The Rebel Surgeon's Proposal

by Margaret McDonagh

  ‘Devlin!’ His name, bellowed across the yard, made them jerk apart.

  Dazed, she stared up at Luke as his hands dropped away from her, his expression a mix of desire, sorrow, anger and resignation as the teacher came up and shoved him.

  ‘Get your hands off her.’ The order had been unnecessary as they had no longer been touching. ‘The headmaster’s office. Now.’

  As Luke was marched off like a criminal, Francesca had followed behind, determined he would not be punished just because of who he was, because of his awful father and brothers. Her anger had flared at the unfairness. It wasn’t right, she wouldn’t let it happen. By the time she had caught up with them, ignoring the secretary and stepping into the office, Luke was already being lambasted.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she interrupted, unsure where her courage was coming from.

  Three pairs of eyes watched her, one shocked and concerned, two hostile.

  ‘There’s no need for you to be involved here,’ the head told her.

  ‘But there is. Luke’s done nothing wrong, sir. I kissed him. I walked up to him and asked if I could kiss him. He did nothing to me. He didn’t hurt me, or do anything against my will. It’s not fair to blame him or treat him like this.’

  Silence followed her impassioned speech.

  ‘Why would you do such a stupid thing?’ the head growled at her. ‘He’s not the sort of person you should be associating with. What would your mother say? He’s bad news.’

  ‘I don’t believe that, sir. Luke’s not responsible for his family. You can’t do this. You can’t blame him when it wasn’t his fault. If you want to punish someone, it should be me.’

  Her gaze met Luke’s then and she saw his shock, his admiration, then he shook his head, trying to tell her to back off, to leave him, but she wouldn’t, she was too angry at the injustice of it….

  The clatter of a tray being dropped on the canteen floor snapped Francesca back to the present.

  She didn’t know to this day what all the fuss had been about over the kiss, but she had been dismissed and all but frogmarched back to her classroom. She had no idea what had happened after that as she had only seen Luke a few times in the distance, but never alone. She had never been able to talk to him, to do more than exchange lingering eye contact. A couple of weeks later he had sat his final exam, and then he had gone and she had never seen him again—until ten days ago.

  But she had never forgotten him or that kiss. She’d been kissed since then but nothing had compared to that first time. Which she knew was silly as she’d had no idea what she’d been doing and Luke had been scarcely more than a boy at the time, however much more experienced than her. But a connection had flowed between them, one she couldn’t explain.

  ‘It was enjoyable,’ she said now with classic understatement, censoring her story, the girls agog as they listened. ‘He was kind,’ she continued, refusing to give them his name. ‘He made it good, special.’

  ‘Wow!’ Holly breathed.

  ‘Yeah,’ Carolyn agreed. ‘I wish my first kiss had been like that.’

  ‘We need a male opinion,’ one of the other nurses declared. ‘Here’s our hunky new surgeon, we’ll ask him.’

  Francesca smothered a groan as she turned her head in time to see Luke enter the room. Still dressed in scrubs, he looked tired and rumbled. He hesitated as the nurse called his name and beckoned for him to join them, but then Francesca’s breath hitched as his gaze met hers and he headed in their direction with deceptively lazy strides.

  ‘Ladies,’ he greeted them.

  Holly smiled in welcome. ‘Hi, Luke.’

  ‘We were talking about first kisses and we want a man’s opinion,’ Carolyn explained.

  ‘Oh?’

  Francesca kept her head down, unable to meet his gaze, wondering if he remembered, sure that he didn’t.

  ‘What was your first kiss like, Luke?’ the nurse who had called him over asked.

  ‘I don’t remember my first ever kiss, but I remember one in particular.’

  Francesca’s breath lodged in her throat at Luke’s words. Glancing up from beneath her lashes, her gaze clashed with his intense green one.

  ‘Tell us,’ Carolyn encouraged, almost bouncing on her chair with excitement.

