Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon (20 page)

She stopped at his shoulder. ‘So that we are all on the same page, Mr Finelli. If we have a mission statement and a brand statement that are symbiotic then we all have a pathway for our work.'

Mr Finelli
now, was it? ‘I already have one and, I imagine, so does everyone here. It's about doing our best…for everyone. And about being
open
and
honest
about intention.'

Judging by the two hot spots on her cheeks, she took the veiled meaning for what it was. He didn't like playing guessing games. He didn't like hot and cold. He liked to know exactly where he stood. On all things. He didn't like having the phone put down on him when he was trying hard to work things through.

‘I…I…understand…' She looked away. ‘So—'

‘I am not sure you do, Miss Leigh. This hospital
is about children, we all know that. Children are not a brand, they are people. Living, breathing, vulnerable and sick people. Show me how branding can really, actually, honestly change a single life more than what we do here every day then I'll be impressed. Until then, well, I just want to do my job in peace. Like you, I presume, with no needless distractions.'

For a moment she stared at him open-mouthed, the two hot-spots spreading across her neck like a rash. And he immediately regretted allowing his frustration to overspill into this public domain.

She gave a quick clap of her hands. ‘Okay, everyone, let's break for morning tea.' Then she turned to him and whispered, ‘Outside. Now.'

A cruel wind whipped at the side of the red-brick hospital building as they huddled in a disused doorway. She'd made sure they were well away from prying ears and eyes. So typical. Anything to keep the work-life divide real. He cut through the tension. ‘Ivy. How come you are here? Your mum?'

‘Is fine, it appears. I came back on Sunday. The train…' Her tone was dismissive, not allowing for any more discussion on that subject. ‘It's not important.'

‘I see.' This was a surprise, especially given the compassionate leave she'd been granted and
her stated intention that she wanted to fix things. She clearly wasn't going to expand on this, she was closed off and wound as tight as that first day he'd met her. Was this really the warm-hearted woman who had held him so tightly outside the cardiac care unit? Who had screamed loudly in a pub? Who had laughed heartily at his jokes? Who had gripped him and exposed her fears? Who had lain breathless and spent on his bed after the best lovemaking of his life?

She looked at him now with a taut line of a mouth. With eyes that she clearly hoped were cold and distant but which gave away a traitorous flicker of heat. She would not like to know that, he supposed. ‘So work won out in the end? I'm surprised, Ivy. I thought you had changed your priorities a little. What do you want to say to me?'

‘Work did not win. My mother simply didn't need me.' That flicker of heat gave way to sadness. Something had happened between her and her mum and she was dealing with it badly. ‘Now, I'd be grateful if you could keep our personal life out of the work environment.'

‘Since when did I bring it in?'

Her eyes fired up again. ‘When you spoke to Pinkney. And with the between-the-lines comments in there. I'm at work. We both are. Please, remember that.'

Leaning against the wall, he looked at her, barely trying to disguise his surprise and growing anger. ‘No one knows anything. And since you have refused to speak to me in private I'm stuck with having to put things between the lines. I told you about my life, I told you how much I value honesty. What the hell is going on, Ivy?'

‘I…' She shook her head, the tautness of her mouth softening, wobbling slightly, and for a moment he thought she might cry. ‘I don't know what to say. Just that I'm sorry, but…'

And it was all well and good being angry with her, but he knew deep down that she was not a hurtful kind of woman. That she was facing challenges that were testing her, pushing her to the limits. That she was warm and funny and with a lot to give and usually had too many words but now had none.

Matteo stepped closer but ignored the need to pull her to him. She was so proud she would never allow that. He kept his voice low. ‘Okay. Talk to me. Please, that's all I ask. I will start. This all took me by surprise. Things went from slow to fast in a heartbe—'

‘Yes. Yes.' She held her hand up and stopped him from saying more. ‘Thank goodness you feel the same. Too fast, Matteo. Too deep. Too quick. I never wanted this. I like being on my own. I like not having to make decisions for someone
else. I'm too independent for all this. Last weekend was…nice. And thank you. But we can't… I can't—'

‘Nice? Nice? All the words in the world and that's the one you choose. Oh, Ivy. What kind of game are you playing? Because I don't understand your rules. One day you were happy to be with me, and now…this coldness.'

