And it was so hard for her to stay quiet...because she always spoke first and regretted it afterwards—but this time, this time, she knew it was better to keep her mouth shut and her emotions hidden.
His mouth kicked up at one side. ‘But we did agree... You know what it’s like in London—so busy, work’s full-on...neither of us has time for a relationship.’
He was right of course. She’d trodden that path before and all she’d achieved was misery and regret for all involved. Sometimes loving someone just wasn’t enough. The pain in her chest tightened.
‘I know what we agreed, Declan. No strings. And that’s fine. Actually, that’s great. Perfect. That suits me down to the ground. Because, as I said, I don’t want anything to interfere with my job.’ She forced a smile and fought the tears. She would not show him how she felt. ‘Back to normal, then. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early.’
‘Not quite.’ He looked at his feet. ‘I just got a text message from Leo. Karen’s mum’s well enough to be left, so Karen’s keen to get back to work. You’ve been reallocated back to your old team. From tomorrow.’
And he’d had to tell her this on a busy train? A sharp fist wedged under her ribcage. There really were no ties at all. Or the man was a damned sight better at acting than she was.
The train screeched to a halt. She glanced up. The next stop was hers. Biting down on her bottom lip, she tried to keep her voice light. ‘Okay, well, this is it, then.’
‘I’ll see you back to your flat.’ He picked up her bag.
‘No. No, you won’t.’ She took her bag back from him, being careful not brush against him or inhale any of his scent that drove her wild. Better to say goodbye now, here on a busy train, than on her doorstep, watching him walk away and wishing him back.
At least this way she could be the one to leave and keep some semblance of dignity. Fighting tears, she forced her mouth into a smile. What she didn’t want to do was rip open their...relationship...and tear it to shreds, into tiny heartbreaking pieces.
What she wanted to do was throttle him instead—and herself—for letting it get this far. For making love, for allowing herself to fall in love with him.
‘I think I’m better going home on my own.’
His nostrils flared. ‘I’m coming with you. No arguing. You could get mugged, or attacked, or anything.’
‘And you think that risk bothers me?’ She could deal with a mugger better than a broken heart any day. ‘Declan, leave it. I’m not one of your sisters. You can’t tell me what to do, and you can’t dictate what happens in my life. I’m going home on my own.’
‘But why?’ He shook his head as if finally realising this was the end. ‘Wait—’
‘No, Declan. This is my stop. I have to go. I can’t spend the day going up and down the Central Line.’ Or round and round in circles, getting nowhere.
A screech of brakes and a judder. The doors swished open and a rush of hot thick air entered the carriage.
His hand was on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Kara.’
‘Look, we both knew this weekend was a one-off. What happens in Ireland stays in Ireland, right?’
Her fist tightened around her bag’s strap and she concentrated on not letting her voice crack. She could not give in to her emotions. Later, maybe, when she was alone. But not now. Definitely not now.
‘Really, there’s nothing to be sorry about. We both knew what we were getting ourselves into.’
He lifted his eyes to hers and she saw someone struggling with a host of demons. And losing.
‘Did we?’
* * *
Damn. Declan kicked the tube station wall and relished the pain emanating from his foot, let the hurt stoke his raging heartbeat. Then he kicked with the other one, just for the hell of it.
In the distance Kara walked down the platform to the escalator, back straight, shoulders taut, hair skimming her coat in a river of blonde curls. Curls he wanted to lose himself in. Hair he wanted to be pooling over the sheets on his bed. Their bed. In a future that was filled with her laughter and her sparkling eyes, her forthright honesty.
A few weeks ago he’d been satisfied with the life he’d carved for himself. Relationships that cost little more than his credit card bill. Work that he could invest as much of himself in as he physically and mentally was able. A job he loved. Now his life was brimful of complications every which way he turned. And he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.
How could he let himself fall in love?
His heart twisted some more. Did he love her? Could he love her? The idea was so out there that he couldn’t reconcile it. For a man who didn’t believe in love the idea was laughable. But what else could describe the chaos in his heart?
Lust. He thought about how his body reacted to her. That was what it was. Lust.
And it was foolish even to want that. The way she’d been behaving all day—so closed-off and quiet—he’d got the message that she’d thought the whole weekend had been a stupid mistake. At least, making love had been a mistake—because that marked the point where everything had changed between them. Become harder, stronger, deeper.
Or was it that she was hiding her true feelings? Because the devastation in her eyes wasn’t just at saying goodbye to his family, that much he knew.
He watched as she rose on the escalator, her red suede boots eventually disappearing out of view, and fought the urge to run after her. His heart splintered.
He’d managed just fine on his own until now—always setting the rules, always being the giver. He didn’t know how to take something for himself, to rewrite the rulebook. He’d never allowed himself to get in so deep that he’d felt helpless, confused. So goddamn out of control.
Watching her leave was a million times worse than watching his father turn his back on his family. This time he didn’t shout and plead. This time he let her go. Because, after all, that was the right thing to do. Before it got too deep and hurt too much.
