The Sicilian Doctor's Proposal
MEDITERRANEAN DOCTORS
Demanding, devoted and drop-dead gorgeous—these Latin doctors will make your heart race!
Smolderingly sexy Mediterranean doctors
Saving lives by day…red-hot lovers by night
Read these four MEDITERRANEAN DOCTORS stories in this new collection by your favorite authors, available from Harlequin Presents EXTRA October 2008:
The Sicilian Doctor’s Mistress
Sarah Morgan
The Italian Count’s Baby
Amy Andrews
Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Nurse
Carol Marinelli
The Spanish Doctor’s Love-Child
Kate Hardy
SARAH MORGAN was born in Wiltshire and started writing at the age of eight, when she produced an autobiography of her hamster.
At the age of eighteen she traveled to London to train as a nurse in one of London’s top teaching hospitals, and she describes those years as extremely happy and definitely censored!
She worked in a number of areas after she qualified, but her favorite was A&E, where she found the work stimulating and fun. Nowhere else in the hospital environment did she encounter such good teamwork between doctors and nurses.
By now her interests had moved on from hamsters to men, and she started writing romance fiction.
Her first completed manuscript, written after the birth of her first child, was rejected but the comments were encouraging, so she tried again. On the third attempt, her manuscript Worth the Risk was accepted unchanged. She describes receiving the acceptance letter as one of the best moments of her life, after meeting her husband and having her two children.
Sarah still works part-time in a health-related industry, and spends the rest of the time with her family, trying to squeeze in writing whenever she can. She is an enthusiastic skier and walker, and loves outdoor life.
The Sicilian Doctor’s Proposal
Sarah Morgan
www.millsandboon.co.uk
CONTENTS
Cover
MEDITERRANEAN DOCTORS
About the Author
Title Page
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Copyright
PROLOGUE
‘I DON’T believe in love. And neither do you.’ Alice put her pen down and stared in bemusement at her colleague of five years. Had he gone mad?
‘That was before I met Trish.’ His expression was soft and far-away, his smile bordering on the idiotic. ‘It’s finally happened. Just like the fairy-tales.’
She wanted to ask if he’d been drinking, but didn’t want to offend him. ‘This isn’t like you at all, David. You’re an intelligent, hard-working doctor and at the moment you’re talking like a—like a…’ A seven-year-old girl? No, she couldn’t possibly say that. ‘You’re not sounding like yourself,’ she finished lamely.
‘I don’t care. She’s the one. And I have to be with her. Nothing else matters.’
‘Nothing else matters?’ On the desk next to her the phone suddenly rang, but for once Alice ignored it. ‘It’s the start of the summer season, the village is already filling with tourists, most of the locals are struck down by that horrid virus, you’re telling me you’re leaving and you don’t think it matters? Please, tell me this is a joke, David, please tell me that.’
Even with David working alongside her she was working flat out to cope with the demand for medical care at the moment. It wasn’t that she didn’t like hard work. Work was her life. Work had saved her. But she knew her limits.
David dragged both hands through his already untidy hair. ‘Not leaving exactly, Alice. I just need the summer off. To be with Trish. We need to decide on our future. We’re in love!’
Love. Alice stifled a sigh of exasperation. Behind every stupid action was a relationship, she mused silently. She should know that by now. She’d seen it often enough. Why should David be different? Just because he’d appeared to be a sane, rational human being—
‘You’ll hate London.’
‘Actually, I find London unbelievably exciting,’ David confessed. ‘I love the craziness of it all, the crowds of people all intent on getting somewhere yesterday, no one interested in the person next to them—’ He broke off with an apologetic wave of his hand. ‘I’m getting carried away. But don’t you ever feel trapped here, Alice? Don’t you ever wish you could do something in this village without the whole place knowing?’
Alice sat back in her chair and studied him carefully. She’d never known David so emotional. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I like knowing people and I like people knowing me. It helps when it comes to understanding their medical needs. They’re our responsibility and I take that seriously.’
