The Rebel Doc: Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon / The Doctor's Redemption / Resisting Her Rebel Doc

CHAPTER THREE

THIS IS YOUR JOB, for goodness’ sake. Pull yourself together.

As long as Ivy focused on that she’d be fine. She’d put everything on the line for her job her whole adult life and had got exactly where she wanted to be: Director of Legal at a fabulous, age-old and well-respected institution. So this was just another hurdle. Just an incy-wincy hurdle that she would jump with ease.

If only for two little things …

Shut up. Blood and a bloody-minded man would not get to her. She dragged the scrubs top over her head and straightened it, leaned in to the mirror and watched her hands shake as she slid the paper hairnet hat thing over her hair, squashing her fringe in the process. Great look, girlfriend.

Then she took a little more notice of her surroundings. The scrubs with the St Carmen’s logo and the locker room reminded her of the photo … Would she be for ever condemned to remember that image for as long as she lived?

Half of her hoped so. The other half tried to blot it from her mind.

‘Hey, Miss Leigh, are you ready?’ Nancy, the OR assistant, called through the door. ‘We’re going in now, the surgeon’s here.’

And she so hadn’t needed to hear that. ‘Just a second, I’m almost there.’ Okay. Breathe. Deeply. In. Out. In. Out. You can do this. It was just a case of mind over matter. She was in control of this.

She didn’t know what she was dreading most: the red stuff or the man she’d had the dirtiest dream about last night. The man she’d almost grabbed in the lift and planted a kiss on those too smug lips of his. Who she’d spent an hour trying to describe to her flatmate and had ended up with annoyingly sexy.

So, yes, she thought he was sexy. Just as Becca did, and, frankly, the same as all the women in the hospital did. So she was just proving she had working hormones—nothing else to see here, move right along. The man who was out to make her look a fool but, God knew, he might not need to try too hard, because if things didn’t go as planned she’d be managing that quite well all on her own.

Popping two more herbal rescue sweets into her mouth and sucking for all she was worth, she took a couple of extra-long deep breaths and steadied her rampaging heart. Give her a sticky mediation case, two ornery barristers and an angry, justice-seeking client any day. Words … that was her thing. Words, debate, the power of vocabulary. Not medicine. Not blood. Not internal stuff. Exactly why she hadn’t followed in her mother’s footsteps.

Here we go.

The smell hit her first. Sharp, tangy and clinical, filling her nostrils, and she thought it might have something to do with the brown stuff a man in scrubs and face mask was painting onto the abdomen of an anaesthetised woman. Then the bright white light of the room hit her, the noise. She’d thought it would be silent—remembered only a quiet efficiency from those endless surgeries, but someone had put classical music on the speakers. It was the only soothing thing in the place.

So much for the rescue sweets. Her heart bumped along, merrily oblivious to the discomfort it was causing her, and now her hands were starting to sweat too. Someone sat at the head of the woman and fiddled with tubes. The anaesthetist, Ivy knew. She had enough experience to be able to identify most of the people in here. Another woman smiled at her and bustled past with a tray of instruments that looked like torture devices … hooks and clamps. Ivy shuddered and hovered on the periphery, not knowing what to do and feeling more and more like a spare part. Should she stand closer? But that would mean she’d get a bird’s-eye view of the action.

The man painting the brown stuff raised his head and she realised it was Matteo. Matteo—she’d got to thinking of him like that. Not Mr Finelli. Not something over there and out of reach. But someone here … someone personal. Matteo. Someone she’d almost kissed, for the first time in what felt like a thousand years. All she could see of his face were those eyes, piercing, dark and direct as he looked at her. ‘Ah. Miss Leigh. You’re here. Come closer, please. Glad you could tear yourself away from your paper pushing.’

‘Good to be here.’ Liar.

‘Nancy got you some scrubs. Good. We don’t want to get your lovely office suits messed up with bodily fluids. Do come and get a better view of the procedure, my team will make space for you. I’m sorry we didn’t reserve the gold-tier seating. And it’s a little crowded as I need to teach as well as operate. Perhaps one day you’ll be able to help us raise money for a decent viewing room? That would make all of our lives easier.’

She gave him a sarcastic smile, which she knew he couldn’t see behind her mask so she stuck her tongue out instead. Then levelled her voice. ‘You know very well that I’m a lawyer, not a fundraiser. However, I’ll add it to your wish-list. Which is getting longer by the day.’