  ‘I kissed a girl at school,’ Luke admitted, his voice husky. ‘It was good, special.’

  He’d unwittingly echoed her own words, Francesca realised, her cheeks warming again. She hoped none of the girls had noticed and that they wouldn’t make the connection between her account and his. With a last lingering look in her direction, Luke excused himself. His parting words, that he was getting a quick coffee to go before changing and heading home, seemed to hold a silent message for her alone.

  She finished up her breakfast, nerves fluttering inside her as she said a casual goodbye to her companions and headed out of the canteen. She took the stairs down to the ground floor and went outside, unsurprised when Luke, dressed now in jeans, jumper and his leather jacket, caught her up several minutes later as she wheeled her bicycle across from the covered shed. The hospital car park was filling up quickly as staff arrived for their day shifts and patients came for appointments or to book into wards for scheduled procedures and longer stays.

  They walked down the hill in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable but it was charged. Francesca felt tired after three hectic night shifts on duty, but inside she was buzzing. She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss ten years ago…or help wondering what it would be like to kiss Luke now. Did he really remember what had happened between them or had his words just been a coincidence, something neutral to say in response to a group of women’s nosy questions?

  ‘How did the surgery go?’ she finally asked, needing normalcy to get her back on an even keel.

  ‘It went well.’ Luke’s voice, warmly husky, sent tingles through her, and she tried to concentrate as he continued. ‘Provided the wounds heal well and he doesn’t get an infection, he’ll be up on crutches within a few days, but he won’t be able to weight-bear on the leg for five or six weeks in case the plates warp. He could need some physiotherapy to strengthen his muscles, but in time he should make a good recovery.’

  Francesca smiled, proud of his skill and achievement, knowing from the X-rays she had taken in A and E that repairing the fractures would have been challenging. ‘That’s great.’

  ‘Let’s hope the hit-and-run driver who left him like that is caught.’

  ‘Indeed.’ She wasn’t sure how likely it was, though. ‘Were there any witnesses?’

  Luke shrugged, but the casualness of the gesture belied his concerned expression. ‘I don’t know. I hope we’ll get feedback from the police soon.’

  The conversation ended as they reached her front door. Francesca opened it and wheeled her bicycle inside the wide hallway before leaning it against the wall. Turning she discovered Luke had waited on the doorstep. She knew it was best that he didn’t linger now—they both needed their sleep—but the sense of disappointment was still strong. Squaring her shoulders and mustering her resolve to keep more distance between them, she walked back to the door to say goodbye.

  ‘Get some rest,’ he advised before she could speak. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Chessie.’

  ‘I—’

  Her words of denial and her determination to tell him she had other plans were lost as Luke bent his head and brushed her mouth with his. She froze, her stomach tightening with the painful thrill of awareness and desire. As he drew back a scant centimetre, she saw mischief sparkling in his green eyes.

  ‘Open your mouth, Chessie,’ he whispered.

  She gasped. ‘You do remember!’

  ‘Of course.’ His eyes darkened. ‘I’ve never forgotten. Have you?’

  ‘No,’ she breathed, unconsciously moistening dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

  ‘Care to try it again?’

  She stared at him, heat coursing through her veins. ‘We shouldn’t. I…’ Her half-hearted protest trai
led off.

  ‘Chessie?’

  All common sense was lost at the uncertainty, the need in his voice. ‘Yes.’

  A small smile, a mix of relief and triumph, curved his mouth at her surrender. Then his lips were on hers once more, soft, teasing, tempting. Her own parted for him, her hands rising of their own accord so she could sink her fingers into the thick, surprisingly soft strands of hair at the back of his head, urging him to stop playing and to kiss her properly. And he did. Oh, how he did!

  She had fantasised about this and now it was happening. A whimper escaped as she sank into him, losing herself in the kiss. It was all heat and fire and passion, stirring things that had never been stirred before, making her want as she had never wanted before. Her knees felt unable to support her as Luke sucked on her tongue, drawing her into the warm, moist cavern of his mouth, and she pressed herself closer, alarmed at the terrible ache squeezing inside her, desperate for him to alleviate it.

