One Night, One Unexpected Miracle
Автор
Caroline Anderson
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Prologue
HE COULDN’T TAKE his eyes off her.
He’d had to for a moment while he was tied up with Ryan Walker, the new neonatal cardiac surgeon who’d arrived in the UK just in time for the gala opening of Hope Children’s Hospital. Theo Hawkwood, the CEO, had asked him to introduce Ryan to people at the party, but he’d skilfully palmed him off on the head of ICU so now he was free to indulge himself again and, man, was it worth it.
She looked stunning.
What a contrast from her usual scrubs, which hung on her petite body and did a great job of hiding what he now realised was an amazing figure.
From all the time she spent in the gym when she was off duty? It wasn’t his thing, he liked the great outdoors, but he’d heard she was constantly either in the gym or in the pool, swimming for an hour at a time, and occasionally when he’d been out running in the early morning he’d seen her leave her house in tracksuit and trainers. Going to the gym, probably, and whatever she did there obviously worked.
Not for him. He hated being trapped in a room filled with pumping music and sweaty bodies. He’d grown up amongst the slopes of the family vineyards in Tuscany, and although the city of Cambridge was set in a flat landscape with barely a wrinkle, it made for good running, so he ran every morning, rain or shine, pushing himself to the limit, and sometimes his route took him past her house as he pounded the footpaths by the river and the bridleways out into the countryside.
Now, though, the only thing pounding was his heart, the heavy thud as he studied her beating in his ears. Her dress was blue, the same astonishingly brilliant blue as her eyes, and it clung to her slender frame like a second skin. It shimmered in the lights, showing every curve and hollow, so that even though the neck was high and the sleeves elbow length—typical Alice, all demure and buttoned up like a Victorian schoolmarm—it left little to the imagination.
She glanced across at him, her eyes locking briefly with his through the crowd, and he lifted his glass to her, feeling the tension that was always between them tighten like an invisible thread that ran across the room and connected them together.
It had been like that since the first day, this thing that hovered in the background so that even if he couldn’t see her, he knew when she was near him. Was it the same for her? He thought so. He’d caught the odd glimpse, a little flash of something quickly hidden, an inner battle with herself which she always seemed to win.
Like now.
She’d held his eyes for a fraction, then coolly turned away, winning the battle of wills with herself again, but the tension stayed with him like a knot in his chest.
Was she still angry with him? Maybe. She had reason to be, because he’d really pushed it this morning and the tension was tighter now than ever, the verbal sparring that had been business as usual for them since day one for some reason escalating today without warning.
They’d taken it to a whole new level, and he didn’t really understand why. When they were operating, they moved like clockwork, reading each other’s minds, two halves of a whole, and neither of them ever criticised the other’s clinical ability or judgement. But Alice Baxter was his boss, and outside the operating theatre she did things a certain way and expected him to do the same.
Which he didn’t. Not always, at least, and sometimes he deliberately didn’t just to get a rise out of her. Like today. And he teased her and flirted with her for the same reason. Was that why she’d lost it with him? That he’d gone too far just to ramp up the tension and push her to the limit?
He’d been going to apologise, but then she’d been so cutting, so short with him that he’d gone all macho Italian male on her and then stalked off because it was either that or kiss her, which was so massively unprofessional and out of line that even he, with his cheerful disregard for convention, had backed away.
Yes, he really needed to apologise.
Then someone in the crowd moved, giving him a perfect view of her, and he nearly choked on his prosecco.
The dress was backless.
Well, not entirely, of course, but backless enough to take his breath away and send his heart into overdrive. A fine strand of fabric was held together by a sparkling clasp at the nape of her slender neck, and below it the pale, smooth skin of her back was bracketed by shimmering blue, plunging all the way down to her hips, reuniting to caress the subtle curve of her bottom.
He swallowed. His hands ached to cup that sweet curve, to pull her up against his body, to feel those surprisingly generous breasts against his chest...
Time to put things back on an even keel. He’d flirted outrageously with her this morning, but he didn’t want to flirt with her now. Not any more. He wanted more than that, something else entirely, something much, much more serious.
