as a refuge from fear.
‘And now back to who you’re dating.’ Suzy Carpenter’s mouth was a hard, tight line.
‘Don’t stress, Suzy,’ Theo teased. ‘There’s no new doctor on the block so she’s not stealing anyone from you.’
Thankfully, Hayley’s pager started beeping because, short of torture, she refused to tell anyone how she’d made a fool of herself with Tom. As she read the page she quickly rose to her feet. ‘This can’t be good. Evie wants me downstairs stat for a consult. Gear up, gang, we could be operating soon.’
Hayley took the fire-escape stairs two at a time rather than waiting for a lift, and a couple of minutes later she was in the frantic emergency department. Nurses were speed-walking, doctors looked harried and she glimpsed three ambulances standing in the bay. It all pointed to a line-up of serious cases.
‘Hayley!’ Evie gave her an urgent wave while she instructed a nurse to get more dexamethasone. ‘We’ve got a problem.’ She tugged her over to a light box where a CT scan was firmly clipped. She tapped the centre of the film. ‘Gretel Darlington, a nineteen-year-old woman presenting with a two-month history of vague headaches, but tonight she’s had a sudden onset of severe, migraine-type headache. She’s in a lot of pain, slightly disorientated, and on examination has shocking nystagmus. She’s not got control over her eye movements at all.’
Hayley frowned as she stared at the black and white image of the patient’s brain, wondering exactly why Evie was showing it to her. ‘She hasn’t got a migraine. That tumour’s the size of an orange.’
Evie moved her pen around the perimeter of the tumour. ‘And she’s bleeding. She needs surgery now to relieve the pressure.’
‘Absolutely.’ Hayley had no argument with the diagnosis or the treatment plan, but she was totally confused as to why Evie had paged her. ‘Exactly what’s this case got to do with me?’
The usually unflappable Evie had two deep lines carved into her forehead and her hazel eyes radiated deep concern. ‘You have to do the surgery.’
Tingling shock whooshed through Hayley so fast she gaped. ‘I’m a general surgical registrar, Evie, and this girl needs a neurosurgeon!’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ Evie shoved her hair behind her ears with an air of desperation. ‘Rupert Davidson is at a conference with his registrar and Lewis Renwick, the on-call neurosurgeon, is already in surgery over at RPH. By the time he finishes there and drives over the bridge to here, it could be three hours or more. She doesn’t have that much time.’
Hayley bit her lip. ‘There has to be a neurosurgeon in private practice we can call.’
‘Tried that. The problem is that most of Sydney’s neurosurgeons are at the Neurosurgical Society of Australasia’s conference.’ She shrugged, the action full of resignation. ‘It’s in Fiji this year and because it’s winter more than the usual number went, leaving all the hospitals stretched.’
‘What about Finn Kennedy? He’s got all that trauma experience from his time in the army.’
Evie flinched. ‘He’s not answering his pages. It’s you, Hayley.’
Brain surgery. A million thoughts tore around her mind driven by fear and ranging from whether she could actually do the surgery without damaging the patient to possible law suits against her. She was in Sydney, NSW, not Africa. This lack of appropriate surgeons shouldn’t have happened here and yet circumstances had contrived to put her in this position. To put her patient in this position.
She stared at the scan again, but it didn’t change the picture. The brain fitted snugly inside the bony protection of the skull and the design didn’t allow for anything else. No extra fluid, no blood, no extra growths. Nothing.
She was between a rock and a hard place. If she didn’t operate, the woman would die. If she did operate, she risked the life of her patient and her career. She could just see and hear the headlines of the tabloid papers and the sensational television current affairs programmes if something went wrong.
‘Evie, it’s so damn risky, and not just for the patient.’
The ER doctor’s hand gripped her shoulder. ‘Believe me, if there was another option, I would have taken it. Pretend we’re in Darwin, Hayley. All emergency neurosurgery up there is done by general surgeons.’
She shook her head. ‘That doesn’t reassure me.’
The scream of sirens outside muted as Hayley forced herself to block out everything except the task at hand. Slowly the chaos that Evie’s request had generated started to fade and her thoughts lined up in neat rows—problem, options for best outcome, solution.
Tom.
The thought steadied her. There was a neurosurgeon close by. Now wasn’t the time to think about what had happened the last time they’d met. About his completely unambiguous rejection of her. This was a medical emergency and the stakes were life and death. All personal feelings got set aside. Must be set aside no matter how hard.
‘Evie, go grab a taxi and send it to the Bridgeview
Building.’ She grabbed the phone on the wall and punched 9 for the switchboard. ‘It’s Hayley Grey. Connect me to Mr Tom Jordan, now. It’s an emergency.’
The shrill ring of the phone on Tom’s bedside table woke him with a jerk. Once he’d always slept lightly, used to being woken at all hours by the hospital, but two years on from the last time he’d worked as a surgeon and his body clock had changed. Now the only thing that woke him at three a.m. was his own thoughts.
Completely out of practice, he shot out his hand and immediately knocked into the lamp. He heard the crash and swore before reaching the phone. Hell, this had better not be a wrong number or he’d just sacrificed a lamp for nothing. Not that he technically needed it. Hating not being able to read caller ID, and not recognising the ringtone, he grunted down the phone. ‘Tom Jordan.’
‘Tom, it’s Hayley.’
This time he instantly recognised her sultry voice and his gut rolled on a shot of desire so pure that it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. He immediately chased it away with steely determination. The sort of single-mindedness that had driven him to become the youngest head of neurosurgery, and now drove him to master braille and attempt echolocation so he could be as independent as possible. He wouldn’t allow himself to want Hayley. It would only make him weak.
She wanted you. He sighed at the memory and now it was the middle of the night and a week since he’d been beyond rude to her to keep her away from him. Was this a drunken booty call or a drunken ‘how dare you reject me?’ call? Either way, he didn’t need it. He ran his free hand through his hair. ‘Hayley, don’t say anything you’re going to regret in the light of day.’
‘I need you, Tom.’