‘You think so?’
Francesca glanced round at the scepticism in Dee’s voice. ‘I don’t know what else it could be.’
‘Don’t you? I’m sure Luke will enlighten you soon enough.’ The older woman chuckled, as if privy to some secret Francesca had yet to unravel. Rising to her feet and picking up her bag, Dee headed towards the door. ‘See you tomorrow, doll.’
Confused, Francesca watched her leave, thankful that no one else had been in the room to witness the strange conversation. Immediately her thoughts returned to Luke, where they had been ever since she had bumped into him so unexpectedly in the hospital corridor. She still couldn’t believe that he was back in Strathlochan. For good, he had said.
After lunch, Francesca had felt nervous and self-conscious introducing Luke to some of her colleagues—soon to be his colleagues—wondering what they would think at seeing them together. But no one had said anything, and Luke had been professional and courteous. Even so, Francesca had remained conscious of the awareness and tension that simmered between them. Dee had happily agreed to Luke’s request to familiarise himself with the radiology unit and, showing him around, Francesca had been impressed with his interest and knowledge.
By the very nature of their jobs, the orthopaedic and radiology departments worked closely together and they shared a wing on the ground floor of the hospital. The realisation that she was going to be seeing a lot of Luke in the days and weeks ahead had occupied much of her attention all afternoon. As had the knowledge that she had somehow found herself agreeing to meet him when her shift ended. There was much for them to talk about, he’d told her. She had not stopped wondering what he had meant. And she also wanted to know the other reason he had come home. Upstairs in the canteen he had said there had been three things that had brought him home. His mother, the job and…what? She couldn’t explain why, but Francesca felt jittery and fizzing with nerves.
Seeing him again had been amazing, rousing all manner of exciting and scary feelings inside her, but the knowledge that it wasn’t a one-off, that he wasn’t passing through, that he was back, supposedly for good, and that they would be working together had really thrown her for a loop. Part of her was wary, uncertain. Another part of her welcomed his return with open arms. Even with the ten-year gap, and her sixteen-year-old self’s inner sense of betrayal at his abrupt departure, she felt close to him, comfortable with him, as if it had been yesterday they had last spoken and not a decade ago.
Despite the new friendships she had formed over the three years since her return to Strathlochan, in particular with Annie, Ginger, Callie, Gina and their partners, she always held part of herself back and felt a certain distance from them. Luke was the only person with whom she had ever felt natural and understood. She welcomed the opportunity of experiencing that again. But the sexual chemistry, her awareness of him and desire for him, were scary complications she could do without.
She didn’t do trust, didn’t do commitment, didn’t do intimacy, and she had long ago learned not to need or want anyone, to depend on no one but herself. There had only ever been one person in her life she had allowed herself to trust, one person who had ever seen her for the person she was inside…until he had vanished from her life, leaving her truly alone. Luke Devlin. Now he was back, as suddenly as he had gone, and a tormenting voice nagged at her that he could disappear again just as easily.
Francesca glanced at her watch, feeling a prickle of fearful excitement and confusion—she was due to meet him in five minutes. Her heart in her mouth, feeling every throb of her racing pulse, she stood up, closed her locker, hooked the strap of her canvas bag over her shoulder and left the room. Reaction set in, the knowledge of where she was going turning her legs to rubber and making every step closer to Luke seem a dangerous act of folly.
Walking along the corridor, she caught sight of her reflection in a large glass partition. She had never been a girly girl, had never fussed with fashion or make-up, but she suddenly wished she was wearing something more appealing and feminine than her warm fleece top in battleship grey and her faded jeans with the frayed rip across one thigh. Her thick plait, untidy after a day at work, hung down her back. All at once she felt like the awkward teenager of ten years ago, the one who had never fitted in and who had always felt alone.
