Playing the Joker
Caroline Anderson
ABOUT THAT NIGHT… Senior registrar Dr Jo Harding had hoped she might get the job as Consultant in Gynaecology at Audley Memorial Hospital, but instead it went to Alex Carter—the man she had one glorious stolen night with four years ago. He might still be irresistible, but Jo has to fight her temptation—not least of all because their night had far-reaching consequences which Alex, as yet, knows nothing about…THE AUDLEY—where love is the best medicine of all…
Playing the Joker
Caroline Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u950d628c-ba65-5636-82d7-785200b61e18)
Title Page (#ube3c2855-7c38-50e8-8d67-f0ec780d461a)
Chapter One (#u638207c6-a91d-5cd1-b321-989dc9d46663)
Chapter Two (#u5ce857fc-438e-527a-a029-4514089262da)
Chapter Three (#u66db9171-89ad-5e9b-931d-656dc8a3fe4c)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4e6ddeaf-504a-5220-8df5-4bdc88f732a0)
‘EXCUSE me a moment.’
The man seated behind the desk stretched out a hand and picked up the phone, his manner briskly professional as he dealt with the caller.
‘Davie—yes, Jo. Ah, right—can you fill me in?’ There was a pencil-tapping pause. ‘I see—how many weeks is she?’
The other man stood up and walked over to the window, his warm brown eyes scanning the view with interest. The office—soon to be his office—was at the rear of the building on the third floor of what was apparently known affectionately as the Stork’s Nest, the six-storey maternity block that overlooked the rest of the hospital and the woodland beyond.
The trees were rich and green, but it would soon be September and then, as the nights drew in, the leaves would blaze with colour, giving way in time to the stark beauty of winter and then the bright, soft fullness of spring.
God knew he was ready for some beauty and fullness in his life.
‘Right, that’s that. Shall we go down for coffee and meet the team?’
Alexander Carter straightened his tie, drew back his shoulders and gave Davie a brief nod.
Thank you.’
He followed the man through the door, down the stairs and along a wide, busy hospital corridor to the staff canteen and coffee lounge.
There is a consultants’ dining-room, but in practice very few of us use it—the food’s the same, but it lacks the ambience.’
‘I can imagine.’ He glanced around him at the laughing crowd that seemed to shift and flow with a life of its own. ‘It’s popular.’
Owen Davie laughed. ‘It’s eleven o’clock—everyone’s come for their fix of caffeine. Ah, here’s part of the team. Allow me to introduce you. Dr Anne Gabriel, your SHO, and Dr Maggie Wells, paediatric SHO. You’ll be seeing a lot of each other, I imagine. Ladies, this is Alexander Carter, who’ll be taking over from me from Monday.’
As his mouth made the usual and accepted noises, Alex’s eyes registered and catalogued the two women—Anne Gabriel, his SHO, a little brown mouse of a woman, her face remarkable only for its guarded expression and a certain wistfulness in the wide hazel eyes, and Maggie Wells, the paediatrician, her long red-blonde hair tied over one shoulder, her deep blue eyes in her fragile-seeming face bright and alert, assessing him with interest. They were both slightly on the small side of average, but, where Maggie was full of coiled energy and youthful enthusiasm, Anne, although slimmer, was somehow fuller, more mature—a woman to Maggie’s girl. He glanced at her ring finger and saw it was empty—not that that necessarily meant anything these days, but he was curious. She would, after all, be working very closely with him over the next few months at least.
They chatted for a few minutes, but first Maggie’s bleep and then Anne’s called them away, and he was left alone with Owen Davie. The man turned to him.
‘Your senior registrar won’t be here for a few minutes; she’s admitting a patient from one of the antenatal clinics at the moment. Perhaps I should warn you about her. She’s a very good doctor, but given to rather radical tendencies. We’ve had a few minor barneys over procedure on occasion, but nothing drastic. I think you should know, though, that she applied for my job. Her age and lack of experience went against her, but given time and the moderation of maturity she should be an excellent consultant one day. In fact, if it hadn’t been for you, she might well have been given the post.’
Alex frowned. He really didn’t want to start with staffing difficulties. ‘Do you think she’ll work for me, or do you think she’ll look for another job?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m almost certain she’ll stay. I’m only telling you this because you might find her a little resentful, but she’s very professional in a rather off-the-wall kind of way, and she knows she’ll get promotion soon enough. She’s just a bit of a wild card—the joker in the pack, you might say. Ah, here she is now—Dr Harding!’
Alex looked across the room towards the doorway, and saw a tall, elegant woman with flaming dark red hair tumbling down her shoulders. Her back was towards them, her white coat flung over her arm, her body clad in a figure-hugging bottle-green linen dress that was belted in to her narrow waist with a broad cinch of scarlet. Her body was slender but lush, her curves full of promise, but it was that unbelievable hair that drew him.
Perhaps it was just wishful thinking that made her seem familiar—achingly, intimately familiar—but then she threw back her head and laughed, and, as she did so, she turned away from her companions and strode towards them on impossibly high heels.
Alex felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. His heart crashed against his ribs, his tongue felt so thick that he thought he would choke on it, and a heavy surge of desire tautened his body with recognition.
As she met his eyes, her impossibly long legs faltered, but then she was there at his side, those fascinating aquamarine eyes wide with wariness and something else—regret?—but not before they had registered a leap of joy. She hadn’t changed, except perhaps to add the lustre of maturity to already perfect features. Her skin looked unbelievably soft, smooth and rich like pale cream under the faint scatter of freckles. But perhaps she had changed, just slightly. He sensed rather than saw a touch of sadness in her that hadn’t been there before.
‘Joanna, allow me to introduce you to my replacement, Alexander Carter. Mr Carter, this is Dr Harding, your senior registrar.’
He held out his hand. ‘It’s good to see you again, Jo.’
She was stunned. She had been miles away, her mind on her clinic, when Owen Davie had reminded her that the new man was there and she was expected to meet him for coffee. By the time she had admitted the patient she was even later, and, with her mind still half on that problem and half on the afternoon list, she had scarcely given a thought to the ‘new man’.
Alex. That was all she had had, for four years—no surname, no address, no photograph. She’d thought she had started to forget, but at the first glimpse of him her body leapt to life, her pulse thrumming, her senses alert and alive for the first time in years.
The first surge of joy was quickly dampened, both by the memory of his betrayal and the horror of what had followed, leaving her guarded and wary. Why now? she thought. Why not all those years ago when I had something to offer?
She extended her hand mechanically and took his, touching him for the first time in four years, but she had forgotten nothing. His hand was hard and warm, lean, strong, the back scattered with dark hair, but his grip, although firm, was gentle. She felt his touch like a surge of electricity right through to her bones.
