The Baby Doctor's Desire. Kate Hardy
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be in the knee-chest position and you’ll need a long Allis clamp—grasp the posterior lip of the cervix.’
She frowned. ‘The anterior lip, surely?’
He raised an eyebrow. Just as he’d expected, she’d picked up his deliberate mistake. ‘Exactly. It’s not a common procedure, Jude. You really know your stuff.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘So that was a trick question?’
‘No. It was an experiment, to prove to you that you know more than you think. Trust yourself, Jude.’
She scowled. ‘I’m not a child.’
‘I know you’re not. What I’ve seen of your work is good, and your instincts are spot on. But you come across—to me, that is, not to the patients—as lacking confidence.’ Which was probably why she’d only recently been promoted to registrar.
Her chin came up. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I know,’ he said, as gently as he could. ‘Look, if you want to talk to me about anything, I’m very good at keeping things secret.’
Oh, yes. She knew that. Like his wife. And his baby. Any other proud father would be showing photographs to the midwives, the doctors and even their new mums. Swapping stories about broken nights and nappies from hell. But Kieran kept his private life so private, anyone would think he was unattached.
Thank God she hadn’t done anything stupid. Like asking him to dinner. Like giving in to the temptation to kiss him.
He didn’t smell of baby sick today. He smelled clean and fresh. All male, with a citrus tang. A scent she liked. A lot.
This really, really wasn’t good.
‘I’m fine,’ she said stiffly.
He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Jude, I don’t understand this. Since I started here, we’ve been getting on well—but today you’re snappy with me.’
If he suggested that she had PMT or something, she’d throw his coffee over him.
Then he surprised her. ‘If I’ve said or done something to upset you, I apologise. Just tell me what it is, so I don’t do it again.’
You’re looking at me, she thought. Looking at me the same way I look at you. Wanting. And knowing I can’t touch. ‘Nothing,’ she said tightly.
‘OK. Well, the offer’s there. If you want to talk, I’m here. But if it makes you feel any better, Bella has a good opinion of you.’
‘Right.’ She swallowed. ‘Well, thanks for the advice. About the retroversion,’ she emphasised.
‘Yell if you need a hand.’
Judith nodded, and left his office, feeling sick to her stomach. He was married. Married. She’d even seen him with his wife. So why, why, why did she still feel that pull towards him?
Maybe she should apply for a transfer. Not to the Hampstead Free: she wanted to get a job on her own merits, not just because her father was the obstetric director there. Or maybe this pull of attraction between Kieran and her would stop. Please, please, make it stop soon, she begged silently. Before either of us says or does something we’ll regret.
When Judith had finished examining Rhiannon and had done a second ultrasound, she was sure that it was uterine retroversion. She explained the condition. ‘Did you have anything like this with your last baby?’ she asked.
Rhiannon shook her head. ‘Not a bit of it. To be honest, because it’s my second, I wasn’t so worried about getting a dating scan done or anything. But I’ve felt so weird, this last day or so…My baby’s going to be all right, isn’t it?’
‘I’m pretty sure it’ll be fine. But I should warn you, there’s a risk of miscarriage if we don’t get your uterus back in the right place.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘We’re going to try and let gravity help you, first of all,’ Judith said. ‘So it means you’ll be in for a couple of days.’
Rhiannon closed her eyes. ‘I was hoping this wouldn’t happen.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll just have to ask the childminder to keep Livvy a bit longer for the next couple of days—and nag Greg to get home from work a bit earlier. What if the gravity thing doesn’t work?’
‘We can manipulate your uterus, very gently. It shouldn’t hurt, though it might feel a little bit uncomfortable. I should warn you that again there’s a small risk of miscarriage, but it’s very, very small.’
‘Leave it and I might lose the baby; fix it and I might lose the baby.’ Rhiannion sighed. ‘Not much choice, is there? I’m in your hands.’ She paused. ‘Um, is this very common?’
‘Not that common. But don’t worry, our consultant’s very experienced.’ And drop-dead gorgeous.
Judith settled Rhiannon into the ward, inserted a catheter and showed Rhiannon how to do the knee-chest positioning which would, with any luck, help her uterus move back to the right position.
Kieran was at lunch by the time Jude had finished—she wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or disappointed. It meant she didn’t have to face him—didn’t have to struggle to ignore that magnetic pull—but it also meant she didn’t have the chance to apologise. Because he was right: she had snapped at him. And he hadn’t put a foot wrong. He’d found her sore spot all right—the fear she wasn’t really good enough to do her job—but he’d encouraged her, not laughed at her or despised her for it.
True, he’d said nothing at all about his wife, but that wasn’t any of her business. And he’d been the perfect colleague. Patient with the mums, happy to spend time explaining things to the dads, good-humoured with the staff, approachable if you needed a second opinion.
On a professional level, at least, she owed him an apology. She nipped into the hospital shop, bought him a box of chocolates and had just finished scribbling a note to him when he walked into his office and saw her by his desk.
‘Hello,’ he said quietly.
Lord, his voice. The slightest trace of a posh accent. It sent ripples of longing down her spine.
But she had to stay in control. ‘I was just leaving you this.’ She screwed up the note and shoved it in her pocket, then handed him the chocolates. ‘To say thanks. You were right about the retroverted uterus.’
‘That’s very sweet of you, but there’s no need. You’d already picked most of it up,’ he said.
‘Not just that. I wanted to say thanks for the pep talk.’ She flushed. ‘And, um, sorry for snapping.’
Kieran shrugged. ‘No problem. We all have our bad days.’
‘Yes.’ She should leave. Now. But she couldn’t. She was stuck there, watching his mouth. Watching the heat in his eyes. Wishing that things were different. That he was single.
The air felt thick and static—if she reached out, she was sure an electric current would sizzle between them and light up the room.
Then he spoke. ‘Jude, are you busy tonight?’
‘What?’
‘I wondered if you’d like to come out for a drink.’
Was she hearing this right? He was asking her out? ‘With you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just you?’ she checked.
He frowned. ‘Yes.’
Oh, God. He really was asking her out. And if he’d meant it in the platonic sense, he’d have asked some of the others, too. This was one on one. Just the two of them. How she wanted to say yes. But no way could she accept. Not when she knew he was spoken for. ‘You must be joking,’ she said through gritted teeth.
His