The Midwife's Pregnancy Miracle
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Kate Hardy
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Prologue
Hallowe’en
ALMOST AS IF someone had called his name, Oliver Darrington found himself turning round and looking at the doorway.
Ella O’Brien, one of the junior midwives from his department, was standing there. Despite the fact that she was wearing a mask that covered half her face—because tonight was the annual Hallowe’en Masquerade Ball, the glitziest fundraiser in the Royal Cheltenham Hospital’s social calendar—he recognised her instantly.
Desire shimmered at the bottom of his spine and he dragged in a breath. He really needed to get a grip. Ella was his colleague. His friend. He’d been attracted to her since the very first moment she’d walked into Teddy’s, the centre for birth and babies at the Royal Cheltenham Hospital. Her striking red hair, worn tied back in a scrunchie, had snagged his attention. Then he’d noticed her clear green eyes and the soft curve of her mouth. He’d wanted her immediately, though he’d held himself back. Since the fallout from dating Justine, Oliver didn’t do serious relationships; plus he hadn’t wanted to risk making things awkward on the ward between them, so he’d managed to keep things strictly professional between himself and Ella.
Though several times when they’d worked together, his hand had brushed against hers and it had felt as if he’d been galvanised. And sometimes he’d caught her eye and wondered, did she ever feel that same secret pull?
Though he’d dismissed it: Ella O’Brien was one of the most grounded and independent women he’d ever met. He knew she was dedicated to her career and she wasn’t the type to let herself be distracted by a fling—which was all he could offer. Besides, over the last eighteen months, he’d discovered that he liked Ella: she was easy to work with, being both sharply intelligent and yet able to empathise with the mums on the unit. He didn’t want to risk spoiling that.
But tonight...
Tonight was the first time he’d ever seen her all dressed up, and it threw him. At work, Ella wore uniform or scrubs, and on team nights out she’d always dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. Oliver couldn’t quite square the no-nonsense midwife he was used to with the woman in the navy satin prom dress. Her dress had a sweetheart neckline and was drawn in sharply at the waist to highlight her curves before flaring out again to the knee, and she was wearing high heels which made her legs look incredibly long. She looked utterly gorgeous. Right at that moment, Oliver really wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until they were both dizzy.
‘Stop being so shallow, Darrington,’ he chided himself.
And then he realised that Ella had hesitated in the doorway; she was clearly scanning the room, trying to work out where the rest of the team was. For just a moment, she looked vulnerable—which was odd for someone who was always so confident and cheerful at work. And that look of uncertainty made him go straight to her rescue.
‘Good evening, Ella. You look lovely,’ he said as he joined her in the doorway.
Her fair Irish skin turned a delicate shade of pink. ‘Thank you, Oliver. But you’re not supposed to recognise me with a mask on, are you?’
‘Your hair’s a tiny bit of a giveaway.’ That glorious dark red. And tonight it was in a sophisticated updo, with a few loose, soft curls framing her face, making him want to release the pins and let it fall like silk onto her shoulders... Oh, for pity’s sake. Now was definitely not the time to start fantasising about her. He forced himself to concentrate. ‘So how did you recognise me?’ he asked.
‘Your voice is pretty distinctive.’
As was hers, with that soft Irish accent. ‘Fair cop,’ he said easily. ‘The rest of the team from Teddy’s is over there.’ He gestured in the direction of their table. ‘Come and have a glass of champagne.’
* * *
Even though Oliver was a good six inches taller than she was, Ella noticed that he kept his stride short to match hers as they skirted round the edge of the dance floor. She was really grateful; the last thing she wanted to do was to make a fool of herself by walking too fast and tripping over in her unfamiliar high heels. Especially here, at such a glamorous do. Right now, she felt seriously out of her depth. She’d never really been much of a one for parties and balls; at university, she’d missed out on most of the big events, because she’d been concentrating so hard on her studies. It had been such a struggle to get to university in the first place, she hadn’t wanted to jeopardise her career by partying when she should’ve been studying. And it was one of the reasons why she was still a virgin at the age of twenty-six: she’d concentrated on her studies rather than on serious relationships. Part of her felt ridiculously self-conscious about it; in this day and age, it was so old-fashioned to still be a virgin. Yet, at the same time, she felt that sex ought to mean something. She didn’t want to have a one-night stand with someone just for the sake of it.
