by Amy Andrews
The hospital grapevine was working overtime as Claire went from ward to ward, spreading her floral cheer. Somehow they’d discovered the identity of the man responsible so Claire couldn’t even pretend she didn’t know him.
‘Give in, Claire,’ said Andrea from the clinic, as Claire passed her with yet another bouquet.
‘Andrea, how long have we known each other?’
‘Eleven years.’
‘So you know I don’t date.’ Exasperation tinged her voice.
‘Claire, it’s been a long time. I know Shane hurt you but surely you’re over him by now.’
‘Of course I am.’ Claire sighed heavily, weary of having to explain her motives. ‘But that’s the thing—doesn’t he remind you of Shane? I mean, if I was going to suddenly start dating again, why would I choose someone who’s exactly like my ex?’
‘Are you crazy? He’s nothing like Shane.’
‘They both have red hair and a reputation.’
‘And that’s where the similarities end. My God, you can’t be serious! Shane’s reputation was justified. He was superficial, conceited and arrogant. He flirted with everyone, including me. He was a creep! And he wasn’t even a very good doctor.’
Claire listened to her friend in silence. ‘Why have you never told me any of this?’
‘You loved him, Claire. He could do no wrong. What would I have gained from that except maybe a ruined friendship?’
Claire absently sniffed the bouquet in her arms while she digested Andrea’s words.
‘Look, I’ve worked with Campbell a lot in Outpatients. I can tell you he has more integrity in his little finger than Shane had in his entire body. And he’s a fantastic obstetrician. Don’t judge him by Shane’s standards. Do yourself a favour … cut him a break.’
‘No point,’ Claire said, straightening her back and hardening her heart, ignoring the truth in Andrea’s words. ‘I don’t date. No exceptions.’
Andrea’s words gave Claire food for thought as she went on her way. Maybe comparing Campbell and Shane had been doing Campbell a disservice. So they both had red hair—a minor superficial physical resemblance. Apart from that, they really were nothing alike.
Claire had to admit Andrea’s description of Shane’s character was more than accurate and despite keeping her distance from him, Claire knew enough about Campbell to know that his red hair was where his likeness with Shane ended. And he was definitely, no contest, a much better doctor.
But, Claire reminded herself sharply, whether he looked like her ex-fiancé or not was immaterial. There were other reasons to keep her distance. Much more serious ones. The fact that his appearance had stirred up some long forgotten wounds helped make it all the easier to stay away.
If only the rest of the hospital staff would make it just as easy. Instead, Campbell was fast gaining notoriety throughout St Jude’s as the underdog. Claire had become the tyrant! Poor brave Campbell pitted against Big Bad Claire who rebuffed him heartlessly, rejecting his expensive romantic gestures. She’d even heard that one ward was running a sweep on who would win the battle.
Claire detested being the subject of gossip. Heaven knew, she’d spent most of her working life at St Jude’s being a curiosity. Who? Claire West? Oh, the one who doesn’t date? I hear she’s a lesbian. And on and on. Nonetheless, every bunch of flowers hardened her resolve. Let them talk. A relationship with Campbell was out of the question.
Campbell was conspicuous by his absence. But she knew his game. His strategy was to keep a low profile and let his gifts work their magic. He was hoping she’d be so overwhelmed and flattered she’d be begging for a date. Well, she was on to him and it wasn’t going to work.
However, when flowers arrived on the Friday of the second week, Claire knew she had to protest. She dialled his room number, knowing he did a clinic at this time.
‘Campbell Deane.’ His voice was warm and sexy, and Claire gripped the receiver as her heart tripped. How could a voice affect her in such a way?
‘Stop it, Campbell. No more flowers.’
‘Ready to surrender?’
She could hear the humour in his voice and knew his green eyes would be twinkling. ‘No. I’ve just had enough. I’m running out of vases.’
‘That’s not what I hear. The rest of the hospital has a vase shortage. In fact, you seem to be the only one with available vases. Maybe you could loan them some of yours.’
‘They go in the bin come Monday. Enough.’
