Michael Dennison silently cursed himself.
Of course, a woman as beautiful as she would be married. And to a guy that looked perfect and obviously cared about her. There would be better times to apologize to her when she came back for tests before the surgery. Michael felt deflated. He hadn’t allowed himself to be attracted to a woman for as long as he could remember. Who the hell was he kidding? He was stuck in this damn chair, and there was no way a woman like her would saddle herself with a man like him.
Allyn paid for the food and found Violet standing near the doors at the front of the hospital. “Here’s your sandwich. Did you want to take it with you, or do you want to go back and eat here?” Violet turned and looked at him, and he swore she had been crying.
“I...I want to go home. I’m sorry, Allyn. I am just emotionally rung out. I knew what the doctor was going to say, and I thought I was prepared. But you know how terrified I am of hospitals and the thought of surgery. Allyn put his arms around her and swallowed her up in a bear hug. He was thinking about the accident and how he had almost lost her too. She was shaking as he held her.
“I know you’re scared, but this is not anything like when you were a kid. You’ll only be in for a couple of days and then home with round-the-clock care. I even arranged for a spa to come in and give you a treat each day: manicures, pedicures, facials, anything you want to spoil yourself with. I was going to surprise you, but you know I’m horrible at keeping secrets.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “You are the sweetest brother a girl could ever have.” And she kissed his cheek.
Radiology Suite at the Clinic Building
“Okay, miss, lie very still, and this will be over before you know it. Myself, I’d take a nap,” the elderly X-ray tech said.
Violet almost snorted at the thought. She’d love a nap. The nightmares from after the accident had come back. It didn’t seem to matter that as an adult she could rationalize that it was her subconscious trying to work through things she still couldn’t really deal with. She still woke up screaming and then couldn’t go back to sleep. Allyn wanted her to take the sleeping pills a doctor had prescribed, but she never reacted well to those things. The only saving grace in the round of appointments was that she probably wouldn’t run into Dr. Dennison. She didn’t figure him for the type to associate with the techs.
The MRI whirred to life, and the spinning magnets got loud. Violet could feel her panic rising. She tried deep breaths, tried finding her happy place, finally she started yelling, “I can’t do this anymore! I need to get out of here right now. I mean it!” The whirring stopped, and she sucked in great gulps of air.
“Ms. Bellows, I’m sorry, but I really am going to need these images,” came a voice from outside the machine. It was deep and male. Definitely not the tech’s kindly old woman’s voice. The table slid back out of the machine, and she came face to face with Dr. Dennison. Oh God, how much had he heard?
“Ms. Bellows, what can we do to make this a less traumatic experience? Is it a claustrophobia issue?”
Violet wasn’t sure if it was left over panic or not, but her heart was galloping in her chest, and she had trouble catching her breath.
“I’m sorry. It brings back horrible memories from my childhood. The noise combined with the close space.”
“What if we piped some music in, would that help distract you from the noise of the magnets? Do you like opera?”
I... yes, I love opera.” She found him confusing and beguiling. “Why are you trying to help me?”
“In part because you are obviously terrified of this thing, and I really do need these images to do your surgery.”
Violet tried not to look disappointed, then she narrowed her eyes.
Michael fought to avoid audibly gulping. That glare was pure hardened steel that he could imagine happily cutting out his heart and handing it back to him wrapped in a bow.
“So should I yell at you?” Violet said. “You looked pretty shaken the other day in the street.”
“That is the other reason I am trying, and evidently failing, to be nice. It would go a long way to making me feel less like an ass for the way I acted then.”
“Apology accepted, though I did notice there was no actual apology. Now, how am I going to get through this?”
“I only need lower spine images, so I can visualize the nerves better when I am doing the surgery. Would it help if...well...you were able to lie with your arms up over your head, and I... I could hold onto your hand so you would know you weren’t alone?”
“That would help. Add in some opera, and I might get through it.”
