The Surgeon's Baby Surprise Page 3

  Even now, eighteen months on from the fatal car crash on the winding, twisting Pyrenees’ roads on what had been her parents’ second honeymoon to celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, she still missed them.

  It was the kind of close, loving relationship she’d always imagined for herself. The kind of relationship Max had never offered—could never offer—her.

  She looked up into his dark eyes and shuddered.

  Despite all her self-recriminations, the need to give herself up to Max, to take him up on his offer of support and to give in to her body’s welcome burst of energy and unexpected ache for him, was all too thrilling.

  ‘Here, put this on.’

  It was only as Max was wrapping his coat around her shoulders that Evie realised he’d thought she’d shivered with the cold. She couldn’t help casting a glance up and down the corridor, spotting a couple of nurses at the far end. Too far away to hear their words but watching their exchange with interest.

  ‘Max, please,’ she whispered. ‘We’re being observed.’

  He followed her gaze to their curious audience and, muttering a low curse under his breath, turned her around and propelled them down the corridor.

  ‘In here,’ he ground out as he bundled her into an unoccupied room off the corridor. And so help her, she let him.

  * * *

  ‘What’s going on, Evie?’

  It took everything in Max to push her away from him when all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and remind himself of her taste, her touch, her scent.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  She was lying.

  He’d spent the last year unable to get this singularly gentle, funny, sinfully sexy woman out of his head. So much for telling himself, before giving into temptation with her that night, that it would be a one-time fling. He’d always been a firm believer in avoiding dating workplace colleagues, something he’d had no problem adhering to before Evangeline Parker had come along. He wasn’t exactly short of willing dates with women who had nothing to do with the hospital, or even the medical profession at all, yet no one had ever got under his skin as Evie had.

  She was the first person to ever make him think about anything other than his career as a surgeon. To ever make him wonder if there was more out there for him than just reaching the very pinnacle of his speciality. It had only been that phone call from his parents, on the last evening of his time with Evie, that had unwittingly brought him back to earth.

  They were skilled surgeons but cold, selfish parents, and his childhood had been bleak and lonely, a time he rarely cared to look back on. Talking to them that night had reminded him why he would not put any wife, any family, through the only home life he had known. It was a choice. Be a pioneering surgeon, or be a good family man. Never both.

  And he could imagine that a family was what Evie would want. What she would deserve.

  So he’d thrown himself into his eight-month tour in Gaza, appreciating the challenging working conditions, the difference he was making—and the fact that it was providing a welcome distraction from memories of that one wanton, wild, yet exquisitely feminine woman. However many amazing, lifesaving surgeries he’d performed, he’d always gone back to his tent at night wishing he could share the day’s events with Evie. Wishing he were sliding into his emperor-sized bed with her rather than dropping onto his tiny cot, alone.

  Yet now she was standing here in front of him, and he wanted her as much as he ever had, telling himself that the only reason he hadn’t walked away from her was because she clearly needed someone to talk to. A flimsy excuse, since she clearly wasn’t jumping at the chance of opening up to him. Just as they’d revelled in the sex but both been so careful to avoid much personal conversation those five hot-as-hell nights together.

  ‘I think you do know,’ he contradicted quietly. ‘This is about more than just your sister-in-law and her kidney transplant, isn’t it?’

  Evie bit her lip, refusing to meet his eye.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She didn’t want to talk. But she probably needed to.

  ‘You’re concerned for her, frightened for her? That’s understandable. But I’m guessing this is more about you feeling as though you need to be the strong one because you’re the doctor, and people are looking to you for the answers.’

  She chanced a glance at him but didn’t answer, so he pushed on.

  ‘It’s very different being on the other side of the fence when you’re used to being the one making the decisions, but I’m guessing you can’t talk to Annie, or your brother, about your fears. So I’m offering for you to talk to me instead.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  She sounded bewildered. Was he really that unapproachable?

  ‘Because I once told you I respect you as one professional to another.’

  ‘I see.’

  Was that a flash of disappointment? She shook her head, the moment gone.

  ‘I can’t.’

  If he simply walked away then he’d feel like a cad. But if he pushed her then he risked misleading her into thinking that he was open to something more between them.

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’

  She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again.

  ‘Can’t. I want to, Max, more than you know. But I can’t.’

  There was no reason for his chest to constrict at her words. Yet it did. He gritted his teeth. As long as he could persuade her that there was nothing more between them—that he wasn’t remembering how incredible it had been to undress her, lay her on the bed and kiss her until she came undone at his every touch—then she might talk to him. And she definitely needed to talk to somebody.

  ‘Fine, let’s discuss the elephant in the room.’

  She swallowed hard.

  ‘So, we had a one-night stand—’

  ‘Five nights,’ she interrupted, flushing bright red.

  He felt a kick of pleasure. So it mattered to her?