‘I know. We surgeons are so demanding, yes? You’d think we were wanting to save lives or something.’ For a moment he regarded her with humour, but it was gentle and not rude, and then he became very focused and professional. ‘Okay. This patient is Emily. She’s donating her left kidney to her daughter, who is twelve years old and suffers from polycystic kidney disease. Emily is a perfect match in tissue type and blood type. She’s a very active lady with no medical history of any note. With one kidney she is giving her daughter the chance to have a normal life. That is, of course, as long as her body doesn’t reject it, although live donors are generally better tolerated than cadaver ones. Once the kidney has been removed, I, and a team of other surgeons, will …’ He paused and looked over at Ivy. ‘Are you okay, standing there?’

‘Yes, thanks. I’m fine.’ Shifting the weight from her left foot, she eased more heavily onto her right. And then realised he was still watching her.

His eyes flicked to her feet and then back to her face. ‘This is a long procedure—in fact, it’s going to be a long day. Would … er … anyone like a seat?’ His voice, she noted, had softened, the jokey teasing quite gone. Which was not what she wanted or expected from him. He must have noticed her limp. Goddamn. When had that been? She didn’t want anyone’s pity; she could hold her own as well as the next person. He called out to the orderly, ‘Eric …? Do we have any chairs?’

And look weak in front of all these people. In front of her colleagues? Him? No way. She shook her head vehemently.

Matteo paused with a large green sheet in his hand. ‘If you’re sure? Everyone?’ But she knew he meant just her. ‘This is your last chance. We’re going to start imminently and then we all need to concentrate.’

Oh, God. Objection! she wanted to shout. Stop! But instead she fisted her fingers into her palms, dug deep to distract herself from her raging heartbeat. ‘I’m fine. Please, just do the operation.’

‘As you like.’ He nodded to her, the scalpel now in his hand catching the light and glinting ominously. ‘Here we go, everyone. One laparoscopic donor nephrectomy begins.’

An hour later and Ivy had run out of places to look other than at the patient and risk the chance of seeing blood. She knew the right-hand corner of the room intimately now and could have recited the words on the warning sign above the electrical sockets blindfolded. The ECG monitoring machine bleeped and she focused once again on the LED display. Lots of squiggly lines and numbers. A niggly pain lodged in her lower back and her legs were starting to ache. She didn’t even have anything to lean against—that would have been helpful. So she stood rooted to the spot, trying to blot out the chatter, the music, the smell. Words like tubular … renal ligament … haemo … blood. She knew that. And sorely wished she didn’t.

But while her heartbeat was jigging off the scale it was clear that Matteo’s wasn’t. As he worked three probes jutting out from the woman’s abdomen while watching his handiwork on a large TV screen, his voice was measured and calm. For all his macho Italian remonstrating, the man was a damned fine surgeon, she’d give him that. He was also a decent teacher, taking time to explain to everyone exactly what he was doing—which really was amazing. Keyhole surgery was detailed, precise and very, very clever.

Okay, so she’d misjudged him. He was not narcissistic when it mattered, he was giving of himself to his patients and to the assistants. But he was still annoying. And sexy. And had she mentioned annoying? ‘We need to divide the adrenal vein so it is the optimal length for transplantation …’

She focused on the music because his running commentary was making her feel slightly woozy. Or maybe it was the heat in the room. Her gaze drifted over to him again, down his mask-covered face to his throat. The V of skin visible on his broad chest was suntanned, his forearm muscles contracting and stretching as he worked.

He stopped and arched his back, checked the screen, and, as he dipped his head to resume his work, he caught her eye. She could tell by the crinkles at his temples that he was smiling—what kind of a smile it was, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to. Just one look at those eyes made her gut contract in a sizzling, heat-filled clutch. She wondered what it would be like to wake up to those eyes, that skin … Or what would have happened in that lift yesterday if she hadn’t pulled away.

She was darned glad she had pulled away … frustrated, but glad.

But what if she hadn’t? Would he have kissed her? And why? Why her when there were so many beautiful women for him to kiss?

My God. Her mouth dried. She couldn’t be thinking like that. She couldn’t be imagining what it would be like to have Matteo touch her. To kiss him … Not when someone’s life was on the line—although, thank goodness, not in her hands.

Not at all. She wasn’t the kind of girl to have flings and she didn’t want anything else. Didn’t even want a fling … unless …

No. Not a fling. Not with Matteo damned Finelli.