He looked older but more relaxed now. The hunted look was gone, but it had left its mark in the lines around his eyes and the touch of grey at his temples. He was heavier, too, his shoulders broader, his chest deeper than before.
She met his eyes, that gentle brown that was so warm, and saw a wealth of remembrance.
‘Hello, Alex,’ she said, annoyed that her voice was husky and tinged with a distinctly unprofessional intimacy.
Owen Davie glanced from one to the other. ‘I take it you’ve met?’
‘Yes—I——’
‘We met once, briefly, several years ago in London,’ Alex explained smoothly. ‘We didn’t get as far as surnames.’
Jo extracted her hand from his, and tucked it in her pocket to disguise the sudden tremor. Was she the only one who could see the mockery lurking in his eyes? Surnames were the only thing they hadn’t got around to, she remembered with a vivid clarity that brought a soft touch of colour to her pale skin.
Then Owen’s bleep went and he excused himself.
‘I’ll leave you two to become reacquainted over coffee—perhaps you could allow him to accompany you in Theatre this afternoon, Joanna?’
And he was gone, leaving them alone in the heaving, seething crowd. They might as well have been on a desert island for all the notice they took of the others.
It had been so long—so endlessly, achingly long—since they had met and parted. He studied her face intently, as if he was searching for the secret of eternal youth. She could understand. She couldn’t take her eyes off him either, feasting hungrily on the features that were burned into her heart, memorising all the little changes.
After what seemed like an age, she dragged her eyes away and waved at the queue.
‘Shall we?’
His mouth softened imperceptibly. You couldn’t by any stretch of the imagination call it a smile, but then she’d never seen him smile, so she wasn’t surprised.
‘Good idea. I had an early start this morning, so I’m ready for it. Can I get you one?’
‘I’ll have tea.’ They joined the queue and she smiled vacantly at her colleagues and turned back to him. ‘Where have you come from?’
‘Surrey—I’ve just been tidying up loose ends at my old hospital and handing over to the new senior registrar.’
Her eyes flicked up and met his.
‘I thought you were in London?’
‘I was—until three years ago. I needed …’ He hesitated and glanced away. ‘I needed a change. How about you? Have you been here long?’
She swallowed. Tour years.’
His warm brown eyes swept over her and settled gently on her face. ‘All that time,’ he said softly.
‘Tea or coffee, dear?’
‘Oh!’ She dragged herself back to reality, collected their drinks and allowed Alex to pay for them. The crowd was thinning by this time and she led him to a low table and a group of easy-chairs by the window.
Sparrows were picking at the paving outside, and she watched them absently as she stirred her tea. She was conscious of Alex watching her, his eyes assessing, and she was glad she had worn the smart linen dress today.
‘You look very lovely,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d forgotten just how lovely you are.’
Perversely, because he seemed to have read her mind, she was cross with him. Surely he didn’t expect to go straight back and pick up where they had left off?
Her cheeks blushed a soft peach, and she looked away again.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you. OK, no more personal remarks, and I’ll do my best not to remember how you felt in my arms, if you could manage to wear something shapeless and put a bag over your head and not look at me with those wide and wicked eyes.’
She gave a surprised laugh, and his mouth softened again.
‘That’s better. Now, Dr Harding, perhaps you could do your bit to welcome me to the hospital and then when we’ve got that out of the way I can ask you to have dinner with me tonight.’
She fiddled with her cup. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
To welcome me to the hospital? I’m sure that was what Owen Davie intended——’
‘I meant dinner.’
‘I haven’t asked you yet.’
‘I don’t think you’d better bother——’
‘It would be no bother, Jo, and we do need to talk.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ She set her cup down firmly. ‘Look, Alex, what happened four years ago—that night was a one-off. It was totally out of character for me to do something like that——’
‘I realise that. It was out of character for me, too.’ His mouth quirked briefly into a rueful grin. ‘I wasn’t suggesting a night of wild passion, Jo—just a quiet get-together to see where we go from here.’
She looked up, startled. ‘Why should you imagine that we’ll go anywhere? We’re going to be colleagues—to be quite brutally specific, you’re going to be my boss. That’s where we’re going, Mr Carter.’
She could hear the bitterness in her voice, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was bitter. He was sitting there in his dark suit and his sober tie, looking like a Savile Row fashion plate, in her job, in her hospital. The hell of it was, she had just got him out of her system, had started to get through the nights without dreaming of him, and now here he was, back in her life, doing all sorts of things to her pulse-rate and threatening her hard-won status quo.
‘Is there someone else?’ he asked now.
Someone else? After what had happened, after all those nights reliving the short hours in his arms? ‘Not at the moment,’ she covered.
‘You hadn’t forgotten me,’ he said quietly.
‘Not for want of trying,’ she retorted sharply before she could stop herself.
One eyebrow rose. ‘I’m flattered that I was so memorable.’
‘Don’t be,’ she snapped. ‘I wasn’t trying to flatter you. You left my life in chaos——’
He groaned softly. ‘I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.’
‘You left without even saying goodbye!’ She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice, but it was there anyway.
His face was expressionless, only his eyes reflecting her anguish.
‘I had my reasons,’ he said quietly. ‘I went back to your flat three weeks later, but you’d gone.’
She nodded. ‘I was here.’
‘I wanted to know—if there had been any repercussions.’
Her heart jerked with the force of the pain. ‘No,’ she said numbly. ‘No repercussions.’ None that was visible to the naked eye, at least.
Her hand slid to her lap and clenched against the taut wall of her abdomen. Trying to act calmly, she got to her feet and picked up her white coat.
‘I have to get back to my clinic. Why don’t you go up to the ward and make yourself at home? I’ll come up there when I’ve finished my clinic and take you to lunch, and then you can come into Theatre this afternoon with me if you like.’
‘Fine.’ He stood up, and for a second their eyes met, almost on a level, before she turned away.
‘Come on, then, I’ll tell you where to go.’
‘I thought you already had,’ he said softly behind her, and she stifled the chuckle. It wasn’t hard. She really had very little to laugh about.
Her clinic took all her concentration. Not that any of the cases were complicated, but she found herself missing the answers to her questions, and collecting a lot of strange looks from her nursing staff as well as the patients.
In the end she excused her behaviour on the grounds of a headache and somehow finished off without any major hiccups.
She was later than she had intended, though, and by the time she reached the ward Alex had been taken to lunch by Owen Davie.
She found them in the staff canteen and he looked up and waved to her immediately, as if he had been looking out for her. She waved back, collected a salad and fruit juice and made her way over to the table, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart.
He stood as she approached and held her chair for her in an entirely natural display of good manners that sat easily with his quiet reticence.
Nevertheless it irritated her, and she flashed him a challenging look that he met with steady confidence.
‘Such gallantry!’ she quipped lightly, with just the merest touch of acid.
‘Such feminist rebellion!’ he murmured as he returned to his seat. ‘Successful morning?’