Michael realized she was actually smiling. His chest tightened, and he wondered what it would be like to have her smile at him like that all the time. Then he chastised himself for forgetting that she was indeed married.
He went into the control room and cued up some music from his phone. As he rolled back in, the opening bars of La Traviata started to play.
She beamed.
“Of course this was my favorite even as a child. Mother used to put on the music and tell me the story. She always called it my opera.”
“But of course, Violetta. Now, do you need a pillow under your back to make you more comfortable? How about under your knees?”
“Yes, both of those would help.” He went to get some small pillows, and Violet became acutely aware of the fact that she was lying there in a johnny coat, panties, and socks. He offered his hand so that she could pull herself up to sitting, then he positioned a pillow for the small of her back and had her lie back down. He rested a hand on her stomach as he adjusted the pillow, and she felt its warmth spread through her body and pool in her abdomen. She blushed with thoughts of what it would be like to feel his hands all over her, and her skin glowed from the heat the thought caused. He went to the far end of the tube and asked her to bend her knees. She did as she was asked and felt a cool breeze on her bottom. Oh God, why had she chosen today to wear her best French lace panties. She wanted the confidence good lingerie gave her. Damn, she couldn’t have just chosen plain white cotton. She felt herself go hot again.
Michael tried to position the pillow under her knees, but from his seat in the chair the angle was difficult without looking right at her. When she bent her knees, he saw the flash of lace, but more intriguing was the fact that her panties had ridden up slightly and showed just a bit of cheek where her bottom met her thigh. He had an almost irresistible urge to run his thumb nail along it to see if she would shiver. Damn, Dennison, it isn’t an apology if you turn into a lecher. He took a deep breath to clear his head and wheeled himself back to where she could see him. He handed her another pillow and told her to place it between her thighs. It would keep her legs from shaking. “How does that feel now?” he asked.
“Much better, thank you.” She found herself staring into his eyes. They were clear blue with a dark rim, so they looked darker, almost navy. She found them fascinating but sad and guarded. She searched his face—high aristocratic forehead, aquiline nose, high cheek bones, sandy blond mixed with gray beard and mustache. He looked like a Renaissance hero in a modern suit, her musketeer. She smiled at the idea of that.
“Go ahead and put your arms over your head. Are you still comfortable? Do you need more pillows under your back?”
“Yes. Just one should be fine.” She hoped that he would touch her again, but no, not this time.
“Okay, I am going to have them slide you into position in now. And perfect timing, your first aria is about to start. Concentrate on the music to help drown out the noise of the machine. I’ll be right at the end of the table holding your hands.” Her eyes went wide as she slid into place.
“I’m right here, Violetta. I won’t leave you.”
Violet swallowed hard as the table stopped moving and she was fully in the tube. She could feel her panic rising, but then a warm hand held hers. She grasped at it with both hands and felt his other hand enclose hers. She could hear him talking to h
er through the speaker. Quietly, he said, “Should I tell you the story of your opera?” She squeezed his hand to say yes. She closed her eyes and felt herself relax as he began whispering about her opera. She couldn’t believe she was in a hospital, having an awful test no less, and she was indeed relaxed. Dr. Dennison was a miracle worker.
From his vantage point at the end of the table, he looked down the length of her, and it was killing him. He warned her that the magnets were going to start spinning and continued telling her the story. The fan to alleviate the feelings of claustrophobia must have been cold because he saw her nipples harden under the thin cotton wrap. He stopped speaking for a minute, lost in the thought of what would it feel like to have this woman under him. Have it be him that brought her nipples to peaks. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing. What would it be like to make her breath quicken, her heart pound, to take her to the edge of arousal and watch her tumble over it? She squeezed his hand, snapping him out of his daydream. He took a ragged breath and shouted inside his head, MARRIED! PATIENT! NEVER FOR YOU! Trying to restore some sanity to his thoughts, he continued the telling of the opera.