  ‘Okay, five nights,’ he conceded, allowing himself a lopsided grin and watching her carefully. ‘Five nights of, frankly, mind-blowing sex.’

  She flushed again, crossing her arms over her chest as if to reinforce an invisible barrier between them. But it was too late—he’d seen the way her pupils dilated in pleasure at his words. She might not want to talk to him, but she was certainly still attracted to him.

  Her breathing was slightly more rapid, shallower than before, the movement snagging his eye to the satin-soft skin his fingers recalled even now. Her lips parted oh-so-slightly as her tongue flicked out to leave a sheen glistening on her lips. An action that he’d experienced in other ways over those five nights. An age-old response had his body growing taut.

  He needed to walk away.

  He couldn’t.

  He closed the gap between them until he could feel her breath on his skin, smell that mandarin shampoo of hers in his nostrils.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be over,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘Neither of us have the time or inclination for wasting time playing at relationships. But we’re both consenting adults, why not enjoy the sex?’

  ‘Just sex?’ she whispered again.

  He couldn’t help it. Before he could stop himself, he reached his hand out and slid his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up. Her eyes finally met his and the sensation was like an electric shock through his body.

  ‘Just sex,’ he ground out, as much to remind himself as to convince her.

  For a moment he thought she was going to turn him down, but suddenly she raised her hand to catch his and held it against her cheek. Closing her eyes, she rested her chin in his palm as though drawing strength.

  ‘Evie.’ His other hand laced through her silky hair to draw her to him; he inhaled her gentle scent,
so painfully familiar. The feel of her hands gripping his shoulders then running down his upper arms, the way her breasts brushed against his chest, heating him even through the material that separated them both.

  And then his mouth was on hers and Max couldn’t be sure which one of them had closed the gap first. He didn’t really care. With one hand still threaded through her hair, he trailed the other hand down her cheek, her neck, her chest, feeling her arch her back to push her breast into his palm.

  He heard his low growl of anticipation as the hard nipple grazed his palm through the layers of thin cotton, dropping his hand so that he could flick his thumb across it. He dropped down to perch on the corner of the table as she moved over him and his thigh wedged between her legs, which pressed against him so that he could feel the heat at their apex. He dropped his other hand down her back to cup her wonderfully rounded backside, smaller than he recalled. And then she kissed him intensely and it was just the two of them as everything else fell away.

  ‘God, I want you,’ he groaned.

  ‘How much?’ she whispered.

  ‘You must know the answer to that,’ he rasped out, her uncertainty surprising him. The woman he’d known last year hadn’t needed validation or reassurance, she’d been sexily confident in her own skin. Still, if she wanted him to show her then he was more than willing to oblige.

  But before he could act, Evie had tugged his shirt out, the buttons opening easily beneath those nimble fingers of hers. Dipping her head, she nipped and kissed his body that was leaner and tighter than ever. It ought to be—he’d been hitting his home gym hard ever since his return from Gaza, the only way he could burn off excess energy since he hadn’t wanted to sleep with any other woman since Evie.

  As she made her way back up to his lips Max pulled her back into him, his hands sliding under the fitted blouse that followed the curves of her pert breasts, revelling in the way her breath caught in her throat.

  Suddenly he froze. Her once slender form felt thin. Too thin. He could actually count her ribs. He drew back shaking his head; nothing was as clear or sharp as usual. Was he missing something?

  ‘Evie, stop...’

  And then Max felt her slump slightly, as though the sudden flame of energy she’d had had just been stamped out without warning.

  He was a first-class jerk. Evie was worried about her sister-in-law and he was only interested in rekindling the connection between them.

  ‘I’m sorry, that should never have happened.’

  Evie shook her head, and as she pulled away from him he clenched his fists by his sides just so that he didn’t pull her back.

  ‘No, it was my fault, Max.’ She sounded distraught. ‘I shouldn’t have come back here.’

  For the first time, Max wondered if he’d made a mistake. It wasn’t a feeling he was accustomed to. He could read charts, he could read patients, he could read histories. He’d never been bothered to learn to read relationship signals before.

  Dammit. Had he got it all wrong?

  ‘Evie, is there something else going on here?’

  ‘Leave it, Max. Please.’ She stepped back so abruptly that she almost fell, but it was the pleading in her eyes that stayed his arms from catching her.

  Max watched some inner battle war across her features, then, apparently unable to trust herself to say another word, she straightened up and forced her legs to move. He knew it wasn’t the moment to stop her. He had some investigating to do before he charged in there.

  He forced himself to stay still as she stumbled out of the room, the slamming door reverberating with raw finality.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT WAS TIME for answers.

  Max pulled up outside the unfamiliar house and turned the purring engine off with satisfaction. His sleek, expensive supercar—one of his very few real indulgences to himself—was incongruous against the older family cars and the backdrop of the suburban street. He checked the address he’d hastily scribbled down on the back of a hospital memo.