She felt her cheeks heat, shook her head to clear her mind and realised it took longer than normal for her vision to catch up. Nausea ripped through her, rising up her gut. She focused on his hands. Hands that were red with blood now. Thick and red … and … The heat in the room was toxic … and she felt cold and hot … and she could feel the blood drain from her face …

‘So you are with us again? That is good.’ Matteo tapped Ivy’s hand with as little force as he dared muster, but enough that she’d at least open her eyes. She looked so pale, so young lying on the trolley covered with a blanket. And as she was his responsibility in the OR he’d deemed it only right to check on her. That’s what he told himself anyway as she stared at him, her cheeks reddening. She started to sit up but he coaxed her back down. ‘Lie still. Your blood pressure dropped and you fainted. Are you feeling okay?’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Please, go in and finish the operation. Leave me here.’ Her eyelids fluttered closed, more, he figured, out of embarrassment than feeling faint again.

People fainted in the OR on a regular basis. Nothing extraordinary. Except that this time had been the first and only time he’d felt a need to barge in and carry the victim out. But even though he had stood there helplessly as she’d fallen to the floor he’d known that he was not in a position to run to her—no matter what. His patient was his first priority. ‘It is all done—it takes more than a vaso-vagal to make me leave someone on the table. You were well cared for by the recovery nurses?’

She gave him a smile. ‘Yes. And I’m so sorry I took up their valuable time. It wasn’t necessary and neither is this visit. You’re busy.’

‘Nonsense. I have ten minutes before I go into the transplant. I thought I’d better check on my unexpected patient.’

She twisted to sit up, ignoring any attempt to keep her out of harm’s way. ‘You didn’t need to. Honestly. No one should have looked after me. I’d have been fine.’

‘Oh, yes, we always leave the sick ones scattered across the OR floor like the battlefield wounded. We just step over them, like little human hurdles whenever we need to move around the room. Did you have breakfast this morning?’

‘Yes.’ Which was contrary to what he’d assumed and didn’t explain why a strong woman like Ivy would faint. ‘A little.’

‘So you fell over. Why?’

She shrugged. ‘It was hot.’

‘We were all hot, it gets like that. The air-conditioning is faulty—just another thing to add to my wish-list.’ Maybe it had had something to do with her leg. Maybe she’d been in pain? Pazzo, he berated himself. Idiot. There he’d been playing games with her and she’d been unable to stand for so long. Physically unable to, for whatever reason. And he didn’t want to pry into something that wasn’t his business. But … ‘It was something more, I think.’

She looked like she was debating how to answer. ‘Okay. Yes.’

He waited for her to elucidate. ‘And …?’

‘I think I overdosed on rescue sweets.’

‘What?’ He had not been expecting that. He held back a laugh because he could see she was serious. ‘Rescue sweets? Really? You were nervous about the operation? And be honest. You have the kind of face that gives away all your emotions.’

‘That is not what someone of my profession wants to hear.’ She seemed to fold a little. ‘It’s not my usual workplace, is it?’

‘Which isn’t an admission of nerves, just a statement of fact.’ Ever the lawyer. ‘Were you scared?’

‘No comment.’ But her eyes dipped down and he knew he had her answer.

‘So yes. What of?’

‘No comment.’

‘Which might work in the courts, Ivy, but won’t stop me asking the questions. This is my domain now, not yours. You have a phobia? Needles? Blood? People?’ Me? That thought made him smile even more. Because he had no doubt that Ivy believed him to be her equal. Maybe it was the buzz between them that she was afraid of. Of what that might lead to unless they both held themselves in check.

The way she pursed her lips reminded him of his sister Liliana again—reluctant to admit any kind of weakness. She’d started to look less fragile, stronger, back to her fighting self. Almost—but was that a little humility there too? ‘Okay, if you must know, yes, I get a little woozy with blood …’

‘Aha, so you are afraid of something. Interesting …’ He’d found a weak spot. Excellent. Although seeing a young woman so pale wasn’t excellent at all. Fainting in front of a group of colleagues was pretty embarrassing too, and made anyone feel washed out and often came with a thumping headache. And now he felt compelled to help her. Again. It was becoming a habit. An unusual habit that he needed to shake off. ‘Okay, we’ll talk about it later. I may have some suggestions to help you with that. Now, I must go and see my next client.’

‘Wait. Matteo. Please.’ She reached a hand to his arm and a thousand jolts rattled through him. He knew exactly what that was. Chemistry. Physics. And basic biology. There was a connection between them that overrode sense. That ignored his brain and went beyond any interest he’d felt for a woman before. What was it about Ivy Leigh that had him reacting so strongly? Why did he want to help her? What was going on with his body that this attraction was so intense, so fierce?

