‘SO HOW are you feeling, Sid?’ Miranda asked.
‘Nervous,’ he admitted. ‘The wife’s been looking things up on the internet. Surgery on what I’ve got is really risky, isn’t it?’
They’d already discussed it before Sid had signed the consent form for the operation, but Miranda had been prepared for last-minute nerves. ‘It’s risky, yes—but nowhere near as risky as leaving it. If it ruptures—which it’s very likely to do, in the next five years—you’ll lose a massive amount of blood and you’ll only have a fifty per cent chance of making it to hospital. If you do make it, you’ll have a fifty per cent chance of coming through the op. That’s a one in four chance of surviving.’ Miranda squeezed his hand. ‘Whereas with surgery you’ve got an eighty-five to ninety per cent chance of surviving. Better than that, in fact, because that’s the average, and Dr Sawyer has plenty of experience. So have I.’
‘Bronny says there’s something you can do that doesn’t mean cutting me open.’
‘Keyhole surgery? Yes, but it’s still being trialled. There’s also something called an endovascular stent, which is a special wire that supports your artery, but again it’s experimental. I need to get funding for a trial here before I can do either of them,’ Miranda said.
‘Can’t I wait until you’ve got the funding?’
She smiled. ‘Oh, Sid. I don’t know how long it’ll take—and I’m not taking any risks with you. If you really, really don’t want to have surgery, I’ll respect your wishes—but I do think it’s in your best interests to have the op.’
‘Hey, cheer up. You’ll be on your feet again tomorrow and you’ll be eating normally in four or five days. And I’ll cook you a bacon sandwich myself, to celebrate.’
His smile was watery. ‘I’ll hold you to that, Doc.’
‘It’s a deal,’ she said. ‘No butter—but you can have lots of tomato ketchup.’
‘I wish you hadn’t said that,’ he said. ‘I’m starving!’
‘I know. But you’ve got something to look forward to now.’
‘And seeing my first grandchild. My Lauren told me yesterday she’s expecting.’
‘Hey, that’s great news. Even better, you’re going to be able to play with your grandchild without everyone worrying that you’ll keel over.’ Miranda squeezed his hand again. ‘I know it’s hard, but try not to worry, Sid. Claire Barker’s going to give you your pre-med, and you’ll be out of Theatre before you know it.’
She went to join Jack. ‘Ready to scrub?’
‘Yep.’
‘Miranda?’ Claire came over to them, looking worried. ‘Sid Patterson’s complaining of a pain in his back, between the shoulder blades.’
Jack and Miranda looked at each other. ‘Dissection?’ Jack asked.
‘I don’t know what’d be worse, that or a rupture. Claire, is he talking about pain in his chest, arms or stomach?’
‘No. He just says he feels a bit funny and his back aches.’
‘Let’s get him down there now,’ Miranda said.
The aneurysm was in the descending part of the aorta, just beneath the heart. ‘Fusiform,’ Jack commented, seeing the distension all the way round the aorta’s circumference, tapering at both ends. ‘An absolutely textbook example. The good news is, it hasn’t ruptured. I can’t see any sign of a tear either—so let’s just hope his back pain was due to nerves. Everyone ready?’
‘Ready,’ the team confirmed.
‘OK. On bypass, please.’
Jack worked quickly, clamping the aorta and checking the blood pressure with the anaesthetist and perfusionist. He cut out the damaged part of the blood vessel, then grafted the synthetic material into the artery. Miranda worked flawlessly with him, as if reading his mind—before the words were half out of his mouth she was giving him exactly what he needed.
He was good, she acknowledged. Very good. He’d make an excellent consultant. And, the way things were going between herself and the Prof, that might happen sooner rather than later.
‘Ready for clamp removal?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Let’s increase the flow rates, see what happens.’ He kept a close eye on the suturing. ‘Looks as if it’s holding up.’
‘Release the clamps gradually, please,’ Miranda instructed.
