‘Right.’ She nodded. ‘Sol...’
There was little need to say anything. As the neurology specialist, he was already beginning his obs, his low, calm pitch already reassuring the little girl who was beginning to respond to his gentle instruction.
She nodded to her team to begin a fresh set of obs, as they were already preparing to do, and turned back to the HEMS doctor.
‘Mum came with her?’
‘This is Mum.’ He turned to locate the young girl’s mother, who was looking ashen but keeping herself together well.
‘Okay, Mum.’ Anouk smiled reassuringly. ‘We’re just going to check Rosie over for now, perhaps give her some medication to make her more comfortable, and then we’ll be taking her for a scan to see what’s going on with her head and neck. You’re absolutely fine to stay here with her, let her see you, talk to her.’
‘My husband is on his way...?’ The mum trailed off uncertainly.
‘That’s fine. If he goes to the desk someone will bring him straight through to Resus.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled weakly, her eyes darting straight back to her daughter and her smile becoming deliberately brighter, her voice more upbeat as she tried to reassure the baby girl looking so small on the dark blue mattress.
As soon as they had completed their initial assessment they could wrap her in a blanket, which would stop her from looking quite so tiny and helpless. But Anouk didn’t need the neurosurgeon beside her to tell her that, given Rosie’s age, her little bones were still quite soft and the concern was that there could be an internal bleed, which might cause pressure and push the child’s brain down.
Her team worked quickly and methodically, focussed on their task, feeding the information back to Anouk as she mentally constructed a picture for herself of what was going on with Rosie before preparing to take her little patient to CT.
‘You’re happy for the mother to accompany the child?’ Sol’s voice suddenly rumbled, low and rich in her ear, spreading through her body like luxuriously sticky caramel.
Anouk told herself not to be so stupid.
‘Yes, I asked her if she was happy to join us before, so they’ll be getting her leaded up.’
‘Good,’ he confirmed simply.
And there was no reason for her body to goosebump at the way they apparently worked so harmoniously together. No reason at all.
She thanked the HEMS team and wrapped up handover before getting straight back to her little patient and preparing her for CT.
* * *
‘Do you fancy some lunch?’ Sol asked quietly a couple of hours later, making her turn her head so fast that her neck cracked painfully. She pretended that it hadn’t. ‘It’s a surprisingly quiet day today. I think we might actually be able to give it a try eating a meal for once.’
‘Lunch?’
‘Yes, the thing normal people eat around midday.’
‘As opposed to the packet of biscuits I usually just about get time to grab?’ She tried laughing to conceal her shock.
If she hadn’t known Sol better, it might have sounded like an actual date.
‘Hence why I want to buy you lunch.’
The temptation to accept was shockingly strong.
‘Why?’ she demanded instead.
He didn’t even blink.
‘I thought that, perhaps after the other night, it might be nice to get to know each other a little better. That is to say, with our clothes on.’
‘Shush,’ Anouk hissed, spinning wildly around before bustling him into an empty side room. ‘Someone might hear you.’
‘They didn’t. So, lunchtime?’
‘Like...a date?’ she demanded stiffly. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
His mouth crooked upwards.
‘Don’t panic, it’s just lunch. No date.’
‘It isn’t just anything. It’s about the optics.’
‘No one cares.’
She rolled her eyes at him.
‘Lots of people care. And even if they didn’t, I care.’
‘That you’re seen on a lunch date at work? Or that you’re seen with me?’
‘Both. And I thought you said it wouldn’t be a date?’
His grin ramped up until it made her stomach tighten. And other things tighten, too.
‘I lied.’ He winked at her, making her tingle now, too.
She was pretty sure he knew exactly what he was doing. That he could read every embarrassing effect on her hot face.
‘You’re irredeemable,’ she snapped.
‘Thanks.’
‘It wasn’t a compliment.’
‘Too late. I took it as one.’ He rocked back and leant on the doorjamb, folding his arms over his chest in a way that he must surely know made him look all the more hewn and powerful. All male.
She cursed her faithless heart and the tattoo it was currently beating throughout every vein and nerve-ending in her body. His dark eyes—as glossy and mesmerising as a master chocolatier’s darkest mirror glaze—rippled with something she couldn’t read but traitorously wished she could.
She ought to back up and put a little distance between the two of them. Or, better yet, leave. Instead, she stayed exactly where she was. Within arm’s reach of Sol. A silent invitation even as she pretended it wasn’t.
The lazy, insouciant way he watched her warned her that he knew it was pretence. His eyes raked over her body and left it as tingling and aware as she’d been that night. Craving more. She couldn’t tear her gaze from that mouth, wicked and expert all at once. The things it had done to her should be illegal.
She was glad they weren’t.
Everything inside was still. Calm. Expectant.
‘Is something wrong?’ he demanded suddenly.
And Anouk was aware of an edge to his tone. A hint that he was teasing her, playing with her, but she didn’t know what the joke was.
‘Wrong?’
‘You appear to be rather fixated.’