‘Not bad. Did you see Mary Jenkins, Owen?’
The consultant nodded. ‘I did. She’s settled into the ward and we’ll watch her over the weekend. If her blood-pressure doesn’t come down by Monday then I think we’ll have to induce her. She’s almost at term.’ He turned to Alex. ‘Of course she’ll be your patient then, and it’ll be up to you how you deal with it, but I’ll leave her notes fully written up for you. I expect to be in and out over the weekend.’
‘Can you fill me in?’ Alex asked.
Owen shrugged and waved to Jo. ‘Your patient.’
She nodded. ‘OK. She’s twenty-nine, and it’s her first visit to us. She’s thirty-seven weeks pregnant. Her community midwife saw her in the street, took one look at her face and told her she needed to see the doctor for antenatal treatment. He referred her to us as a matter of urgency yesterday afternoon.
‘She’s very severely oedematous, and her blood-pressure this morning was 210 over 130. She’s also showing signs of severe proteinuria, and generally she’s thoroughly pre-eclamptic. However, the ultrasound scan showed the baby to be a good size and moving well, so I didn’t think there was any urgency to induce her until her blood-pressure had a chance to come down. I imagine she’s been put on a diuretic and a hypotensive——’ Owen nodded ‘—and we’ll watch her closely for any deterioration.’
‘First baby?’ Alex asked.
‘Yes. She’s unmarried and not the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. I imagine she thought the bloating was all part of pregnancy.’
She prodded her fork into her salad and moved it round the plate. Alex’s hand lay distractingly on the table just on the periphery of her vision, and she could see the fine dark hairs over the prominent bones of his wrist. His fingers were long and supple, the skin soft and smooth in deference to his patients, but the hands themselves were strong, sensitive and very, very clever.
She felt her skin heat and turned her head slightly so that her hair fell forward and screened her face.
‘So what’s the list this afternoon?’ he asked her.
‘Gynae,’ she replied shortly. ‘Three D and Cs, a hysterectomy and a prolapse repair.’
‘On a Friday afternoon?’ He sounded surprised.
‘The D and C patients can go home tomorrow morning and have someone to look after them over the weekend. Otherwise they tend just to get up and carry on, and then they feel lousy. The hysterectomy is an emergency following a very heavy bleed due to fibroids—we’ve finally got her blood count up enough to tackle it—and the prolapse lady cancelled three months ago and finally had to come back to us because she’d deteriorated so badly she’s desperate.’
‘Why not leave her till Monday?’
‘Because she’ll have all weekend to fret and she’ll probably run away again. Anyway, we can’t do all our operations on a Monday; we have to share Theatre time with the other gynae teams.’
‘Do you have a theatre problem?’
‘Doesn’t everybody these days?’ Owen asked drily. ‘And anyway, one of the reasons for getting these cases out of the way is to give you the easiest possible lead-in until you’re used to the set-up, so don’t tell her off for being helpful, there’s a good chap.’
Alex shot her an apologetic glance. ‘Was I? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Are you going to eat that or just shove it round the plate?’
Jo looked down at her mangled salad and sighed. She really didn’t fancy it, but she needed something before she went up to Theatre——
‘Can I get you a piece of cake or something? You ought to eat.’
She tried to smile. If it weren’t for him she wouldn’t have had any trouble eating!
‘Thanks—fruit cake would be nice.’
‘Coffee?’
‘Tea—please. Thanks, Alex.’
She watched him walk away, and then turned back to find Owen regarding her seriously.
‘Did you know him—er—very well?’
She grinned ruefully. ‘Better than I should have done, and really not at all.’
‘I don’t understand——’
‘Neither did I.’
He shook his head slowly, then raised it again and looked searchingly at her, realisation dawning. ‘Was it him?’
‘Yes.’ She gave a sad little smile. ‘Don’t worry, Owen, I’ll be OK. Just—don’t say anything, please?’
‘Joanna!’
‘Don’t be offended. I just can’t afford to take the risk that he’ll find out.’
The older man covered her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘He’ll find out nothing from me, my dear. About the job——’
Her smile slipped.
‘I want you to know I recommended you for it. I know we haven’t always agreed, but I think you’ll make a damn fine consultant one day. I’m just sorry that it couldn’t be now.’
Thank you, Owen. I’m glad you told me—you’ve taught me such a lot in the last four years.’
He grinned reluctantly. ‘I’ve learnt a lot from you, as well. You’ve been very interesting to work with——’
That’s not what you said about the aromatherapy!’
They laughed, a new warmth between them, and Jo felt a sharp twist of sorrow that her old mentor was moving on to pastures new.
‘I’ll miss you, you know. It’ll be strange without you.’
‘Carter’ll soon make his mark. I expect you’ll see some changes in the next few weeks.’
Jo was sure they would—and most of them in her blood-pressure!
‘Her cervix is very elongated so I’m going to do a Manchester repair,’ Jo explained to the theatre staff later that afternoon.
The patient was lying on the table with her feet suspended in stirrups, and as she settled herself on the stool ready to begin Jo was very conscious of Alex’s presence just behind her shoulder. In theatre boots she lost the advantage of her high heels, and he seemed to tower over her. In fact, of course, he was only about four inches taller than her at most, but, as she herself was five feet ten, she wasn’t used to many people being taller.
She had taken a hated disadvantage and turned it into a frank asset as she had matured and forged her career, but, as she swivelled round on the stool and tipped back her head to meet Alex’s eyes far above her, she was suddenly all the more aware of how big he was. He made her feel small and dainty and—dear God, now was not the time to think of how he made her feel!
It was a tricky repair and required all her concentration, and gradually she forgot about Alex’s presence behind her and focused on her patient.
At one point the heat of the theatre was almost overwhelming, and she could feel the moisture pooling in droplets on her brow and in the cleft between her breasts.
Before she could speak Alex’s hand appeared and swabbed her brow.
‘Better?’ he murmured, and she nodded.
‘Thank you. Right, I just want to attach these ligaments here and I can close her up. Can I have some sutures, please?’
As they left the operating theatre a short while later, he said quietly for her ears only, ‘Well done. That was a tricky one—you did it very neatly. I don’t think I could have done it better myself.’
She was warmed and yet irritated by his words of praise, and he was quick to pick up on it.
‘Have I patronised you?’
She gave a reluctant laugh. ‘Only a tiny bit.’
He smiled slightly. ‘About tonight——’
‘I can’t—even if I wanted to, I’ve promised to babysit for Anne Gabriel.’
‘I could bring a take-away and join you.’
‘I——’
For the life of her she couldn’t think of a single reason why he couldn’t, but all her senses were screaming ‘No!’. All except her treacherous heart.
‘You’ll have the children to chaperon you,’ he said reasonably.
‘Child. Beth. She’s six and a half.’
