American Surgeon in London

by Lynne Marshall

  She took the last bite of her Cobb salad while wishing he didn’t affect her like that, but her mental desires and those of her body currently seemed to be on two completely different tracks.

  The next morning, before Grace began her appointments at the Hunter Clinic, she took a cab to Kate’s to visit Julie Treadwell. She’d thought about her most of the night, hoping and praying the surgery had put her back together well enough that she could deal with her new identity, hold her head high, and move on with her life.

  One of the nurses smiled at her just before she entered Julie’s room, and Grace returned the gesture, immediately recognizing her. The ward nurse was Charlotte, the attractive woman Grace had met at Drake’s last night.

  Julie sat up in bed, her facial bandages intact. The TV was on a fun, chatty morning show. She sucked a protein shake with added vitamins and minerals through a straw. Grace knew exactly what it was because she’d requested it in her post-op orders.

  “Hi, Julie, how are you feeling today?”

  “Not too bad. A bit like a mummy, but I know it’s part of the package.”

  Grace smiled. “I don’t want to disturb you, but I’d like to change your bandages.”

  Julie put down the drink immediately. “Sure.” Her hands fisted in her lap. Grace could only imagine how nerve-racking waiting to see your new face would be.

  “I’ll let the nurse know what I need, then we’ll get started, okay?”

  Julie nodded bravely.

  When Grace returned after asking Charlotte for the items she’d need, she had a hard bargain of which to convince Julie, “I’d like to suggest that you don’t look at your face until most of the swelling and bruising has gone down. Maybe in a few days. Are you okay with that?”

  “I’m not ready to look just yet anyway.”

  Grace took one of Julie’s hands, the fist loosening as she reached for it, and squeezed. “You’ve been through a lot with the cancer. We’ll take this one step at a time.” Julie’s eyes filled and brimmed with tears.

  Charlotte brought in the new dressing materials, and Grace pulled the bedside curtains closed and got started cutting the gauze with her bandage scissors. She’d decided to keep this dressing change between her and the patient. She started at the forehead and carefully worked her way down from there.

  Once some of the dressings came loose, she made a point of schooling her expression, of not showing any reaction to what she saw. Yes, Julie looked stitched up like a quilt, and the post-op edema distorted her features, but overall Grace was very happy with her appearance. As things settled down, the swelling would lessen and the stitches would dissolve or come out, and Julie would look human again. Her nose looked great. Grace continued snipping away at the bandages while thinking and planning. After Julie was completely healed, Grace would discuss erasing some of the remaining scars through laser treatments.

  In fact, she’d already talked to Leo Hunter about having a few treatments on a particularly troublesome scar near her neck herself. Laser treatments had worked wonders for many of her patients; why shouldn’t she try them?

  She came to the upper-lip portion of the surgery and was very pleased with her work and almost smiled, then finished removing the remaining gauze. Mitchell’s lip job looked superb … and strangely familiar. He’d gone beyond the call of duty and augmented Julie’s lower lip as well, to make them match up in the best way possible.

  The upper lip picked up where her philtrum groove left off in what she’d describe as a classic cupid’s bow. He’d plumped up the lower lip, but hadn’t overdone it. These lips looked as natural as hers.

  The oddest feeling came over Grace while looking at the au fait mouth. Where had she seen that style of mouth before? She smiled. Coming from Hollywood, the talented Mitchell Cooper had probably duplicated some famous starlet’s lips just for Julie.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FRIDAY MORNING THE entire staff of Hunter Clinic gathered at eight a.m. for the weekly staff meeting in the large and luxurious employee lounge. Grace took a seat beside Ron Whidbey and pediatric surgeon Abbie de Luca.

  “We’ve had a very busy week,” Leo said, taking charge, glancing at a printout, “with another full schedule for next week.” He looked up and scanned the entire group. “I’ve heard some concerns about being overbooked, yet no one has come to me to complain. Though there has been evidence of people still crashing on the couch in my office.”

  He cleared his throat. That got a laugh that rippled around the room, and Ethan looked especially guilty, scratching the back of his neck and looking at the ceiling. “So if you’re feeling you need some time off, make an appointment and we’ll talk about it.” He looked specifically at the nursing staff. “I don’t want to overextend any of you.”

  Grace glanced around the room, but didn’t see Mitch. An odd mix of relief and disappointment confused her. Make up your mind, you’re either interested or not. Sheesh.

  Leo then picked up a notepad and read from his planned notes.

  “There have been some reports of staph infections in another London clinic. I’ve hired an infectious-diseases specialist to tour and assess our procedure rooms, even though we haven’t had any such outbreak. I just want to be careful. So if you see a man with glasses and white hair wandering about, that will be Dr. Richard Thornswood. As always, we expect everyone to practice meticulous sterile technique, and Lizzie will have a separate meeting with our environmental-services staff to make sure they are also following all safeguards to the T with cleaning, disinfecting, and disposal.”