They watched the graft area closely as the clamps were released. And then Jack gave a sigh of relief. ‘We’re there.’
‘Want me to close?’ Miranda asked.
He nodded. ‘Let’s leave the double lumen tube in until tomorrow.’
‘OK. You go and shower—I’ll finish up.’
‘Cheers.’ He flexed his shoulders. ‘Any chance of a back massage as well?’
At least he didn’t bear grudges—after he’d stomped out of her office the other day he’d been fine with her. He’d even started bantering with her, the kind of casual, teasing remarks that made her feel as if she’d worked with him for a lifetime instead of just a few days. He was easy to be around. And that, in itself, was dangerous. She couldn’t afford to get involved. Even if she hadn’t worked with him…No. She’d sworn off relationships for good. Dates were fine—but no commitment. Her judgement in men was lousy, so it was safer to stay on her own. Much safer.
‘On your bike, Sawyer,’ she informed him with a grin. ‘I’ll see you back on the ward.’
She stayed with Sid in the post-operative recovery area, then accompanied him back up to the ward.
‘It went really well,’ she told Bronny Patterson. ‘Dr Sawyer did an excellent job. Sid’s going to have a tube in his throat for another twenty-four hours to help him breathe and get over the operation, but we’ll get him a pen and pad so he can still communicate with you.’
‘I don’t think anything would stop him communicating,’ Bronny said with a smile.
‘Bless him.’ Miranda echoed her smile. ‘He’s going to be hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood-pressure monitor, too, and there’s a drain in his wound so it doesn’t get infected,’ she explained. ‘I know we went over all this before the op, but sometimes it’s hard to take in until you see him, and I don’t want you to be frightened by all the tubes and wires. It all went really smoothly, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary in his post-operative care.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Sid told me you’d been doing some research.’ Miranda smiled. ‘There’s some scary stuff out there.’
Bronny nodded. ‘I wished I hadn’t started when I saw some of the statistics.’
‘We’ll be keeping a close eye on him. Anyway, I owe him a bacon sandwich. I don’t think he’ll risk missing that,’ Miranda said lightly. ‘Or his first grandchild—congratulations, by the way.’
Bronny smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll take you through to him now. Is there anything I can get you?’
‘No, pet. I’ll be fine. But thanks. We both appreciate what you’ve done.’
‘Not me. Dr Sawyer did the hard work.’
‘Taking my name in vain?’ Jack teased as he met them by the door. But he was oddly pleased all the same. Miranda hadn’t known he was there, but she’d still made sure he’d got the credit he was due. It almost made up for the row they’d had after she’d seen the Prof in her office. And even that he could understand now—she’d overreacted because Imogen had reminded her of losing someone she’d loved dearly.
‘Thank you, Dr Sawyer,’ Bronny said, taking his hand and squeezing it.
‘No problem,’ he said with a smile. He waited until Bronny was settled in with Sid, then caught Miranda on her way out of the room. ‘I’ll stay here tonight,’ he said. ‘Just in case.’
‘You will not,’ she informed him. ‘You’re off duty and I have the bleeper.’
‘But—’
‘Plus I’m expecting you in the Calderford Arms,’ she added. ‘When I said I’d buy everyone on the ward a drink, I meant everyone.’
‘What about the night staff?’ he fenced.
‘That’s covered, too. I’ve left them a stack of nibbles and some decent soft drinks.’ She eased her shoulders. ‘We’ve had a rough week. I think we all need to let our hair down. I’m taking my bleeper and my mobile, so I can get back here quickly if I’m needed.’ She smiled at him. ‘Go and get your glad rags on.’
‘Yes, boss.’ He could just see it now. The rest of the staff would be dressed up to the nines, but she’d still be wearing her formal business suit, with her hair scraped back.
‘See you there. Seven o’clock sharp.’
‘I’ll be there,’ he promised. ‘Though I hope you’re not going to start doing paperwork now.’
