by Sarah Morgan
His shock was palpable.
Her fingertips registered the sudden tension in his broad shoulders, the hesitation. He stood rigid, his hands by his sides. For a moment she thought he was going to step back and break the connection. But then he brought his hands up and slid them up her back, hauled her against him and took over the kiss.
His mouth was hot and demanding and he powered her back against the door of his office, his body hard against hers as he finally submitted to the violent attraction that they’d both been fighting for weeks. Or had it been months?
She no longer had any sense of time.
His hands slid into her hair and his mouth plundered hers, the astonishing skill of his kiss driving the breath from her body and all coherent thought from her brain.
Somewhere deep inside her she registered that this wasn’t turning out quite the way she’d planned, but she felt too dizzy to work out exactly where her plan had taken a wrong turn.
It was the most exciting, erotic moment of her life and, if she’d been able to think, she would have realised that she was out of control for the first time ever. And the kiss wasn’t enough. She wanted to touch him. She had to touch him.
Dropping her hands from his neck, she slid them under the top of his scrub suit, feeling hard, male muscle and the tantalising brush of body hair against the tips of her seeking fingers.
‘You feel so good,’ she gasped against his mouth, sliding her hand around his back. ‘Kiss me again. You have to kiss me again.’
‘I’m kissing you.’ His voice rough, he growled the words against her lips, one of his hands still locked in her hair, while the other slid under her clothing. His touch maddeningly seductive, he stroked his hand down her spine and then pulled her pelvis against his in a gesture as erotic as it was possessive.
She felt him, hard and ready through the fabric of his scrub suit, and reality suddenly sliced through her muddled thoughts.
What was she doing?
What had started as a light-hearted kiss had become deadly serious and she knew that one of them had to stop.
And judging from the purposeful slide of Christian’s hand against her quivering flesh, it wasn’t going to be him.
‘Christian—’ Dragging her mouth from his with a supreme effort, she put a hand in the centre of his chest to try and create some distance. Without distance there was no hope for them. ‘We have to stop. We can’t do this here.’
Ignoring her muttered protest, he cupped her face in his hands, brought her face back to his and started to kiss her again. She tumbled head first back into paradise, light exploding in her head and her nerve endings shrieking with an almost unbearable excitement.
For a moment she allowed herself to be swept along and then she dragged her mouth from his and shook her head. ‘No.’
The word must have registered because he stilled, his mouth a breath away from hers. ‘No?’
‘No.’ It took all her willpower to say the word, especially when she saw the simmering passion in his eyes.
‘Lara—you started this.’ His lips brushed hers with seductive purpose and she gave a low whimper and swayed towards him.
‘I didn’t.’
‘You did.’ He slid his hands slowly down her arms. ‘You grabbed me.’
‘I just gave you a quick kiss. You were the one who turned it into a—a—’
‘A what?’
A feast? A rampant seduction? ‘A passionate clinch.’
‘You kissed me, Lara. What did you expect me to do?’ He released her and took a step back, his attention caught by something on the floor. ‘What the hell is that?’ He stared at the squashed mess on the floor and she gave a strangled laugh.
‘I think it’s what’s left of the mistletoe. You must have trampled on it.’
‘Why is there mistletoe on my floor?’
‘I must have dropped it when you kissed me.’
‘Let’s get this straight.’ His eyes burned into hers. ‘You kissed me.’
‘Yes, all right. I kissed you. I don’t think it really matters who started it. But I think the mistletoe is beyond help. Oh, dear. I was planning to kiss you under the mistletoe, not on top of it.’ She looked at the remains of the mistletoe. ‘That’s not good. Fran’s going to kill me. That bunch of berries had sole responsibility for departmental excitement this Christmas. I’m not sure that mistletoe purée has the same effect on people’s libido.’ Her attempt at humour did nothing to defuse the tension in the atmosphere and his eyes drifted back to her mouth.
‘There’s masses of mistletoe growing on the apple trees in my garden. Help yourself.’