He waited patiently, while all the theatre staff milled around them, and she chewed her lip and doubted the intelligence she was born with.
‘I’m vegetarian,’ she warned him.
He shrugged. ‘I can live with that.’
Her heart thumped at the thought of living with this disturbing man.
‘OK. Meet me there at eight.’ She scribbled the address on a pad and ripped off the sheet. ‘Here. It’s easy to find—Reception will direct you; they’re hospital houses.’
‘Chinese or Indian?’
‘Either. I must go.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll see you later.’
As she went through to Recovery to check on her patients, she thought she must finally have lost her marbles.
Beth met her at the door, a bright-eyed, lively little girl with coltish limbs and a delicate face surrounded by thick dark brown tresses.
‘Hi, Auntie Jo!’
‘Hi, sweetheart. Is Mummy ready yet?’
‘Nearly. Come and see what I did at my babysitter’s today!’
Jo allowed herself to be dragged into the dingy little sitting-room at the back of the house and sat on the old sofa while Beth proudly showed her a mutilated piece of paper with coloured splodges on it. Stuck to the splodges were lumps of raw pasta.
‘It’s a pasta picture,’ Beth told her unnecessarily.
‘I can see that,’ Jo said. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘It’s meant to be ducks in the park. Mummy said it looked like a fight in an Italian restaurant. Sometimes she’s mean.’
Jo suppressed the urge to laugh. ‘I’m sure she was only teasing you, darling.’
Beth’s lip wobbled. ‘I didn’t want to be teased,’ she said unsteadily.
Jo sighed and ruffled Beth’s soft hair. ‘She didn’t mean to upset you, treasure. I think she’s very tired, Beth, and just needs time to herself sometimes. She works awfully hard, you know, darling.’
‘I know.’ Beth’s little face was resigned. ‘Can I have a cuddle, Auntie Jo?’
Jo hugged her quickly. ‘In a minute. I just want to tell Mummy something. Why don’t you find a nice book for me to read you?’
Leaving the child sorting through the bookcase in the sitting-room, Jo ran lightly up the stairs and tapped on the door of the larger bedroom.
‘Come in!’
She pushed open the door and went in, sighing at the chaos. Anne was sitting at the dressing-table, carefully concealing the dark shadows under her eyes. Clothes were strewn all over the bed.
‘Heavy date?’ she asked with irony.
‘Oh, don’t! I don’t know what to say to him, Jo. I wish he hadn’t proposed—I was just getting all ready to end it and he went and popped the question!’
‘He’ was Colin Bradley, a charming and delightful solicitor, widowed, with two young daughters a little older than Beth, and his interest in Anne was so blatantly as a mother substitute that they had found his declaration of love almost laughable. Laughable, that was, until Anne had realised that he meant it.
‘He’s a dear man, but——’ Anne shuddered slightly. ‘Jo, I could never sleep with him! Not after … I just couldn’t.’
Jo shoved the clothes out of the way and sat on the end of the bed.
‘Are you quite sure you’ve considered all the benefits of marriage to him sufficiently? OK, so you don’t find him all that attractive, but there’s not that much wrong with him, and he’d be a good father to Beth. And God knows you could do with a little company. Is having to sleep with him such a huge price to pay?’
Anne turned to face her friend. ‘I’ve known you for twelve years, Jo. Could you do it?’
Jo thought of Alex, of the searing ecstasy of that one night in his arms, and then thought of spending the rest of her life going through a pale imitation of that night with another man.
‘No—no, I couldn’t,’ she said softly. ‘You’re right—and both you and Beth deserve far more than that. I think Colin does, too. Yes, you’re right—tell him this evening.’
Anne sighed. ‘He’ll be here in a minute. Oh, life’s always so complicated!’
Jo thought again of Alex.
‘Annie, I have a confession. Someone’s coming round to keep me company this evening. I hope you don’t mind.’
Her friend paused in the act of hanging up the clothes again. ‘A man?’
Jo nodded.
‘Great—about time. Anyone I know?’
She nodded again. ‘Our new consultant.’
Anne whistled. ‘Blimey, that was quick!’
‘Not really. Our last date was four years ago.’ Anne dropped the dress she was holding, and stared at Jo in horror. ‘What …?’
Jo nodded slowly.
‘My God. And I thought I had problems.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_99e6237c-cd2b-5650-8278-db8cde6f6037)
BY EIGHT o’clock, Jo’s nerves were stretched tighter than a bow-string. Anne had gone with Colin, her nerves nearly as taut, and Beth, intuitive as always, had picked up on the tension and had been unusually awkward about going to bed.
Now, at almost exactly eight o’clock, Jo was alone. Beth was finally asleep, the sitting-room was still dingy but the toys were put away and the cushions patted into shape, and she had washed up Beth’s supper dishes and tidied the kitchen.
There were plates warming, the rickety table in the kitchen was laid, and there was nothing left to do but count her remaining marbles and wonder what on earth she’d let herself in for.
She hadn’t changed—apart from anything else she didn’t want him to think she was making an effort to impress him, and dressing down wouldn’t have fooled him either. So she was still in the dark green linen dress with the red belt and the high-heeled shoes to match. Her feet ached, but after the events of the day she was unwilling to lose even the slight advantage of height to him.
At eight o’clock precisely a big Rover pulled up smoothly outside and Alex got out and locked it. Jo stood at the kitchen window and watched as he walked towards the door, his easy stride bringing him closer with horrifying speed.
He saw her and lifted his hand, and she walked slowly out into the hall, her heart pounding. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, calming breath and then opened the door.
He looked wonderful. He had abandoned the suit jacket and tie, and was wearing a soft blue cotton sweater over his shirt. One side of his mouth almost smiled, and her own mouth curved in response.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ he teased softly.
She flushed. ‘I’m sorry—of course—come in.’ Whatever was the matter with her? She was behaving like a lovesick teenager!
She led the way into the kitchen and he put the bag he was holding on the worktop.
‘I got Indian—mainly because it was the first take-away I found. Is that OK?’
‘Fine. I’m starving.’
‘Me too. It was a long time ago that you didn’t eat your lunch.’
She laughed, a deep, husky chuckle that relieved the tension in the air between them.
They dished up the meal and ate it ravenously, and when they had finished Jo pushed away her plate with a satisfied groan.
‘Wow!’
Alex’s eyes flickered briefly over her and returned to her face.
‘My sentiments exactly.’
Which brought the tension slamming back and clogged the breath in her throat and pooled the heat low down in her body. She stood up abruptly and made her trembling legs take her over to the sink. Perhaps she should have dressed down—to the shapeless garments he had talked about earlier?
‘Coffee?’ she asked over her shoulder.
Thank you, that would be lovely.’
She ran the water into the kettle, plugged it in and reached up to get down the coffee.