  It was definitely the right place. But the nondescript, nineteen-fifties semi-detached house on a prepossessing street, almost ninety minutes from Silvertrees, was the last place he would have expected to find Evie—it all seemed so far removed from the contemporary flat that he was aware had come as part of her package working at the Youth Care Residential Centre.

  But then, what did he know about the real Evie Parker?

  And for that matter, what was he even doing here?

  Instinct.

  Because decades as a surgeon had taught him to follow his gut. And right now, as far as Evie was concerned, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something fundamental he was missing. Sliding out of the car, he crossed the street, his long stride easily covering the ranging pathway from the pavement to the porch. He knocked loudly on the timber door, hearing the bustle on the other side almost immediately, before it was hauled open.

  ‘Max.’

  ‘Evangeline.’ He gave a curt nod in the face of her utter shock, wishing he didn’t immediately notice how beautiful she was.

  And how exhausted she looked. He’d seen the dark rings circling her eyes yesterday, along with the slightly sallow skin, so unlike the fresh-faced Evie he’d known a year ago. Just like how thin she’d become, all clear indicators of the toll her illness was taking on her body. He could scarcely believe his surgeon’s mind had allowed her to fob it off on being concerned for the health of her sister-in-law. But as soon as she’d gone and his gut had kicked back in, it hadn’t taken much digging to discover that it was Evie who was unwell, not Annie. That it was Evie who needed the transplant, not Annie.

  He felt a kick of empathy. And something else he didn’t care to identify. He shoved it aside; he was here to satisfy himself there really wasn’t something he was missing, and to be a medical shoulder to cry on. Nothing more than that.

  Evie stepped onto the porch, pulling the door to behind her, clearly not about to invite him in.

  ‘What are you even doing here?’

  Ironic that he had asked her the same question less than twenty-four hours earlier.

  ‘Why did you tell me Annie was the one who needed the transplant?’ He was surprised at how difficult it was to keep his tone even and level with her, when at work his professional voice was second nature.

  Evie’s face fell. He didn’t miss the way her knuckles went white as she gripped the solid-wood door tighter.

  ‘I didn’t.’ She tilted her chin defiantly.

  ‘You implied it, then. It’s semantics, Evie.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I was concerned. Things didn’t seem to add up.’

  To her credit, she straightened her shoulders and met his glare with a defiant one of her own. That was the Evie he knew.

  ‘You’ve been checking up on me? Reading my file?’

  ‘You left me with little choice.’ He shrugged, not about to apologise. ‘And don’t talk to me about ethics—for the first time in my career I don’t care. You should have been the one to tell me, Evie.’

  ‘Well, you should be sorry,’ she challenged, although he didn’t miss the way her eyes darted nervously about. ‘You were the one who always used to be such a stickler about doctor-patient confidentiality.’

  ‘Is this really the conversation you want to have?’ Max asked quietly.

  She stared at him, blinking hard but unspeaking. One beat. Another.

  ‘You’re right, I’m sorry,’ she capitulated unexpectedly. ‘Yesterday...it’s been playing in my head and now I’m glad you know. I...just didn’t know how to tell you.’

  His entire body prickled uneasily.

  ‘Are you going to invite me in?’

  She fidgeted, her eyes cast somewhere over his shoulder, unable to meet his eye.

 
‘First tell me exactly what you gleaned from my file?’

  Max hesitated. There was something behind that question that was both unexpected and disconcerting. The Evie he’d known was feisty, passionate, strong, so unlike the nervous woman standing in front of him, acting as though she had something to hide, as much as she tried to disguise it.

  ‘As it happens, I didn’t read your file. You can relax. I just spoke to Arabella.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Arabella Goodwin, your nephrologist,’ Max clarified patiently. ‘I told her you’d approached me about the kidney transplant yesterday whilst your sister-in-law was having her tests done. Which, technically, you had done. Imagine my shock when she assumed I knew that Annie was a living donor and that you were the recipient.’

  He’d just about managed to cover up his misstep with his fellow surgeon in time.

  ‘Oh,’ Evie managed weakly. ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘That your sister-in-law was in for the final repeat tests to ensure nothing had changed before the operation could proceed. I understand you’re due for your transplant next week but you’ll be taken in for the pre-op stage in a matter of days.’

  ‘And?’ she prompted nervously.

  He frowned at her increasing agitation.

  ‘Do you mean your PRA results and your plasmapheresis?’

  He heard her intake of breath before she offered a stiff nod. His frown deepened. Her tenseness made no sense—surely she had to know that the Panel Reactive Antibody blood tests were undertaken by every potential renal transplant patient in order to establish how easy—or difficult—it would be to find a compatible donor?

  What was he missing here?

  ‘Evie, it isn’t uncommon,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘You must know that around twenty-five per cent of patients who need renal transplants go through plasmapheresis to remove dangerous antibodies from their blood and increase their compatibility. You’ve nothing to worry about.’