Billionaire, M.D. / Secrets of the Playboy's Bride. Оливия Гейтс
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virile and overruling way. “But at the rate I’m retrieving headlines, I’ll soon have enough to fill said volumes.”
“Even if you do, that isn’t your only problem. You had a severe concussion with brain edema and subdural hematoma. I operated on you for ten hours. Half of those were with orthopedic and vascular surgeons as we put your arm back together. Ramón said it was the most intricate open reduction and internal fixation of his career, while Bianca and I had a hell of a time repairing your blood vessels and nerves. Afterward, you were comatose for three days and woke up with a total memory deficit. Right now your neurological status is suspect, your arm is useless, you have bruises and contusions from head to toe and you’re in your first trimester. Your body will need double the time and effort to heal during this most physiologically demanding time. It amazes me you’re talking, and that much, moving at all and not lying in bed disoriented and sobbing for more painkillers.”
“Thanks for the rundown of my condition, but seems I’m more amazing than you think. I’m pretty lucid and I can talk as endlessly as you evidently can. And the pain is nowhere as bad as before.”
“You’re pumped full of painkillers.”
“No, I’m not. I stopped the drip.”
“What?” He strode toward her in steps loaded with rising tension. He inspected her drip, scowled down on her.
“When?”
“The moment you walked out after your last inspection.” “That means you have no more painkillers in your system.”
“I don’t need any. The pain in my arm is tolerable now. I think it was coming out of the anesthesia of unconsciousness that made it intolerable by comparison.”
He shook his head. “I think we also need to examine your definition of ‘pretty lucid.’ You’re not making sense to me. Why feel pain at all, when you can have it dealt with?”
“Some discomfort keeps me sharp, rebooting my system instead of lying in drug-induced comfort, which might mask some deterioration in progress. What about that doesn’t make sense to you?”
He scowled. “I was wondering what kept you up and running.”
“Now you know. And I vividly recall my medical training. I may be amnesic but I’m not reckless. I’ll take every precaution, do things by the post-operative, post-trauma book….”
“I’m keeping you by my side until I’m satisfied that you’re back to your old capable-of-taking-on-the-world self.”
That silenced whatever argument she would have fired back.
She’d had the conviction that he didn’t think much of her.
So he believed she was strong, but despised her because she’d come on stronger to him? Could she have done something so out-of-character? She abhorred infidelity, found no excuse for it. At least the woman who’d awakened from the coma did not.
Then he surprised her more. “I’m not talking about how you were when you were with Mel, but before that.”
She didn’t think to ask how he knew what she’d been like before Mel. She was busy dealing with the suspicion that he was right, that her relationship with Mel had derailed her.
More broad lines resurfaced. How she’d wanted to be nothing like her mother, who’d left a thriving career to serve the whims of Cybele’s stepfather, how she’d thought she’d never marry, would have a child on her own when her career had become unshakable.
Though she didn’t have a time line, she sensed that until months ago, she’d held the same convictions.
So how had she found herself married, at such a crucial time as her senior residency year, and pregnant, too? Had she loved Mel so much that she’d been so blinded? Had she had setbacks in her job in consequence, known things would keep going downhill and that was why she remembered him with all this resentment? Was that why she’d found an excuse to let her feelings for Rodrigo blossom?
Not that there could be an excuse for that.
But strangely, she wasn’t sorry she was pregnant. In fact, that was what ameliorated this mess, the one thing she was looking forward to. That …and, to her mortification, being with Rodrigo.
Which was exactly why she couldn’t accept his carte blanche proposal.
“Thank you for the kind offer, Rodrigo—”
He cut her off. “It’s neither kind nor an offer. It’s imperative and it’s a decision.”
Now that was a premium slice of unadulterated autocracy.
She sent up a fervent thank-you for the boost to her seconds-ago-nonexistent resistance. “Imperative or imperious? Decision or dictate?”
“Great language recall and usage. And take your pick.” “I think it’s clear I already did. And whatever you choose to call your offer, I can’t accept it.” “You mean you won’t.”
“Fine. If you insist on dissecting my refusal. I won’t.”
“It seems you have forgotten all about me, Cybele. If you remembered even the most basic things, you’d know that when I make a decision, saying no to me is not an option.”
Cybele stared at him. Life was grossly, horribly unfair. How did one being end up endowed with all that?
And she’d thought he had it all before she’d seen him crook his lips in that I-click-my-fingers-and-all-sentient-beings-obey quasi smile.
Now there was one thought left in her mind. An urge. To get as far away from him as possible. Against all logic. And desire.
Her lips twisted, too. “I didn’t get that memo. Or I ‘forgot’ I did. So I can say no to you. Consider it a one-off anomaly.”
That tiger-like smirk deepened. “You can say what you want. I’m your surgeon and what I say goes.”
The way he’d said your surgeon. Everything clamored inside her, wishing he was her anything-and-everything, for real.
She shook her head to disperse the idiotic yearnings. “I’ll sign any waiver you need me to. I’m taking full responsibility.”
“I’m the one taking full responsibility for you. If you do remember being a surgeon, you know that my being yours makes me second only to God in this situation. You have no say in God’s will, do you?”
“You’re taking the God complex too literally, aren’t you?”
“My status in your case is an uncontestable fact. You’re in my care and will remain there until I’m satisfied you no longer need it. The one choice I leave up to you is whether I follow you up in my home as my guest, or in my hospital as my patient.”
Cybele looked away from his hypnotic gaze, his logic. But there was no escaping either. It had been desperation, wanting to get away from him. She wasn’t in a condition to be without medical supervision. And who best to follow her up but her own surgeon? The surgeon who happened to be the best there was?
She knew he was. He was beyond the best. A genius. With billions and named-after-him revolutionary procedures and equipment to prove it.
But even had she been fit, she wouldn’t have wanted to be discharged. For where could she go but home? A home she recalled with nothing but dreariness?
And she didn’t want to be with anyone else. Certainly not with her mother and family. She remembered them as if they were someone else’s unwanted acquaintances. Disappointing and distant. Their own actions reinforced that impression. The sum total of their concern over her accident and Mel’s death had been a couple of phone calls. When told she was fine, didn’t need anything, it seemed they’d considered it an excuse to stop worrying—if they had been worried—dismiss her and return to their real interests.