It was what had drawn her to the little fishing village in the first place. And now it felt like home. And the people felt like family. More than her own ever had. Here, she fitted. She’d found her place and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She loved the narrow cobbled streets, the busy harbour, the tiny shops selling shells and the trendy store selling surfboards and wetsuits. She loved the summer when the streets were crowded with tourists and she loved the winter when the beaches were empty and lashed by rain. For a moment she thought of London with its muggy, traffic-clogged streets and then she thought of her beautiful house. The house overlooking the broad sweep of the sea. The house she’d lovingly restored in every spare moment she’d had over the past five years.
It had given her sanctuary and a life that suited her. A life that was under her control.
‘Since we’re being honest here…’ David took a deep breath and straightened, his eyes slightly wary. ‘I think you should consider leaving, too. You’re an attractive, intelligent woman but you’re never going to find someone special buried in a place like this. You never meet anyone remotely eligible. All you think about is work, work and work.’
‘David, I don’t want to meet anyone.’ She spoke slowly and clearly so that there could be no misunderstanding. ‘I love my life the way it is.’
‘Work shouldn’t be your life, Alice. You need love.’ David stopped pacing and placed a hand on his chest. ‘Everyone needs love.’
Something inside her snapped. ‘Love is a word used to justify impulsive, irrational and emotional behaviour,’ she said tartly, ‘and I prefer to take a logical, scientific approach to life.’
David looked a little shocked. ‘So, you’re basically saying that I’m impulsive, irrational and emotional?’
She sighed. It was unlike her to be so honest. To reveal so much about herself. And unlike her to risk hurting someone’s feelings. On the other hand, he was behaving very oddly. ‘You’re giving up a great job on the basis of a feeling that is indefinable, notoriously unpredictable and invariably short-lived so yes, I suppose I am saying that.’ She nibbled her lip. ‘It’s the truth, so you can hardly be offended. You’ve said it yourself often enough.’
‘That was before I met Trish and discovered how wrong I was.’ He shook his head and gave a wry smile. ‘You just haven’t met the right person. When you do, everything will make sense.’
‘Everything already makes perfect sense, thank you.’ She reached for a piece of paper and a pen. ‘If I draft an advert now, I just might find a locum for August.’
If she was lucky.
And if she wasn’t lucky, she was in for a busy summer, she thought, her logical brain already involved in making lists. The village with its pretty harbour and quaint shops might not attract the medical profession but it attracted tourists by the busload and her work increased accordingly, especially during the summer months.
David frowned. ‘Locum?’ His brow cleared. ‘You don’t need to worry about a locum. I’ve sorted that out.’
Her pen stilled. ‘You’ve sorted it out?’
‘Of course.’ He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out several crumpled sheets of paper. ‘Did you really think I’d leave you without arranging a replacement?’
Yes, she’d thought exactly that. All the people she’d ever known who’d claimed to be ‘in love’ had immediately ceased to give any thought or show any care to those around them.
‘Who?’
‘I have a friend who is eager to work in England. His qualifications are fantastic—he trained as a plastic surgeon but had to switch because he had an accident. Tragedy, actually.’ David frowned slightly. ‘He was brilliant, by all accounts.’
A plastic surgeon?
Alice reached for the papers and scanned the CV. ‘Giovanni Moretti.’ She looked up. ‘He’s Italian?’
‘Sicilian.’ David grinned. ‘Never accuse him of being Italian. He’s very proud of his heritage.’
‘This man is well qualified.’ She put the papers down on her desk. ‘Why would he want to come here?’
‘You want to work here,’ David pointed out logically, ‘so perhaps you’re just about to meet your soulmate.’ He caught her reproving look and shrugged. ‘Just joking. Everyone is entitled to a change of pace. He was working in Milan, which might explain it but, to be honest, I don’t really know why he wants to come here. You know us men. We don’t delve into details.’
Alice sighed and glanced at the CV on her desk. He’d probably only last five minutes, but at least he might fill the gap while she looked for someone to cover the rest of the summer.
‘Well, at least you’ve sorted out a replacement. Thanks for that. And what happens at the end of the summer? Are you coming back?’