A relationship?
Never going to happen. She was his boss, and his feelings were totally inappropriate.
But not unreciprocated, unless he’d read her wrong? Yes, they wrangled constantly, but under it all was this quiet simmer of emotion, attraction, sensuality—call it what you will, it was there in every moment of every day, unless they were operating. Well, they weren’t operating now, and maybe it was time to confront this, to apologise and get things back to normal.
He put his empty glass down on a passing tray and headed across the room.
* * *
He was watching her. She could feel it, feel the stroke of his eyes over the bare skin of her back like a caress, and the conversation around her was dead to her ears. All she could think about, all she could feel, was Marco watching her across the room.
She always knew when he was there, could always feel his presence, knew he was coming even before she heard his voice. It was like some sort of sixth sense—a sense she could gladly have done without because it was playing hell with her work life and even creeping into her dreams.
And last night the dreams had been definitely X-rated...
She laughed when the others did, took another gulp of prosecco and nearly choked on the bubbles. What was wrong with her tonight? It was all just because of that stupid dream, and she could still feel the touch of his hands on her body—
Ridiculous. Sheer fantasy. There was no way anything was going to happen between them, even if he did flirt constantly with her.
That was just Marco, and it didn’t mean anything. He flirted with every female with a pulse, from the babies up to the great-grandmothers visiting their tiny relatives, and he had them all eating out of the palm of his hand.
He probably didn’t even realise he was doing it, it was as natural as breathing—and to be fair it wasn’t so much flirting as just breaking the ice and gentle teasing. Unless it was her.
Then there was an undercurrent of sensuality that, try as she might, she couldn’t ignore.
Because she didn’t want to ignore it? Wanted to call him out on it, see if he really meant what he said? But she wouldn’t, of course, for all sorts of reasons, not least cowardice. What if she was reading much more into it than was actually there? Although it had certainly been there in her dream.
She sighed crossly, stopped pretending to listen to the conversation she should have been part of and excused herself.
She needed some air. Preferably cold and bracing and strong enough to blow some common sense into her before she did something stupid.
She was his boss, for goodness’ sake! She couldn’t let herself give in to it—which was why she’d ripped his head off earlier when he’d been pushing her buttons, and he’d drawn himself up and gone all Italian male on her and made it even worse, but it had been her fault. She’d started it by overreacting and she ought to apologise—
‘Alice.’
Even her name was a caress on his lips. She closed her eyes briefly, annoyed that her radar had failed to warn her that he was coming. Marco Ricci, her unbelievably sexy, unbelievably annoying and insubordinate subordinate. Except that had sexual connotations, and there was no room for any of that in their relationship and she was keeping it that way if it killed her.
Which it might.
She sucked in a breath, plastered a noncommittal smile on her lips and turned to face him.
‘Marco. Did you want me?’
Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Something flitted through his eyes and was gone, but his lips had twitched and she braced herself for the smart retort.
‘Nothing that won’t keep. You look beautiful tonight, Alice,’ he murmured, his voice like rough silk teasing her nerve endings.
She felt a wash of colour sweep up her throat and she looked away, shocked by the hitch in her heart rate and her body’s reaction to that deep, rich, slightly accented voice and the slow caress of his eyes that had left fire in its wake.
She was used to him flirting with her, but he wasn’t flirting now. The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice went far beyond that and called to something deep inside her, long repressed, cold and lonely and desperate for attention.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered, and swallowed hard. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’
Understatement of the century. He was sexy enough in scrubs. In a beautifully cut tux that showed off broad, solid shoulders to perfection, with the sharp contrast of the blinding white dress shirt against olive skin darkened by the shadow of stubble, those dark-lashed eyes simmering with latent heat, he was jaw-droppingly, unsettlingly gorgeous and she felt the impact of it in every yearning cell of her body.
‘So—Evie’s done a brilliant job organising this,’ she added hurriedly, hauling her eyes off him and groping for something uncontroversial. ‘I wouldn’t have believed the conference hall could be turned into such an amazing ballroom.’
