Resisting the Single Dad Surgeon
Autor
Louisa Heaton
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A close call with the paparazzi leaves a nurse with no choice but to hide out with the very same single dad celebrity surgeon she was photographed with in Louisa Heaton's latest Harlequin Medical Romance. RUNNING FROM THE LIMELIGHT… Nurse Isla is starting over. She's relocated to the city and has a new job — nothing can distract her. That is, until she meets single dad and handsome celebrity surgeon Gabe! Working with the widower wouldn't normally be an issue, but when they share an almost intimate moment and it's publicized, the press relentlessly pursues Isla's identity. Now, to protect herself, she has no choice but to move in with Gabe and his adorable daughter. Resisting each other soon becomes impossible, but after everything they've been through, can they move on and build a life — together?
CHAPTER ONE
THE GARLAND CLINIC was situated midway down Harley Street. Pristine. As aesthetically perfect as any old town house could possibly be, its exterior was pure white, the glossy black door framed by two thick white columns, and the path that led to the door was black and white checked, lined by ball-shaped topiaries.
A brass plaque on the door let Isla and its clients know that this wasn’t any ordinary house. It might look like an old domestic setting, but inside promised to be modern. Exacting and to a high standard.
She sucked in a deep breath, placed a smile upon her face and pushed open the door, revealing a warm and welcoming entryway. A long corridor lay straight ahead, but to her left was a reception desk with staff behind it. A receptionist in a crisp white blouse and black skirt and a guy in scrubs, holding a file in one hand and a phone in the other as he chatted to someone about a reservation he had the next evening.
The receptionist looked up at Isla and smiled. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Miss Isla French. I’m the new surgical nurse starting today.’
‘Oh, yes! We’ve been expecting you. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll see if Mr Garland is free?’
Isla took a seat. She’d met Mr Garland, the senior partner of the clinic. He had interviewed her, alongside Mr Sharma, one of the other surgeons. There should have been a third consultant there, a Mr Newton, she believed, the one she’d seen often in Mack Desveaux’s gossip magazine when she’d been researching the clinic, but he’d been called away on an emergency, so they’d not met yet.
Both consultants had seemed very nice. Approachable. Friendly. Mr Garland specialised in breast reconstructions, Mr Sharma in liposuction and tummy tucks, whereas Mr Newton specialised in faces. Facelifts, rhinoplasties, that kind of thing.
It was exactly the kind of clinic she’d been looking for. Where she could continue to be a nurse, but where all the surgeries done were elective, cosmetic procedures. Nothing that was life or death. Nothing that provoked strong emotions. Nothing that could put her at risk.
Finding a clinic that she could get to on the bus had also been a bonus. Finding a place so close to the friend’s flat she was staying in temporarily until she could find something more permanent had been like a sign that this job posting had been made just for her, and so she’d been thrilled to receive the phone call from Mr Garland that they’d like to offer her the position of surgical nurse.
‘Would you like a beverage?’ the receptionist asked. ‘We have tea, coffee, water, juice?’
‘I’m all right, thank you.’
‘I’m Jane. Might as well get to know one another, seeing as we’re going to be colleagues.’
‘Isla.’
‘Such a lovely name!’
Isla smiled. How were you supposed to respond to that? It wasn’t as if she’d chosen it herself. But she didn’t have too much time to worry. She heard footsteps coming down the stairs and then there was a very handsome man standing in front of her. Mr Newton. Plastic surgeon to the stars. Hair as black as a raven’s wing, slightly rakish, slightly ruffled. Bed hair, she liked to think of it, but styled perfectly. He had icy blue eyes and dark stubble, cheekbones you could cut yourself with and a strong, square jaw. He turned his gaze over the waiting room, where he saw her and paused briefly before a wide smile broke across his face. ‘Miss French? Mr Gabriel Newton. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure yet.’
She was aware of how she must look. Gabriel Newton was clearly a man who assessed faces for a living. He scanned them, found their faults and automatically could think of how much better they might look once graced by his scalpel or bone hammer. And despite her having tried her best this morning, she knew she did not look as beautiful as the models and movie stars he was often seen out and about with.