She hadn’t heard him move but he must have done, because suddenly his hand closed over hers and he turned her gently into his arms.
‘Jo,’ he whispered against her hair, and her traitorous body sagged against him, revelling in the sleek hardness of his legs, the solid depth of his chest, the shift of warm supple muscles beneath her palms as her hands crept round his waist and came to rest each side of his spine.
She had kicked off her shoes under the table and her eyes were on a level with his mouth. She could see the dark shadow on his jaw, and the slight sheen of his skin where he had just recently shaved. His lips were full and firm, and any second——
‘Alex, no,’ she moaned softly as his mouth closed over hers with infinite gentleness.
He withdrew fractionally, but only to run his tongue lightly over the edge of her lips, then he drew the lower lip into his mouth and nibbled with tiny biting kisses, easing away again to soothe it with his tongue.
Jo started to shake, her hands winding up around his neck to pull his head down, and then the kiss spiralled out of control and they clung to each other as the passion mounted in them, driving them with its frenzied zeal.
She twisted against him and with a groan he pressed her back against the cupboards, imprinting his body on hers with a wild savagery that made her whimper with need.
Eventually they broke apart, gasping for breath, and in his eyes Jo could see white-hot desire tinged with remorse.
‘Dear God, Alex,’ she whispered, shaken by the depth of her response. ‘Why did you have to do that?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said raggedly, ‘but it’s been so damn long …’
He let her go and she sagged back against the worktop, her legs like jelly.
He turned away, and she noticed his breathing was still uneven. He was also still unmistakably aroused, and she had to grip the worktop hard to stop herself from running across the kitchen after him and throwing herself into his arms.
‘Why don’t you wait in the sitting-room and I’ll bring the coffee through in a minute?’ she suggested unsteadily, and with a brief nod he complied.
Once alone, she dropped her face into her hands and stood motionless for a moment, willing her unruly body to submit to discipline. Then she gathered up the wreckage of their meal, threw it in the dustbin, put the plates in hot soapy water and scrubbed down the table before turning her attention back to the coffee.
By the time she took it through to the little sitting-room, Alex was sitting in one of the chairs with one leg crossed over the other knee and his hands lying relaxed along the threadbare arms.
He watched her thoughtfully, and she avoided his eye, unable to look at him for fear of betraying herself.
She set his cup down beside him and retreated to the other chair, drawing up her long legs and curling them underneath her defensively. She knew she was doing it, but she also knew that if she didn’t sit on her feet the wretched things were quite likely to carry her over and dump her in his lap, and she couldn’t afford that sort of complication.
She nursed her cup of tea and waited for him to speak. After a few minutes of tortured silence, he heaved a sigh and picked up his coffee.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said heavily. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen. I really just wanted to talk to you about the last four years—find out how you were, what you’d been doing, if you were married yet—all that sort of thing. I certainly didn’t mean to fall on you like a sex-starved teenager and grope you at the first opportunity.’
She laughed reluctantly. ‘I wasn’t aware that you did grope me.’
‘Thank God for little miracles,’ he said drily, ‘because I certainly wanted to.’
She met his eyes then, and saw regret and a gentle tenderness there that nearly undid her resolve.
She looked quickly away.
‘Alex, I’m not interested,’ she said as firmly as she could manage. ‘I’ve got my career all mapped out, and I know exactly where I’m going. OK, I didn’t get this job, but I’ll get the next one that comes along, or the one after that—I’m determined to succeed, and I can’t afford the luxury of anything that could get in the way of that ambition.’
He was watching her, and she kept her eyes averted in case he read the miserable truth.
That doesn’t sound like you,’ he said at last. ‘OK, you dress the part, and you act the part to a certain extent, and I don’t doubt that you’re a damn fine doctor, but there’s more to you than that, Jo. You’re lonely, and, whatever you might say to the contrary, you’re interested. At least be honest with me.’
Oh, God, she thought, honest is the last thing I can be with you. She fought off the wave of sadness and made herself meet his eye.
‘All right, Alex, I’ll be honest with you,’ she lied. ‘Yes, I’m interested—physically. Sexually we’re great together, and I’m interested in you as a person. That doesn’t mean that I want to try and establish a relationship with you—especially not one that’s going to interfere with my career progression. And yes, I’m lonely, but it’s what I’ve chosen, Alex. Look at me!’ She spread her arms wide. ‘I know how I look—I’m not a fool. If I wanted a man I could have one, but I don’t. If you weren’t my boss, then I dare say we could have a great affair, but as things stand it’s out of the question, and, the sooner you realise that, the better for both of us.’
He was silent for a long while, and she risked a quick glance at him. His mouth was tight, his chin propped on his steepled fingers, and his eyes as they met hers were cold. She realised she had hurt him with her deliberately crude and harsh assessment of their relationship, and somehow that was worse than anything else. Then he rose to his feet and walked over to the window. His hands were rammed in his pockets and the tension was pouring off him.
‘So that’s it, is it? Your final word?’
‘That’s right. It’s the way it has to be, Alex. I’m sorry.’
He snorted. ‘Spare me the platitudes.’ He swivelled round to face her, his eyes hard and unyielding.
‘Either you’re lying, or you really are a hard-bitten career doctor with a hyperactive sex drive. Either way, you’re not the woman I thought you were.’
Shock held her rigid. She stared at the spot where his feet had been, and listened as he walked down the hall and let himself quietly out of the front door.
So that was the end of that. At least she had stopped him in his tracks, but it hurt her that she had had to lose his respect in order to do so.
Jo got wearily to her feet and cleared away the cups, then washed the dishes in the sink and tidied up the kitchen.
She was just putting the last few things away when Anne came home.
‘Hi,’ she said with forced cheer. ‘Thanks for tidying up—how’s Beth been?’
‘Fine—how did it go?’
Jo took one look at her friend’s ravaged face and held out her arms.
‘Oh, Annie …’
Anne collapsed into her arms and sobbed out her misery while Jo soothed and patted and held her until she was finished, then she handed her a wodge of tissues and steered her to the kitchen table.
‘Tell,’ she said firmly.
‘Oh, he was very upset, and I cried, and it was awful, but I couldn’t have married him. It wouldn’t have been fair, and I think he saw that in the end.’ She sniffed and blew her nose. ‘He wants us to be friends. I said no. Do you think that was too unkind?’
‘No.’ Jo shook her head emphatically. ‘No, you can’t be friends when one of you’s in love and the other isn’t. It would be a disaster for both of you.’
Anne sighed. That’s what I thought, but I still felt awful saying it. So, how about you? How did you get on with Alex? Did he make a pass at you?’
Jo flushed and looked away. ‘Not exactly, but he made it quite clear he’d be happy to take up where we left off.’
Anne chewed her lip thoughtfully, then covered Jo’s hand with her own.
‘Why don’t you tell him?’