‘No,’ he said, not taking his eyes from her face. Not that she was looking at him, but she could still feel the steady, searching gaze of those magnetic eyes and her pulse was rocketing.
She was trying to find something to say to fill the yawning void when the music started, and to her surprise he held out his hand to her.
‘Come. Dance with me. We’ve been fighting all day about nothing and it’s time to stop.’
‘Is that an apology?’
She made herself meet his eyes again, and for a fleeting instant she thought she saw regret. No. Marco never regretted anything, he wasn’t made like that. She’d imagined it. Of course it wasn’t an apology.
‘Yes, it’s an apology,’ he said softly, his Italian accent suddenly stronger. ‘Dance with me, Alice. Life’s serious enough. It’s time to have some fun.’
Fun? She hadn’t let herself have fun in years. At least, not the sort of fun she thought he was talking about.
Eyes steady, he took the glass out of her hand, handed it to one of the circulating bar staff and led her to the dance floor, turning her into his arms. She felt the heat of his hand on her bare back, the other still holding hers, curled loosely between them by her shoulder. Normally her head was level with his chest, but she was wearing heels tonight and her eyes were right by his immaculately knotted bow tie. Above it she could see the throb of a pulse beating in his throat, and he tilted his head so his cheek was against her forehead as he drew her closer.
She could smell cologne, just a faint touch of something exotic, something dangerously enticing that seemed to enter her bloodstream and invade every part of her as she swayed to the music. The hand on her back slid down, down to the base of her spine, his fingers splayed against her skin as he eased her closer still.
Too close for her sanity. Close enough to bring back the dream—
She took a step back out of his arms.
‘I need some air,’ she said breathlessly, and, turning, she made her way quickly off the crowded dance floor and out of the conference hall, her body on fire with a need she’d never felt before, hadn’t even known existed.
The lift? She couldn’t run downstairs in her heels, so there was no choice, and the lift was standing there waiting...
* * *
He watched her retreat for a nanosecond, then followed her, carving his way through the crowd, the white-blonde of her hair easy to pick out when he could find it, but even in those heels she wasn’t tall and the room was full and he kept losing her.
The doors. She was heading for the doors, and then the lift. He cut off the corner, went through another set of doors and reached the hallway just as the lift doors started to close.
Good job he was fit. He sprinted across the landing from a standing start, slammed his hand into the gap and pushed the doors open again.
She turned and met his eyes furiously—or desperately?
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, but her voice sounded odd, a little frantic.
He hit the button to close the doors. ‘What does it look like? I’m following you.’
‘Why?’
Her voice was breathless, a slight catch in it, and he smiled a little grimly. ‘Because I need to apologise properly. Not just about the fighting, but about this, too.’
He stabbed the button for the ground floor and folded his arms just to stop himself reaching out to her.
‘What this? I don’t understand.’
He sighed again. ‘Yes, you do, Alice, because it’s just here, between us, all the time,’ he told her, waving his hand back and forth between them, ‘and it’s getting in the way of our work. We need to talk about it.’
‘You’re imagining it,’ she said, but she couldn’t hold his eyes, and he unfolded his arms and reached out and turned her head gently to face him.
‘Am I?’ he murmured. ‘Am I really? I don’t think so, Alice. I think you want me as much as I want you, and what we have to do is work out how we’re going to deal with it, because we have to, one way or the other, because it’s getting in the way all the time and it can’t go on like this.’
* * *
It was there again in his eyes, that flash of something she’d seen just before he’d asked her to dance, briefly pushed aside by regret but back again now, with bells on.
Heat. Smouldering heat in the black depths of his eyes, his pupils flared, his chest rising and falling as he studied her silently, those eyes reeling her in.
‘Why would you want me?’ she asked, her voice annoyingly breathless again. ‘Of all the women in this hospital, why me, Marco?’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Why? Because you’re beautiful and sexy and funny and sharp and clever and—because you keep your distance, button yourself up, bottle up everything that I can see raging inside you, and all I can think about is unbuttoning all those tiny little buttons holding you together and seeing what would happen if I set those feelings free.’