She didn’t want to feel this way. ‘Having just seen what a small bunch can do,’ she croaked, ‘I don’t think we’d better risk it, do you?’
His gaze lifted to hers. ‘So what was the problem? When you came into my office you said there was a problem.’
‘The chemistry between us is proving to be a bit of a problem,’ she whispered. ‘I thought kissing you would solve everything. It’s the quickest way I know to expose a flaw.’
‘So now what happens, Lara? Perhaps I’m being a little slow, but so far I haven’t spotted a flaw.’ His voice was soft and she gave a whimper of frustration and backed away.
‘I don’t know what happens now. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It’s all your fault!’
‘My fault?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re the one that came in here, carrying mistletoe.’
‘Yes.’ She glared at him. ‘But you did it all wrong! The kiss, I mean.’
‘What was wrong with it?’
‘Nothing. That’s what I mean. It was perfect. And it wasn’t supposed to be. It was supposed to be revolting or at the very least boring.’
He studied her carefully. ‘You’ve obviously had a wonderful experience of kissing.’
‘Well, usually there’s something wrong.’ She licked her lips and tried to concentrate. ‘You know, too wet and dribbly, seriously fumbly, garlic breath—the list is endless.’
‘I think I’m finally starting to understand why your record is three dates.’ He turned away from her and walked back to his desk. ‘I suggest we both forget that this happened. And don’t bring plants with berries into my office again.’
She stared at his back. Her whole body was humming with awareness. ‘But what do we do now? The kiss didn’t work.’
‘We forget it.’
‘Right. We forget it.’ Her voice croaked as she repeated his words. ‘You think that’s the best approach? You don’t think we could just—’
‘No.’ His voice was terse and his shoulders rigid. ‘We couldn’t.’
His self-discipline was admirable, she thought miserably. ‘Right. So we’re going to forget it. I’ll just go and write that out a hundred times just in case I forget that I’m supposed to forget.’
* * *
Lara tried to forget. She tried really, really hard.
Over the next few days, she threw herself into work but she found it impossible to wipe Christian from her thoughts.
It was as if that one kiss had awakened her body and suddenly it refused to behave. She thought about him. She dreamt about him.
And to make the situation all the more frustrating, it was obvious that he wasn’t suffering the same degree of emotional and physical torment.
Both at work and at home, he was cool and detached and clearly had no problem whatsoever in forgetting the kiss they’d shared.
They worked shoulder to shoulder in Resus but his gaze didn’t linger and he only spoke when it related to patient care.
At home he spent time with his daughters and she spent more time in her room.
But nothing stopped her thinking about him. And wanting. And that was infuriating.
She wasn’t supposed to meet someone who interested her just weeks before she left the country.
And she wasn’t supposed to fall for a man who clearly didn’t want a relationship.
In desperate need of
someone to make her see sense, she rooted out Jane in the staffroom. ‘I need some help. I have a serious problem.’
‘You’ve killed a patient?’
Lara glared at her. ‘I mean it—I need help. I’m in trouble.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Jane dropped a syringe into the sharps bin. ‘The psychic was right all along and you’re pregnant with quads?’
‘Jane!’
‘Sorry.’ Her friend peered at her. ‘You look terrible. What’s wrong?’
‘Christian is what’s wrong. I’ve really fallen for him.’
Jane grinned. ‘So you’re human after all.’
‘This isn’t funny. I need to find some flaws in him and I need to find them urgently.’
‘Why do you want flaws? Turns out he isn’t married after all. So go for it.’
‘He doesn’t want to go for it and neither do I! I can’t go for it! I have plans and they don’t involve getting mixed up with a man who doesn’t want a relationship. And I don’t want a relationship either! In a few weeks’ time I’m off to Australia for an indefinite period.’ Lara paced the room, her lower lip caught between her teeth. ‘Why does life have to be so complicated? For twenty-five years I meet men who make me cringe and then finally when I’m about to go off on the trip of a lifetime I meet a man who is bloody perfect!’
Jane lifted her eyebrows. ‘I’ve never heard you swear before!’