David hesitated. ‘Can we see how it goes? Trish and I have some big decisions to make.’ His eyes gleamed at the prospect. ‘But I promise not to leave you in the lurch.’
He looked so happy, Alice couldn’t help but smile. ‘I wish you luck.’
‘But you don’t understand, do you?’
She shrugged. ‘If you ask me, the ability to be ruled by emotion is the only serious flaw in the human make-up.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Unexpectedly, David reached out and dragged her to her feet. ‘It’s out there, Alice. Love. You just have to look for it.’
‘Why would I want to? If you want my honest opinion, I’d say that love is just a temporary psychiatric condition that passes given sufficient time. Hence the high divorce rate.’ She pulled her hands away from his, aware that he was gaping at her.
‘A temporary psychiatric condition?’ He gave a choked laugh and his hands fell to his sides. ‘Oh, Alice, you have to be joking. That can’t really be what you believe.’
Alice tilted her head to one side and mentally reviewed all the people she knew who’d behaved oddly in the name of love. There were all too many of them. Her parents and her sister included. ‘Yes, actually.’ Her tone was flat as she struggled with feelings that she’d managed to suppress for years. Feeling suddenly agitated, she picked up a medical journal and scanned the contents, trying to focus her mind on fact. Facts were safe and comfortable. Emotions were dangerous and uncomfortable. ‘It’s exactly what I believe.’
Her heart started to beat faster and she gripped the journal more tightly and reminded herself that her life was under her control now. She was no longer a child at the mercy of other people’s emotional transgressions.
David watched her. ‘So you still don’t believe love exists? Even seeing how happy I am?’
She turned. ‘If you’re talking about some fuzzy, indefinable emotion that links two people together then, no, I don’t think that exists. I don’t believe in the existence of an indefinable emotional bond any more than I believe in Father Christmas and the tooth fairy.’
David shook his head in disbelief. ‘But I do feel a powerful emotion.’
She couldn’t bring herself to put a dent in his happiness by saying more, so she stepped towards him and took his face in her hands. ‘I’m pleased for you. Really I am.’ She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘But it isn’t “love”. She sat back down and David studied her with a knowing, slightly superior smile on his face.
‘It’s going to happen to you, Alice.’ He folded his arms across his chest and his tone rang with conviction. ‘One of these days you’re going to be swept off your feet.’
‘I’m a scientist,’ she reminded him, amusement sparkling in her blue eyes as they met the challenge in his. ‘I have a logical brain. I don’t believe in being swept off my feet.’
He stared at her for a long moment. ‘No. Which is why it’s likely to happen. Love strikes when you’re not looking for it.’
‘That’s measles,’ Alice said dryly, reaching for a pile of results that needed her attention. ‘Talking of which, little Fiona Ellis has been terribly poorly since her bout of measles last winter. I’m going to check up on her today. See if there’s anything else we can do. And I’m going to speak to Gina, the health visitor, about our MMR rates.’
‘They dipped slightly after the last newspaper scare but I thought they were up again. The hospital has been keeping an eye on Fiona’s hearing,’ David observed, and Alice nodded.
‘Yes, and I gather there’s been some improvement. All the same, the family need support and we need to make sure that no one else in our practice suffers unnecessarily.’ She rose to her feet and smiled at her partner. ‘And that’s what we give in a small community. Support and individual care. Don’t you think you’ll miss that? In London you’ll end up working in one of those huge health centres with thousands of doctors and you probably won’t get to see the same patient twice. You won’t know them and they won’t know you. It will be completely impersonal. Like seeing medical cases on a production line.’
She knew all the arguments, of course. She understood that a large group of GPs working together could afford a wider variety of services for their patients—psychologists, chiropodists—but she still believed that a good family doctor who knew his patients intimately was able to provide a superior level of care.
‘You’ll like Gio,’ David said, strolling towards the door. ‘Women always do.’
‘As long as he does his job,’ Alice said crisply, ‘I’ll like him.’