Jo snatched her hand away and stood up. ‘No—I—I can’t! He’ll only feel guilty, and it isn’t his fault——’
‘Any more than it’s yours.’
‘It’s my body!’
‘That doesn’t make it your fault. Are you using it as an excuse?’
‘For what? Not sleeping with him again? We’re talking about sex here, Anne!’
Her friend regarded her steadily. ‘Are we? It strikes me you’ve never got over him.’
‘Damn it, Annie, there was nothing to get over—one night!’
Anne’s face twisted with pain. ‘A great deal can happen in one night,’ she said quietly, ‘as you well know.’
Jo sagged against the table. ‘OK, OK, I never really got over him. But for him it’s just sex——’
‘Are you sure?’
Jo stood up impatiently and strode across the room. ‘Don’t be silly! He’s a man—men feel differently about these things. Anyway, it’s not a problem any more. I told him I was a career doctor——’
‘You?’
She glared at Anne. ‘Yes, me! Don’t laugh. Anyway, he wasn’t impressed. He told me I wasn’t the woman he thought I was, and walked out. I think I dented his ego, and fair’s fair—he dented mine.’
‘Are you angry with him about getting the job?’
She shrugged. ‘A bit. He watched me operate this afternoon and told me he couldn’t have done it better himself. As that was just what I’ve been trying to tell people, it was really the last thing I wanted to hear!’
Anne chuckled. ‘He’s going to have to watch himself around you, isn’t he? Poor man won’t be able to breathe without being snapped at.’
‘I’m sure the poor man will cope,’ she said bitterly.
‘You really do hate him, don’t you?’
Jo’s mouth trembled and she bit her lip. ‘No, I don’t hate him. All I’m asking is to be left alone.’ She picked up her bag, slipped on her shoes and headed for the door.
‘See you on Monday,’ she said heavily, and let herself out.
The drive home was short but she found it hard to concentrate. She kept seeing Alex’s face, and hearing his voice telling her she wasn’t the person he thought she was.
She turned into her little drive and locked her car, then let herself into the tiny semi-detached cottage that had been her home for three and a half years.
She locked up and headed straight for the stairs. She couldn’t be bothered to make herself a hot drink tonight. All she wanted was the oblivion of sleep, but it wouldn’t come.
She lay on her back in the bed and her hands slid slowly down the smooth, taut line of her abdomen and over the hollow of her pelvis.
There, running from side to side in the crease above her pubic bone, and almost hidden by the dense tangle of soft auburn curls, was the faint ridge of the scar.
It had faded in four years, but it would never go, and it would take a gynaecologist all of two seconds to assess the possible significance and start asking questions.
He must never get that close to her, and the only way she could ensure that he didn’t was to keep him severely at a distance. It seemed likely that she had achieved that aim particularly effectively, she thought with bitter irony.
But her body ached for him, and with a muffled groan she turned her face into the pillow and allowed her imagination to run riot.
Monday came far too soon. He was on the ward already when she arrived at eight, and she found him in Mary Jenkins’ room studying her charts.
He glanced up, said, ‘Good morning,’ under his breath, and continued to study the charts.
After a few seconds he returned the board to the end of her bed and left the room, beckoning Jo to follow.
‘She’s worse,’ he said briefly. ‘She’ll have to have a section now. Her BP’s still climbing, and the hydrallazine isn’t touching it. She’s not losing fluid significantly, either, and she complained of a headache this morning. I don’t think we can leave it, and, frankly, I’m not happy to induce her. I popped in last night with Owen Davie and we decided that the night staff should watch her and, if she deteriorated, they should assume she’s going to Theatre this morning, so she’s had nothing by mouth since midnight and she had her premed an hour ago when I came in.’
‘Has she signed the consent form?’
He nodded. ‘The paperwork’s been done.’ He met her eyes, his face carefully blank.
‘Your theatre’s all ready—we’ll use that. Your list will be delayed a while, I’m afraid, but it can’t be helped.’
Jo tried to control her anger. It was her list that day—and Mary Jenkins had been admitted by her. She should be in charge, but Alex was obviously making a point by taking over.
‘It could get tricky,’ he said softly. ‘Would you mind if I assist?’
So she was to perform the operation after all! He could easily have taken over, but he hadn’t, and she felt her resentment simply drain away.
‘Of course not,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you going up now?’
He nodded.
‘I have a couple of patients for my list later this morning I’d like to see first, if I’ve got time?’
‘Fine. I’ll see you up there.’
He hesitated, as if he was going to say something else, and then turned away abruptly. She watched him go with mixed feelings, and then went through into the four-bedded ward where her two pre-op patients for that morning were waiting.
The first lady, June Turner, was in for a routine Caesarean section, her fourth in six years.
Jo perched on the end of her bed and smiled.
‘Hello, June. How are you?’
‘Marvellous! Mike’s coming in soon ready for the big event—oh, here he is now! Hello, darling!’
The stocky young man bent and kissed his wife, and smiled confidently at Jo. ‘Morning, Dr Harding. All ready for off?’
‘Yes, she’s all ready, but we may have a minor delay. I’m glad you’re here, though, because I wanted to talk to you again about sterilisation——’
‘No!’ they said in unison.
Jo sighed. ‘You know, having so many pregnancies with a scarred uterus is just asking for trouble; you’ve got three lovely children, and this baby—don’t you think you’re being just a little rash?’
June smiled. ‘Why don’t you let us worry about that? We know the risks—we’re intelligent and educated, and we’ve talked about it at great length. Don’t worry, Dr Harding, we don’t intend to have any more, but neither of us is happy with the idea of losing our choice. We won’t have an accident.’
Jo laughed. ‘How many times have I heard that? OK, I’ll leave it for now, but I thought I’d just check to see if you’d changed your minds before we take you up to Theatre. When I see the scar and how it’s standing up, I’ll discuss it with you at the time. You don’t have to decide now.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll see you both later.’
With a smile, she left the Turners and moved on to the next room.
The woman lying there was very still, and Jo sat beside her and watched her for a second before touching her hand.
‘Mrs Price? Sally?’
The woman turned her head towards Jo and smiled wearily. ‘Hi.’
‘How are you feeling?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m just wondering if there’s any point. I’m bound to lose it anyway, and in the circumstances perhaps it would be the best thing——’
She turned away, and Jo squeezed her hand.
‘Be positive, Sally. Your husband wouldn’t want to see you so sad.’
‘We’ve tried for so long—so many miscarriages. For him to die now, when I’ve got to this stage——’
Jo felt helpless as she watched the woman’s shoulders shaking gently with grief. She had been widowed in a senseless accident two months before, and was in to have a cervical suture put in to try and prevent the loss of this most precious baby, the last in a long line of tragic attempts to carry a baby to term.