‘You want me to stop sending flowers?’
‘Good. You’re catching on.’
‘Come and ask me. Face to face.’
‘What?’ He had to be joking!
‘I’ll be in my consulting room for another fifteen minutes.’
Claire gawped at the dead phone. He’d hung up! Why, of all the … So he wanted an audience, huh? She rose to her feet. She’d make him sorry he was so damned imperious!
Anger carried her to his office before she realised she’d just done exactly what he wanted. She stormed in without knocking and found him leaning against his desk, facing the door. Waiting for her.
‘Six minutes.’ He whistled as his gaze fell to the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the way the fabric of her uniform pulled across her breasts. ‘I see you took the stairs.’
‘It was faster,’ she snapped.
‘Before you start …’ he held up his hands to placate her ‘… I apologise.’ He pushed himself off the desk and walked slowly towards her. As he advanced a step she retreated a step. ‘I just wanted to see your face again and I figured … well, if you were steamed up enough …’
Claire bumped against the wall. Campbell halted also. An arm’s length separated them. His apology had taken the wind out of her sails.
‘I’d forgotten how beautiful you are, Claire. Staying away has been so hard but I thought, well, you know, absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder.’ He stepped closer.
‘Campbell.’ Desperation tinged her voice. ‘Stop this, please.’ She pressed her hands against his chest to prevent him from coming any closer.
‘You don’t want me to send you any more flowers?’
Claire nodded, not quite trusting her voice, which she felt sure would betray her trembling. With Campbell so close, her entire body was quivering. She’d forgotten how magnificent he was in the flesh. I can’t let this happen. I can’t.
‘I thought women loved flowers,’ he said quietly, staring at her mouth as his head inched closer.
‘I … I hate them.’ Her voice tripped over the lie.
‘Really?’ he whispered.
‘I do now,’ she whispered back, swallowing to moisten her suddenly parched throat. I can’t let this happen.
The room was silent. All that could be heard was the ticking of the wall clock and the thunder of two galloping heartbeats.
‘Kiss me. Kiss me and I’ll stop.’
She felt his warm breath on her face as he uttered the outrageous request. Only it didn’t seem so outrageous now. In fact, to Claire’s ears it seemed like a very sensible suggestion. His lips were so close, she was mesmerised. She couldn’t think of one reason why she shouldn’t. And she wanted to. Lordy, she wanted to.
He placed his arms against the wall on either side of her head. Her hands were being crushed by his body weight—a completely ineffective barrier—as he inched closer. And suddenly she could bear the suspense no longer. She closed the millimetres that separated their lips and surrendered to the decadence of the moment.
It had been a long time since she’d kissed a man. She expected Campbell to lead and dominate, and he didn’t disappoint. He devoured her mouth, plundering its softness, branding hers lips with his own. It wasn’t hard or savage, just thorough. It was like this kiss was his sales pitch and he was giving her all he had.
It went on and on, sucking her every breath from her body, shattering the memory of any kiss she’d ever had before this one. They were nothing compared to this. It was blinding and druggin
g and left her wanting more.
She clung to him, revelling in her sweet surrender. The lyrics of an old country song came to her mind. ‘I feel sorry for any one who isn’t me tonight.’ She’d reached nirvana.
He pulled back and she gasped in a ragged breath. They stilled and he rested his forehead against hers as their breathing settled.
‘Claire …?’ he murmured in a throaty whisper.
And it brought her crashing back to the real world. She straightened up and he dropped his arms, allowing her some space to move away. She crossed to the window, completely oblivious to the million-dollar view of Brisbane’s skyscrapers.
I can’t let this happen. I can’t. The frantic beating of her heart refused to settle and Claire knew it needed a prod.
‘So.’ She cleared her throat. Even to her own ears she sounded like a woman who’d just been kissed—breathy and husky. She turned to face him. ‘No more flowers, right?’
‘You used me,’ he accused, laughter in his voice.
Yeah, right. He looked like someone who’d been used and abused, completely against his will. More like the cat that had swallowed the bloody canary.