She’d think he was mad enough having got off at her tube station just to watch her walk away, never mind chasing her down to have a conversation which started and ended with, I can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t want to love you.
Because loving her would be too hard. Too easy. Too much.
But, God, he wanted her. The pain in his chest settled into a keen ache. As he picked up his bag and waited for the next train home he exhaled. Tried to shake the headache settling on his forehead. But it hung around, making his brain a hot mess of fuzz. He wanted her, but he couldn’t take a risk on having her. He wasn’t going to let anyone tread on his heart.
The harsh truth was, the weekend hadn’t been a mistake. Falling for her had.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DRAKE’S WAS BUZZING. Sadly, Kara wasn’t. But for the sake of the team she tried very hard to be. And apparently she was failing.
‘Are you okay, Kara?’ Angela, the surgical reg, put down a fresh glass of Pinot Noir and squeezed in next to her at the crowded dark wooden table. ‘Only, you’ve been quiet for a long time. And that’s just not normal. For you, anyway.’
‘I’m fine. Really. Sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my mind recently.’ Declan mainly. Well, Declan totally.
Kara laughed, wishing she’d managed to mask her feelings more successfully. Even during her brief social visits to Safia the girl had been asking awkward questions and raising those dark eyebrows, muttering something about losing the love of your life.
And she had.
Those few weeks with Declan had been the most precious and amazing time of her life. He’d fired something in her. Made her want things out of reach, want the impossible. Allowed her to dream. And now it was gone and she felt bereft all over again, as if something had been physically wrenched from her, and it hurt like hell.
She kne
w it would take time—but she would eventually heal. She just hadn’t thought it would hurt so much. Working long hours on little sleep was stretching her to her limit, but whenever she closed her eyes she saw his face, heard his voice.
No longer. She was through with this. At least she was going to try to be through with it until she really was.
‘You know what, Ange? I’ve decided to hell with it. I’m going to stop looking backwards and start again.’
Again. How many times was she going to start again?
This was definitely the last time. Over the past two weeks she’d fluctuated between damn the man and checking her phone to make sure it was still functioning as she prayed for a call from him. For anything. A glimpse of him—something. But he’d been strangely elusive.
So it turned out he didn’t want her after all.
And so she’d consigned herself to being just another of his conquests.
Her stomach knotted at what they’d lost.
Inhaling deeply, she drained her wineglass and put it down. No point in wallowing in self-pity. She had a wonderful job, and so much to give to her patients and her career.
Despite everything she’d found a different place to belong—here, at work, doing surgery, saving lives. And while it didn’t fulfil every need it kept her busy and rewarded enough not to dwell too much on what might have been. She had a great career path and a supportive team.
‘Well, thanks for the drink, everyone. I’m going to head off now. It’s been a very long day.’
Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of her life, and she was going to make the most of every second. Declan Underwood be damned.
* * *
Declan assisted the Kate’s emergency room staff to lift the badly burnt young man across from the paramedics’ trolley to the department’s one.
‘Cause of the fire?’ Declan always liked to know exactly what he was dealing with.
‘Faulty electrics. They’re living in a squat down on Crawford Crescent. Someone fiddled with the wires so they could have some free juice.’ The paramedic shrugged. ‘This one slept through a lot of it, so he was hurt the most. We’ve put an IV line in, started fluids and intubated. Blood pressure dropping. Pulse jogging along at ninety-seven and rising.’
Declan nodded and began a systematic assessment as he resecured the oxygen to the intubation tube. Starting with airway management.
‘First off he has nasty laryngeal swelling due to smoke inhalation, so we need to monitor that IV input. I don’t want to exacerbate the oedema. Okay, everyone, you know the drill. Cardiac monitoring, urine output, pulse oximetry. I need someone to cut off his damaged clothes and start burn-cooling and irrigation, but keep an eye on his core temp. I need an arterial line...crystalloid fluids.’
He turned to the paramedic again as his team began to carry out his instructions.
‘Any signs of drug or alcohol use?’
‘You name it, you’ve probably got it. There were empty vodka bottles around the house entrance and a couple of dodgy-looking packets of white powder in his pockets.’
‘That will all impact on pain management. Cheers, mate.’
He watched the paramedic leave, then spoke to his reg, Karen, who was competent and capable. And not Kara.
His heart thudded with disappointment and regret as he met tired pale blue eyes, not vibrant sparkling green ones that could see into his soul.
‘So, add in a comprehensive drug screen. Locate next of kin. Tetanus, probably too...’
As he worked on saving the man’s life Declan relished every single second he was busy—because being busy meant he had to focus on something other than Kara and the burning hole she’d left in his heart.
‘Today, mate, you have me. And there’s no way you’re going anywhere on my watch—except to the burns unit. Alive. And you’re going to stay that way, so help me God.’