‘I'm not playing a game. I'm being serious. I don't want a relationship. I can't…do it. I can't give myself… I don't want to.' She looked down at her watch. ‘Damn. Look, I have to go back in and start.'

‘Just like that, it is over?'

‘Yes. Yes, it is.'

He waited for relief to flood in, but it didn't. Only bitter sadness, a hole in his chest. Which was surprising and startling and bleak. The thought that he'd see her over and over again in the hospital and never get to kiss those lips. To hold her close and stroke her cheek. To be at the end of a smart quip. This was not how he'd envisioned he would feel and he didn't know what to do or say. He was out of his depth here, with feelings swirling inside him. He didn't want them but he couldn't seem to let them go. What did it mean?

Did he love her? Surely he could not have done such a thing? He had always protected himself
from that. Because of the pain. Because of Elizabetta, because he had been so wary to give his heart to a woman and watch her toss it aside. Was Ivy any different from that? He'd hoped so, but now he wasn't so sure.

‘No more talking about it? I have no choice?'

‘No. Please. Don't make me say anything else. Because I don't know what more to say.' She gave a swift shrug of her shoulder and blinked away what he thought might be tears. ‘I really do have to go and finish this workshop.'

‘Always your job.'

‘Oh, yes, well, you know me. No hard feelings?'

‘I thought I did know you, but I was wrong.' He watched as she swivelled on the hard gravel and began to walk back towards the conference room. ‘And, no, Ivy, I have no hard feelings. I have no feelings about this at all.'

And that was when he knew that he'd fallen completely for her. That he had given her much, much more than he'd ever intended; he'd given her his heart on a platter and all but invited her to chop it into pieces. Yes, he knew he'd fallen in too deep, because saying he had no feelings was the first real lie he'd ever told.

‘B
ACK FOR MORE
, I see? You're a glutton for punishment.' Nancy gave Ivy a little smile as she gave her wet hands a shake and scanned the OR prep-room sinks, looking for the paper towels. ‘You've done so well, considering what you were like that first time.'

‘Thanks.' It was all Ivy could muster. She was feeling much worse than that first day—she may well have mastered the sight of blood, but mastering the sight of Matteo Finelli was something she would probably never be able to do. She could see him through the glass door in the OR, talking and laughing with the anaesthetist. Her stomach clenched into a tight ball.

She didn't want to face him today, because yesterday she'd felt as if her heart was shattering. She'd summoned every single ounce of strength she'd had to tell him it was over, when it felt like the words had been stuck in her throat, refusing to come out. She'd had no sleep, curled up with
Hugo, who she'd rescued from the clutches of
daddy Richard
. And, unsurprisingly, Hugo had been about as helpful with relationship advice as her mother.

And now…well, now she had to stand with Matteo all day and watch him save another life. Watch him laugh and joke and be lovely and warm to all those people and feel her heart beating to the rhythm of his voice, feel the pull of her body towards him, and know that it made no sense to take those steps, no matter how much she was compelled to.

The door swung open and he strode in.

Looking around, she realised Nancy had gone and they were alone. She took a deep breath. ‘Matteo, hello.'

‘I thought it was Mr Finelli these days.' He wasn't wearing a surgical mask so she felt the full effect of his indifference. No, actually, it was a simmering deep anger that he'd dressed up as indifference. She'd hurt him and that had not been her intention.

‘Matteo, please—'

He shook his head. ‘Miss Leigh, I can honestly say that I have no problem whatsoever about bowing out of our petty little war. I'm even happy to admit you to be the winner—in truth, it makes no difference to me. So you have no need to be here.' He came a little closer, not close
enough that she could touch him but enough that she felt the magnetic pull towards him, and feel, too, the venom in his words. ‘In fact, I'm asking you leave.'