Set them free? The thought terrified her, because he was right, they were there, raging inside her, and every day, every minute, every time she saw him, this beautiful, magnificent, tempestuous, arrogant man, she wanted him.
And it was never going to happen—
‘You’re wrong. You don’t really want me,’ she whispered, but he just laughed and took her hand and pressed it firmly against his chest so she could feel the pounding of his heart.
‘Can you feel that, cara? Can you feel how I want you? Always,’ he murmured, his eyes softening, ‘every minute of every day,’ and then he lowered his head, his hands cradling her face, just as the lift pinged a warning.
He wrenched his head up and moved away, slid his hand down her arm and threaded his fingers through hers, nodded to the people waiting to go up and walked with her briskly out of the lift, across the central foyer and into the consulting room area.
He pulled his lanyard out of his pocket, swiped the security lock with the magnetic card and opened the doors, then pushed the nearest consulting room door open and ushered her through it.
She heard it click shut, then nothing, just the suspense that swirled around them in the air and robbed her brain of oxygen.
What did he want from her?
A deep, slow sigh cut through the silence and she heard the examination couch creak behind her as he sat on it.
‘What do we do, Alice?’ he asked, his voice low and, oh, so sexy, unravelling her rigid self-control and leaving her open and vulnerable.
‘I don’t know. What do you want from me, Marco?’
He laughed softly, and the sound teased her nerve endings and sent shivers of need through her body. ‘I have no idea. Well, I have, but that’s not going to happen, we both know that.’
Was that regret in his voice? She couldn’t tell without looking into his eyes, so she turned and searched them, and then wished she hadn’t because the humour, the teasing that seemed to dance almost permanently in them was gone, leaving something far more dangerous to her self-control and peace of mind.
Desire, white-hot and irresistible. She swallowed and took a step back, bumping into the desk and sitting down abruptly on the edge of it before her legs gave out.
‘So what do we do?’
He laughed again, a wry huff of sound that unravelled her a little further, then met her eyes again.
‘I don’t know, but I know we can’t go on like this, fighting all the time about nothing and dancing round the elephant in the room. I want you, Alice, and I don’t seem to be able to put that on one side, and I don’t think you can, either.’
His eyes held her, the need in them so openly expressed she was in no doubt about it. He wasn’t toying with her. He really meant it, and his words had so accurately expressed her own feelings that she felt as if he could see into her soul.
He was right. She couldn’t put it on one side, couldn’t ignore it any longer. Didn’t want to ignore it any longer.
As if he saw the moment she crumbled, he held out his hand silently, and she stood up, her legs shaking, and walked over to him, taking his hand and letting him draw her up against him, standing between his legs as he was propped on the edge of the couch, his warmth enclosing her.
He raised a hand and traced the line of her jaw, lifting a stray lock of hair away and tucking it back behind her ear. The caress was so tender, so gentle that it made her want to cry. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like that, as if she was something precious and fragile. If ever...
She met his eyes again, and he stared into hers for an age, then drew her nearer, lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.
She moaned softly against his mouth, parting her lips to him, and she felt his hands cradle her cheeks as he deepened the kiss. She met him touch for touch, stroke for stroke, their tongues searching, duelling.
They always duelled, but not like this, not—
‘Marco...’
‘I want you, Alice,’ he groaned softly. ‘Tell me you want me, too.’
‘No—yes—Marco, I—’
‘Alice, you’re killing me...’
He kissed her again, his lips coaxing, trailing fire down her throat, over her shoulders, in that delicate, sensitive place behind her ear. She arched her neck to give him better access, his name a sob in her throat. ‘Marco...’
‘Tell me, Alice,’ he said, his voice low, scraping over her senses like gravel and bringing everything to life. ‘Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this, too, before I go crazy—’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, what?’
‘Yes, I want you. I want you...’