  His touch, his taste, inflamed and excited her. She couldn’t breathe but decided she didn’t care. Who needed oxygen? She was plugged into Luke’s life force and everything she needed for survival came from him. He was familiar and yet enticingly different. Better. So much better the man than the boy. She gave herself up to the magic, drugged by the consuming, deeply erotic sensuality of the man, her whole body trembling as his arms tightened around her, his hands skimming down her back to cup her rear, drawing her against him, making her intensely aware of his arousal.

  Kissing him back, matching him move for move, her tongue twining with his, she gave everything and he took it, the flare of passion between them so strong and unexpected and remarkable that she could think of nothing else, of no one else but Luke and how wonderful he made her feel. She wanted him to lay her down there and then on the hall floor and take all of her.

  It was the shock of that very realisation that brought her senses struggling back. They broke apart, gasping air into parched lungs, and she saw that the hot passion in Luke’s green eyes matched what she was feeling.

  ‘Dear God,’ she whispered hoarsely.

  ‘Yeah.’

  She forced her hands to loosen their hold on him and stepped back, frightened by what had happened and all she had felt, part of her wanting it, part of her fighting just as hard against it.

  ‘Luke—’

  Two fingertips pressed against swollen, well-kissed lips, silencing her. ‘Don’t say anything. Don’t close your mind to this, Chessie, please. Give it time—give us time.’

  His plea brought a lump to her throat, her whole body quivering as he whispered the pad of his thumb across her cheek in a heart-stopping caress. Green eyes shone with sincerity, vulnerability and the kind of sinful sensuality that always undid her. She couldn’t form a single word to deny him.

  Taking advantage of her momentary docility, Luke brushed his lips across her forehead, released her and moved back. ‘Sleep well, Chessie. We’ll talk later,’ he decreed.

  And then he was gone. It was several moments before Francesca could gather her scattered wits, then she closed the front door, locked it and sagged back against the solidness of the wood, every atom of her being zinging in reaction and craving more of Luke. Much more.

  Once again she had failed to stick to her plan. She had not sent Luke away. Legs shaking and feeling as if they no longer belonged to her, she made her way to her bedroom, drawing her curtains against the low April sunshine before stripping off her clothes and crawling under the duvet.

  She was bone weary and yet she felt too wired to sleep. And she knew, when sleep did come, it would be filled with dreams of Luke…of his touch, of his taste, of his musky masculine scent, and of the sincerity of his words.

  What was she going to do?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘IF YOU want to help yourself to some coffee, I’ll just take a quick shower and get changed.’

  As Francesca disappeared, Luke let out a shaky breath and, following her invitation, headed to the kitchen. He hadn’t handled things well in the last twenty-four hours and he was well aware he had ground to make up if he wasn’t to unnerve Francesca even further. Having been unable to sleep all day on Friday after their steaming kiss had left him hot and hard, he had phoned her in the evening, desperately needing to hear the sound of her voice.

  She had been edgy, confirming what he had already acknowledged to himself—that he had succumbed to the temptation to kiss her far too soon. But all that stuff in the hospital canteen about first kisses had brought their first kiss vividly to mind, and he hadn’t been able to resist finding out what it was like to kiss her ten years on, the woman rather than the girl. Magical, he had discovered. But just as it had the first time, things had spun out of control at the first taste of her and it had turned into something much more than a simple kiss. Now Francesca was trying to distance herself.

  When he had asked about today, Saturday, she’d told him she already had plans. He wasn’t sure how genuine that was but it had made him think. He’d realised how arrogant he had been to assume Francesca would spend her time with him, but he had needed to see her straight away, to steady things between them before she had too much time to think, to talk herself out of getting close to him and back away.

