Forbidden to the Playboy Surgeon Read online

  He’d never considered any piece of lingerie a challenge—more like an inconvenient barrier that he dismantled easily every time. His fingers rested on the hooks and he was just about to flick and twist when Claire ripped her hand out of his and hauled her mouth from his lips. It all happened so fast that he shivered from the loss of her intoxicating heat.

  Her lips, now bee-sting pouty and puffy from kissing and being kissed, gave her a sexy aura he’d never suspected even existed underneath her uptight personality. But despite how deliciously alluring it made her, it was the way her mussed hair fell softly, framing her face that got to him. It made her look younger than her years. She suddenly seemed fragile and vulnerable as if she expected the world as she knew it to end any second.

  In that instant, he knew the exact direction her thoughts had taken. He was her boss and she was his trainee. Hospitals had rules about this sort of thing to protect both parties from sexual harassment charges. Without meaning to, they’d both fallen over the line together, but there was no power play happening on either side. He’d stake his life she was as surprised as he was that the kiss had even happened.

  ‘It’s okay, Claire,’ he said, wanting to put her at ease, but his voice was rough, raspy and the antithesis of soothing.

  ‘Okay?’ Her voice rose with incredulity and her beautiful eyes reflected her turmoil. In a flurry of uncoordinated movements, which included her knee pressing into his inner thigh, she scrambled out of his lap as fast as if he was on fire and she was about to go up in flames too. The entire time she kept her arms outstretched in front of her as if she was scared he was going to try and touch her.

  ‘I... This... It.’ Her left hand covered her mouth for a moment before falling away. ‘Nothing about any of this is okay.’

  Still dazed from her kisses and with the majority of his circulating volume residing in his lap, he struggled to move beyond the basic functions of his reptilian brain. He tried a second time to reassure her. ‘I meant, we’re both adults.’ He shrugged. ‘Things happen.’

  She shook her head so hard and fast that her hair whipped around her head in a golden wave. ‘Nothing happened.’ Her voice trembled along with the rest of her. ‘Do you understand? Absolutely nothing.’

  As his blood pounded thickly through his body defying her words, both their pages beeped. The sound stopped Claire’s flight to the door. ‘Oh, no. The Walkers are here.’

  ‘Right.’ His voice sounded a long way away as his body lurched from lust to logic and the doctor overrode the man. Hell, he needed some time. ‘I’ll meet you in ICU in five minutes.’

  Relief and embarrassment tugged at her cheeks. ‘Yes. Good. Fine. I’ll be there.’ She disappeared into the corridor.

  Well, that went well, Alistair. Blowing out a long, slow breath he rubbed his face with his hands and tried to fathom how something so incredible had ended so badly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘DECAF THIS MORNING, please, Tony.’

  The friendly barista shot her a disbelieving look. ‘Is not coffee, mia bella.’

  She gave him an apologetic shrug. ‘Please.’ The last thing she needed was caffeine. It was barely seven and she was running on adrenaline. Her heart pounded, her chest was so tight breathing felt like lifting weights, she was as jumpy as a cat and she felt the telltale burn of reflux. That was always the stress marker.

  Occasionally, when she thought work was going well, she’d be surprised to get the liver-tip pain telling her that her body wasn’t as calm as her mind. Today, she didn’t need her medical degree to know the exact cause of her extreme agitation. She’d relived the reason over and over and over last night until exhaustion had somehow managed to claim her, providing a few hours of fitful sleep.

  She’d woken with a start to a foggy dawn and the weight of reality crushing down on her so hard and heavy she was surprised she wasn’t lying on the floor. Real life had decisively ended a wonderful dream where she’d felt unusually safe and secure. A utopia where she’d been able to be herself without the constant and nagging worry that someone was going to find out that despite all her hard work she was always only one step away from failing. Those tantalisingly peaceful feelings had vanished a second after she’d woken. Tranquillity had been torpedoed by the visual of her nestled in Alistair North’s lap, kissing him like he was the last man standing after the apocalypse.