‘Well, I’m swearing now!’ Lara covered her face with her hands and shook her head. ‘Oh, this is such a mess! What am I going to do?’
‘Have sex with him?’
‘Oh, please! He has two little girls! The only time when they’re not around, we’re in Resus. When would we have sex? Where? And anyway, that wouldn’t solve anything. It isn’t an option.’ He wasn’t interested. Lara let her hands drop to her sides and shook her head wearily. ‘I have to forget about him. But I’m finding it impossible. So it’s important that I find something about him that makes me flinch. Something that tells me loud and clear that I would not be happy with him.’
‘So we have an urgent need for potentially concealed flaws.’ Jane frowned thoughtfully. ‘Terrible kisser?’
‘Incredible kisser.’
‘Ah.’ Jane looked interested. ‘Do you want to expand on that?’
‘No.’ Lara gritted her teeth. ‘I don’t.’
Jane tapped her foot and thought hard. ‘He’s a workaholic. That’s a definite flaw. You’d always be at the bottom of his list.’
‘I like the fact that he’s good with the patients and dedicated. I don’t see it as a flaw.’
‘You might when you’re scraping his dinner into the bin every night.’
Lara shook her head miserably. ‘No. It isn’t good enough. Try again.’
‘Too macho? He’s quite cold and commanding. And he can be very sharp if someone screws up.’
‘You’re sharp if someone screws up,’ Lara said dryly. ‘It could have something to do with the fact that, if we screw up, someone can die.’
‘Oh, well, I don’t know!! I’m doing my best but finding flaws isn’t my strength. If a man just looks at me I’m so bloody grateful I’m willing to overlook virtually everything! You’re the one that sees nothing but flaws.’ Jane looked at her with exasperation and then her brow cleared. ‘Oh, I’ve got it. How could we have been so stupid? His flaw is his kids. You’ve already said that you can’t get near him because they’re always there. Taking on another woman’s children would be a nightmare. All little girls read fairy-tales. You’d always be the wicked stepmother. They’d always resent you.’
Lara thought of the children and about how quiet Chloe was. She had no doubt that there were plenty of complicated emotions bubbling under the surface. ‘You’re right,’ she said firmly. ‘Never get involved with a man with kids. Asking for trouble.’
‘Asking for trouble. Christian has more baggage than an airline.’ Jane nodded decisively. ‘That’s the flaw. Now, focus on it and you’ll go off him.’
‘I hope so.’
For the sake of her sanity, she hoped so.
* * *
Lara was working in the paediatric casualty area the following morning when a mother stumbled in, carrying her toddler.
One look was all it took. ‘Bring her straight into this room.’ Directing them into Resus, Lara looked at the junior doctor who was reading a textbook at the desk. ‘Could you ask Dr Blake to come and see this child, please?’
Penny put the book down. ‘You do her obs and then I’ll check her over and decide whether he needs to be—’
‘Call him,’ Lara ordered, her tone curt as she backed into Resus. She forgot about her own feelings—forgot that she was trying to avoid him as much as possible. ‘Call him now.’
She hurried over, her heart sinking as she looked at the child, who seemed extremely agitated and poorly.
Hurry up, Christian.
‘I’m just going to undress her, Mrs…’ She glanced at the mother as she swiftly stripped the clothes from the toddler, leaving her in a vest and nappy. ‘Sorry—I haven’t even had a chance to ask your name.’
‘Susan. Susan Wills. This is Amy. She was two in June.’
‘And how long has Amy been ill? There, angel, we’ll soon have you more comfortable.’
‘Since yesterday afternoon, but she’s only been bad since this morning. She had diarrhoea and vomiting yesterday. And she keeps saying her tummy hurts.’
‘Does she have any allergies?’
‘Not that I know of.’
Lara checked the child’s temperature. ‘And has she been fully immunised?’
Penny walked into the room. ‘I’m sure she has gastroenteritis,’ she said confidently. ‘There’s a lot of it around.’
Lara bit her tongue. ‘She’s wheezing.’