‘He’s generally considered a heartthrob.’ There was a speculative look on his face as he glanced towards her. ‘Women go weak at the knees when he walks into a room.’
Great. The last thing she needed was a Romeo who was distracted by everything female.
‘Some women are foolish like that.’ Alice stood up and reached for her jacket. ‘Just as long as he doesn’t break more hearts than he heals, then I really don’t mind what he does when he isn’t working here.’
‘There’s more to life than work, Alice.’
‘Then go out there and enjoy it,’ she advised, a smile on her face. ‘And leave me to enjoy mine.’
CHAPTER ONE
GIOVANNI MORETTI stood at the top of the narrow cobbled street, flexed his broad shoulders to try and ease the tension from the journey and breathed in the fresh, clean sea air. Above him, seagulls shrieked and swooped in the hope of benefiting from the early morning catch.
Sounds of the sea.
He paused for a moment, his fingers tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans, his dark eyes slightly narrowed as he scanned the pretty painted cottages that led down to the busy harbour. Window-boxes and terracotta pots were crammed full with brightly coloured geraniums and tumbling lobelia and a smile touched his handsome face. Before today he’d thought that places like this existed only in the imagination of artists. It was as far from the dusty, traffic-clogged streets of Milan as it was possible to be, and he felt a welcome feeling of calm wash over him.
He’d been right to agree to take this job, he mused silently, remembering all the arguments he’d been presented with. Right to choose this moment to slow the pace of his life and leave Italy.
It was early in the morning but warm, tempting smells of baking flavoured the air and already the street seemed alive with activity.
A few people in flip-flops and shorts, who he took to be tourists, meandered down towards the harbour in search of early morning entertainment while others jostled each other in their eagerness to join the queue in the bakery and emerged clutching bags of hot, fragrant croissants and rolls.
His own stomach rumbled and he reminded himself that he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d left Milan the night before. Fast food had never interested him. He preferred to wait for the real thing. And the bakery looked like the real thing.
He needed a shower and a shave but there was no chance of that until he’d picked up the key to his accommodation and he doubted his new partner was even in the surgery yet. He glanced at his watch and decided that he just about had time to eat something and still time his arrival to see her just before she started work.
He strolled into the bakery and smiled at the pretty girl behind the counter. ‘Buongiorno—good morning.’
She glanced up and caught the smile. Her blue eyes widened in feminine appreciation. ‘Hello. What can I offer you?’
It was obvious from the look in those eyes that she was prepared to offer him the moon but Gio ignored the mute invitation he saw in her eyes and studied the pastries on offer, accustomed to keeping women at a polite distance. He’d always been choosy when it came to women. Too choosy, some might say. ‘What’s good?’
‘Oh—well…’ The girl lifted a hand to her face, her cheeks suddenly pink. ‘The pain au chocolat is my favourite but the almond croissant is our biggest seller. Take away or eat in?’
For the first time Gio noticed the small round tables covered in cheerful blue gingham, positioned by the window at the back of the shop. ‘Eat in.’ It was still so early he doubted that his partner had even reached the surgery yet. ‘I’ll take an almond croissant and a double espresso. Grazie.’
He selected the table with the best view over the harbour. The coffee turned out to be exceptionally good, the croissant wickedly sweet, and by the time he’d finished the last of his breakfast he’d decided that spending the summer in this quaint little village was going to be no hardship at all.
‘Are you on holiday?’ The girl on the till was putting croissants into bags faster than the chef could take them from the oven and still the queue didn’t seem to diminish.
Gio dug his hand into his pocket and paid the bill. ‘Not on holiday.’ Although a holiday would have been welcome, he mused, his eyes still on the boats bobbing in the harbour. ‘I’m working.’
‘Working?’ She handed him change. ‘Where?’
‘Here. I’m a doctor. A GP, to be precise.’ It still felt strange to him to call himself that. For years he’d been a surgeon and he still considered himself to be a surgeon. But fate had decreed otherwise.
‘You’re our new doctor?’