  She’d jumped her boss. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

  Hours later, she still wasn’t totally certain how it had happened.

  Oh, come on. Be honest. Bottom line, you abandoned your principles, you opened your mouth and took what you wanted. You sucked Alistair North’s marrow into you like he was oxygen.

  She barely recognised the woman she’d been last night, and she knew if it had been an option, she’d have climbed inside the man. Never before had she let go like that, giving up all thought and reason, and existing only for the streaming sensations of bliss that had consumed her. It was if she’d been drawing her life force from him. She’d certainly never kissed anyone with such intensity before.

  You’ve never been kissed like that before.

  Her mind retreated from the thought so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. Truth be told, despite her thirty-four years, her kissing experience was fairly limited. During her teenage years, her brother’s footy mates had considered her far too bookish and reserved to bother trying to kiss and her peers thought she was weird for studying so hard, so when she’d left Gundiwindi bound for Adelaide Uni, she’d been a kissing virgin as well as a sexual one.

  It had only taken one medical students’ society party to remedy the kissing situation. She’d discovered that having a tongue shoved unceremoniously down her throat by a drunk second year had been enough. Then and there she’d determined to wait until she met someone who, A, she actually liked and, B, had some experience and panache in the art of kissing.

  Michael had literally walked into her life five years later when she’d been hiking the Milford Track in the spectacular South Island of New Zealand. After two days spent laughing and talking together, and with him proffering the occasional hand to balance her as she crossed creeks and clambered over fallen trees, he’d kissed her on the sandy shore of Milford Sound with the backdrop of the indomitable Mitre Peak.

  It had been the most romantic thing she’d ever experienced. For a while, all of Michael’s romantic gestures had deluded her into thinking she was worthy of love after all. When the cracks started appearing, the more she worked to shore them up, the worse things had got. His parting words still haunted her. You’re too hard to love, Claire.

  Her alarm had chosen that moment to shrill, pulling her thoughts sharply and blessedly away from the past and dragging them firmly into the present. She’d run to the shower and left the flat half an hour later, walking directly to Tony’s in the ubiquitous London mist.

  The barista handed her the usual half dozen coffees pressed snugly into their cardboard carrier along with one extra. ‘What’s this?’ she asked as her left hand wrapped around the single cup.

  ‘A proper latte, doctore.’

  ‘But, Tony, I wanted decaf.’

  He tapped the cup with a D scrawled on it. ‘Is here. But you drink it and I know you wish you get your usual.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He wasn’t to know that if she were any more wired she’d shatter. She handed over some pound notes but he waved them away. ‘The doctors at the castle, they fix my Serena when she born with her bad foot. Sick bambinos need the hospital. I happy to help.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you. I know the protestors on the night shift appreciate your coffee.’

  She heard the gentle clearing of a throat behind her—the British equivalent of Hurry up.

  ‘Bye, Tony.’

  ‘Ciao, bella. You have a good day, yes.’

  A good day. Oh, yeah.
It was going to be one for the ages. More than anything she wanted a time machine so she could return to last night and change everything that had happened, starting with preventing little Ryan Walker from having a large brain bleed. At least the gods were on her side today in as much as it wasn’t an operating day. The thought of having to stand next to Alistair—Mr North, Mr North, Mr North.

  You’re kidding yourself if you think using his title is going to give you any protection.

  It’s all I’ve got.

  That and hiding from him as much as possible. Only she knew hiding was a pipe dream. The whole point of her scholarship was to work hand in glove with the man and learn as much from him as she possibly could. Last night, she’d left the hospital the moment the difficult interview with the Walkers was concluded. In fact, she’d been the first one to leave, with a brisk goodnight to her consultant in front of the distraught parents, blocking any chance of him saying anything to her about the kiss.

  The only reprieve she had today was that straight after rounds he was working from home, preparing his paper for the neurosurgery symposium.

