The Rebel Doc: Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon / The Doctor's Redemption / Resisting Her Rebel Doc. Joanna Neil
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should really get back to my desk. I’ve got an important case coming up next week that I really need to do some work on.’
His eyes darkened as he shook his head. ‘And you can work all through the night and every hour of the weekend once you leave here. But, Ivy, it’s been a long day. Just go in there and sit for a few minutes. You are allowed to rest. In fact, I insist and I’m the doctor. This is my domain and I call the shots. Go. I’ll be in soon.’
‘Okay. Okay.’ To be honest, she was feeling just a little too exhausted to argue. God only knew how he felt after concentrating so hard for so long, and now he had to pull on a smiling face and meet anxious parents. It had been an emotional day, and a seemingly endless one. ‘You can have two whole minutes, but then I do need to go. Cases don’t get won by sitting around, doing nothing.’ She started to walk towards the door and her heart lifted at the promise of a seat, but she couldn’t resist adding, ‘But … for the record …’
His eyes flashed with something as he turned back to her. ‘Yes?’
‘You did really well.’
‘I know.’ His shoulders relaxed and he laughed. ‘Praise from you? Wow, what can I say?’ He patted his heart and with a sarcastic grin said, ‘It means so much.’
‘It should. I don’t give it lightly.’
She slipped into the staffroom, slumped onto the sofa and kicked her shoes off. Wow. That felt good. Rubbing her left foot with both hands, she massaged the gnarls and dips and scars and eventually managed to get the blood flowing properly, and gradually the numbness started to ease. What they’d achieved in there had been truly amazing. In Matteo’s words, they’d given Joey a future. That was something to be proud of. But how could he do this, day in, day out? How could they all? It was exhilarating but so emotionally draining.
One thing she knew—he’d been right when he’d suggested she live a little in his world. Now she felt she understood that it was intense and necessary and so, so important.
But so was hers. Behind-the-scenes stuff that kept them all focused and kept everyone away from harm. They both had their roles to play.
But now … exhaustion dropped over her as she laid her head back and closed her eyes, just for a moment …
‘Hey, Ivy.’
Was it a dream? A dark, soothing voice that worked magic over her skin. ‘Ivy?’
Not a dream. Actually, here in person. Better than a dream. Or worse. She was here. He was here. Alone. And … hell, she was sleeping. That was so not the way she wanted people to see her, especially people like him.
Her eyelids shot open. He was close, kneeling on the floor next to her, an easy, teasing smile on his lips. ‘Ivy? Are you okay?’
‘Oh. Hello, Matteo. I … er …’ She sat bolt upright, shoving her feet back into her shoes. Had he seen? ‘Whoa, how long was I asleep for? I should be getting back to work.’
‘No. Wait. Here.’ He handed her a hospital-issue white porcelain cup with something that smelled like heaven in it. ‘Drink this first. I smuggled it in from Enrico’s so don’t breathe a word to anyone.’
He’d brought her coffee? Staring at the cup, she grimaced. ‘Did you put poison in?’
‘Me? Poison the enemy? I wouldn’t stoop so low. Besides, I get the feeling I’ve won this part of the battle.’
‘I think I’m starting to see things a little from your point of view. But that doesn’t mean I’m backing down or admitting a darned thing.’ She took a sip and smiled, leaning her head back against the lumpy cushions. He’d brought her coffee? She didn’t want to read anything into that. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you. How did you know what I liked? Guesswork?’
‘When I described you to Enrico he said you always have the caffe lungo. Americano … Grande … whatever you all call it here. Strong and black.’
She didn’t know what to say. ‘Thank you. That’s very nice of you.’
When he’d stormed into her office that first day she hadn’t imagined he could be like this. She’d jumped to the conclusion that he was all mucho macho Italiano. And, yes, he was. But he was so much more than that. So much more that she was trying hard to resist. And he was making it harder by the minute.
‘Ivy.’ His eyes shot to her foot and back again, his voice softer. ‘What happened?’
Oh, wow again. Straight to the point. ‘That? Nothing much. It was all so long ago.’
‘And yet still you try to hide it.’ Slipping her shoe off, he examined her foot, holding it firmly when she tried to wriggle it away. ‘An accident? A car? Crush injury or something?’
‘A-ha. Or something.’ What to say? She took a breath and thought, struggled for a moment. This was too personal, she never spoke of it, never referenced it—had tried to put that experience to the back of her mind—but even so, it fuelled her job every day. Would it matter if she told him? Was that opening up too much of herself?
Yes. ‘Look, it’s not important. Thanks for an awesome day. I’ll get going now.’
His hand closed over her foot. It was warm. It was safe. The safest she’d felt for a long time. ‘I’m not going to let you walk out of here until I know what caused this. I know that’s hard for you. I know you don’t understand the need to be open. But it will be fine to talk of it. It will help. Maybe. I want to know. For you.’
For you. God, what did that mean? But trying not to talk about it would make it seem like an even bigger issue—and, really, she wanted to downplay it.
‘I … er …’ She didn’t know where to start, so she just started at the beginning. ‘I was four. My stepdad was new to us, not married to my mum yet, in fact they’d not long met, and he was trying to show off—to bond. He had me by the feet and was swinging me round and round and at first I was enjoying it. But his grip was so, so tight and I was going too fast and too high and no matter what I said he just kept on doing it to impress my mum. I started to panic and wriggled out of his grip. Hit the floor. Broke my ankle.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Yep. Mum didn’t believe it hurt as badly as it did so I tried to walk on it. A few days later it was just so swollen and painful I talked her into taking me to the hospital. Turned out it was broken in a couple of places and had started to heal badly. The orthopaedic surgeon was new and … well, let’s say he wasn’t in the right head space to be working. He attached an external metal frame to fix it—but he didn’t do it properly. The upshot was I ended up with a badly deformed foot and twelve more surgeries to try to fix it.’
‘When you say not in the right head space …?’
The all-too-familiar anger rippled through her. ‘Drunk. On whisky and power.’
‘Oh.’ He started to stroke over the scars that snaked round her foot, her ankle, her calf, the knobbly, mottled skin more sensitive to his touch. And again she tried to pull away. How many men had flinched at the sight of it? How many had laughed at her? How long had she endured the teasing at school and beyond? The revulsion? His eyes widened. ‘That’s a real shame. I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s in the past.’
He let her foot down then settled himself on the other end of the couch. Lifted her foot again and continued to stroke it as if it was the most normal thing he’d ever done. He smelt of dark brown Betadine, that distinctive hospital smell, but over-laced with his own particular scent of spice and pure raw man. ‘But you are still affected by it, Ivy, I can see.’
‘Plenty of people have worse than this, you only have to spend a day in this hospital to see that. It doesn’t hurt much.’ Actually, it did. Not a day or an hour went by without pain, but talking about it made it worse. What had hurt much more had