‘To leave? But—why?'

His eyes bored into her, stern, angry, righteous. ‘Because having you here distracts me. I need to be fully focused on my work. It is better if you're not here, particularly for the patient. And that, after all, is the full focus of
your
job, right?'

‘Matteo, please—'

This time he held up his hand and she shut up immediately. ‘Did you really think I would let you in? What an idea! When you don't let anyone in yourself? When you don't even know how?'

‘I can't. I tried, but I can't.' Because the second she'd let him in she'd started to be someone else. She hadn't been Ivy Leigh any more…and she didn't want that. She wanted to keep herself intact.

‘Things might have worked if we'd both wanted to try.'

‘But…' She finally found the words to admit how she was feeling. ‘I don't want to lose myself.'

‘I know. I understand that. Who does? Have you ever thought that perhaps, just perhaps, we could have had a…what did you call it?…symbiotic
pathway? Walk it together? Be ourselves and yet part of something?'

She thought of her mum and her flatmate and of the weekend and of how desperately she'd ached for Matteo when he hadn't been there. How he had become the focus of her thoughts. ‘Everything I've ever seen has shown me that independence becomes interdependence and then dependence. I don't want to depend on anyone. That wouldn't be me. I don't want to be like that.'

He huffed out an exasperated breath. ‘It doesn't have to be like that. I know plenty of people who have managed to have happy relationships. You don't even want to take the risk.'

Please, don't ask again. Because I might just say yes.
‘No, Matteo. I don't. For both of our sakes. It wouldn't be fair.' She turned away from him, unable to keep looking at those dark eyes that drew her in so deep. ‘Okay. I'll go, if you insist. But I won't say I've won. I don't even want to think about that.' This was no victory at all. ‘I think we've both won. And lost. And now I'm talking in circles. I'll just go.'

‘Yes. Please.'

She went to leave, biting back the shout,
I want you. Please, don't do this.
Fighting back tears, knowing that stopping this before it became too intense, too hard to handle, too overpowering was the very right thing to do, even though her
heart told her otherwise. But she hadn't achieved all those amazing things in her life by listening to her heart. So it had no right to interfere now.

Her head bobbed a little as she leaned towards the door. She was going.

‘Ivy. Stop.' Matteo felt the blood boiling through his veins. This was not the best way to start a difficult day in the OR. This was not how he had planned this conversation to go. He had been going to ban her from the theatre, yes, but he hadn't wanted to see her look so accepting of his rejection. So vulnerable. ‘This…this is… Just listen, you're making me say things I don't mean. You're making me crazy.'

She turned a little, her eyes brighter. Her mouth made a tentative attempt at a smile, but it just looked sad. ‘I know, and that's the biggest problem of all. Apparently it doesn't get any better with age. So my mum says, and she should know.'

‘She is better now?'

‘She's exactly the same as always. With a slightly damaged heart. But haven't we all?'

He laughed. He actually laughed. Right in the middle of this…break-up of something that wasn't even a whole of anything. He laughed. Because she was impressive, this woman. She was more than impressive. She had shown up today knowing that it would be the hardest thing
to face him, but she had done it anyway. She had kept her sorrows to herself. She had hidden her emotions and kept on working. It was either admirable or downright destructive. Or both.

And no matter what words came out of his mouth the feelings remained the same. He was awash with anger at her decision, with joy at knowing the real woman underneath the hard veneer, with a frustration that she was so damned private. With pride that she'd chosen him to take to bed, to tell her secrets to when she'd been ready. With a yearning for more and more and more, and he didn't know what any of that meant.

And then he did. The pieces began to slip into place.

He had fallen in love with her. Of all the women in the damned hospital, in the damned city, in the whole damned world to fall in love with, he had chosen the most complicated, stubborn, uptight one of all. And now she was walking away and there was nothing he could do or say to make her stop because she didn't believe she could do it. She didn't believe that love could happen for her.