  Yesterday morning when she’d read that entry in the electronic diary, she’d rolled her eyes. In not unexpected fashion, he’d left it pretty much to the last minute to get it done. If she’d been presenting a paper, she’d have had it fully edited, bound and memorised a week ahead of time because medicine had a habit of throwing curve balls. All it took was a couple of emergencies or some staff illness to throw out a timeline. She always padded her deadlines with a lot of wriggle room, as much to allow for her own set of learning challenges as well as for external ones.

  Today, however, there was no eye rolling at Alis—Mr North’s laid-back procrastination, only unbridled relief. It meant the only time she had to see him today was at the ICU and Koala Ward rounds. Given they’d be surrounded by staff and students and their focus would be on patient care, how hard could that be? He was hardly going to say anything to her about last night in front of everyone and she sure as hell wasn’t going to mention it. Not now. Not ever. In regards to last night, her plan was to pretend and subsequently believe that it had never happened. She could only hope that Mr North felt the same.

  Lost so deeply in her thoughts, she was surprised to find she’d arrived at the hospital. As she distributed the coffees, she made sure to mention to everyone they were a donation from Tony’s Trattoria. Chatting with the protesters and learning more and more stories about the legacy of the castle was fast becoming a favourite part of her day and she listened with delighted fascination. A woman was telling a tale about her grandfather who’d been a surgeon during the Second World War. Claire was so busy listening to how he’d risked his own life to save others by operating in the basement of the hospital during the Blitz that she lost all sense of time.

  Hearing someone’s watch chime the hour, she gasped. Late! She hurriedly excused herself, ran through the gates, pelted up the D wing stairs, flung herself through the door and arrived on Koala Ward a panting and gasping mess.

  Andrew Bailey gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘You okay?’

  She was desperately short of breath but she dug deep and summoned up a husky ‘Fine’ as she tried to fill her lungs with air. At the same time, she worked on quelling the rising tide of frantic dread that threatened to swamp her like a massive wave at Coogee. Being a few minutes late for rounds with a consultant who considered ten minutes after the hour as being ‘on time’ wasn’t an issue. Being twenty minutes later than her usual arrival time was a disaster. It meant she had no time to read and memorise the overnight reports. It meant she’d be flying blind during rounds.

  Panicked, she rounded on her house officer. ‘Have you read the reports?’

  ‘Was I supposed to?’ Andrew asked, half bemused and half confused. ‘I thought that was the point of rounds.’

  Still trying to catch her breath, she huffed loudly and caught the injured look in her generally congenial junior’s eyes. He was absolutely correct—for most people that was the case. ‘True, but it never hurts to be ahead of the game and impress the consultant.’

  A grin broke across his round face. ‘Is that why you’re here early most days?’

  She dodged the truth with the skill of a secret keeper. ‘Something like that.’

  The rumble of many feet against the linoleum floor made her turn. Alistair North was striding along the corridor with the nurse unit manager and the nursing and medical students hurrying along behind.

  Claire pressed her glasses up her nose and blinked. Alistair North didn’t ever wear a white coat but he generally wore one of what she’d come to realise was a selection of fine wool Italian suits. Generally, he started the day in a jacket and tie, although the ties were never serious. They were almost always prints of animated characters from kids’ TV shows, which the little patients loved. Claire’s favourite ties were from a fundraising range sold by the castle’s auxiliary. Some clever clogs had come up with the idea of printing the children’s drawings of doctors, nurses and auxiliary staff onto silk. She particularly liked the one of a doctor wearing a head torch and a big smile.

  Just admit it. You like that one because it’s Alistair.

  Not if my life depended on it.

  By late afternoon most days, he was seen on the ward in scrubs, or if it was a non-operating day, he’d have discarded the jacket and tie. An open-necked business shirt was as casual as she’d ever seen him, but today there was no sign of a suit, nor smart casual weekend wear or even jeans. He was striding towards them wearing a T-shirt that stretched across his wide chest and perfectly outlined the rise and fall of his pectoral muscles. The shirt read Epilepsy Warrior Run. Her gaze instinctively dropped.