Her hair was tied tight to the back of her head in a bun, as she liked to keep it out of the way when she was at work. She wore the bare minimum of make-up. A little eyeliner. A little lip gloss. Some concealer to hide the dark marks under her eyes, but that was it. And she’d never had cosmetic surgery. No plumpers. No fillers. Nothing. He probably looked at her and thought of all the ways she could be improved.
But she smiled back anyway. Because she was here to work. To be a professional, not to be a model, or a muse.
‘Hello. Call me Isla.’ She stood and held out her hand, trying not to be mesmerised by those blue eyes of his. She could see now, in person, why the paparazzi loved him so. He was a perfect sculpture of a man. Handsome. Beautiful. No doubt photogenic. He looked daring and racy and probably helped sell more magazines than he ought to, because of the company that he kept.
‘Isla. Call me Gabe.’
He shook her hand and she felt something race up her arm. A tingle. A warmth. And then a flush of heat that suffused her face and neck.
Am I blotchy? I bet I’m blotchy.
The thought annoyed her. Irritated her. This was not what she’d wanted! She’d just wanted to return to work and get on with her day. Meet with everyone and then just be the best surgical nurse that she could be.
Not this.
Not this complication.
Putting it down to first-day nerves, she dismissed the idea that she might be even the slightest bit attracted to him and pushed the thought to one side. Because there was a danger of becoming enamoured with someone and just because they had a pretty face did not mean that they were a nice person. Danger could lurk behind even the nicest facades and she knew this to her detriment.
Gabe was gorgeous and rich, according to the gossip, but who was he really? Clever, no doubt, he was a surgeon, but beauty was superficial at best. So she could shove his good looks and her initial crush reaction into a box marked Nothing Worth Worrying Over. And her visage? Was nothing she wanted to do anything about. She’d never considered cosmetic surgery herself and so her face was her face and life was life. It had marred her with worry lines and crow’s feet and dark shadows, but they told a story. They marked her as being someone who’d experienced things. Even if hardly any of them were pleasant.
So sue me if I’m not perfect.
She’d never wanted perfection. There was nothing interesting about perfection.
‘Have you had the tour?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Then let me show you around. It can be a bit of a maze, to begin with.’ He had a dynamite smile. Lovely, straight teeth. Wide, full lips. And he smelt great. She could feel her senses going into overdrive and struggled to rein them in. As he showed her the consulting rooms, surgical rooms, recovery rooms, day ward, staffrooms, stock rooms, utilities, she kept getting wafts of his scent, flashes of his smile, and was acutely aware of his height and power.
He was a tall man. Over six feet, for sure. Broad shoulders, neat waist, his bespoke tailored suit clinging to him in ways that ought to be illegal. Gabriel Newton clearly worked out and looked after himself, but then she supposed he needed to, doing the job that he did. Gabe was a salesman. An advertising board. A look-at-what-you-could-be-too image. He had to look good. It made the clients, the patients, feel comfortable. Assured of their results. But as he showed her around, introducing her to various members of staff, she saw no obvious signs of surgery on his face. No scars. No nips. No tucks. Nothing pulled tight. He looked completely natural and she felt like looking up into the heavens and whispering, Well done.
‘You can put your things here.’ He indicated a free locker in one of the staff areas. They had a locker room, their own shower and toilet facilities. A small gym with workout equipment. A fully equipped kitchen and a lounge. It really was quite amazing!
Isla shrugged off her jacket and hung it up with her bag. She closed her locker with the key and slipped it into her pocket.
‘Scrubs are in here. Freshly laundered every day. Used ones go in that hamper over there—don’t ever wear them home.’
‘All right.’
‘Can I make you a drink?’ He checked his watch. ‘You’ve got time before your first surgery.’
‘Perfect. Tea, please.’
‘Coming right up.’ He gave her a dazzling smile that almost knocked her off her feet and she nervously sat down on one of the sofas, not sure what to do with herself.
‘Do you know what my first procedure is?’
‘You’re in with me. Rhinoplasty.’
Nose job. ‘Okay.’
‘Phil says you’ve worked as a surgical nurse before. In plastics?’
Phil was Phillip Garland. The boss.
‘A few times. I worked in a burns unit for a while, too. We did a lot of maxillofacial surgeries, but I’ve mostly worked in general surgery.’