He wanted answers so he could stop it and get back to normal. He’d never become so interested in a woman that he’d thought about snatching a kiss at work, in an elevator. That was the stuff of romance books and definitely not for a sane, level-headed scientist like himself. He liked to have control in who he kissed … not some sort of urgent, frenzied need. Because he knew exactly where that kind of wild, irrational love got a man. And he wasn’t going there ever again.

Her smile broadened. ‘Thank you for your concern. But what about the transplant? I’d like to watch … from a safe distance.’

Drawing his arm away from her touch, he shook his head. ‘You have nothing to prove, really. But you have to be able to hold your own in there, otherwise you become a liability, and perhaps today is a little soon for you to try to conquer your fears. So, no. You can’t come in and watch. I need to make sure you are strong enough—’

‘Strong? Of course I am … I was just a little overcome.’

‘We don’t need that kind of distraction in there. Try again next week?’ By which time he’d have this snagging interest in her under control. ‘I’ll try to find something less intrusive for you to watch.’

Jolting upright, she fixed him with those dark green eyes. ‘Damn it, I can do this.’

‘Not today and that decision is final.’

Shaking her head, she lay back down on the trolley and covered her eyes with her forearm. ‘So you won in the end.’ She sounded disappointed but retaliatory.

‘This round, yes.’ Although there was less satisfaction in that fact than he’d imagined there would be.

Nancy arrived and handed Ivy a plastic cup filled with water. ‘You’re fine to get up now, Miss Leigh. Your blood pressure is back to normal. Why don’t you have a drink first, then pop along to the locker rooms and get changed.’ His OR assistant turned to him. ‘Matteo, I’m sorry to interrupt, but just wanted to remind you we’re having Friday night drinks tonight. Will you be coming along?’

‘Of course.’

Nancy’s eyes flicked over to Ivy. ‘Oh, and Miss Leigh, of course. You must come too.’

Matteo guessed Nancy was playing the polite card because generally the department was pretty tight, but it would be rude not to ask her when this conversation was going on within her earshot. He ignored a little leap in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again. If that was how his body was reacting then maybe he wouldn’t go tonight if she was going to be there. It was better not to fuel this attraction any further. Bad enough she’d been the first thing he’d thought about when he’d woken up this morning.

‘Why does everyone insist on calling me Miss Leigh? It makes me feel like I’m a ninety-year-old spinster. Please, it’s Ivy …’ Ivy shook her head vehemently. ‘And thanks for the offer but, no. I can’t come tonight.’

Nancy chipped in. ‘But we all go, every Friday, across the road to the Dragon, straight after work. It’s tradition. If you work in OR it’s mandatory …’

Matteo added with a grin, remembering how forceful Poison Ivy had been about attending her ridiculous course, ‘And we all know what that means. No getting out of it.’

Ivy swung her legs over the edge of the trolley and straightened her scrubs, her blonde hair stuck up in little tufts, and she looked very far from the sophisticated, competent lawyer. In fact, she looked pretty damned cute all mussed up. ‘But I didn’t exactly do any work here, I just made a fool of myself.’

‘And now you have me feeling sorry for you all over again.’ He leaned closer. Big mistake—a nose full of her fresh scent had his senses zapping into full-on alert. He stepped back again. ‘Let me tell you a secret … the first day in Theatre as a medical student, I vomited.’

‘In the theatre?’ Both Nancy and Ivy asked at the same time.

He shrugged. ‘No, in a bin outside. I managed to leave just in time. A coronary bypass—messy. It takes a bit of getting used to. There’s a lot of smells and noise and the blood … and looking inside … It’s something you learn to live with. You can’t expect to be okay with seeing these things on the first day. Luckily, you have another three chances to get up close and personal.’

‘Yay. Three.’ Ivy’s cheeks blazed as she drained the cup and popped it on the table next to the trolley. ‘Er … well, yes. Hypnotherapy’s good, I hear. Drugs. Total avoidance has been working really well for me for years. But I really do need to apologise to everyone for inconveniencing them.’

‘What better place to do it than at the pub?’ He couldn’t believe he was convincing her to come. ‘You said you needed to get to know the departments. People will chat to you more freely with alcohol in their bellies.’

‘Yes,’ Nancy chimed in. ‘Come on, it’s usually a good crowd. And if you do come I promise not to let anyone make fun of you.’

Matteo sniffed. ‘Apart from me, obviously.’

‘Of course, Matteo. Whatever.’ With a shake of her head Nancy jabbed him in the ribs and winked at Ivy. ‘Don’t be taken in by him. He’s just a softie really.’