‘Is she asthmatic?’ Penny reached for her stethoscope and the mother shook her head.
‘She’s only had breathing problems since yesterday.’
‘Asthma does sometimes just develop at this age,’ Penny murmured, and Lara reached for the paediatric wrap-around probe that would measure the child’s oxygen saturation.
‘I’m going to check her sats. I think she’s hypoxic.’
Penny frowned. ‘There are no signs of cyanosis.’
‘But she’s very agitated and that can be a sign of hypoxia in a child of this age. Is Dr Blake on his way?’ Aware that the child needed urgent medical help, Lara studied the reading.
Penny gave a faint smile. ‘Her sats look fine.’
‘The reading isn’t stable. You’re looking at artefact.’ Lara stroked a reassuring hand over the child’s head. ‘Try and keep still for me, sweetheart. There’s a good girl.’ She watched the number and then nodded. ‘Ninety per cent. We need to give her some oxygen. She’s tachycardic and pale and—’
‘That can happen with any infection.’ Penny washed her hands. ‘Her breathing actually seems quite relaxed.’
Relaxed?
Knowing that to argue with Penny would achieve nothing except to frighten the mother, Lara was frantically considering her options when Christian strode through the door.
‘You wanted me?’
‘Yes.’ Weak with relief, Lara reached for an oxygen mask. Christian would know what to do. ‘She’s pyrexial and she’s making virtually no respiratory effort. I’m just going to give her some high-flow oxygen.’
‘Good.’
‘With a mask?’ Penny frowned. ‘She might find it easier to tolerate a nasal cannula.’
‘Possibly, but the maximum flow rate is two litres a minute and she needs a higher concentration than that.’ Lara gently placed the mask over the child’s face. ‘Do you like dressing up, Amy? This mask is exactly like a dressing-up mask.’ She looked at Christian. ‘She’s been complaining of headache and abdominal pain.’
‘It’s highly probably that she has a GI infection and the headache is probably a result of dehydration,’ Penny said crisply, reaching for an IV tray. ‘A stomach bug
. My flatmate has had the same thing all week.’
‘That’s quite possible. Or the abdominal pain could be referred from the diaphragm.’ Lara held the mask in place and rubbed her finger gently against the child’s cheek. ‘You’re a good girl. Dr Blake is just going to listen to your chest and feel your tummy.’
‘Temperature?’
‘Thirty-eight point seven and she’s wheezing. She could be suffering from a lower respiratory tract infection.’
Penny looked at her. ‘Pneumonia is extremely unlikely if there’s wheeze present.’
‘Her ears and throat are clear.’ Christian examined the child’s chest. ‘Let’s get a line in and take some bloods. They may not be conclusive but they might provide a useful baseline. We’ll do the usual, plus CRP and ESR.’
The mother was white and upset. ‘She kept complaining of a headache. I thought that was because of the temperature.’
‘Mycoplasma?’ Lara gave a tiny shrug and Christian looked at her as he removed the stethoscope from his ears.
‘It’s possible.’ He tapped the child’s chest, listening for dullness to percussion or bronchial breathing. ‘There’s no sign of consolidation,’ he murmured, ‘but that doesn’t necessarily exclude pneumonia.’
‘She has a rash, Christian,’ Lara said quickly, noticing the red raised marks on the child’s body.
‘A rash?’ the mother whimpered. ‘Is it meningitis?’
Christian shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s what we’re looking at here. Lara, give me a 22-gauge needle.’ He stroked his hand along the child’s arm, looking for a vein. ‘Squeeze for me.’
Lara closed her fingers round the child’s tiny wrist and Christian slid the needle into the vein with no apparent effort.
‘That’s quite a party trick,’ Lara said, handing him some adhesive tape then reaching for the blood bottles that she’d put ready. Their movements were smooth and synchronised. ‘Tell me what you want. FBC and cultures, obviously.’
He took the bottles from her and carefully withdrew the necessary blood. ‘Viral titres and mycoplasma antibodies. I think you might be right.’