As she headed towards the main entrance, she had no more time to think or worry because all she could see and focus on was Luke, standing inside the doorway. A small package held in one hand, he had a smile on his face as he chatted to Donald Orr, one of the hospital’s longest-serving and most popular security men. Her steps faltered as she took in the sight of Luke. He’d added a leather jacket to the outfit he’d worn earlier, giving him even more of the masculine, bad-boy air that was so appealing and exciting. Experiencing a strange fluttering inside her, she took a shaky breath and began to close the gap between them.
‘A fine woman, your mother,’ Donald Orr commented with sincerity and affection. ‘Salt of the earth.’
That the security guard was one of those in the town who had always been supportive filled Luke with appreciation. ‘She certainly is.’
‘And now you’re to be joining us here at the hospital.’ The rugged, balding man beamed a gap-toothed smile as he shook his hand. ‘Right proud your mother was when you qualified as a doctor. She must be delighted to have you home.’
‘It’s good to be back.’
And not only to be closer to his mother, who wasn’t getting any younger, Luke allowed, a prickle at the back of his neck alerting him to the presence of the main reason for his return to Strathlochan. He turned his head, watching as Francesca crossed the broad foyer of the hospital’s main entrance towards him. The ever-present spark of desire flared within him as he studied the way her faded jeans hugged those long, shapely legs. They should be illegal, he decided, noting the ragged rip in the soft denim across one thigh, which allowed a tantalising glimpse of pale skin with each step she took. The grey fleece top was loose and masked her figure, but its colour enhanced the mesmerising shade of her eyes.
Not wanting to be rude, Luke murmured a hasty farewell to Donald, then stepped forward to greet Francesca as she approached. A rush of emotion swept through him as he looked at her, appreciating her understated, natural beauty. Aware of where they were, and of her sensibilities, he didn’t touch her, as he yearned to do, but he was close enough to be teased by her subtle flowery fragrance.
‘Hi.’ She halted, glancing around nervously before looking up at him.
‘Hi,’ he replied, seeing the confusion in her eyes, the mix of pleasure and anxiety. Also the weariness. ‘You look tired…Busy afternoon?’
She fell into step with him as they headed out of the door, both of them waving to Donald, who smiled and gave them a thumbs-up in response. ‘There was a full list of appointments, plus some extras sent through from A and E. How about you?’
‘After completing all the hospital formalities of the paperwork, getting my ID and so on, I had a meeting with Maurice Goodwin and met some of the team. Then I spent some time with Ma before coming back to meet you.’
Having discovered that Francesca came to work by bike, he had walked back to the hospital from his mother’s, carrying with him the bag of goodies she had sent. They reached the covered bicycle shed and he waited for her to unlock the security tag. She refused his offer to wheel the bike, so he walked beside her as they crossed the expanse of the car park, out onto the street and turned down the hill towards the town. The April day had been warm, but the sun had disappeared in the late afternoon and there was a chill in the air. Now they were away from the hospital, he edged closer, taking her free hand in his, linking their fingers, relieved when she didn’t pull away.
Even the simplest of touches fired his blood but he marshalled his self-control. Wanting her to feel relaxed and at ease in his company, he kept things impersonal and they talked about inconsequential things. Francesca’s voice was like a physical caress along his nerve endings.
He could listen to her all day. Her voice was feminine with a low smoky tone that complemented the soft burr of her Scottish accent—an accent he himself hadn’t lost after ten years away. He wanted to spend all the time with her he could, to take her out for a nice dinner, but he knew she was tired, on top of which he was wary of moving too fast too soon and scaring her off.
‘Would you like to pick up a pizza or something?’ he asked instead.
‘Sure. That would be good.’
Before long, a pizza box added to his packages, they arrived at Francesca’s rented ground-floor flat situated in a converted old house in a leafy side street near one of the town’s large parks. It was a long way away from the part of town she had grown up in, he noted, understanding the relevance of her choice and wondering if it had been a conscious decision on her part.