Owen had refused to give her a cervical suture with the last, maintaining that there was little chance of it working anyway and she was young, so there was plenty of time, but this time was quite literally her last chance to have her husband’s child, and Jo had fought tooth and nail. In the end Owen had agreed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mrs Price said quietly now. ‘I know I’ll feel differently about it later, but it’s just that I can’t bear the thought of any more pain—you know, it’s a real bereavement. I didn’t realise until Tony died that I had felt the same way every time I lost a baby. Each time you build up such hope, and each time—it’s just too much, after a while. I almost wish it would just happen and then it would be over.’
Jo was more determined than ever that this woman would carry her baby to term and know the joy of motherhood.
She stood up. ‘One day at a time, Sally,’ she told her gently. ‘I’ll see you this afternoon to tell you how it went.’
Donning her confident, professional smile, Jo swept out of the ward and up to Theatre. There, in the changing-room, she leant against the cubicle wall and emptied her mind. Deep in the background was the sadness, but that never truly left her, and was a spur and motivation for the way she lived her life. Now, she had to make sure that Mary Jenkins’ baby survived her mother’s illness and was safely delivered.
Scrubbed and changed into the disgustingly unflattering green theatre pyjamas and white anti-static boots, her gown and mask tied, she made her way into the operating theatre where Alex was already waiting.
Their patient was in the ante-room, and Jo could hear the anaesthetist talking to her.
Suddenly he stuck his head round the corner.
‘She’s complaining of flashing lights—I think she could be going into a fit.’
Jo moved instantly, but Alex was there before her, snapping out orders and setting up a lytic cocktail drip which was attached to the cannula mercifully already in her arm.
As he connected it, she went into the tonic stage of the convulsion, her body going rigid, her face contorted. After a few seconds she lapsed into the clonic stage, jerking uncontrollably. They held her arm still to try and prevent the drip from being wrenched out, and gradually as the sedatives took effect the convulsions eased and she lapsed into a coma.
Jo looked up and met Alex’s eyes, and he winked at her reassuringly.
‘Your patient, Dr Harding—I think we should proceed with the section when we’ve scrubbed again.’
She smiled faintly at him. ‘Good idea.’
They walked out to the scrub-room and stood side by side at the sinks. She was tempted to lean on him, and tell him how grateful she was that he had been there to share the horror of that moment.
She’d never seen an eclamptic fit before, and, while she was glad that better antenatal care had removed the risk almost completely, she had to admit that it did nothing to prepare you for an unexpected case like Mary Jenkins.
She dried her hands, pulled on a fresh set of gloves and made her way back with Alex into the operating-room.
Their patient was on the table, draped and swabbed and ready for her attention.
Alex stood quietly opposite her, his hands ready to cauterise or irrigate or hold retractors, always steady, there before she had to ask, but never once commenting or implying that he would have done it differently.
Finally she was through all the layers of muscle and into the uterus, and as he held the retractors steady, she reached inside and brought out a tiny, squalling scrap.
There was a collective sigh of relief as the baby yelled her protest, and Alex smiled at her.
Jo looked away. ‘She looks fine,’ she said abruptly, and clamped the cord and cut it.
The midwife took the baby to a cot and laid her in, and checked her Apgar score while Jo delivered the placenta and started suturing.
‘Apgar nine,’ the midwife said after five minutes, and Jo nodded.
‘Lucky,’ Alex commented.
‘Thanks to your quick action,’ Jo said, echoing all their feelings. There was a general murmur of agreement.
At last she had tied the final suture and the woman was wheeled away to Recovery.
Alex and Jo went up to the little rest-room and relaxed while the theatre was prepared for the next case.
‘You were very generous,’ he said, ‘especially considering that I took over your patient.’
She smiled. ‘I didn’t mind,’ she assured him. ‘I was just grateful for your quick action.’
‘I only did what you would have done.’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
He looked steadily at her. ‘You would have coped.’
‘I know, but I’m still glad you were there.’
He looked quickly away. ‘Tell me about your list,’ he instructed.
She filled him in, and he nodded but didn’t comment, except to ask if she minded if he watched.
‘Of course not,’ she replied, but her heart thudded, either with tension because he would be watching again or delight because he would still be near her. If she was honest, it was probably both.
The first patient on the list proper was June Turner, who by now had had her epidural set up and was waiting for them in Theatre, her gowned and masked husband waiting at her side.
‘Hello, June; hello, Mike,’ Jo said cheerfully. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting—we had a bit of an emergency. This is Alexander Carter, the new consultant.’
June’s relaxed smile faded a little, and her eyes flicked from Jo’s face to his and back again.
‘Oh. Does that mean you aren’t going to do the operation?’
Jo grinned. ‘No way. I’m not handing you over to anyone! Right, are you all set?’
The green screens were set up, masking their activity from June and her husband, and she was swabbed and draped ready for her operation.
‘OK, June, I’m just going to make the first incision now.’
She stroked lightly and swiftly with the scalpel, and Anne Gabriel, who was assisting, swabbed and irrigated and held retractors and smiled at June over the curtain as Jo worked.
Jo herself was busy working her way through the layers of scar tissue in the old incision line. In very little time she reached the uterus, and looked at June. ‘OK, here we are. The scar actually looks fine, so I suppose that means you don’t want to be sterilised?’
Mike grinned. ‘Nice try, Dr Harding.’
She laughed. ‘OK, I’m just going to open the uterus and then you’ll have your baby.’
June smiled, Mike held her hand even tighter and Jo carefully penetrated the first layer.
‘Suction, please,’ she said, but Anne was there already, and in no time the baby was in her hands. ‘It’s a boy,’ she said with a smile that lit up her eyes above her mask, ‘and he looks lovely!’
She handed the baby over the screen and into his mother’s waiting arms, and then clamped the cord and cut it as Mike leant over and kissed his son.
The pain crashed into her with all the force of an express train, and she took a steadying breath.
You really would think it would get easier, she mused, but it doesn’t, and for some reason today it’s even worse. In the midst of all the chaos and congratulations, she lifted her head and met Alex’s eyes, and looked away.
Her own must have reflected her misery because later, after the Turner family had left the theatre and Jo had completed her list, she found Alex by her side, his face concerned.
‘Are you OK?’ he said in an undertone.
‘Of course I’m OK. Why should I not be?’
He shrugged. ‘Search me. I just thought you looked a bit pole-axed in there for a minute with the Turners.’
She busied herself removing her soiled gown and putting it in the bin. ‘Don’t be silly. Everybody’s moved by the birth of a baby.’
He moved round in front of her and tipped her chin. ‘I didn’t say moved, I said——’
‘I heard you. You were mistaken. Excuse me.’
She pushed past him and went to shower and change. When she emerged he was gone, and she managed to avoid him for the rest of the day.