Last year, she’d been on duty so she hadn’t been able to make it to the famous Royal Cheltenham Masquerade Ball; this year, she was off duty so she didn’t have a good excuse to avoid it. But either Oliver hadn’t noticed that she was a bit flustered, or he was too sensitive to make an issue of it. He simply chatted to her as they crossed the dance floor to join the rest of the team.
Ella, you look lovely.
Typical Oliver: charming and kind. It was one of the skills that made him popular to work with on the ward, because he always managed to make their mums-to-be feel more at ease and stop worrying. Just as he was clearly trying to put her at her ease now.
Ella had worked with the consultant for the last eighteen months; although she’d been instantly attracted to him, she’d been very careful not to act on that attraction. Although there had been moments when they’d accidentally touched at work and it had made her feel as if her heart was doing a backward flip, and sometimes she’d caught his eye in an unguarded moment and wondered if he felt that same pull, she hadn’t acted on it because Oliver Darrington was way, way out of her league. According to the hospital grapevine, the string of women he dated all looked like models or had aristocratic connections; no way would he be interested in a junior midwife who came from a very ordinary family in County Kerry. So she’d kept things strictly professional between them at work, not even confessing to her best friend Annabelle how much she liked Oliver.
And she’d be strictly professional tonight, too.
Which was a real effort, given how gorgeous Oliver looked right now. He usually wore a suit to work, but she’d never seen him wearing evening dress before. He reminded her of Henry Cavill in his The Man from U.N.C.L.E. role: tall and handsome, debonair even, with his dark hair perfectly groomed. Except Oliver’s eyes were grey rather than blue, and his mouth was even more beautiful than the actor’s...
Get a grip, Ella O’Brien, she told herself, and she managed to smile and say the kind of things everyone expected to hear when she and Oliver joined the rest of the team.
The warmth of their welcome dispelled the remainder of her nerves, and she found herself chatting easily.
‘Dance with me?’ Oliver asked.
This was the stuff dreams were made of: waltzing around a posh ballroom with Oliver Darrington.
Except Ella couldn’t dance. She’d always been horribly clumsy. The only thing that she was worse at than dancing was spelling, thanks to her dyslexia. And she’d spent so many years as a child believing that she was stupid and slow and hopeless at everything that she didn’t trust herself not to make a mess of dancing with Oliver.
‘I should warn you that I have two left feet,’ she said. ‘And I’ve never danced to this sort of music.’ She gestured to the jazz trio on the stage. ‘I’ve only ever watched Strictly Come Dancing on the telly. So on your head—or toes—be it, if you really want me to dance with you. But now’s your chance to escape with all your toes unbruised.’
‘You won’t bruise my toes.’ He smiled. ‘Just follow my lead and it’ll be fine.’
Was it really going to be that easy? Ella didn’t share his confidence. At all.
But then Oliver led her onto the dance floor and they actually started dancing together.
It felt like floating on air. The way he guided her meant that she was moving in the right direction and her feet were always in the right place. And she’d never, ever experienced anything so magical. It was even better than she’d dreamed. Right at that second she felt like a fairy-tale princess in her swishy-skirted dress, dancing with the handsome prince. And she loved every moment of it. Being in his arms felt so right—as if this was where she’d always belonged. It made her feel warm and safe and cherished; yet, at the same time, there was the slow, sensual burn of attraction, dangerous and exciting.
Oliver danced with her for three songs in a row; and she was greedy enough to want to dance with him all night. Except this was the hospital’s charity ball and Oliver was a consultant. He should be mixing, like the rest of the senior staff.
‘Shouldn’t you be—well—dancing with someone else?’ Ella asked, feeling guilty both for being selfish and for wanting Oliver all to herself.
His eyes glittered behind his mask. ‘No. It’s up to me to decide who I dance with—and I want to dance with you.’
Her heart skipped a beat. Was Oliver telling her that he’d noticed her, the way she’d noticed him over the last few months? That for him, too, this had been building up for a long time? Or was she misreading him and hoping for too much?
‘Though would you rather be dancing with someone else?’ he asked.
‘No, no—not at all.’ Though she rather thought that Oliver might have spoiled her for dancing with anyone else, ever again. Not that she was going to admit that to him.
‘Good.’ He kept her in his arms, and Ella’s pulse went up a notch as they moved round the dance floor.
* * *
Oliver knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He’d meant to dance with Ella once, to be polite and friendly, then keep his distance.
