The Surgeon's Baby Surprise

by Charlotte Hawkes

  Pivoting on her heel as best she could, Evie headed upstairs, finally allowing herself the indulgence of breathing in Max’s unique scent from his fleece. A bittersweet sensation, which brought back memories of their time together, as well as a sadness that it would never be like that between them again. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  At least the shower in her bathroom called seductively to her and, after checking her blood pressure and temperature were within the expected ranges, Evie headed into the tiled area, the underfloor heating making the floor as pleasant to walk over as she remembered.

  ‘Hello, power shower,’ she murmured, looking at the oversized walk-in shower she had fallen in love with in those few days before going into hospital.

  Turning the chrome-spoked wheel and selecting the waterfall setting, Evie stepped back and flashed a triumphant smile as the steaming-hot water spilled out. Now all she had to do was strip off.

  Easier said than done.

  It took her almost five minutes to divest herself of her exercise outfit. Stretching still pulled at the incision, especially after having overdone it in the gym, and she didn’t want to give the wound any reason to seep and not heal perfectly.

  She was in the uncomfortable process of twisting her arms back to try to reach her bra clips when she realised she wasn’t going to be able to lift her arms high enough to wash her hair. Not a pleasant prospect given the way she’d sweated in the gym, trying to empty her mind of wanton thoughts of Max. Evie stopped, leaning on the marble countertop as she tried to decide the best course of action.

  Leave it. Or ask Max for help.

  She chewed on her lip nervously.

  What was a realistic solution? She really couldn’t afford not to wash her hair, but she could hardly bend double over the sink—her body wasn’t quite recovered for that yet. Short of getting into the shower with her, how was Max supposed to help her? She froze at the images that conjured. Not least the memories of the shower they’d shared during their nights together. She could almost feel the water coursing over her skin as Max had explored her with his mouth.

  Stop right there, she warned herself silently. If the way he’d divested her of her top downstairs was anything to go by, he’d be professional, polite and not in the least bit attracted to her. She’d do well to follow his lead, and if he could be detached then so could she.

  Besides, there was nothing else for it.

  Slamming off the shower and snatching up a towel, she squared her shoulders and went in search of Max. Grateful to see him coming up the stairs as she reached the landing.

  ‘I need your help,’ she announced without preamble. ‘Please?’

  She didn’t dare look over her shoulder to check he was following her as she marched back into the bathroom, grateful for the steam, which offered at least the psychological semblance of privacy.

  Professional, polite, detached. Professional, polite, detached... She repeated it like a mantra so by the time she faced Max she was more composed than she’d been before.

  ‘You want my help...for a shower?’

  He sounded aghast but she refused to let it get to her.

  Professional, polite, detached. She could do it. She would do it.

  ‘To wash my hair,’ she explained. ‘We can keep underwear on—it’ll be like a bikini for the beach.’

  Well, no, not really, but she could pretend that was what she was thinking.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ he muttered, shaking his head and walking out of the bathroom without another word. Evie watched the empty doorway and tried to quash the sense of loss.

  The minutes ticked by, and still Max didn’t return. Talk about adding insult to injury. He wasn’t attracted to her yet the idea of stepping into the shower had appalled him that much, he wouldn’t even entertain helping her. It was a sobering realisation.

  Did it matter if ten other men found her attractive in the future? Wouldn’t she always remember that the one man who really counted, at least in her head, had been so shamefully turned off by her?

  There was nothing else she could do. She would just have to try her best to do it alone. With a shake of her head, she resumed her attempts to unhook her bra.

  * * *

  ‘You’ve done your obs?’

  Evie swung around, dropping her arms too late and folding them across her chest as he reappeared in the doorway, the baby monitor in his hand.

  ‘That was where you went? To check on our daughter?’

  ‘Where else?’ he managed, surprised at the relief in her tone. Where had she thought he’d gone? ‘You didn’t answer me, though. Have you done your obs?’

  ‘I have,’ she confirmed awkwardly. ‘How’s Imogen?’

  ‘She’s asleep. Like I said, long night teething and she didn’t sleep in as long as I’d expected this morning. She just wanted a bit of a play and some breakfast of her own to fill her little tum and she was ready for a catch-up nap.’

  His gaze dropped to her chest as it peeked out from behind her forearms.

  ‘So, do you need some help?’

  ‘No,’ she squeaked, coughing to regain her normal voice. ‘I’m fine now.’

  A beat passed.

  ‘Clearly you’re struggling.’ Max blew out a breath and walked back into the room. ‘Turn around.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I just...’

  ‘Quit stalling and turn around, Evie.’

  He had to stay composed, not give away just how much she still turned him on. He’d managed it downstairs in the kitchen when he’d got her to strip off her wet top, though it had taken some effort. He just had to remember that she wouldn’t recover if she wasn’t relaxed, which meant not making her feel uncomfortable, as though he might pounce on her any second.

  He had to think of her like any other patient. He was never attracted to them no matter how attractive they were.

  Except that she wasn’t any other patient. She was Evie. And that was what made her stand out from anyone else he’d ever known.