They had all the images he needed by the middle of act two, where Violetta and Alfredo were happily ensconced in a country house and before the appearance of his interfering father. Michael was secretly relieved that he was able to leave the story on a happy note. Silly, considering she was more than familiar with the outcome, but it pleased him anyway.
He escorted her to her dressing room and waited while she dressed.
When she came out, Violet was surprised to find him waiting. She blushed to the roots of her hair, and a shiver of pleasure ran through her. “I... you have no idea how much what you did helped. I never could have gotten through it otherwise.”
She gave him a shy smile, lighting her face as if by candle light. Michael didn’t know you could be this happy and this miserable at the same time. If he hadn’t actually gone to medical school, he would swear his heart was breaking into pieces in his chest. He forced himself to smile back.
“Yes, well...you’re almost done with the gauntlet of tests. I’ll see you back here for the surgery in three days.”
“What about the storm they’re predicting? It is supposed to be bad.”
Michael tried not to laugh, but she looked exactly like six-year-old praying for a snow day. “You’ll need to be here by 5:30 a.m. It isn’t supposed to get going till later in the day. At that point you’ll be stuck here whether it snows or not, I’m afraid.” She looked a little crestfallen. “If it is any consolation, I’ll be here too.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her smile return.
The Night Before Surgery
Michael woke gasping for air. His chest was pounding, and his pulse raced. He glanced at the clock. 3:52 a.m. He’d have to get up in a couple of minutes anyway, but that was some damn dream. Odd, he wasn’t one of those people that ever remembered their dreams, but this was so vivid. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a sex dream. He looked down at himself, disgusted. He'd been dreaming about Violet, doing things he wouldn't dare even if he could, and despite free reign of his sexual fantasies, the best he could manage was a sort of half hard erection.
The reality killed even that. She was his patient. She was married. She was way out of his league. He might be handsome if he weren't surrounded by hardware, but she was breathtaking. The kind of woman men felt lucky to stand near, let alone touch. He didn't know why, but he sensed that there was more to her than she let people see. The steel hidden in all that silk. He sensed it when they had first talked, with the way she dismissed the pain she had felt. He saw it again when she had taunted him about his lack of apology.
He loved the fact she’d called him on it. Everyone was afraid of upsetting the cripple, so they treated him like the broken man he felt like. She didn't. She expected him to act like a man and a decent one at that. The things he was doing in his dream were not the things a decent man did to a woman like her. In the real world she held all the cards, she would determine whether or not he could see her and how. In his dream he was the dominant one, telling her exactly what he was going to do to her. Not that it was ever going to happen in the real world.
He needed to get going, or he would be late for surgery.
Violet groaned when her alarm blared. She turned it off and hid under her pillow for a few more seconds. But if Allyn had taught her anything growing up, it was that sometimes you just needed to be there. And in this case she needed to be at the hospital and be ready to have surgery. The car would be here in half an hour to pick her up, and she wanted to wash her hair and braid it so it wouldn’t get in the way of the doctors.
She smiled. She imagined most of Dr. Dennison’s female patients ended up with crushes on him. After all, it wasn’t everyday a handsome, intelligent, caring man focused all of his attention on you. It was more than a little addictive. And his hands were so warm. Weren’t doctors supposed to have cold hands? Okay, enough daydreaming about the handsome doctor, she needed to get to the hospital.
This would have been so much easier if Allyn had been here, but it couldn’t be helped. He had wanted to cancel his trip when the plans changed, but the work was too important to just give up on something they had spent years building. She wasn’t going to let the Indian government put off the mother and child welfare clinics just because she needed to get her back fixed. Allyn had promised that he would be there when she woke up. He was going to call and speak to Dennison before the surgery anyway.