Yes, Declan liked to know exactly what he was dealing with. Which was why he’d watched like a useless pudding as Kara had walked away down the tube station platform. Why he hadn’t contacted her for two weeks. Why he’d avoided looking for those emerald eyes and skyscraper heels in Drake’s Bar or the staffroom or the hospital corridors. Why he hadn’t listened out for her laugh. And why he’d been unable to sleep.
Because he had no idea what he was dealing with. But he had a nasty suspicion that it was a lot more than lust.
After settling the stable-for-now John Doe in the intensive care unit he made his way up to the private wing and went to see someone else it was going to be hard to say goodbye to. No matter how much he tried not to get involved, he couldn’t help himself.
‘Well, well. Look at you now. All ready to go?’
Safia stood in her home country’s ornate dress, surrounded by packed suitcases, and smiled her regal smile. A genuine but nervous one. ‘Yes. Thank you, Dec. But it feels a bit weird, going out there into the big wide world. Everyone wants to see the scarred Sheikha.’
‘You will be fine. You are fine—just look at you.’ He checked the reddened skin on her face, knowing that over time she would have minimal scarring. ‘Give it a few months until everything has settled down and I’m sure you’ll feel better about the results. And make sure you do the physio and attend all my follow-up appointments.’ He gave her a pretend frown. ‘Because I will growl if I have to.’
She waved a hand at him. ‘You mean like you have for the past couple of weeks?’
‘I have not.’
‘Mr Underwood, you have been acting more like my dad than the chilled-out cool guy you were when I first came in here.’
She tapped her fingers on the bedside table and he marvelled at the flexibility she had there now, in such a short space of time.
‘Missing someone?’
‘No.’
‘You forget that I might be a princess but I’m also a teenager. And I have to lie a lot to manage being both.’ She shook her head and rolled her eyes. ‘That looked a lot like lying.’
So what if he had been lying? There was no point discussing his private life—er...his non-existent private life—with a young girl. She was seventeen. What the heck did she know about life or love? But then at thirty years of age what did he? Absolutely nothing, it seemed.
He might as well be talking to one of his sisters. Hell, he was surrounded by women who thought they knew better about his love-life than he did.
‘No, I’m just trying to do my job, Safia. Just getting on with things. I like to be busy.’
Her eyes glinted suspiciously. ‘That’s exactly what she said too.’
‘You’ve seen her?’ His heart did a clumsy jitter.
He didn’t need to ask who Safia was talking about. He’d had ample opportunity to see Kara too, just hadn’t taken it. He’d needed time and space.
And that hadn’t worked either.
‘She popped by yesterday to say goodbye and wish me well.’ Safia frowned. ‘She looked about as happy as you do. And she tried to pretend she was fine too, but she had all the classic symptoms.’
‘Symptoms?’ Now his heart did a double jitter. What was wrong with her? ‘Symptoms of what?’
‘In here.’ Safia pointed to BFF! magazine’s front page. ‘“How to Know You’re Falling In Love: 20 Classic Signs.”’ She flicked open the mag and ran her finger down a page. ‘“Loss of appetite.” She refused a chocolate when I offered it to her. And no doctor refuses chocolates. Ever. “Sleeplessness.” She had big dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted and her hands were shaky. “Lack of concentration.” She kept checking her phone and really didn’t have a lot to say...’
‘Okay—I don’t want to be rude...’
Declan relaxed. The girl was talking about a little dream world she’d created to pass the time while she’d been in hospital. Fair play to her
too—whatever helped the healing process was fine by him. But what he’d shared with Kara wasn’t the stuff of teenage magazines. It had been very adult. Very intense. Amazing. Life-changing.
And he’d been a damned fool to let her go. But he just didn’t know how to get her back. Or even if she would be interested.
‘Perfect,’ she’d said as he’d flailed around for words. ‘What happens in Ireland stays in Ireland.’
‘But I don’t think—’
Safia held up her hand. She was going to make a very fine wife to any sheikh brave enough to take her on.
‘And when I asked her if she was missing someone, she lied too.’
‘Safi...seriously....’
‘I am being serious. Love is a serious matter—especially when you don’t admit it. And it makes you grumpy.’ She shrugged apologetically. ‘Stop frowning. I’m just trying to be strong for you until you can be strong yourself. Everyone needs someone to help them along. Right?’
He hadn’t seen that coming. Why were some people just so damned...right?
His heart did a little leap. ‘And she lied too?’
‘Yes. I think she loves you just as much as you love her. I didn’t think you were that stupid, Mr Underwood.’
Stupid. Yes. Eejit. Yes. He resisted checking the magazine’s list for the other signs of falling in love, because if he was honest he knew them well enough by now. He couldn’t think of anything else but her. His mouth ached to talk to her, to kiss her. His arms cried out to hold her. His feet wanted to take off in their own direction to find her. His whole body had a physical withdrawal. And don’t even ask about his brain...
So, yes. He’d fallen in love with her. And the only pain that love had caused was this—this not accepting it, this fighting it. Not being able to tell her. To cherish her. To hold her. See her. He’d been so scared to feel it. Admit it.
200 Harley Street: The Shameless Maverick Page 16