  The heavy silence hung between them as Max reached around and unhooked her bra in one simple, efficient movement.

  ‘Hey!’ she gulped.

  ‘How did you get it on?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry?’

  He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  ‘How did you get the bra on? If you can’t get it off?’

  ‘I put it on forwards and turned it around.’ She flushed prettily. ‘But, like you said, I did a bit too much this morning and my muscles have already started to tighten up.’

  ‘So, do you need help with your briefs, or can you do that?’

  ‘They stay on. And you can hook my bra back on, too. Like a bikini, remember?’

  ‘Evie, I’m supposed to be here to help you. I’m a surgeon, and we’re both adults. I’m sure we can see this for what it is and control ourselves.’

  Why did that sound like a challenge to himself?

  Still, he’d always relished a challenge.

  Deftly he slid the item from behind her towel and slung it into the wicker laundry basket without even turning round. The corners of her mouth twitched despite her nerves.

  ‘Fluke,’ she teased him unexpectedly.

  He stuffed down the flare of attraction.

  ‘Entirely,’ he agreed. ‘Now, get in the shower.’

  They were dancing dangerously close to the flames, he thought as he shed his own clothing, watching her silhouette through the steamed-up glass panel of the shower. He had no idea what he thought he was doing, agreeing to wash her hair like this, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. The fact that his body was already reacting to the shadowy pink silhouette wasn’t filling him with hope, but he could hardly change his mind now. Stripping down to his boxers, Max dumped everything in the laun
dry basket, schooled his thoughts and picked up her shampoo and conditioner before stepping into the shower. An all too familiar, soft, perfect backside drew his gaze and his body tightened further. He was going to have to keep his distance.

  Quickly, he stretched his arm around Evie to place the bottles on the marble-tiled alcove, making a conscious effort to avoid contact with her skin. Then, picking the shampoo bottle back up and squeezing out a generous amount for her long hair, he lathered it onto her scalp. As he worked his way through, he watched her place her fingers on the alcove to brace herself and gave a satisfied nod. She wasn’t as strong as she liked to make out; her body was still recovering and this shower would have been too much for her alone. With a renewed sense of vindication, Max concentrated on sectioning out her hair and shampooing.

  Despite their wildly insatiable desire for each other last year, it was this simple activity that felt the most intimate to Max. Something that people having a basic fling would never do for each other. A quietly affectionate gesture, to wash her hair like this.

  He rather liked it.

  It was only when the first few strands began to come away that he realised what was happening. It wasn’t a lot, but temporary hair loss or breakage was one of the known side effects of some of the medications Evie was taking, until the nephrology team had chance to balance her doses. Max contemplated whether or not to mention it to her now. She would already be aware of the probability, but did she really need the added stress of it actually happening now? And to his mind, it didn’t make her any less attractive, or any less of a woman.

  He finished shampooing her hair and gently leaned her to one side so that as he rinsed her hair the suds didn’t run down on the incision side of her body. Then he started all over again with the conditioner.

  Finally, his task complete and his body reined in, Max reached for the tortoiseshell clip he knew she used, twisted her hair up and tied it back. It wasn’t exactly neat, but it would do, and it kept her hair from sweeping across her back and dripping any residual hair product near her wound.

  His eyes swept over the smooth skin of her back, which his hands remembered so well.

  ‘Here.’ His voice was gruffer than he’d intended. ‘I’ll do your back since you can’t reach it.’

  She froze momentarily before relinquishing the body puff to him. Swiftly, he soaped her shoulders and back then over her sides, taking care not to linger or to go too close to the wound. Eventually he felt Evie begin to relax. He worked his way downwards using circular movements, covering the backside that was causing his body such difficulties, and bending down to cover the backs of her legs.

  There. Done. Give her the body puff back and stand up.

  Slowly, almost against his own will, his hands reached up to her waist, his head in line with her hips as he angled her slightly towards him, ignoring her initial resistance, still using the body puff to lather the hip closest to him. He turned her more until his face was inches away from the apex of her thighs.

  He could recall the way she tasted, the way she felt. His body tightened in response and he moved the body puff across her abdomen as if to remind himself of what he was supposed to be doing. He inched up, his eyes now level with her incision, her hand hovering over it as if to hide it from him.

  ‘Let me check it?’ Half-question, half-command.

  She paused, before slowly moving her arm.

  Max inspected it. It was healing well.

  ‘Looks good,’ he concluded, glancing up at her.

  Evie’s face was flushed, embarrassed, her eyes closed and her head turned slightly away, as though she didn’t dare look at him.

  As though she was ashamed of him seeing her scar. As though she was ashamed of the new softness around her abdomen after carrying their daughter, he realised incredulously.

  Max ran a hand down over her belly, her flinching confirming his suspicions.

  He opened his mouth to tell her not to be embarrassed, that they were a symbol of how strong she was, after all she’d been through this year. But then he realised she wouldn’t believe him. Still, he didn’t need to say anything; actions spoke louder than words, right?