She gave him another of those smiles that clearly said, Don’t ask questions. ‘See you in the Calderford Arms.’
When she strolled into the bar at precisely seven o’clock, Leila dug Jack in the ribs. ‘Close your mouth,’ she said.
‘Uh,’ was all Jack could say. Because Ms Fluffy was back—and how! Her hair was loose and fell over her shoulders in glossy waves. She wasn’t wearing much make-up—no more than a light slick of lip-gloss and a coat of mascara—but it was her clothing that really floored Jack. A crop top which revealed a smooth, flat torso, a pair of black trousers that were slung low round her hips, high-heeled strappy shoes and what he had a nasty feeling was a real diamond in her navel.
She looked a million dollars. And the desire he’d felt for her when he’d kissed her in her office was suddenly magnified a thousandfold.
‘Evening, all,’ she said. Still in her posh voice. Still as if she were on the ward. It was like having double vision, he thought. Or as if his audio and visual systems weren’t working in synch. She sounded like the efficient doctor he’d worked with for the past week—but she looked like a bad boy’s wildest dream.
‘What are you having?’ she asked.
You, please. Just you, Jack thought. Then he got a grip on himself. Just. ‘Orange juice, please.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re not going back to the hospital tonight—I’ve already told you, I’m checking on Sid later. So if you want a beer or whatever, that’s fine.’
‘Orange juice,’ he repeated with a smile.
‘OK.’ She took everyone’s order, got the first round in, then announced that when everyone had finished there was another of the same lined up for them.
Jack watched her work the room. She spent time with everyone and, from the snatches of conversation he heard, either she’d known most of these people for years or she’d really done her homework with their personnel files. Whichever it was, she sounded genuinely interested in her colleagues. Even the quieter nurses responded well to her, chatting as if they were lifelong friends.
He’d done some homework himself after that kiss. And discovered that she’d really meant it about her career. Friends in Glasgow had been quick to tell him that Miranda Turner had a reputation for being untouchable. She dated—lots—but no one lasted more than two dates. And no one ever got past first base with her.
Not that it was any of his business what she did. Even if they hadn’t been working on the same ward—if she hadn’t been his boss—it could never work between them. They were worlds apart. And yet there was something about her. Something that made him want to break all his personal rules, and then some.
‘Hey. Just because you performed a difficult major op this afternoon—with a great deal of finesse, I might add—it doesn’t give you the right to sit there with a long face. What’s up?’
He had to drag his eyes away from that damned navel ring. ‘Nothing.’
‘Then give me a smile, Jack. No, a proper one.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘OK. So you disapprove of the navel ring.’
Not disapprove, exactly. ‘It’s…not what I expected.’
She grinned. ‘Because I’m too sensible? Or too prim and proper?’
‘Both,’ he admitted. Hell, was it that obvious what he thought of her?
‘Sometimes you need to let your hair down.’
Oh, yes. Just like Jessica. Out for a good time.
‘Isn’t there a saying about you? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?’
‘I can play with the best of them,’ he retorted, stung. Then he saw the look in her eyes. Was it his imagination, or were they daring him? No, it had to be his imagination. He was seeing what he wanted to see. Awareness. Interest. Desire.
And he really, really had to stop thinking about that kiss.
‘Then you’re coming to Louie’s with us?’
Louie’s was a Creole restaurant in the centre of Calderford, with a dance-floor right in the middle of it. ‘Food or dancing?’
‘Both. I’m getting one more round in first.’
No, it wasn’t his imagination. Her eyes were definitely daring him. Miranda was in the mood to play. Right, so was he. ‘I’m up for it if you are,’ he said softly, then moistened his lower lip. And then he had the satisfaction of seeing the slightest flush stain her cheekbones.
Miranda, being typically efficient, had organised taxis to take everyone into the centre of Calderford. Jack found himself sitting next to her in the taxi, and it took all his strength to resist taking her hand and curling his fingers round hers. They’d already agreed that nothing was going to happen between them—so why wasn’t his body listening?