Following her inside, he looked around with interest. It was not where he had imagined her staying, but the small, open-plan living space was clean and bright. There were a few personal touches…some colourful scatter cushions and throws on the old but comfortable armchairs and sofa, a few animal pictures on the walls, but no family photographs. Not that he had expected those. Any spare wall space was taken up with shelves filled with an abundance of books covering everything from biographies and environmental sciences to a wide range of fiction.
‘This is a great place,’ he commented, watching as she fetched plates and glasses of water from the galley-style kitchen.
Her nose wrinkled endearingly as she made a dissatisfied face. ‘It’ll do, for now. It was all I could afford when I first came back to town but at least I have a view of the hills and, being on the ground floor, I have access to the garden—tiny as it is.’
‘You’re planning on moving?’
‘One day,’ she confided, handing him a cutter for slicing the pizza.
Luke heard the wistful note in her voice. ‘You still want your cottage in the woods?’ he asked, as he divided up the food.
‘You remember that?’
He looked up to see her watching him, her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Sure. I remember everything about you, Chessie.’
The hint of a blush pinkened her freckle-dusted cheekbones, but it was the sudden wariness in her expression that had him backing off and changing the subject. There would be time, he hoped, in the days and weeks ahead to tell her about the house, to take her to the home he had bought on impulse four years ago, the home for which he now had such high hopes.
They talked about work and the hospital as they ate. He learned about some of his soon-to-be colleagues, well aware that Francesca confined herself to general details, unsurprised that she refused to indulge in gossip. The closest she came was when he asked about Olivia Barr, the A and E nurse who had abandoned his mother eight weeks ago.
‘Olivia has a reputation around the hospital,’ she allowed with evident disapproval.
Fascinated and aroused by the way in which Francesca finished her final slice of pizza and then sensuously licked her fingers clean, it took him a moment to concentrate on the conversation. ‘What kind of reputation?’
‘As a man-chaser.’ A hint of mischief twinkled in silver-grey eyes. ‘I’m sure you’ll be meeting her very soon.’
‘I hope not. Nurse Barr will, too, when I tell her what I think of the way she neglected my mother,’ he added, smiling at the gleam of satisfaction Francesca failed to mask.
Their meal finished, he helped her clear up, reluctantly declining her tentative offer of coffee. He wanted more than anything to stay, but he knew he had to leave early. Far better that she wanted more, was disappointed their time together was over for now, than he risk outstaying his welcome and rushing her.
‘Ma sent this specially for you,’ he told her, handing her the plain bag he had brought with him and left on the kitchen worktop. ‘Some of her almond shortbread, freshly baked this afternoon.’
‘Oh…’
To his horror, he saw the welling of tears in smoky grey eyes as she turned away from him. ‘Chessie, what is it?’ he demanded, cursing himself for unwittingly upsetting her.
‘Nothing.’ She shook her head, her back to him, but he saw her lift a hand to wipe across her cheeks. ‘Sorry.’
Resting his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her round, tipping her face up with a thumb under her chin. ‘Ma thought you liked it.’
‘I do. It’s not that. I…’
Even white teeth worried the fullness of her lower lip igniting a storm of needy desire within him. He wanted to do that…to taste her, nip her, kiss her. Cupping her face, focusing on her turmoil and not his own, he looked into the now dark pools of her eyes.
‘Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong,’ he whispered persuasively, revelling in the feel of silky soft skin beneath his palms.
‘It’s silly.’
He lightly pressed the pad of one thumb to her lips to halt her protest. ‘Not if it upset you. Why?’
‘Your mum gave me some once. It was my birthday and it was the only gift I had. I ran away from her because her warmth and the genuineness behind the giving made it priceless to me and I didn’t want her to see me cry,’ she admitted, a catch in her voice. ‘The shortbread smelled wonderful. And I remember it was still warm from the oven. I couldn’t resist it. My mother found me tucking into the first piece and she was furious with me for deviating from her regimented dietary plan.’ Luke’s throat hurt as Francesca tried to laugh, her chin lifting in defiance even as she was unable to look at him. ‘She snatched the bag away from me and crumbled all the rest of the shortbread into the dustbin. I was punished for days afterwards for eating any of it.’