The problem was, he really liked the feel of her in his arms. Which again was ridiculous, because Oliver didn’t do proper relationships. Not since Justine. He was well aware that the hospital grapevine had labelled him a heartbreaker, a playboy who had an endless string of one-night stands. There was a grain of truth in the rumours, because he never got involved with anyone for the long term; but he really wasn’t a heartbreaker and he was picky about who he slept with. He always made sure that every woman he dated knew the score right from the start: that it was just for fun, just for now and not for always. He definitely didn’t leave a trail of broken hearts behind him, because that would be unkind and unfair.
But there was something about Ella that drew him. A simplicity of heart, maybe?
Which was precisely why he ought to make an excuse and get her to dance with someone else. Put some space between them until his common sense came back. He didn’t want to mess up their working relationship. Even though right now he really, really wanted to dance her into a quiet corridor and kiss her until they were both dizzy.
Then he became aware that she was speaking and shook himself. ‘Sorry, Ella. I was wool-gathering. What did you say?’
She gave him the sweetest, sweetest smile—one that made his heart feel as if it had just turned over. ‘Nothing important.’
‘I guess I ought to stop monopolising you and let you dance with someone else,’ he said.
* * *
Which was Oliver being nice and taking the blame for her social mistakes, Ella thought. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. She kept the bright smile pinned on her face as they went back to join the rest of the team. Then Charlie Warren, one of the other doctors from Teddy’s, asked her to dance. Although Charlie was usually quite reserved, his offer was genuine enough, so she accepted.
‘So are you enjoying the ball, Ella, or here under sufferance like me?’ Charlie asked.
‘I’m enjoying myself.’ In fact, much more than she’d expected to. Though she had a nasty feeling that Oliver was the main reason for that. ‘I’m sorry you’re not.’
‘I never do, really,’ Charlie began, then grimaced when she trod on his toes.
‘Sorry,’ she said instantly. ‘I’m afraid I have two left feet.’
‘I thought all Irish people were supposed to be natural dancers? I guess you have Riverdance to blame for that.’ It was an attempt at humour, as he was obviously trying to make polite conversation, but for as long as Ella had known Charlie, he’d always been distant with everyone at work. Quite the lone wolf.
‘Sadly, that gene bypassed me,’ she said. ‘I’m more Flatfeet than Flatley.’
‘I think my toes have already worked that one out for themselves but, even though we’re no Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, you look lovely tonight, Ella.’
‘Thank you,’ she said smiling. ‘I think you look more like James Bond than Fred Astaire anyway.’
‘You’re very sweet, Ella.’ He gave her a shy half-smile. ‘And you’ve made an otherwise dull evening much nicer.’
Ella found herself going through a similar routine with the colleagues she danced with from the Emergency Department.
‘You know, we’re going to have to set up a special broken toe department in the unit, just for the men you’ve danced with tonight,’ Mike Wetherby teased.
‘So I’d be better off sticking to delivering babies than dancing, hmm?’ she teased back, knowing that he meant no harm by the comment.
‘You can dance with me any time you like, Ella O’Brien,’ Mike said. ‘As long as I have fair warning so I can put on my steel-toe-capped boots first.’
She just laughed. ‘In steel-toe-capped boots, you’d be clomping around the dance floor as badly as me.’
‘Then we’d be the perfect match.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
And then Oliver rested his hand on Ella’s shoulder. ‘The next dance is mine, I believe.’
The warmth of his fingers against her bare skin sent a shaft of pure desire through her. She reminded herself crossly that this was a charity ball and Oliver had danced with at least half a dozen other women. He’d treated them in just the same way that he’d treated her, with courtesy and gallantry, so she was kidding herself and setting herself up for disappointment if she thought that his behaviour towards her tonight was anything more than that of a colleague. And she wasn’t going to embarrass herself by throwing herself at him and being turned down.
Was it wishful thinking or did the lights actually dim slightly as they moved onto the dance floor?
Oliver drew her closer, and she shivered.
‘Cold?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said, not wanting him to guess that her reaction had been something so very different.
He pulled back slightly and looked her in the eye. For a second, Ella could’ve sworn that the same deep, intense yearning she felt was reflected in his eyes. But that had to be imagination or wishful thinking. Of course he didn’t feel like that about her. Why would he?
She stared at his mouth, wondering for a crazy second what it would be like if Oliver kissed her. It must be that second glass of champagne affecting her, she thought, vowing to stick to water for the rest of the evening.