‘So you have a broad knowledge base?’
‘I think so. I hear you specialise in facial procedures?’
He nodded as he poured boiling water into two cups that actually had saucers beneath. ‘Yes. A lot of eyelifts, nasal augmentation, jaw reshaping—whatever the client wants, really.’
‘Do you have a favourite type of surgery?’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘The one where my client leaves feeling happy with their results.’
‘A politician’s answer.’ Isla smiled knowingly, taking the cup and saucer from him when he brought it over and sat opposite her.
‘A practised answer.’ He agreed. ‘But one that’s true, I’m afraid. People come to me because they’re unhappy with what they see on the outside. So if I can make them feel better on the inside, then that’s what matters to me the most.’
‘You have a counsellor on the premises, don’t you?’
‘We do. Every client that comes to us about needing a cosmetic procedure has to see our surgical counsellor and is given a cooling-down period before they’re accepted to surgery. We like to know that they’re ready. When you change how you look, when the mirror suddenly shows someone different, it can have an effect on well-being, even if they thought they wanted the change. Our counsellors are available to our clients for up to a year after their surgery, for no extra charge.’
‘That’s good.’
‘We try to cater to our clients’ every need. We adapt to suit them as much as we can.’
Isla smiled and sipped her tea.
‘Do you live locally, or...?’
‘Near Hammersmith. You?’
‘Hampstead Heath.’
‘Lovely. Do you have a view of the heath?’
‘As a matter of a fact, we do.’ He sipped his tea, then glanced at his watch. Some chunky, expensive number sat on his wrist. ‘Oops. Better get going. I have a few things to do before surgery. You’re happy you know where everything is?’
‘If I get lost I can ask someone.’
He stood. Smiled. ‘All right. I’ll see you in surgery, Isla. I look forward to it.’
‘Me too.’ She stood as well and watched him go, feeling herself deflate slightly the second he left the room.
At that moment, in walked a male nurse. ‘We all feel like that, don’t worry.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like he takes all the air out of the room with him when he goes.’
She blushed. ‘Oh, I didn’t feel tha—’
‘It’s fine, honey, honestly. It doesn’t help that the guy is single and probably the most eligible millionaire doctor in England right now. Pity he’s straight, or I’d try my luck, to be fair. Mind you, wouldn’t be the first time I’d turned a straight guy...’ The nurse winked, then smiled at her, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Justin.’
She laughed. ‘Isla. Well, he’s not my type, so...’
‘Gorgeous, single, rich and clever isn’t your type?’ Justin took a moment to assess her, looking her up and down. ‘Don’t tell me...you prefer guys a bit rougher around the edges? Grungy-looking? A bit more blue collar?’
Isla shook her head. She didn’t have a type. Not any more. Once upon a time it had been Karl. He’d been tall, dark and clever. A nurse in A & E. They’d bonded over who could tell the grimmest patient story and he’d won. Karl always won. He loved to control things. But he’d not been able to control events. He’d not been able to control that patient’s family member that had ruined Isla’s life and he’d certainly not been able to control how he felt about it, leading to the breakdown of their marriage. Men had been off her agenda ever since. Isla only ever viewed them as threats now. People to hold at a distance. The best men, in her opinion, were often anaesthetised.
‘Let me guess...you’re married?’
‘Nope. Very much single.’
‘Then what’s wrong with you, honey?’ Justin asked with a laugh as he left the staffroom, chuckling to himself.
Isla grimaced.
Some would say plenty.
Gabe was in the scrub room, getting ready for surgery and gazing through into the theatre at the staff inside.
His patient was already under, the anaesthetist having done their job, hooking the patient up to oxygen and monitoring their stats for any spikes or reactions. The two theatre nurses were busy setting up, Verity showing the new nurse, Isla, how Gabe liked his equipment to be laid out.
He’d met her only briefly, but she seemed to be competent. Phillip wouldn’t have hired her if she weren’t. She was friendly, he’d been able to talk to her with ease, but there’d been something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was niggling at him. Worrying away at him, at the base of his skull, as if he wanted to reach inside and scratch at it and make it go away.
What was it?