Feeling the pain of the girl she had been, Luke pulled her close, wrapping his arms round her, needing the hug as much as she did. He felt furious rage at Francesca’s mother, a woman who had kept her daughter on such a tight leash, determined, it seemed, to live her own failed athletic dreams through Francesca, and making the girl’s life hell with strict rules and training and an obsessive regime, making her an outcast because of her difference. Something he knew all about from his own family circumstances and the reason he and Francesca had understood each other all those years ago.
She felt impossibly good resting against him as he stroked a hand up and down her back, the satin strands of her fiery hair, still restrained in its braid, brushing against his skin. He wanted to hold her for all eternity but as his body reacted instinctively to her closeness, he drew back before she became aware of his arousal.
Knowing she was embarrassed, he lightened the moment, opening the bag and feeding her a piece of shortbread. ‘Go on, be a devil,’ he teased, smiling as she laughed and took a big bite.
Crumbs clung to her lips and chin, her tonguetip peeping out to try and catch them. His stomach in knots, Luke couldn’t resist brushing her skin clean with his fingers, trying to ignore the flare of surprise and awareness in Francesca’s eyes as he touched her.
‘Good?’ he asked, hearing the roughness in his own voice.
‘Amazing.’ She giggled endearingly as she talked with her mouth full, swallowing before she continued. ‘They’re even more delicious than I remembered. Please thank your mum for me.’
Luke wrapped up the rest of the almond shortbread and left it on the counter for her. ‘You can thank her yourself—she’d love to see you.’
‘OK,’ she agreed after a moment, her smile shy.
‘Right, I’d best go and leave you to get a good night’s sleep.’ Reluctantly, he walked back into the living area and picked up his leather jacket from the back of the sofa. ‘Thanks for the company. I’ve really enjoyed this evening.’
‘Me, too.’
At the front door, he hesitated. Somehow he resisted the urge to kiss her senseless, knowing he would never leave if he once tasted the sweetness of her mouth. Instead, he brushed his lips across her forehead and forced himself to move back.
‘I’ll see you at work tomorrow.’ He enjoyed one last lingering look at her before turn
ing away. ‘Sweet dreams, Chessie.’
His steps carried him swiftly back to his mother’s house where he collected his car and drove home—alone—hot and needy for Francesca. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. He thought of her, of all she had been through in the past with her controlling mother, and vowed to ensure that she always felt safe and secure and had everything she wanted to make her own decisions for her future.
He just hoped above all else that he could share that future with her.
CHAPTER FOUR
FRANCESCA knew the instant that Luke stepped up behind her. Her whole body tingled, her pulse raced and heat percolated through her, pooling low in her belly. He let out a low whistle as he leaned in closer to look at the images on the screen. So close she could scent his earthy, musky fragrance and feel the heat of his body transferring to hers.
‘That is some break.’ His warm breath whispered across the skin of her neck as he spoke, stirring the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid.
‘Nasty,’ she managed to murmur in agreement, fixing her gaze on the X-rays, struggling to maintain her professionalism. ‘What will you do?’
The motorcyclist had been knocked from his bike by a hit-and-run driver shortly after one on Friday morning. He had been rushed the ten miles from one of the outlying villages to Strathlochan Hospital by ambulance, the paramedics rightly concerned about haemorrhaging inside the thigh. The A and E team had stabilised the patient and paged Orthopaedics and Radiology—which had brought Luke and herself to the department as they were both on call for the night shift.
Despite the doctors immobilising the leg in a splint and administering analgesics, the man was still in pain. Unsurprising, Francesca thought as she looked at the multiple breaks. His femur was fractured in two places high up the shaft, while the tibia was broken, with a sheared-off fragment, and the fibula had snapped, one end piercing the skin.
The Rebel Surgeon's Proposal Page 5