It got worse when they reached Louie’s because he was at the same table as Miranda. And although he could have sworn she was sticking to mineral water—she had to be, she was on call—everyone else was slightly tipsy, and she was joining in the fun as if she’d been drinking, too. To the point of scoffing at the plain chicken he’d ordered and insisting that he try a mouthful of her shrimp and okra gumbo.
‘It’s spicy, yes, but the chilli’s there for sweetness, not heat,’ she said. ‘Come on, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried this.’
When she held the fork to his lips, what else could he do but try it? But then he started imagining her feeding him delicacies, morsel by morsel, when they were alone. Undisturbed. And…No. He had to stop thinking about that—right now.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘It’s better than I expected,’ he admitted.
She grinned. ‘C’mon. Seafood and veg. You’re a cardiologist. You know they’re good for you.’
‘And I suppose that’s “fruit”?’ he asked when her pudding arrived.
‘Strawberries,’ she said, laughing.
‘And doughnuts,’ he said. ‘Which don’t count.’
‘Beignets, actually.’ She broke off a piece and held it to his mouth. ‘They’re made with yeast but cooked before the dough gets a chance to rise.’
Trust her to know exactly how they were cooked. But he had to admit they were good. The fact she’d hand-fed him…No. No. He wasn’t going to let his thoughts go down that track.
‘So you’ve been to Louie’s a lot?’ he asked.
‘There’s a branch in Glasgow,’ she said. ‘Most hospital parties end up there. The food’s good and so’s the music.’
‘So you can actually do Creole dancing?’ The words were out before he could stop them.
‘It’s called Zydeco.’ She gave him an impish look. ‘Are you telling me you can’t?’
‘I don’t do dancing.’
It was completely the wrong thing to say. Because she pulled him to his feet. ‘Time you learned, then.’
‘Miranda—’
‘After the week I’ve had,’ she said softly, ‘I need this.’
His mouth dried. Was she saying she wanted him? But…she’d been the one to break that kiss. Had she changed her mind?
Just like Jessica, he thought bitterly. Wanting him one minute, cool with him the next. He’d sworn he’d never be in that position again. He’d never let another woman make him her plaything, her ‘bit of rough’—fun for now but thrown over as soon as a better offer came along. And that included Miranda Turner.
‘I’d rather sit it out, thanks all the same,’ he said stiffly.
She refused to let go of his hands. ‘I’m not planning to make a fool of you, Jack.’
His eyes narrowed. What did she know about his past? But, no, she couldn’t know about Jessica. Unless…A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Had she been one of Jessica’s set? Had she been one of the girls who’d laughed at him years before? He couldn’t remember her. But it had been a long time ago, people changed a lot between their teens and mid-twenties. And she must be around his age, in her early thirties. She probably looked completely different now.
Or maybe he was prejudging her. Maybe she hadn’t been part of Jessica’s set. Maybe she just meant she wasn’t going to let him look stupid on the dance-floor.
‘Dance with me. Please?’
He ought to refuse her. But he found himself letting him lead him onto the dance-floor.
‘It’s easier to dance together in the close position,’ she said, moving so that his feet were between hers. ‘Put your left hand on my shoulder and just follow what I’m doing.’ Her right hand slid round his back, pulling him close. Close enough for him to smell her perfume.
She guided him through the steps. And then her fingers curled round his and lifted his right hand high up, and she leaned in to him a little more, moving closer. If his life had depended on it, he couldn’t have moved away.
‘You’re a quick learner. Natural rhythm,’ she said approvingly.
Rhythm. He wished she hadn’t said that word. It sent all sorts of ideas spinning through his mind—he just hoped she couldn’t feel how his heartbeat had suddenly gone erratic. He forced himself to make neutral conversation. ‘So how come you dance so well?’
‘Because I hate sport and no way am I going to set foot in a gym. Swimming’s tedious and this is a much more fun way to stay in shape.’
