Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon (5 page)

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?'