But dancing with Oliver was headier than any amount of champagne. And she noticed that, although she’d been clumsy with her other partners, with Oliver she didn’t seem to put a foot wrong. Dancing with him made her feel as if someone had put a spell on her—but a nice spell, one that made her feel good.
And when he drew her closer still, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Just for these few moments, she could believe that she and Oliver were together. Just the two of them, dancing cheek to cheek, with nobody else in the room. Just them and the night and the music...
At the end of the evening, Oliver said casually, ‘I think you’re on my way home, Ella. Can I give you a lift?’
The sensible thing to do would be to smile politely and say thanks, but she’d be fine—though she hadn’t remembered to book a taxi, and there was bound to be an enormous queue so she’d have to wait for ages in the cold. It was a twenty-minute drive from here to her flat. She could manage that without making a fool of herself and throwing herself at Oliver, couldn’t she?
‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘It’ll save me having to wait ages for a taxi.’
‘Pleasure,’ he said. ‘Shall we go?’
She walked with him to his car. It was icy outside, and the thin wrap she’d brought did nothing to protect her from the cold.
‘Here,’ he said, shrugging out of his jacket and sliding it across her shoulders.
‘But you’ll be cold,’ she protested.
‘Not as cold as you,’ he said.
Typical Oliver: gallant and charming. But she appreciated the warmth of his jacket, and tried not to think about the fact that it had been warmed by Oliver’s body heat.
Just as she’d half expected, his car was sleek and low-slung. When he opened the door for her, Ella nearly tripped getting in and was cross with herself for being so stupid and clumsy.
‘Ella, relax. There aren’t any strings. This is just a lift home,’ he said.
More was the pity, she thought, and was even crosser with herself for being such an idiot.
‘Sorry. Too much champagne,’ she fibbed.
When she fumbled with the seat belt, he sorted it out for her. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed against her.
Stop it, she told herself. He doesn’t think of you in that way. And you’re too busy at work to get involved with anyone—especially a colleague who apparently never dates anyone more than twice. Keep it professional.
‘What’s your postcode?’ he asked.
She told him and he put it into the sat nav. Then he switched on the stereo and soft classical music flooded the car. ‘Do you mind this?’ he asked. ‘I can change it, if you like.’
‘No, it’s lovely. I like piano music,’ she said. ‘We have a piano at home.’
‘You play?’
‘No, Mam does. I meant home in Ireland, not here,’ she said. ‘Mam’s a music teacher. She plays the piano at school in assembly and in the Christmas Nativity plays for the little ones.’
‘Did you ever think about being a teacher?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Everyone had thought that little Ella O’Brien was very sweet but not very bright, and would never get through her exams. Until the new biology teacher had started at her school when Ella was fifteen, worked out that Ella was dyslexic rather than stupid, and batted her corner for her. ‘I always wanted to be a midwife, like my Aunty Bridget.’ Everyone had thought that Ella was being a dreamer when she’d said what she wanted to do, but she’d put in the effort and worked so hard that she’d managed to get through her exams with good enough grades to get a place in London to train as a midwife. ‘It’s so special, sharing those first few minutes of a new life coming into the world.’ She paused. ‘What about you? Did you always want to be a doctor?’
‘Yes.’ Though there was something slightly shuttered in Oliver’s voice, and Ella wondered if he’d had the same kind of struggle she’d had about her choice of career. Although her parents supported her now, they’d worried throughout the whole of her degree and her training as a midwife, even though her tutors knew about her dyslexia and were really supportive. Her parents had told her all the time that she ought to give it up and come home to Ireland—particularly when she’d had her operation for a ruptured ovarian cyst and fallen behind in her studies. Thankfully Ella had been stubborn about it, and her parents had eventually come to terms with the fact that she was staying in England. She tried to make it home for a visit every couple of months, as well as video-calling them at least once a week through her laptop. And nowadays she knew her parents were more proud of her than worried about her.
Oliver didn’t elaborate on his comment, and she felt too awkward to ask anything more. Particularly as she was so physically aware of him sitting next to her.
Well, she was just going to have to be sensible about this. But, when he pulled up on the road outside her flat, her mouth clearly wasn’t with the programme, because she found herself saying, ‘Thank you for the lift. Would you like to come in for a coffee?’
* * *
This was where Oliver knew that he was supposed to say no. Where he was supposed to wish Ella goodnight, wait until she was safely indoors and then drive away. But he discovered that his mouth wasn’t working in partnership with his common sense, because he found himself saying yes and following her into her flat.