  Damn. No compression tights.

  Shut up! She hated the zip of disappointment that wove through her that the rest of his body wasn’t delineated in fine detail by tight fabric. His running shorts, however, only came to mid-thigh, giving her plenty of opportunity to admire his taut quads.

  Look up, look up, look up.

  ‘Morning, Mitchell. Bailey,’ he said with his usual nod of greeting. ‘Missed the two of you at boot camp this morning.’

  ‘Boot camp, sir?’ Andrew said faintly. The rotund house officer wore the look of one who went to great lengths to avoid any sort of physical pursuit.

  ‘Yes, Bailey. All Koala Ward staff are participating in the Epilepsy Warrior fun run. Morag—’ he turned to the highly efficient unit nurse manager ‘—you sent the diary entry to everyone about this morning’s training session?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said briskly in her thick Scottish brogue.

  Claire pulled out her phone and immediately saw the reminder on her screen. Her stomach fell through the floor. She’d been so obsessed by the fact she’d landed in Alistair’s lap last night and tickled his tonsils that she’d totally forgotten about boot camp.

  Andrew’s face drained of colour. ‘Surely someone needs to be on duty on—’ he read the black and purple writing on his boss’s T-shirt ‘—the tenth. Happy to volunteer, sir.’

  ‘Already got that covered, Bailey,’ Alistair said in a tone that brooked no argument. He swung his clear sea-grey gaze to Claire.

  Be professional. She clenched her fists and willed herself not to drop her gaze. Willed herself to act as if this was just a regular morning instead of the one after her worst ever career folly. Memories of last night—of the way his eyes and then his mouth had fixed on hers—rolled back in, foaming and bubbling like a king tide.

  Let it go. It didn’t happen.

  Oh, but it did. She had the sweet and tender bruises on her lips to prove it.

  Now, faced with all six foot of him standing there in front of her wearing athletic gear and with the scent of his cologne invading her senses, it was increasingly difficult to focus on her plan to banish every delicious thing that had happened b
etween them. Remember the embarrassment. Remember he’s your boss. That will do the trick every time.

  ‘It’s not like you to forget an appointment, Mitchell,’ he said, using her surname in the British public school way as he did occasionally. ‘It’s important we all attend for team spirit,’ he added politely.

  Despite the well-modulated parameters of his very British accent, she heard the unmistakable tone of an order. Was this his way of saying that he agreed with her that last night was an aberration? That it was a shocking mistake they both needed to forget and move on from? That it was over and done with and she needed to remember that the cohesion of the workplace team always came ahead of everything?

  Please let it be so. ‘We won’t let you down again,’ she said brightly. She sent up a plea that Alistair had caught her double meaning and knew that she understood they were both on the same page about last night. ‘We’re looking forward to the next boot camp, aren’t we, Andrew?’

  Andrew stared at her as if she’d completely lost her mind. ‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ he said glumly.

  Alistair grinned and clapped his hands together once. ‘Excellent. Let’s start rounds.’

  As they walked towards the first bay, Morag handed Claire a tablet computer. Archie McGregor’s medical history was open on the screen, but before she could silently read the first sentence, Alistair was saying, ‘Lead off, Dr Mitchell.’

  Eight sets of eyes swung her way. Even before her mouth had dried, her tongue had thickened and her throat had threatened to close, the words on the screen had jumbled into an incomprehensible mess. Long ago voices boomed in her head, deafening her.

  Moron. That girl’s a sandwich short of a picnic.

  Panic eddied out from her gut and into her veins, stealing her concentration. She broke out in a cold sweat. Her greatest fear, which lurked constantly inside her and was never far from the surface, surged up to choke her. You knew you’d get found out one day. This is it.