One Night, Twin Consequences. Annie O'Neil
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a flourishing garden courtyard. Not as lush as in Argentina—but it was nice. Another Harriet touch?
He turned and saw her fighting a glaze of tears forming, her blue eyes fastidiously taking a swing round the leafy courtyard. He understood instantly. St. Nick’s was filling an emptiness in her. The space her family had filled. The same way his work stood in for what he could never replace. The dreams he would never realize. Would there ever come a day when he’d done enough? A day when he felt at peace?
Something deep within him said no. Something deeper prayed he was wrong.
He pressed his hands onto his thighs before giving them a conclusive clap. This was all getting a bit too deep and heavy and he needed to be on his top game tonight. There weren’t just peers in the audience. There were donors. Ones with deep pockets. Including a very pretty research nurse who could be the key to a new clinic.
“Well, I, for one, am looking forward to seeing you ace that speech tonight.”
“From your lips—” Harriet began as she turned from the window then stopped, her eyes snagged on Matteo’s full mouth. One lip resting atop the other, parting to speak...
“And then you’ll come to Buenos Aires and show me your dazzling research in action?” His smile was leading. He was aware she’d been staring—and that she liked what she saw.
“When you put it that way, how could I resist?” She looked away from his inquisitive gaze. To push boundaries? Change things further afield? Tickles of possibility teased at Harriet’s utilitarian shoes and practical hairdo. To live twenty-four seven with a man who turned her into the equivalent of a weeping Beatles fan? Emotional yo-yo? Oh, yeah. She was riding that thing like it was going out of style.
No. No way.
Her sister did wild and wonderful. She did sensible and sane. It’s why her sister needed her. Why she stayed put, holding onto the family home...just in case. If she wasn’t needed, then... Best not go there.
“So, I guess I’d better offer you some tips on life in my country,” Matteo commented, as if the trip was a done deal. “Lesson number one? In Argentina, there is a lot of kissing. Anything and everything—especially an agreement—comes with a kiss. You’ll have to get used to it if—when—you come.”
He didn’t seem like the flirting type, but... Was he flirting?
She nodded dumbly.
Wait. Were his lips getting closer? Had her eyelashes just fluttered? She didn’t flutter—oh, he was coming closer. Was he aiming for her cheek? Which way was she meant to turn? Right? Left? Was this like the cheek-rub thing earlier with the kissing noise but no contact? Blimey, she wished she’d traveled more.
His hands touched each of her shoulders. Her brain did a little short-circuit before reconnecting with her ability to see straight. Undecided, Harriet changed direction at the precise moment Matteo’s very obviously intended cheek kiss landed squarely on her lightly parted lips.
Everything inside her responded to his touch.
Her entire bloodstream surged and performed a ready-for-Vegas dance routine. Had he stayed there...his lips tasting hers...just a little longer than one would for an accidental snog? Or had she made that up? Fact and fiction were blurring at a rate of knots.
She pulled back and instantly wanted more. Matteo was giving his chin a scrub, a curious expression playing across his features. Had she just grown antlers? Insecurity began to unfurl its fingers through her. If this was how things worked in Argentina, she was definitely going to stay right in England where a handshake was a handshake and cheek kisses were precisely what they said on the label.
She tugged her hand from his, took an unnecessary glance at her watch and backed into her office. Keeping her eye on the prey. Enemy? Something like that.
“I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Matteo stepped back, wondering what the hell had possessed him to give a spontaneous kissing lesson. No one got under his skin and yet...
Harriet gave a nervous laugh and ducked farther into the confines of her office.
No bets on that one. Matteo knew himself enough to know he’d wanted to be close to Harriet, had wanted to touch her. Just a couple of hours wandering around the hospital together and he’d felt a connection he rarely felt. Something genuine. Something real. Not the confident, rule-setting guy who flew to conferences to show his wares in exchange for shiny new clinics. The Matteo whose heart was every bit as much a part of the Casitas as Harriet’s was with St. Nick’s. The part that was searching for...enough and having no idea where to find it.
“I guess I’ll see you at the hall?” She shifted from foot to foot, not unlike a skittish colt.
“Yes, perfect.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wodge of papers he’d folded and refolded into ever-decreasing squares. “I’ve got all of the details here. What do you call it? The bumph?”
Harriet smiled, a little dimple he hadn’t noticed before appearing in her cheek. It made her appear pretty and vulnerable all at once, bringing out a protectiveness in him he hadn’t felt for a woman in a long, long time.
“Yes. The bumph. Well done. You’re going to have to teach me Argentinian lingo—”
“Spanish? No problem. Dinner afterwards?”
“Uh...I don’t know about that.”
“Of course you do. Come to dinner with me after the lectures and we can toast your public speaking success.”
“I’m not so sure—”
“Sister, can you come?” A nurse knocked and stuck her head in the door, her face looking strained with worry. “It’s Cora.”
“Is she seizing?” Harriet scooted round him and was in the corridor in an instant.
“SFS. She says she tastes pickles and has the seasick feeling. She won’t move until you come.”
Matteo didn’t even stop to think. He followed Harriet to the play area the nurse indicated. A simple focal seizure could quickly lead to another much more dramatic attack. Grand mal seizures weren’t uncommon.
“Does she usually have a stage two?”
“Yes.” Harriet kept up the quick pace. “Childhood absence. Unresponsive to voice, automatisms. Eyelid flickering and some lip smacking,” she explained.
“So nothing violent?” Matteo matched her stride for stride.
“No.” She shook away her own answer. “She’s had one tonic-clonic, but overall she’s been responding well to meds.”
“Sodium valproate?”
“In combination with lamotrigine. It seems to work well for her. We wanted to steer clear of phenobarbital and phenytoin.”
“Adverse affects on cognitive development?”
Harriet nodded. They’d both clearly read the same studies.
Harriet headed towards a skinny little redhead standing in the center of the play area.
“Hey there, Cora.” Harriet’s tone was soft as she gently lowered herself to the girl’s eye level. Matteo nodded approvingly at how Harriet moved—careful not to give the girl any rapid movements to take in. If she was already feeling unwell, too much commotion could make her feel worse. “What do you say we get you to your bed?”
“I don’t feel well.” Cora’s gaze remained static on the wall.
“I know, sweetheart. That’s why I’m here. Shall we get you to your bed?”
“I’m too dizzy.”
“How about I put my hands on your eyes for a bit and you think of your bed?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Harriet shifted behind Cora.