He nodded, aware that after driving through the night he didn’t exactly look the part. He could have been evasive, of course, but his new role in the community was hardly likely to remain a secret for long in a place this small. And, anyway, he didn’t believe in being evasive. What was the harm in announcing himself? ‘Having told you that, I might as well take advantage of your local knowledge. How does Dr Anderson take her coffee?’
All that he knew about his new partner was what David had shared in their brief phone conversation. He knew that she was married to her job, very academic and extremely serious. Already he’d formed an image of her in his mind. Tweed skirt, flat heels, horn-rimmed glasses—he knew the type. Had met plenty like her in medical school.
‘Dr Anderson? That’s easy.’ The girl smiled, her eyes fixed on his face in a kind of trance. ‘Same as you. Strong and black.’
‘Ah.’ His new partner was obviously a woman of taste. ‘And what does she eat?’
The girl continued to gaze at him and then seemed to shake herself. ‘Eat? Actually, I’ve never seen her eat anything.’ She shrugged. ‘Between the tourists and the locals, we probably keep her too busy to give her time to eat. Or maybe she isn’t that interested in food.’
Gio winced and hoped it was the former. He couldn’t imagine developing a good working partnership with someone who wasn’t interested in food. ‘In that case, I’ll play it safe and take her a large Americano.’ Time enough to persuade her of the benefits of eating. ‘So the next thing you can do is direct me to the surgery. Or maybe Dr Anderson won’t be there yet.’
It wasn’t even eight o’clock.
Perhaps she slept late, or maybe—
‘Follow the street right down to the harbour and it’s straight in front of you. Blue door. And she’ll be there.’ The girl pressed a cap onto the coffee-cup. ‘She was up half the night with the Bennetts’ six-year-old. Asthma attack.’
Gio lifted an eyebrow. ‘You know that?’
The girl shrugged and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘Around here, everyone knows everything.’ She handed him the coffee and his change. ‘Word gets around.’
‘So maybe she’s having a lie-in.’
The girl looked at the clock. ‘I doubt it. Dr Anderson doesn’t sleep much and, anyway, surgery starts soon.’
Gio digested that piece of information with interest. If she worked that hard, no wonder she took her coffee strong and black.
With a parting smile at the girl he left the bakery and followed her instructions, enjoying the brief walk down the steep cobbled street, glancing into shop windows as he passed.
The harbour was bigger than he’d expected, crowded with boats that bobbed and danced under the soft seduction of the sea. Tall masts clinked in the soft breeze and across the harbour he saw a row of shops and a blue door with a brass nameplate. The surgery.
A few minutes later he pushed open the surgery door and blinked in surprise. What had promised to be a small, cramped building proved to be light, airy and spacious. Somehow he’d expected something entirely different—somewhere dark and tired, like some of the surgeries he’d visited in London. What he hadn’t expected was this bright, calming environment designed to soothe and relax.
Above his head glass panels threw light across a neat waiting room and on the far side of the room a children’s corner overflowed with an abundance of toys in bright primary colours. A table in a glaring, cheerful red was laid with pens and sheets of paper to occupy busy hands.
On the walls posters encouraged patients to give up smoking and have their blood pressure checked and there were leaflets on first aid and adverts for various local clinics.
It seemed that nothing had been forgotten.
Gio was just studying a poster in greater depth when he noticed the receptionist.
She was bent over the curved desk, half-hidden from view as she sifted through a pile of results. Her honey blonde hair fell to her shoulders and her skin was creamy smooth and untouched by sun. She was impossibly slim, wore no make-up and the shadows under her eyes suggested that she worked harder than she should. She looked fragile, tired and very young.
Gio’s eyes narrowed in an instinctively masculine assessment.
She was beautiful, he decided, and as English as scones and cream. His eyes rested on her cheekbones and then dropped to her perfectly shaped, soft mouth. He found himself thinking of summer fruit—strawberries, raspberries, redcurrants…
Something flickered to life inside him.
The girl was so absorbed in what she was reading that she hadn’t even noticed him and he was just about to step forward and introduce himself when the surgery door swung open again and a group of teenage boys stumbled in, swearing and laughing.