Her tiny flat was on the ground floor in one of the pretty Regency squares in Cheltenham.
‘Come and sit down.’ She ushered him into the living room. ‘Black, one sugar, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘I’ll be two seconds,’ she said, and disappeared off to what he presumed was her kitchen.
He glanced around the room. There was enough space for a small sofa, a bookcase full of midwifery texts, and a very compact desk where there were more textbooks and a laptop. It looked as if Ella spent a lot of time outside work studying.
There was a framed photograph on the mantelpiece of her at graduation with two people who looked enough like her to be her parents, plus several others of a large group of people in a garden. Clearly she was at some family party or other, and everyone seemed to radiate love and happiness. Oliver felt a momentary pang. His own family wasn’t like that, though perhaps part of that was his own fault for distancing himself from them. He could hardly be close to his brother while avoiding his parents, though; and when he saw his parents he was always on the receiving end of their disappointment.
Sometimes he thought that most parents would’ve been proud of their son for sticking through fourteen years of training and qualifying as an obstetrician. But the Darringtons had had rather different expectations for their son...
He really ought to make his excuses and leave. Ella was the last person he should get involved with. Apart from the fact that she was obviously much closer to her family than he was to his, she was his colleague and he didn’t want things to get messy at work. Nothing could happen between them.
But when he went into her small kitchen to tell her that he needed to go, she turned round and smiled at him and all his common sense fled. Her beautiful green eyes held him spellbound. And right at that moment he felt the strongest connection to her. Her mouth looked warm and sweet and soft, and he really wanted to kiss her. When his gaze flicked up to her eyes again, he realised that she was doing exactly the same: looking at his mouth. So was she, too, wondering...?
Instead of saying goodnight, he stepped forward and brushed his mouth very lightly against hers—just as he’d wanted to do all evening. Not just all evening, if he was honest with himself: he’d wanted to kiss her for weeks and weeks and weeks.
Every nerve-end in his lips tingled, so he couldn’t stop himself doing it again.
And this time she kissed him back.
‘Ella,’ he said when he broke the kiss. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for months.’
‘Me, too,’ she whispered.
So she’d noticed him in the same way?
His common sense made a last-ditch bid to extract him. ‘We shouldn’t do this.’
‘I know—we work together and we ought to be sensible,’ she agreed.
‘Exactly,’ he said, relieved that he hadn’t quite ruined their working relationship by giving in to that mad urge to kiss her. They could still salvage a professional friendship after tonight.
But then she rested her hand against his cheek. Her touch was light and gentle, and he found himself twisting his head to kiss her palm.
Her beautiful green eyes darkened.
Then the kissing started all over again, this time in earnest, and Oliver forgot all his good intentions. He loosened her hair, the way he’d wanted to do all evening, and let it tumble down to her shoulders.
Her eyes widened. ‘Oliver!’
‘I know.’ He kissed her again. ‘But I can’t help this—I really want you, Ella. I have done since the first time I met you.’
‘Me, too,’ she said.
His whole body tingled with desire. She wanted him as much as he wanted her?
‘So what are we going to do about this?’ she asked.
‘Right now, I can’t think straight,’ he admitted. ‘I just want to make love with you.’
For a moment, he thought she was going to back away. But then she inclined her head very slightly and took his hand to lead him to her bedroom.
‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked softly as she switched the bedside light on.
‘I’m sure,’ she said, her voice low and husky.
He kissed her, and it made his head spin. Hardly able to believe this was happening, he slid the zip down at the back of her dress. Seconds later, he stroked the material away from her shoulders and it fell to the floor.
She undid his bow tie, then unbuttoned his shirt with shaking fingers, smoothed the material off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor next to her dress.
He unsnapped her bra. ‘You’re beautiful. All curves.’
She gave him a shy smile. ‘You’re beautiful, too. All muscles.’
And suddenly the faint awkwardness was gone—there was just Ella, kissing her, and feeling the warmth of her skin against his.
Oliver wasn’t sure which of them finished undressing whom, but the next thing he knew he was kneeling between her thighs and her hair was spread over the pillows, just as he’d imagined it.
And then he stopped. ‘Protection. I don’t have a condom.’
‘You don’t need one,’ she said, flushing slightly.