‘Fixated?’
She was beginning to sound a little like the old neighbour’s parrot that had had a habit of waking her and Saskia at ridiculous hours in the morning, despite the fact that it was a decent apartment and the walls weren’t exactly thin.
‘With my mouth?’
She snapped her eyes up.
‘I’m not fixated with your mouth.’
‘Indeed? Only, I was going to ask if there was something there. A mark perhaps. An ink stain. A crumb.’
God help her, but all she could think of now was that if it had been a crumb, she would have gladly licked it off.
‘No crumb,’ she managed briskly. ‘Or anything else.’
‘Shame.’
As though he could read her illicit thoughts.
‘I should go.’
‘You should,’ he agreed.
It took a great effort to galvanise her legs, moving one in front of the other in a great imitation of a newborn foal. Was it any wonder then that as she reached Sol and he refused to budge to let her pass easily, she faltered slightly?
He caught her in an instant, not that she had been about to fall, and suddenly she was being hauled into his arms, and he was holding her there, and she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare again at his fascinating mouth, silently begging it to come crashing down on hers as it had that night.
When it didn’t, Anouk didn’t see any other choice but to lean up and press her lips to his.
It was instant combustion. His arms encircled her, pulling her to him. Her soft, pliant body against his deliciously hard one. He dipped his head and tasted her, sampling as though she were some precious vintage wine, leaving Anouk feeling revered and rare.
He dipped in and out, making her arch to him for more, soft moans escaping her lips in spite of herself.
He let his fingers tangle in her hair, mumbling words like glorious and spun-silk gold.
‘It’s just hair,’ she muttered against his mouth, half afraid that she would fall for his charms when she knew better, probably better than anyone.
‘No,’ he argued, drawing back from her and tangling his hands deep within the abundance. ‘It’s like running my fingers through the softest gallium.’
‘I don’t need the hollow compliments...’ she began, but when he raked his thumb over her lower lip, apparently revelling in the feel of her shaky breath on his skin, she found she couldn’t even remember what she’d been about to say.
All the while she wanted the moment to last an eternity, maybe two, and yet also wanted the journey to be over, so that he could finally take her to his apartment and release the madness that had been building ever since he’d pressed his head between her legs that night and showed her exactly what she’d been missing all these years. With her two perfectly nice, perfectly dull boyfriends.
He kissed her some more. Slowly, reverently, as though they had all the time in the world and as though they weren’t in the middle of a busy hospital.
The hospital, the voice sounded dully through the fog of her brain.
Her shift.
She had no idea from where she found the strength to break his kiss. And then some more, to break his hold.
‘This is what you do, isn’t it?’ she managed in a strangled voice.
‘Does it matter? If we’re both enjoying it?’
She couldn’t tell him that yes, it mattered. Especially when he made her feel as though she were special, only to remember that she wasn’t.
That a hundred girls had probably travelled this same road before.
Idiot that she was.
‘I have work to do,’ she bit out, whirling around and snatching open the door before she could do something as stupid as change her mind.
The last thing she expected was to hear his voice carry, deep and smooth, down the hall.
‘Come with me to the centre.’
She shouldn’t let him worm his way under her skin. She shouldn’t.
‘Say that again?’ she demanded, stopping and turning slowly.
‘Come with me to see the Care to Play centre. See what it’s all about.’
He was offering to show her into his private world? His private life? She could hardly believe he would be that open with her. Or anyone, for that matter.
By the expression that fleetingly clouded Sol’s face, he could hardly believe it either. If she didn’t accept quickly, she feared he might rescind the invitation. And, despite all her promises to herself to steer clear of him after the gala, she desperately didn’t want him to rescind anything.
Solomon Gunn.
He’d been worming his way under her skin ever since she’d met him. She’d staved him off initially by fixing on his playboy reputation. It hadn’t been too difficult, not after watching her self-destructive mother make one poor choice after the next where bad boys were concerned.
Yet, she’d also seen flashes of another side of Sol. A compassionate side lacked by other top-flight surgeons she knew. The incident with young Izzy and her family, if she was going to be honest now, hadn’t been the first. Nor the care for his old patient—Mrs Bowman.
But that didn’t mean she had to be attracted to him, did it? She was supposed to be immune, for pity’s sake.
Anouk was still giving herself a halfway decent talking-to when she heard her own voice replying.
‘Okay.’ No, not really okay, her brain screamed at her to take it back. ‘I’d like to see the centre.’
‘Then I’ll bring you some forms to sign.’
‘Forms?’
‘Standard security. For being with the kids. As a doctor you’ll be fine, but it protects the centre.’
‘Right.’
By the book, Sol? Anouk said nothing but filed it away. It was yet another sign of how much this centre, and these kids, meant to him.
Reckless playboy? Or caring protector? Every time she thought she knew him, he morphed into something else. She couldn’t pin him down.
It mattered to her more than it had any right to.
CHAPTER SIX
‘WELL,’ ANOUK MUTTERED to herself as she slapped her steering wheel lightly. ‘You’ve been sitting out here for nearly half an hour. Here goes nothing.’