  So he had been hugely relieved to finally persuade her to have breakfast with him after her morning jog. That she was running at all, given her background, interested him, and he wanted to know more about that. What he hadn’t expected was to arrive early and walk to the park to meet her, only to find her jogging with another man. That had nearly doubled him over with shock and alarm.

  Pottering around her kitchen, he tried to block out the sound of the shower, his imagination far too fertile as he pictured her stripping off her baggy tracksuit and stepping under the spray, water sluicing over her silky soft, freckle-dusted ivory skin. His body reacted in a predictable way and it was pure effort of will that prevented him storming down the corridor and joining her in the hot, steamy cubicle.

  ‘Damn.’

  Cursing himself, he focused ruthlessly on his task, setting out the treats he had brought from the nearby bakery for breakfast…still-warm, soft granary rolls, local honey and a couple of fruity Danish pastries. He poured glasses of juice and helped himself to a cup of the coffee Francesca had left brewing when she had left the house. Which brought him back to her jogging and seeing her with another man.

  Since he had been introduced to her running companion, Frazer McInnes, a flight doctor on Strathlochan’s air ambulance—and his six-months-pregnant wife, Callie—his heart was slowly settling back into its normal rhythm again. The event had shown him not only how little he still knew about Francesca’s life now, and her friends, but how complacent he had become. He had a lot of work to do yet before he could ever relax and feel he had won her over to give a relationship between them a fair chance.

  Now they needed to talk about deeper issues, the topics they had been avoiding for the last ten days…the past, his father, her mother. He hoped to persuade Francesca to spend the day with him tomorrow and accompany him on an errand he’d been asked to run for the prof—visiting another of his former protégées now living in a village some miles west along the Solway coast. The journey would give them captive time to talk about difficult things. And spending a bit of time with husband-and-wife doctors Conor and Kate Anderson would allow Francesca to see that a healthy, functioning, equal relationship was not only possible, it was normal. Quite different from the homes either Francesca or he himself had grown up in.

  As for today, it had started with a setback but he had not lost all hope of them spending the day together. The shower stopped and a few moments later he heard a door close. He had a only few moments left to compose himself and prepare to break through the new defences Francesca was trying to place between them. Stage one was to find out what she was doing today and to wangle an invitation to join her. Stage two was to win her acceptance to go with him tomorrow.

  And top of his mental list w
as the instruction to exercise some self-control. Whatever the temptation, he was not to kiss her again anytime soon, at least not until he had regained lost ground. Quite how difficult it would be to keep all his good intentions was obvious the moment Francesca joined him in the kitchen.

  She was wearing walking boots, the soft, leg-hugging jeans with the rip in the thigh that had already given him sleepless nights, and a purple fleece top that enhanced the grey of her eyes and should have clashed with the vibrancy of her red hair, but didn’t. Her face was bare of make-up, her ivory skin tinged with a dewy glow from the warmth of her shower, and her riot of long corkscrew curls was tied back in a loose ponytail, a few damp tendrils clinging to her neck. She looked natural, sexy and good enough to eat. And he was very hungry. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, feeling the kick of his heart against his ribs, he hastily sat down at the table to hide his instant reaction to the sight of her.

  As Francesca cast him a wary glance and took the seat across from him, Luke briefly closed his eyes and prayed for strength and deliverance.

  How did she end up in these situations?

  From beneath her lashes Francesca watched as Luke opened the gate and allowed her to precede him onto the path. She was strong, independent and used to being alone, so why had all her willpower and common sense deserted her? Despite the stern lecture she had given herself in the shower and all the good intentions she had mustered as she had walked into the kitchen, she had caved like a weakling under Luke’s subtle persuasion during breakfast.

  And here she was, spending the day with him in spite of her determination to the contrary. Not that she could fault his attitude when she had explained how she spent some of her time off volunteering at a local animal rescue centre. He’d been keen to come along, cheerfully throwing himself into the tasks he had been set, exercising dogs in the field and showing no sign of complaint or that he found the dirty job of cleaning out rows of dog and cat kennels distasteful or beneath him.