So she was on the Pill? Part of him remembered Justine’s treachery and the repercussions. But he knew that Ella wasn’t like Justine. The woman he’d got to know over the last eighteen months was open and honest. She wasn’t going to cheat on him with someone else, get pregnant, and then try to make him believe that the baby was his. He knew that without having to ask.
‘Oliver?’ She looked worried, now. ‘I don’t sleep around. I’m not...’ The colour in her cheeks deepened. ‘You know.’
‘I know.’ He stroked her face. ‘And the rumours about me aren’t true. I don’t have sex with every single woman I date.’ He shouldn’t be having sex with Ella, either; but right now her skin was warm against his, this had been a long time coming, and he wanted to do this more than he’d wanted to do anything in years.
‘I know,’ she said, and kissed him.
That kiss made him relax with her, and he slowed the pace down, wanting to explore her. He kissed and stroked his way down her body, starting with a dip beneath her collarbones and paying attention to exactly what made her sigh with pleasure, from the curve of her inner elbow to the soft undersides of her breasts, then starting with the hollows of her anklebones and feathering his way upwards until she was making tiny, involuntary noises and clutching at his shoulders.
‘Now?’ he asked softly.
‘Now.’ Her voice was raspy and husky with desire. Which was exactly what he’d wanted.
As he eased into her, he felt her tense.
‘OK?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘I just never thought it would be like...’
Her words slammed into his brain and he realised the implication of what she’d just said.
Ella was a virgin. And he’d just taken her virginity.
Oh, hell. But it was too late now. He couldn’t reverse what he’d done. All he could do was try to make this as good for her as he could.
‘Oliver?’ And now she looked panicky. As if she thought she’d done something wrong.
It wasn’t her. He was the one in the wrong. He should’ve thought. Should’ve checked. Should’ve walked away, instead of giving in to that desperate need to be close to her.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, staying perfectly still so her body would have the time and space to get used to him, and kissed her. Because then he wouldn’t have to talk and make a mess of things.
Slowly, she relaxed again, and kissed him back. And he paid close attention, finding out what made her whimper with desire, taking it slowly until he finally felt her body rippling round his and it tipped him into his own climax.
He held her close. ‘Ella. I feel so guilty about this.’
‘Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.’ She stroked his face.
‘But you were a—’
‘Virgin. I know.’ She bit her lip. ‘Which is so stupid in this day and age. It makes me feel... Well, who on earth is still a virgin at the age of twenty-six?’ She grimaced.
He knew the answer to that. ‘A woman who’s waiting for the right person.’
‘There’s no guarantee that Mr Right will ever come along.’
Or Ms Right. She had a point.
And right now she was clearly embarrassed by the situation, because her fair skin was flushed.
‘I’m not judging you,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Ella, you’re lovely.’
The ‘but’ was a mile high in flashing neon letters, and she obviously saw that straight away. ‘But you don’t do relationships,’ she said. ‘I know.’
‘I’m sorry. I should go.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘But at the same time I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave it messy like this.’
‘I’m not expecting anything from you, Oliver.’
But he’d seen the flicker of disappointment in her eyes before she’d managed to hide it. She’d just given him her virginity. To simply walk away from her immediately after that would make him feel like a real lowlife.
Plus he didn’t actually want to go. Having Ella in his arms felt so right.
‘Can I stay for a bit and just—well, hold you?’ he asked.
‘Why?’
One answer slammed into his head, but he wasn’t ready to consider that. He took a deep breath. ‘Because I feel horrible. I can’t just get up and leave you. I just took your virginity, Ella.’
‘That isn’t an issue.’
He rather thought it was. ‘I feel bad about it.’
‘Don’t. It was my choice.’ She paused. ‘But you don’t want a relationship with me.’
Trust Ella to hit the nail on the head instead of avoiding the issue. His no-nonsense colleague was back. ‘It’s not you. It’s anyone.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve got an interview for the Assistant Head of Obstetrics job next week. If I get the post, then all my attention’s going to be on my new job. It’s the wrong time for me to get involved with anyone.’
‘And I’m not your type anyway.’
Actually, she was exactly his type, warm and sweet and lovely; though his family wouldn’t agree with him. His brother would be fine, but his parents would see her as the girl from a very different background—an unsuitable background. Not that anyone at work knew about his family. He’d been careful to keep his background very quiet. The fact that his father had a title had absolutely nothing to do with Oliver’s ability to do his job, and he wanted people to judge him for himself, not for whose son he was.
