The Rebel Surgeon's Proposal. Margaret McDonagh
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a girl, now he felt the woman…all soft curves and feminine sweetness. The seductive press of firm, perfect breasts against his chest that made him want nothing more than to bare them, shape them, taste them, bury his face against them. Francesca belonged in his arms, in his bed. And if all went to plan—if dreams really did come true—she would be there. Soon.
With regret, he allowed her retreat as soon as he sensed her withdrawal. She stepped back a pace, failing to mask her confusion at her effusive welcome of him, uncertainty evident in the slightly slanted mesmerising grey eyes fringed by long, thick, sooty lashes. The young Francesca would have been too shy and scared to approach anyone, much less have physical contact with them. He could tell from her growing tension that the reticence to touch and be touched outside a professional setting remained, and that her initial, instinctive response to him had shocked her. All of which confirmed that deep inside Francesca hadn’t changed that much and that he needed to be gentle and patient with her.
Luke watched the play of emotions across her face as she pulled herself together. The scattering of freckles he remembered so well dusted the ivory skin across her high cheekbones and over her small, straight nose…freckles that had always intrigued him. He longed to know where else on her body she had them, wanted to kiss each and every one.
Her lips held his attention next. Unadorned and dusky pink, they were the perfect shape, the top lip with its Cupid’s bow and the sensual curve of the fuller lower lip. A mouth that was made for kissing, a mouth he yearned to taste. He searched her eyes, relieved to see in those silvery depths a memory of the girl she had been. A hint of the innocence was there, the aloneness, as was the acceptance of him for who he was, and he was thankful the years had not hardened her or coloured her view of him.
Now he needed to spend time with her, to learn about the woman she had become, to begin to draw her back in to him. ‘Are you in a rush? Do you have some time to talk?’
He knew she was free because he had found out her schedule and planned his business at the hospital to ensure that he saw her. But would she admit it or would she try to fob him off? The outcome was crucial and uncharacteristic nervousness fluttered inside him as he waited for her answer.
‘I’m on my lunch-break.’ Her smile, tentative though it was, warmed him from the inside out, but it was her ready agreement that pleased him most. He waited as she turned to excuse herself from the colleagues who were still hovering nearby. ‘Is it all right if we talk about this later?’
‘If we must, Francesca.’ The lukewarm comment came from one of the men, his gaze speculative and not entirely friendly as he looked at Luke.
Luke returned the appraisal coolly, issuing a silent warning of his own, wondering if the guy had designs on the lady himself. Tough. Now he had found her again, he wasn’t making way for any other man to make a move on her. Stepping closer to her side, he settled a proprietorial hand at the small of Francesca’s back, feeling the jolt spear through him as the connection was made. He steered her down the top-floor corridor in the direction of the staff canteen before anyone could detain them or she could change her mind.
Francesca could not believe Luke was here, in the flesh, as if she had conjured him up from her dreams. Dreams that had plagued her in the past eight weeks since she had seen his mother. Eight weeks in which she had been unable to get Luke out of her mind, despite telling herself countless times that she had to forget about him. She had never expected to see him again but here he was, very much a man in place of the boy he had been ten years ago, but even more seductive, wicked and drop-dead gorgeous than she remembered.
Six feet three inches of solid, leanly muscled male. Dressed in dark grey chinos and a shirt a couple of shades lighter, he looked smart but casual, definitely not a man anyone would ignore. The top button was undone, the open collar displaying the strong column of his throat, while the shirt’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing foreams lightly dusted with golden hair. His hands were well shaped and attractive, the nails neat and cared for—and one of those hands remained on her back, branding her skin through the thin fabric of her tunic. A ripple of awareness ran along her spine, centring on that touch, on the closeness of his body as he walked beside her, brushing against her with every step. She could feel his warmth, detect the earthy, musky aroma of him that teased and excited her senses. What was wrong with her? She never reacted like this, and certainly never noticed the way a man smelled, for goodness’ sake!
Her pulse racing, her body burning, she cast a furtive glance at Luke from the corner of her eye. Collar-length dark blond hair, shot through with lighter strands, framed a strong, far-too-handsome face, a seductive mouth that promised sin and those startling green eyes, watchful, intent and clever, but gleaming with devilment. Oh…there was little doubt that the bad boy still lurked within Luke Devlin! She had only just seen him again after a gap of ten years, yet she could tell that there was so much more behind the relaxed outward image he portrayed. Anyone who wrote him off as some kind of lazy surfer character would be in for a surprise—ignore the sharp intelligence at your peril.
She had yet to recover from the shock of acting so out of character that she had boldly stepped up and hugged him. It was as if some inner compulsion had taken her over, driving her to do something she would never normally do. Whatever had possessed her? She didn’t touch people. Not voluntarily, personally, not beyond what was necessary for work. And she hated to be touched. Yet her first instinct had been to embrace Luke. Brazenly. She had initiated the contact, had enjoyed it, had not wanted to let him go. She had been drawn to him rather than holding herself apart, excited rather than repelled, aroused rather than turned off. Being in Luke’s arms had felt right. And that scared her.
Francesca very much feared that however much she had tried to convince herself to the contrary over the years, she had never got Luke out of her head…or her heart. But there had never been a future for them beyond her foolish imagination. If Luke had ever been aware of her at all, it could only have been as the annoying girl who had hung around on the periphery—always on the outside, looking in.
For years growing up she had watched Luke from afar but they had come from such different worlds. Her own, materially rich but emotionally poor, had been strict and repressed, governed and controlled by her domineering mother, while Luke’s had been rough and wild, coloured by the Devlin reputation, his father and older brothers always in trouble with the law. Not that she had ever believed the things they had said about Luke. He’d been nothing like the other Devlin men. Luke had never been anything but kind to her, as protective as an older brother, her hero, her secret love, until he had vanished ten years ago.
Francesca realised with despair that she was even more attracted to Luke now than when she had been a shy, awkward teenager. A shiver of remembered embarrassment ran through her as she recalled the day the bullies had shoved her at him in the playground, daring her to kiss him. She would never forget Luke’s kindness, his understanding. Or the unexpected, wildly exciting passion as he had given her her first ever kiss, a kiss she had never forgotten to this day. A kiss by which she had judged every one she had received since…finding them all lacking.
Her gaze slid from the green fire in Luke’s eyes to the sultry curve of his lips. How would they feel now? What would the kiss of the man be like compared to the kiss of the boy? She smothered a gasp of shock as the very thought caused her breasts to swell with arousal. Her nipples peaked as she imagined the heat of his mouth on her flesh, his hands touching her all over, and a coil of fire tightened her womb and pooled between her legs. Dear heaven! This was crazy.
Shocked by her thoughts and her body’s instinctive, betraying reaction, she allowed Luke to open the door for her and she stepped ahead of him into the canteen, both regretful and thankful when the disturbing touch of his hand dropped from her back. After selecting their food—a tuna salad for her and lasagne for him—they headed to a free table. Francesca was aware of the curious glances from fellow staff members and could imagine some of what they were thinking, seeing her with a man like Luke. She knew what they called her, and why, but, then, she had spent her whole life having people talk behind her back and call her names. Except Luke. For all their differences, the opposing reasons why it was so, they had shared that understanding, that empathy. Of being the outsider, alone, unwanted.
‘Am