Yanking open her door, she jackknifed out of her car, clicked the lock button, and marched to the centre before she could talk herself out of anything.
She was barely through the doors before an older woman stopped her.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m Anouk,’ she began. ‘Anouk Hart. I...’
She trailed off. Should she say she was here to meet Sol? Or just that he’d given her forms to fill out the other day? Or perhaps she shouldn’t mention him at all; she didn’t want people to think she was just using the centre to somehow wheedle her way in with him.
‘Oh, yes, Anouk.’ The woman smiled. ‘I’m Barbara. Sol has been telling us all about you. So have Izzy and Katie.’
‘The girls are here?’
‘Yes, Katie particularly, of course. Izzy only got out of hospital yesterday but the first thing she did was ask when you would be coming in.’ Barbara laughed.
‘It always amazes me how resilient kids are.’ Anouk shook her head. ‘Only a week ago she was in my Resus department.’
‘Now she’s home and already back to helping her mum,’ the woman agreed. ‘Inspirational. Just like so many of the kids I see come through those doors.’
‘I can see why Sol cares so much about this place. I guess not everyone with a privileged childhood wants to see what other people have to go through.’
‘I know. I like to think that’s why Sol—and Malachi, for that matter—set up this place. They might be rich, influential men now, but neither of them has ever forgotten how appalling their own childhoods were.’
Anouk blinked. She fought to keep her expression neutral.
‘Right.’
‘I mean, not just as young carers themselves but how they had to drag themselves out of the gutter,’ Barbara continued, clearly under the impression that this wasn’t news to Anouk. ‘Without them getting the message out, people with clout wouldn’t even know about us. This centre, and the new one they are building, simply wouldn’t exist.’
Anouk made a sound of acknowledgement, but her head was spinning.
Sol had been a young carer? He had dragged himself out of the gutter?
It didn’t make any sense. But what confused her most was that Barbara didn’t seem worried about discussing it. As though it was common knowledge.
As though she was talking about a completely different Solomon Gunn from the playboy neurosurgeon who relished his Smoking Gun nickname.
Was it possible that his colleagues didn’t know the man at all?
Even she herself sometimes forgot how other people envied her childhood when they knew she was the daughter of a late Hollywood actress. They couldn’t see the darker, uglier side of that life. Was it the same for Sol? People said he was a wealthy neurosurgeon, coming from money, and they made judgements. She had made judgements.
Would the real Solomon Gunn please step forward?
‘So, anyway, we thought you might like to spend the afternoon with Libby. She’s a friendly little girl, six, sole carer for her mother, although...’ Barbara paused, half stating, half questioning ‘...you’ll know that we don’t discuss that side of things here?’
‘Yes, I know. This is a place she can come and just be a child.’
The woman nodded her approval.
‘At the moment Libby is making Father Christmas faces for the Christmas Fayre. Are you any good at crafting?’
‘I’m not known for it.’ Her laugh b
etrayed a hint of nerves, but that couldn’t be helped. ‘But I’m keen to learn. Sol isn’t here?’
‘There was a problem at the construction site. Besides, I think he thought you might find it easier getting to know the children in your own time.’
Without him looking over her shoulder, did he mean? Either way, it was odd but, taking the complication of having to interact with Sol out of the equation, she could practically feel some of her tension slipping from her shoulders, through her body to the floor, and away from her.
She exhaled quietly with relief.
‘That probably would be better.’
Was it her imagination, or did Barbara’s smile suddenly seem brighter? Wider?
‘That will do just fine,’ Barbara approved, leading her over to where a young girl sat, with a unicorn T-shirt and pink jeans, her hair plaited exceptionally neatly either side of her head.
‘Libby, I’ve got another set of helping hands. This is Anouk. You remember Izzy and Katie mentioned her.’
A six-year-old girl glanced up with a wide, toothy smile.
‘And Sol talked about her, too,’ she added. ‘You’re just in time to help me decorate the next lot of faces to stick on the goodie bags. Can you bring those cotton-wool balls over there for the beard? I’ve got the googly eyes but we’ll cut little red hats out of the felt and use a mini pom-pom for the bobble.’
Before she knew it, Barbara had gone, leaving Libby and Anouk alone. Not that it seemed to matter since Libby was quite happy to take charge.
‘What if you cut the felt hats and I’ll stick them on?’ Libby suggested. ‘Wait, no, not like that. Like this. Let me show you.’
Quickly, efficiently, Libby demonstrated what she wanted, talking Anouk through each step, not that it seemed particularly complicated. Yet the way the girl approached the crafting task with such meticulousness and attention to detail, in a way that was common in six-year-olds, reminded her of Libby’s experience as a young carer.
Her chest kicked. It was an unexpected reminder of her own childhood, when she had organised her mother with care and discipline as though she were Annalise Hartwood’s personal assistant rather than her daughter.
Unwrapping the Neurosurgeon's Heart Page 7