He liked that she was a natural beauty and did not try to over-emphasise her features. Her hair had been neatly tied back, as regulations expected, but there’d hardly been a lick of make-up on her face. Maybe that was it? He was so used to seeing women so perfectly made-up that when he saw one going au naturel, he noticed?
No, that’s not it. It’s something else. Why do I feel as if I know her? As if we’ve met before?
He knew her from somewhere. But if they had met before, then surely she would have mentioned it?
It would come to him. He knew that. Her name was not familiar to him, but it was really annoying to feel this way.
Gabe was a man who prided himself on his memory. He remembered names. Remembered faces. People. Places. So why couldn’t he remember someone like her? She said she lived near Hammersmith—well, he’d never been there, but she had worked in a burns unit before and so had he, so maybe they’d worked together once. Maybe she’d been a scrub nurse for him before.
Her gaze met his through the glass and, startled, as if she’d caught him thinking about her, he looked down and away as he finished scrubbing. He needed to get his mind in the game. Needed to be thinking of the rhinoplasty. The patient.
Caron Latimer had come in to get her nose altered. Said that her nose had always bothered her, ever since she was a child. That her siblings had all inherited their mother’s petite nose, but she’d inherited her father’s Roman nose. She felt that the nasal bridge was too prominent, that her nose was too wide. She wanted something smaller. More like her mother’s. She’d brought in pictures of what she wanted.
He’d listened to Caron, advised her. Taken pictures and created a digital model of her nose and then showed her on the computer what her new nose might look like on her face. He’d sent her home with these pictures. Told her to think about it. To talk to their counsellor, to make sure that this was what she wanted.
And she did. She’d lived with a nose that she hated for twenty-three years. It wore down her self-esteem. She felt self-conscious. Her mental health was being affected by it and she’d even taken days off work because some days she just couldn’t face going in, because she worked in sales and she often caught customers’ gazes focusing on her nose as they talked to her.
So he’d agreed to help her. To reduce the nasal bridge, to reshape her nose so that it was a little smaller and give her a little slope to her nose, rather than an arch.
Caron couldn’t wait, she’d said. She’d been so excited when she’d come in this morning at seven a.m. to be prepped for the procedure.
And he couldn’t wait to change her life.
That was the part of his job he loved the most. Making a difference. Giving someone a confidence they’d never had before. Making them feel that they could face the world with confidence again. And the work he did here, for the rich and the powerful and, yes, the celebrities, allowed him to fund his trips to India where he worked with acid-attack victims to try and improve their burns. Their scars. To make their lives a little easier.
As he entered Theatre, he looked to Verity, then Isla. ‘Are we ready?’
Verity nodded.
The anaesthetist nodded.
Isla nodded.
She had the most beautiful eyes above that scrub mask. If he’d worked with her before, he would have remembered. Isla would have to remain a mystery for a little longer. ‘Then let’s begin.’
Gabe was a master of his craft and, unlike a lot of surgeons she’d worked with before, who very often ignored everyone around them whilst they were the star of the show, Gabe talked to everyone in the room, explaining what he was doing and why. As if he were in a teaching hospital.
‘I’m going to perform a closed rhinoplasty,’ he said.
A closed rhinoplasty involved the surgeon making incisions inside the nostrils, so that scars would not be shown on the face, rather than an open rhinoplasty in which the surgeon would cut across the skin between the nostrils.
‘This patient has requested that I make her nose smaller. How do I do that, Verity?’
‘By removing or shaving down cartilage and or bone,’ she answered, as promptly as a robot.
‘This patient also requires some reshaping of her nostrils. How am I going to do that? Isla?’ he asked.
She felt a wave of heat wash over her, being put on the spot like this, but she’d seen rhinoplasties performed on accident victims so she felt confident with her answer. ‘I assume you will break the nose bone and rearrange the cartilage.’ Her cheeks felt hot and she met his gaze above his mask. Happily, she saw the corners of his eyes crease in a smile.
‘Correct. And what are some of the risks to the procedure?’
‘Breathing problems. Nosebleeds. Infection. Clots. Perhaps even an altered sense of smell.’
She heard Gabe let out a breath, before he nodded. ‘Looks like Phillip hired the right person and I didn’t need to be there, after all.’