  He dropped his gaze to the full breasts that his hands ached to touch. The perfect brown nipple he longed to take in his mouth. Before he could stop himself, with one hand still on her hip, his other hand trailed up the opposite side of her body to her ribcage, the underside of her breasts. He left it there whilst he placed a kiss on her belly.

  She moved one hand to hide the skin but didn’t push him away.

  ‘If this is about your scar or your body, I don’t want to hear it,’ he growled. ‘But if you really want me to stop, you say so now and I will.’

  The wait almost killed him, but she said nothing as her breathing shallowed and the underside of her breast skimmed his knuckles. It was the signal he needed.

  He flicked out the thumb to caress her nipple and, despite the hot shower, Evie’s skin goosebumped instantly in response, a low sound escaping her lips. He hardened immediately, straightening up until he could replace his thumb with his tongue, revelling in the way Evie slipped her fingers through his hair without any more hesitation, her other hand on his shoulder. He drew the hard nipple into his mouth, his tongue playing with it, his hands roaming the satiny skin of her body as she gripped his shoulder harder, arching slightly against him.

  ‘Kiss me, Max.’

  The instruction was shaky but it was there, and Max slowly straightened up, his mouth claiming hers in one movement. Still, he was only too happy to oblige when she took his hand and returned it to its earlier ministrations of her breast, her own hand reaching for him as she gave a small sound of pleasure when he flexed in her palm.

  Her hand closed around him, exactly the way she knew would get him, and he groaned with need, wanting to touch her, taste her, fill her. He stepped back to give his hand room to reach down between her legs, but as he removed his support from her she swayed and stumbled.

  What the hell was he doing, pushing her like that?

  Evie was still recovering. She might be trying to act as though she were recovering quickly but that didn’t mean she was ready for this no matter how she’d reacted. He should have known better than to act on it. He was supposed to be taking care of her, looking out for her. Not giving in to his desire for her.

  Drawing away, he reached for the taps and spun them closed. Then, grabbing a bath sheet from the towel rail, he bundled Evie up and lifted her into his arms.

  ‘Max, what are you doing?’

  Wordlessly, he carried her through to the bedroom and lowered her gently onto the master bed, before leaving the room. He needed to get to work and start his day. And maybe a couple of nights on call at the hospital would be the best thing for both Evie and himself, too.

  CHAPTER NINE

  PULLING THE CAR into the garage, Max leaned back in his seat and rubbed his hand over his neck. It had taken three days of gruelling surgeries, just to keep himself busy, sleeping at the hospital, and stop any wayward thoughts of Evie.

  He didn’t know how to even begin to apologise to her for pushing her the other morning in the shower, his desire for her overwhelming his sense of what was right. He doubted she would be happy to see him this morning. He would have stayed away longer if he could and afforded her more space, but she had a post-op check-up in a couple of hours and he needed to ensure she didn’t miss it and was recovering well.

  Despite everything, an inner peace had descended on him the moment the garage door had closed neatly behind him and he’d turned the engine off.

  Home.

  Sliding out of the car, he walked quietly through the connecting door to the hallway, careful not to make too much noise, which could wake Evie or Imogen, when a shadowy shape flickered in his peripheral vision.

  ‘What the.
..?’

  Sidestepping the figure as it suddenly advanced towards him, he snapped the light on and spun around. A white-faced Evie blinked back at him, the loft hatch stick gripped in tight knuckles like a cricket bat. Her shoulders sagged slightly as she realised it was him.

  She looked fierce, and frightened, and adorable. He tried to stop his lips from twitching.

  ‘I didn’t mean to scare you, sorry.’

  ‘Where the heck have you been?’

  The anger in her tone was undeniable and Max’s heart sank. If he’d held out any faint hopes that she might have forgiven him his indiscretion with her, then he knew now that wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t blame her, but still it cut him to think that she was that furious with him. That he’d betrayed her trust so irrevocably.

  So much for the friendship truce he’d promised her a week earlier. He had to tackle it head-on, before she could say anything to make him feel worse than he already did.

  ‘Evie, I’m sorry about the other day. It shouldn’t have happened. It was a serious misstep on my part and one which I can assure you will never happen again.’

  ‘A misstep?’ She narrowed her eyes at him and his brain whirred.

  Was calling it a misstep too flimsy? Dismissing it as less important than it really was?

  ‘A mistake,’ he stated flatly, thrusting aside the voice that argued it hadn’t felt like a mistake at the time. It had felt natural, and right, as if the two of them fitted together.

  What was wrong with him? He felt his face twist into a sneer. Clearly Evie didn’t share his rosy version of events or he wouldn’t have felt it best to stay away until now.

  ‘A dreadful mistake,’ he emphasised. ‘For which I am entirely to blame.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She sounded less than impressed.

  ‘Anyway, what’s all this?’ He reached over to prise the long loft-hatch pole from her fingers, hoping in vain to lighten the atmosphere.

  ‘I was frightened you might be a burglar,’ she snapped coldly, pursing her lips.