The Morning of Surgery
Michael had been at the hospital for an hour already and it was only 6:05 a.m. Violet’s surgery was going to last six to eight hours. He needed to stop referring to her as Violet even in his head. Ms. Bellows. Her name was Ms. Bellows, and as far as he was concerned it wouldn’t ever be anything else. He’d eaten, changed into scrubs, gone through the case with the surgical residents who would be working with him. There was nothing to do but go speak to Ms. Bellows and her husband.
Michael was shocked when he entered the curtained off cubicle to find Violet sitting by herself. She looked so miserable he wanted to put his arms around her . “I don’t understand,” he blurted out. “What could have possibly kept Mr. Bellows away when you were going for surgery?
“Allyn had meetings that were unavoidable in India. I felt it was more important that he be there than holding my hand for the few minutes I’d be here before I am taken in. He said he would call you.”
“ I am still shocked that a man would leave his wife alone at a time like this.”
“Wife? Oh no, Allyn is my brother, though he doesn’t look it. We had different mothers.”
Just then, Michael’s pager went off.
“I am sorry; I have to take this.” He was confused, thrilled but confused as he called the page operator, and sure enough it was Allyn Bellows.
“Mr. Bellows, I have been given to understand you are in India. Yes, she explained that it was unavoidable. Of course, I will call the minute we are finished with the surgery and again when she is awake in recovery. Do you have any questions for me? Um... yes she had mentioned her fear of hospitals, but she never went into detail as to why. I see, that must have been awful for her. Yes, I will do everything I can to make her comfortable while she is here. When are you due back? You may be delayed. The storm is expected to last a couple of days, so Logan may be closed. I promise I will take very good care of her. I will talk to you soon. You can leave your number with my office. Good-bye.”
“That would have been Allyn. As usual right on time!”
Michael could barely hear what she was saying over the pounding in his heart. She wasn’t married. He wanted to do some god awful dance if he could have. Oh Christ. Now he was going to have to cut her open. His heart sank. Orthopedic surgery was a nasty, brutal thing. To straighten her spine, he was going to have to cut her hip open and chisel out a good size chunk of bone. Then he was going to have to cut open her back from well above her
waist to the top of her ass. Then he was going to have to screw the bone into the spine itself with large titanium screws that would be supplemented with tie rods, for lack of a better term.
Oh God, now he understood the rules about doctors not treating family and loved ones in a way he had never really thought about before. But that was absurd. It wasn’t as though he could be in love with Violet Bellows. They had only spoken a handful of times, and in one of those he’d been yelling at her and she at him. She was just very beautiful, and that was what swayed his thoughts. Once she was draped for surgery she would look like every other patient. He would just have to do a better job for her than anyone else could.
The Hospital during the Nor’easter
Where were those screams coming from? Those weren’t pain. That sounded more like terror. He had been at the hospital since coming in for the Bellows surgery. That was almost thirty-six hours ago. This storm was supposedly going to last at least another two days. There was already almost three feet of snow on the ground. With the wind howling, drifts had made it impossible for the snowplows to get through some roads. Police were bringing people in, since some of the ambulances were unable to get through. It was a nightmare. All surgeries were cancelled, except for life threatening conditions. He was stuck here, but those screams had woken him from his sleep.
Where were they coming from? Finally he found the source. Oh, please no, he thought to himself, not his shy Violet.
He entered her room, and her distress was palpable. Her eyes were wild with terror, not just pain. He moved to her bed.
“Violet. Tell me what is wrong.”
“The storm! We’ll be killed in the storm!”
They were fifteen floors up, and here the wind was screaming at the windows, sounding more like a jet engine than a snow storm. Some fool had left her drapes open. He rolled to the window and closed the drapes. That helped decrease the noise and blocked out the visual effect of the storm. Both of these seemed to lessen her terror. He pulled out his phone and punched up the music app. In seconds, he found what he was looking for. “Violetta, listen to your opera.” The overture of La Traviata began. He went back to her bed and lay the phone down on it. He took her hands in his. They were shaking and felt like ice.
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