He took her hand. ‘Ella. I like you a lot. I respect you. And I’ve been attracted to you ever since the first time I met you. What happened tonight...I think it’s been a long time coming.’
‘It has.’
So she felt that weird, almost elemental pull, too?
‘But we’re not going to repeat it.’
He couldn’t tell a thing from her expression or from the tone of her voice. Everything was neutral. ‘It’s not you, Ella. It’s me.’ The last thing he wanted was for her to take the blame. He knew the whole thing was his fault. He should’ve kept himself under his usual control.
‘As far as everyone else is concerned, you gave me a lift home from the ball—as your colleague—and you stayed for a cup of coffee,’ she said. ‘And that’s it.’
‘Thank you.’ She really was letting him off the hook—and it was a lot more than he deserved.
‘If you, um, need the bathroom, it’s next door. The towels are clean. Help yourself to anything you need.’
‘Thanks.’ He pulled on his underpants and padded to the bathroom.
When he returned from his shower, with the towel still wrapped round his waist, she’d changed into a pair of pyjamas. Totally unsexy striped flannel pyjamas that buttoned right up to the neck.
And how bad was it that he wanted to unbutton them and slide the material off her skin again? To kiss every centimetre of skin he uncovered and lose himself in her warmth?
Then again, those pyjamas were also a statement. She was dressed—and he was wearing only her bath towel. ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked.
‘I think it would be best,’ she said.
He knew she was right, and that leaving would be the sensible thing to do, but he still felt bad. As if he should’ve stayed a bit longer, and at least held her until she fell asleep. Going now felt as if he was deserting her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘I’m not.’ She lifted her chin. ‘We did nothing to be ashamed of.’
He had. He’d taken her virginity without a second thought. But if he pressed the issue, he had a feeling she’d take it the wrong way and think he was ashamed about sleeping with her—that she was the problem, not him. Which wasn’t true.
‘Uh-huh,’ he said awkwardly. Normally he was good with words, but tonight that ability had completely deserted him. ‘Ella—we’ve worked together well for eighteen months. I don’t want that to change.’
‘It won’t. Nobody at the hospital needs to know anything about what just happened.’
She didn’t meet his eye, he noticed. So that comment about not being ashamed had obviously been sheer bravado.
‘I’m not a good bet when it comes to relationships, Ella,’ he said softly. Though he didn’t want to tell her why. How stupid was he not to have realised that Justine had been seeing someone else, and that he was her golden ticket to the good life for her and the baby that wasn’t his? He knew that Ella wasn’t a gold-digger, the way Justine had been; but he still couldn’t face taking a risk with a relationship again. Making another mistake. Having his heart trampled on again. So it was better to stay exactly as he was, where everyone knew the score and that all his relationships were just for fun.
* * *
Not a good bet when it comes to relationships.
Neither am I, Ella thought ruefully.
What did she have to offer anyone? Thanks to the endometriosis that had dogged her for years and caused the ovarian cyst to grow and rupture, Ella couldn’t have children. It was one of the reasons why she’d avoided relationships; what was the point of starting anything when you knew you were taking someone’s future choices away? Who would want a wife who couldn’t give him a family? She’d seen first-hand from her own best friend’s experience how the pressure of infertility could cause even the strongest marriage to crack.
So she knew she was better off as she was. She’d come to terms with the situation over the last few years; now she had the chance to concentrate on her job and prove that she was better than her grades at university suggested—that she was worthy of her job. And her job would be enough for her.
‘I don’t want a relationship with you, Oliver,’ she said. It wasn’t strictly true, but she wasn’t stupid enough to long for something she knew she couldn’t have. ‘Except a working one.’
The relief in his expression was so dazzling, it almost blinded her.
Well, she could be just as bright and chirpy. She wasn’t going to let him see how much his relief had hurt her. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea while you’re getting dressed?’
‘No, it’s fine, thank you. I’d probably better go.’
‘I’ll, um, let you get changed,’ she said, and headed for the kitchen to give him some space.
The two mugs of instant coffee—never made—sat accusingly in front of the kettle. She tipped the coffee granules in the bin, rinsed out the mugs and made herself a strong cup of tea. Mam’s solution to everything, she thought wryly. Though she had a feeling that it would take an awful lot more than a cup of tea to sort this out.
She’d just have to pretend that tonight had never happened. And hopefully things wouldn’t be awkward between Oliver and her at work.