‘You practically sexually harassed me. You deserved it.’
‘Good point,’ he said, straightening his tie. ‘No more flowers. I promise.’
He looked so appealing, standing there all rumpled and obviously affected by their kiss. She had to get out of there before she threw him on his desk and he could accuse her of sexual harassment. It had been a long time.
‘As if that’s worth the paper it’s written on,’ she quipped, walking past him with her head held high. She didn’t look back, just walked straight out of his door and closed it firmly.
* * *
Claire spent the weekend in a flurry of activity. The entire house, inside and out, was cleaned. The garden was weeded. Her car was washed. Idle time was her enemy.
The minute she stopped doing something memories of Friday and the kiss would crowd in and then other thoughts and feelings that she couldn’t afford to nurture came along, too. She needed to work. She had to work! Anything to stop herself from thinking.
She mustn’t entertain fanciful thoughts. Just because he had kissed her like she’d never been kissed before, it was no reason to go and lose her head. There were too many reasons why it wouldn’t work.
She fell into bed each night exhausted, hoping for the kind of sleep that was deep and dreamless. But even in sleep he occupied space in her head and she woke each morning tired and cranky and confused. Damn him!
* * *
On Monday, a box of sinfully rich chocolate truffles, beautifully gift-wrapped, was waiting for her. Great. Her biggest weakness next to flowers and men with red hair. She groaned and opened the card.
NO FLOWERS. A PROMISE IS A PROMISE.
Campbell was again conspicuous by his absence as each day a box of chocolates arrived. She gave them away, too, but did allow herself the odd indulgence from each box. She wasn’t weakening, she was just being practical. A person had to eat.
A week passed and Campbell hadn’t contacted her. The weekend came and went and Monday morning saw another delivery of chocolates, more heavenly than the last five. Claire knew she should ring him and demand that he stop, but with their kiss and its emotional fallout still fresh in her mind she didn’t think she was up to another audience with Campbell.
She knew it was the reason for his silence. He was biding his time until she tired again of his persistence and initiated contact. This time she wasn’t going to give him another opportunity to steal a kiss.
Claire put the fact that she’d actually kissed him to one side. He’d probably had it planned all along. The minute she’d walked into his office … probably even before that. She’d bet he’d been plotting how to get a kiss from her.
And despite all the reasons she shouldn’t, Claire doubted she could be strong enough to resist a second taste of his lips. Never in all her experience of men had she ever met the like of Campbell. Rationally she knew that starting something wasn’t possible or even fair, but she was struggling with an inner resistance that seemed to have sprung from nowhere.
Claire opened the box and absently chose a chocolate, her mind reliving the kiss for the hundredth time. Her phone rang and she was grateful for its intrusion. She’d spent far too much time daydreaming about Campbell lately.
* * *
Campbell was smiling as he shut the door. What a great way to end the week and put you in a good mood—delivering a baby. And what a whopper! Four and a half kilos! No wonder the mother, who had endured a long and exhausting labour, had required some suturing. As Campbell strode past the nurses’ station the sweet aroma of chocolate wafted out to meet him. His stomach grumbled and he realised it was lunchtime.
He chose a chocolate and popped it into his mouth. He knew they were the ones he’d ordered for Claire this morning. He’d specifically asked for a box of heart-shaped chocolates. Her continual rebuffing was beginning to irk. Especially when he saw his gifts being enjoyed by the entire St Jude’s nursing staff. Especially when he couldn’t sleep at night from thinking about that kiss.
‘Great chocolates, Campbell. Thanks,’ said one of the labour ward nurses with a cheeky grin as she chose one and scurried off.
Campbell straightened his tie, took another chocolate and decided it was now or never. He wondered if Claire liked chocolate-flavoured kisses. He had to have more of her sweet lips.
He found her at her desk, writing industriously in a chart. She hadn’t heard him so he lounged against the doorframe for a while. The heavy swing of her raven hair obscured her face, so on she wrote, completely oblivious to his presence. He liked being near her. Even with an office and several desks’ distance between them, he could feel his body’s cells responding. It was hard for him to describe what it was, the feeling was so basic, so elemental. But he liked it.