She went home exhausted at seven, and made herself an omelette. She was too tired and stressed out to eat it, though, and poked it around for a few minutes before giving up.
Anne rang her later to ask if she was all right.
‘Of course I’m all right—what’s the matter with you all?’ she snapped, and then felt immediately guilty.
Anne, however, knew her too well to take umbrage, and quietly wished her goodnight before hanging up.
It was a long week, and by the end of it Jo’s nerves were flayed to a shred.
Alex had been everywhere, popping up like a jack-in-a-box every time she turned round. However, he had taken her at her word and was leaving her alone, making no further attempt to persuade her to go out with him.
He had made a real impact with the staff, and Anne thought he was charming and could quite see why Jo had fallen so hard and so fast.
‘Why don’t you talk to him?’ she said again, and Jo had to avoid her after that.
That afternoon Jo had delivered a baby and Alex had popped in just in time to see her cradling the babe against her breast and holding the tiny hand in her own.
‘It suits you—you ought to try it some time,’ he suggested, and with a wicked wink he left her.
Anne Gabriel had been there, too, and after one look at Jo’s shocked face had taken the baby from her and finished clearing up after the delivery without asking any questions.
As soon as possible, Jo had escaped home and attacked the housework, but that just made her even more exhausted and left her mind whirling in a body that ached from end to end. Feeling even more miserable, she made a cup of tea and took it up to wallow in the bath with a book she hadn’t had time to finish.
She undressed and hung up her skirt, throwing the blouse and underwear into the laundry basket.
How could she get Alex Carter out of her mind? He was haunting her, the might-have-beens overwhelming in the light of his constant presence.
And the worst of it was she still loved him—loved him more with each minute that passed, because she was getting to know him now and everything that she discovered just reinforced her first impressions.
The sadness that she always carried with her seemed almost too heavy to bear tonight. How right he had been, because she wasn’t the person he had known four years ago. It would be strange if all the things that had happened had left her quite untouched.
She closed the wardrobe door and stood back to study herself with a critical eye.
Her hair was thick and heavy, falling over her shoulders and framing her face with a tumble of wild flame. Her skin was pale and smooth, though cursed with freckles, and her full breasts were firm and creamy, tipped with rose-pink nipples. Below them her waist was neat, her tummy smooth and flat.
Beneath the gentle swell of her hips her legs were endless, long and shapely, and at their juncture the soft, thick curls clustered enticingly.
She was all woman—strong, healthy, designed to tempt a man and lure him to her bed, and there to conceive his children in the wild ecstasy of passion.
Her mouth twisted and her gaze returned to the curls that hid the hated scar.
It was just an illusion, that mother-earth look of hers. She wasn’t a woman at all, just a cardboard cutout, an android, an imposter.
How could you be a woman without a womb?
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1a903597-2e78-5c62-bf91-074ad7a1b3b9)
FOR most of the people there it was just another party, but Jo was celebrating the end of her last day as an SHO prior to her forthcoming appointment at the Audley Memorial Hospital in Suffolk as a very junior registrar.
Her new boss, Owen Davie, was probably one of the old school, but Jo was confident that she would get a good grounding in what was quite definitely an up and coming hospital.
The long and gruelling year as SHO was finally ended, she had a new job to look forward to, and she was in the mood to party.
Although she was on her own, she wasn’t truly on her own. The hospital community was a close-knit one, and she would know most of the people who would be there tonight.
She had dressed with her usual flamboyant zeal, in a silky, figure-hugging sheath with a thigh-high split and a low back, in shimmering coral-pink silk that draped like a dream. With her red hair it should have been a disaster, but it was a devastating combination and she felt as good as she looked.
By the time she arrived the party was already going with a swing, and she found herself a drink and a convivial group of friends and settled down to celebrate.
An hour and a couple of glasses of cheap wine later, she was dancing with a bespectacled and rather amorous young doctor who was barely tall enough to look her in the eye when the door opened to admit another group of people.
She noticed him immediately, something about him setting him apart from the group and attracting her attention with all the force of a powerful magnet.
He was tall, taller even than her, and thin, his clothes rather loose as if he had lost weight recently or had been ill.
Then he turned, and she was so shaken by the look of utter desolation in his eyes that her steps faltered and she stood quite still, her eyes locked with his.
Her escort floundered to a halt and peered closely at her, asking if she was all right, but she excused herself absently and made her way across the room, elbowing her way through the crowd until she was by his side.
‘Hi!’ she yelled over the throbbing beat. ‘You’re a stranger—welcome to the local madhouse. I’m Jo.’
She held out her hand, and after a second he took it and held it, his eyes meshed with hers again. Once again she was struck by the depth of pain in his soft brown eyes.
‘My name’s Alex,’ he said eventually, his voice deep and slightly husky, as if he hadn’t used it much recently.
He was still holding her hand, as if he was almost afraid to let her go, and for a second it crossed her mind that he might be crazy. He lifted his other hand and touched her cheek lightly, his fingers cold.
‘Are you real?’ he murmured. ‘You look so lovely—so vibrant and alive. I’d forgotten people could look like that.’
She laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that triggered a convulsive movement of his jaw, almost as if it hurt him to hear her laugh. She realised he wasn’t crazy, just terribly, inexpressibly sad.
‘Oh, I’m real,’ she said wryly. ‘I’m celebrating—would you like to help me?’
‘I’m not sure I’m much use,’ he told her with a helpless shrug, but he kept hold of her hand.
Someone decided it was time to change the tempo, and the lively music faded out, to be replaced by Roberta Flack singing ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’.
‘Dance with me,’ Jo murmured, and he looked startled for a moment, as if she had suggested they should fly.
Then, releasing her hand, he drew her close into the circle of his arms and rested his forehead against hers. As they swayed together to the hauntingly beautiful melody, Jo felt the tension drain out of him and a new, more vibrant tension replace it, a tension that caught her up and drew her closer to him, so that she leant into his body and gave herself up to the sensation.
Her hands were laid against his chest, and she could feel the unsteady thud of his heart beneath her palms. Sliding her arms round under his jacket, she eased nearer to him, and his hands pressed warmly now against her back, to cradle her closer to his chest. A small sound, half-groan, half-sigh, escaped him as the soft fullness of her breasts pressed against the solid wall of his chest.
‘God, you feel so good,’ he murmured, and his voice slurred slightly as if he was a little drunk.
Jo didn’t care—who was she to complain? She snuggled closer and hugged him. ‘You feel pretty good yourself,’ she said huskily.
She tipped back her head slightly and met his eyes. They were blazing, like a wildfire out of control, and she felt the heat licking at her, drawing her in.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he rasped, and with a surprisingly strong grip he led her out of the room. ‘Where can we go?’ he asked, his voice harsh with desperation.
‘My flat,’ she told him, a trifle breathless. ‘Wait here, I’ll get my things.’
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