He muttered something in Italian and his hands reached down, bunching up her dress as his mouth plundered hers and his body rocked against her, pressing her up against him. She could feel his hands on her skin, cradling her bottom, sliding up around her waist as he lifted her easily and turned, settling her on the edge of the examination couch where he had been.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly against her, the pressure building as her fingers found the ends of his bow tie and tugged it undone. She couldn’t do the buttons, her fingers were shaking too much, and with a little scream of frustration she ripped his shirt open, her nails raking down his chest in the process.
‘Dio, Alice—’
He buried his hands in her hair and rocked against her, his body tight against her most intimate places as his mouth took hers again, his tongue searching, delving, and she wanted him closer. Needed him closer. Needed him...
‘I want you,’ she said, her breath hissing out between her teeth. ‘Marco, please, now. I want you—’
He swore softly and pulled away a fraction. ‘Don’t move.’
She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, the breath shuddering out of her body as he let her go and stepped away, and she clenched her legs together against the raging need and waited. She could hear him doing something, heard the snap of a wallet, the soft rasp of a zip, a slight rustle.
A condom. Of all the tragic ironies. She nearly laughed, only it wasn’t funny. He didn’t need it—except to protect her and himself from the other unintended consequences of random sex. Nothing else...
She opened her eyes and moaned again, her body throbbing with need as she reached for him, gripping the firm shaft of his erection and sliding her hand down it, unrolling the condom along its length. He swore softly in Italian and eased away the scrap of silk that passed for her underwear, his hips nudging her legs apart again as he slid his fingers deep inside her.
She gasped and tried to clench her legs together to quell the waves of sensation but there was no way because he was there, his body filling her at last, making her sob with need as he thrust into her, slowly at first and then faster, harder, again and again, his hands cradling her bottom and holding her tight against him, rocking as her control splintered into pieces and she convulsed around him.
He caught her cry in his mouth, his body tensing, shuddering with the force of his climax, and then as it passed he let out a long, fractured sigh, dropped his head against her shoulder and cradled her close, his mouth against her ear murmuring soft words she didn’t understand.
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Her body was a seething mass of sensation so intense that even now she could feel the shockwaves rippling through her, and as he finally eased away she couldn’t look at him.
What had she done?
She’d never felt like that. Never responded like that, so wildly, so spontaneously, so freely it had felt like she was flying.
Not now, though. Not any more.
Now she’d come down to earth with a bump, crippled with self-consciousness, and she slid off the edge of the couch, rescued her underwear from the floor and pulled it on hastily. As she tugged her dress straight with shaking hands, she felt a nail catching on the delicate fabric.
‘Cara?’
Gentle fingers caught her chin, lifting her face up so he could read her eyes, and he sighed and drew her back into his arms. ‘You’re buttoning up again,’ he murmured, his voice heavy with regret, and she tried to push him away.
‘I have to. I’m your boss, Marco! I can’t just sleep with you—’
‘Who said anything about sleeping? I think we were both wide awake just then. And don’t even try and tell me you didn’t enjoy it.’
She didn’t. She wasn’t a liar, and he’d only laugh at her anyway.
‘It was a mistake,’ she said, knowing instantly that he’d argue, but he didn’t. Instead he bent his head and kissed her tenderly, nearly trashing her resolve.
‘Yes. It was. You deserved better than a—’ He broke off, and she could almost see him rearranging the words in his mouth. ‘I should have taken you for dinner, taken you back to my house and made love to you slowly, for hours. Explored every part of you, kissed every inch of your skin, made you come for me again and again and again—’
‘It would still have been a mistake,’ she said, her insides weeping at the thought of him loving her so thoroughly, so tenderly, so meticulously. ‘We can’t do this, Marco. I agree we have to find a way to work together without fighting, but this isn’t it. This isn’t the way. We can’t do it again.’
She stood motionless, and after a second or two his arms dropped and he stepped back, glanced down at his ripped shirt with a rueful smile, shrugged and opened the door.
‘I’m sorry. Not for doing it. I can’t regret that. But if that’s what you want it won’t happen again, I promise you. Goodnight, Alice.’
And with that he walked out, headed through the door at the end and left her standing there wondering what on earth she’d done, and why it suddenly felt as if, by letting him go, she’d thrown away a chance at happiness that she hadn’t even known was there...