‘You look like you could do with some lunch, Sister West.’ He watched as her pen stilled and she slowly peeked out from behind the curtain of her hair. ‘Hello, Claire. How are you?’
‘Four kilos heavier, thanks to you. Lunch is out—I’m on a diet.’
‘So …’ he laughed ‘… you didn’t give them all away?’
‘I sampled a few,’ she said, and turned back to her notes.
Claire allowed her hair to swing forward again. Seeing him so unexpectedly had brought him squarely back into her focus. And in the last few days she’d been doing so well, relegating him to the far reaches of her grey matter. Only her dreams visited him there.
‘Lunch, Claire?’ Her dismissal amused him.
‘Can’t do,’ she said, not bothering to look away from her notes. ‘I’m expecting Shirley Miller any moment.’
‘The breech?’
Claire heard the doors to the unit open. ‘Perfect timing.’ She looked up and grinned. She was careful not to come into contact with Campbell’s lounging body as she passed him to greet Shirley. Even just walking nearby, her body responded. It trembled as if they were two magnets, irresistibly drawn to each other.
All thoughts of Campbell fled when Shirley doubled over and clutched her husband’s arm.
‘What’s up, Shirley?’ asked Claire, remaining calm. She guided her client into one of the birthing suites, motioning to Campbell to stay where he was.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, straightening. ‘I’ve been having a lot of false labour pains over the past couple of days and some nagging backache. But just now, in the car park, I think I had a couple of contractions.’
‘OK,’ said Claire. ‘Are you all right to lie down while I feel the baby’s position?’
‘It’s still breech. It hasn’t turned,’ said Shirley as her husband helped her onto the bed.
Claire gently palpated her client’s very pregnant abdomen. ‘Hmm. You’re right. You’re, what … thirty-seven weeks now?’
‘Yes.’
Claire paused, removing her hands as Shirley had another co
ntraction. She gripped Claire’s hand hard as Claire watched the clock to time the contraction. Ninety seconds.
‘They’re bad, aren’t they?’
‘Yes.’ Shirley grimaced.
‘Right. Well, I think we need to get you up to Labour Ward straight away. I’m sorry but, as I already explained, we can’t do a breech birth here.’
‘I know. It’s all right. Frankly, I just want this baby out. I don’t care how or where you do it.’
‘OK,’ Claire laughed. ‘We can do an internal when we get there.’ Claire popped her head out the door.
‘What’s happening?’ Campbell asked.
‘Still breech but definitely in labour. Grab the wheelchair from the storeroom, will you? You can accompany us up to Labour Ward.’
‘Oh, so I do have my uses,’ he teased.
‘Just get the wheelchair.’
Campbell did as he was asked and entered the room shortly afterwards, pushing the chair just as Claire was helping Shirley off the bed. ‘Your chariot, madam,’ he said with a flourish, and bowed.
Shirley and her husband laughed. As she turned to sit in the chair, she cried out and her membranes ruptured. Amniotic fluid flooded over the chair and floor.
‘Oh, God. I’m sorry,’ Shirley apologised.
‘It’s fine, don’t worry,’ Claire assured her, grabbing some hospital-issue towels and throwing them onto the puddle on the floor.
Shirley clutched her stomach and her eyes grew wide in alarm.
‘What?’ asked Campbell.
‘It’s coming. The baby’s coming now!’
Campbell and Claire exchanged the briefest look and sprang into action. They knew that a woman who had been through this three times already could give birth quickly. They also knew that often, when a mother made such an alarming statement, she was spot on.
‘Right, Shirley,’ said Campbell, his voice calm and confident. ‘We’re going to need to have a look at what’s happening.
I know this may be difficult right now, but the most important thing to remember is not to push. OK? You can pant but don’t push. Are you comfortable standing? It really is the best position to deliver the baby. It’s better to have gravity on our side.’