And what a shape. He couldn’t resist dropping his hand from her shoulder, sliding it down her back to the base of her spine. The softness of her skin against his fingertips was driving him crazy. It was just as well they were in a public place, or he’d start doing something they’d both regret later. ‘I need to know,’ he murmured in her ear, just resisting the temptation to brush her earlobe with his lips. ‘Is that a real diamond in your belly button?’
‘Yep. Half of my twenty-first birthday present from my parents.’
Well, that figured. Of course she’d had a hugely expensive present from her parents. She’d probably had driving lessons for her seventeenth and a car for her eighteenth, not to mention a huge party. His own twenty-first had been much more low-key, though his mother and brothers had saved up to buy him some textbooks he’d needed but hadn’t been able to afford.
‘I had it reset.’
His brain really wasn’t working properly. Not when she was close like this. It took most of his concentration to stop himself kissing her. She’d had the diamond reset? ‘Are you saying…?’
‘I did the teenage rebel thing a bit late,’ she said with a grin that made him want to show her exactly what being a rebel meant. ‘It was my graduation present to me. Dad blew a fuse when he found out that I’d had my belly button pierced.’
‘I think our patients would, too,’ he murmured. ‘If you go onto the ward dressed like this…’
‘I’ll put my white coat on over the top and button it up. No one’ll know.’
He’d know. And the knowledge was going to give him some difficult moments next time he saw her at work. He’d think of her as she was now. In his arms. Holding him close. Her scent. The feel of her skin against his…
Dancing with Jack like this was dangerous. Crazy. Mad. Especially after they’d shared that kiss in her office. It wasn’t even as if she could blame it on too much wine—she was on call, so she wasn’t drinking. What on earth had possessed her to tease him into dancing with her? Especially Zydeco dancing, where the heat between partners rose with the fast, pounding beat.
But it felt good—the slight pressure between their raised hands, the way he was holding her close, the firmness of the muscles in his back beneath her fingers. And the music suited him: dark and intense. Like his eyes.
She looked up, and immediately wished she hadn’t given in to the impulse to meet his gaze. Because it reminded her too much of that moment in her office. The moment when he’d kissed her and loosened her hair.
As if he’d read her mind, he said, ‘Your hair looks beautiful like that. Like one of those lush Rossetti pictures.’ His voice was husky, pitched low with desire…or was that just her own desire she could hear? ‘I can just imagine you draped in blue silk, holding a pomegranate.’
Hell. Now she could imagine it, too. Blue silk that she could let drift to the floor, so he could—No. Stop right there, she told herself. ‘Not practical for work,’ she muttered.
‘The pomegranate or the hair?’
‘Both.’ And this was her get-out. She seized it gratefully. ‘And, talking of work, I really ought to pop back and see how Sid is.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ he offered.
She shook her head. ‘Stay and enjoy the dancing. I’ve put some money behind the bar for another round—tell the others for me.’
‘I will—and thanks—but I really don’t think it’s a good idea to go off on your own on a Friday night in the middle of Calderford.’
He didn’t add ‘dressed like that’, but she knew that was what he meant.
‘I’ll be perfectly safe in a taxi. And I did a course in self-defence when I was a student. I can look after myself, Jack.’ Right then she trusted the roughest part of Calderford more than she trusted herself. She needed distance between herself and Jack—and she needed it now, before she did something stupid. Like cupping his face in her hands and drawing his mouth down to hers. Like kissing him until they were both dizzy. Like asking him to take her home, make her forget the horrors of the week.
‘If you insist. But I’m waiting with you until the taxi arrives,’ he warned.
To her relief, the spell seemed to break once they were away from the music. If Jack noticed, he didn’t say anything. He merely joined her in shop talk until the taxi arrived, and told her to call him if she needed a hand.
All I really need, she thought as the taxi drove away, is a large dose of common sense. And to focus on my goal: my career. First, last and always.