It was a compliment. She had passed the first tests and she was proud of herself. If she could she would have turned to Verity to offer her a high-five, but that wasn’t the sort of thing that a professional nurse did in Theatre. Instead Isla stood there knowing that everyone knew she deserved to be there. She might be new, but she was not inexperienced and she knew how to handle herself in a theatre.
It took just over two hours for Gabe to be happy he had done enough to reduce the nose to his patient’s liking and, once he was done, he asked Isla and Verity to apply the splint and dressings whilst he scrubbed out.
‘What did you think?’ asked Verity when he’d gone.
‘He’s an amazing surgeon. Very good!’ And she meant it. Watching Gabe work had been a privilege. The way his hands moved, his dexterity, his poise. It had been almost artful.
Verity laughed. ‘I meant the surgery, but...okay. You wouldn’t be the first nurse to have a crush on Gabriel.’
‘I don’t!’ That was two people now who’d implied it was natural to have some secret feelings for Gabe Newton. It was her first day! She didn’t need gossip like that carrying around her place of employment. That was not what she was here for! Isla wanted to do her job and nothing more and if that meant proving she was not smitten by Mr Newton’s good looks, then she’d damn well show them. ‘What surgery is next?’ she asked, determined to change the subject.
‘Mr Sharma. Buttock augmentation.’
‘Right. I’ll escort this patient to Recovery. I’ll be back soon.’
‘Okey doke. See you in a bit.’
‘Phillip? What can I do for you?’ Gabe had picked up the phone after an internal call had come through on the system.
‘Gabe—just checking that you reminded our new theatre nurse about our ritual first-day dinner?’
Gabe closed his eyes in dismay as he realised he’d completely forgotten to mention it. The Garland Clinic had a habit of taking all new employees out for a meal after their first day at the clinic. It was like a welcome. A friendly hello-and-welcome-to-the-team thing. But they’d not had a new member of staff for such a long time, the whole thing had gone completely out of his head. ‘Sorry, no. I forgot. Do you want me to go and check with her?’
‘Would you, old boy? It’s just I’m running a little late. My last patient went a little over time and now I’ve got a queue and I noticed that your clinic is over.’
‘No problem. I’ll track her down and ask and then email you.’
‘Perfect. Thanks. I’ve booked a table at Jean Luc’s. Seven p.m.’
Gabe brought up the staff rosters on his computer to try and work out where Isla would be. By all accounts she was in theatre with Mohammed, so he made his way there.
When he got there, Mo looked to be about halfway through his procedure. Gabe pressed the button on the intercom. ‘Hi, I just wondered if I might have a quick word with our fabulous new nurse.’
Mo looked up over the patient to Isla and nodded.
Verity took her place as Isla walked over to the viewing window. She looked confused. A little worried.
‘Something wrong?’
‘No, nothing’s wrong.’ He smiled, to show he wasn’t a threat, or a problem of any kind. ‘Are you okay for dinner this evening?’
She blinked. ‘Dinner? Oh, um...’
He watched as she went from shocked to desperate. Desperate to turn him down, and that was when he realised that maybe he’d phrased the question wrong. ‘The new employee’s dinner. With everyone there. Not just me,’ he added quietly, almost feeling a blush come upon himself.
Isla stared at him as realisation hit. ‘Oh! That! I remember Mr Garland mentioning it at interview, I’d forgotten. Um...well, yes. Yes! I can make the dinner. What time is it?’
‘Reservation is at seven o’clock. Jean Luc’s.’
‘Right. Right. Dress code?’
‘Smart.’
She continued to nod.
‘So, that’s a yes? I can tell Phil that you’ll be there?’
‘Yes!’ She laughed. ‘I thought for a minute there that you, that you were...’ She laughed again, looked away. ‘Seven is fine, though it might be a bit of a stretch for me to get home in time to change.’
‘I’m sure we can let you go home a little early just this once.’
As she headed back to the surgery, Gabe came away from Theatre feeling slightly strange. Perturbed. What had just happened? She’d thought that he was asking her out personally!
He almost laughed, until he remembered that she’d been working out how she could possibly turn him down and that stopped him in his tracks. He wasn’t used to women turning him down. Normally, they all said yes. Or asked him themselves.
But Isla had been going to say no. Politely. Nicely. Without hurting his feelings.
And that just made him like her all the more.