  Next, Leo invited Rafael de Luca to bring everyone up to date with a short talk on the latest developments in identifying and treating cleft palate in vitro.

  Grace was transfixed by the level of knowledge of everyone on staff. Her concentration was soon interrupted, though, when Mitchell made a late entry and took a nearby seat.

  No longer able to concentrate on what Rafael was talking about, she became totally aware of Mitch sitting to her right, one row forward. The vantage point gave her the chance to study his rich dark hair, how it waved ever so gently along his neck and kissed the collar of his forest-green shirt. She could only imagine how green his eyes would look with that shirt—

  “Grace, would you like to stand up?” Leo said, jolting her out of her pleasant dream state.

  “Oh, yes, certainly.” She stood and waited expectantly.

  Leo gazed at her as if it was her turn to talk, but as she hadn’t been paying attention for a few seconds, admiring Cooper and his glorious hair instead, she didn’t have a clue what he wanted.

  Feeling a blush on her cheeks, she decided to come clean. “I’m sorry, what did you want me to do?”

  A few people chuckled, and that made her feel embarrassed and nervous. She cast a lightning glance at Mitch and found his sweet, sympathetic smile, and calmed the slightest bit.

  “I just wanted to introduce you to those who haven’t had a chance to meet you yet. Why don’t you tell us a little about your background?”

  With that, she composed herself and told her history in as short and concise a way as possible. Hating to be put in the spotlight, she forced a benign smile and pretended she enjoyed this exercise in awkwardness.

  She’d worn a red mandarin-collared silk top with black slacks today, and her doctor’s coat covered her arms. She didn’t need to worry about her scars showing. Leo Hunter was the only person at Hunter Clinic who knew about her condition, and had even promised to take a look at the problematic scar above her clavicle after the staff meeting.

  “We heard your first surgery went splendidly,” Leo said, prodding her along.

  “Oh, yes, thanks in no small part to Mr. Cooper.” She smiled at him.

  “Lips, lips, lips,” Iain chanted, making everyone titter.

  Evidently Mitch had quite a reputation.

  Her gaze landed on Mitchell, who looked nonplussed by the teasing. He sat straight, ignoring Iain, instead smiling at her, as if silently cheering her
on. She couldn’t help but think about Julie Treadwell’s surgery. She’d racked her brain on where she’d seen that mouth before, how similar it looked to her own when she’d studied herself in the mirror. Was he really that talented, or was it a wild coincidence that she was making far, far too much of? Of course it was.

  When she’d finished her introduction, she nodded gratefully to Mitch. Shortly, after a few more announcements, Leo dismissed the meeting. Mitch stood and turned, looking right at her. In her gut she wanted him to come over and talk to her, but she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  It was Leo. “I’ve got time to fix that issue we spoke about. Shall we go to a procedure room?”

  “Oh, that would be great. Thanks,” she said, seizing the moment.

  She followed Leo out of the room, but before leaving she glanced back and couldn’t help noticing a disturbed expression on Mitchell’s face. Surely he wasn’t jealous of a man who’d just gotten married?

  Mitch overheard Leo invite Grace to a procedure room, and he watched them leave together. His heart sank. Was she having a little nip, tuck or Botox? Perhaps all three? Damn, he’d been so sure she’d never had anything done. His stomach went a little queasy over the thought of Grace having treatments done at such a young age. Little things led to bigger treatments, then more nips and tucks and more often. Bile soured his throat.

  Her beauty was natural, and should stay that way. He knew too well the sad story of women chasing their youth, one procedure at a time, until they wound up looking nothing like their former selves. Hell, he had a thirty-five-year-old patient with cat eyes and a tympanic-drum-stretched face scheduled for a knee lift this very afternoon to prove his point.

  “Hey, Lips.” Declan Underwood slapped Mitch on the back. The rugby-playing plastic surgeon nearly knocked him off balance.

  He clicked into his office persona. “Hey, man, how’s your weekend shaping up?”

  “Great. Got a couple of games lined up tomorrow. You should bring Mia out to watch.”

  “Only if you can promise no blood or gore.”

  “Can’t do that. Besides, my rugby team brings the clinic a lot of business.”

  “True. So true.” He’d fixed a broken nose on more than a few of Declan’s teammates over the last year. One guy with a caved-in forehead had been sent to the emergency room for more extensive exams. The last he heard, they’d had to drain a hematoma between his skull and brain.

  Declan tipped his head toward the door through which Leo and Grace had just exited. “She’s hot, don’t you think?”

  A new feeling displaced the caution and concern about her having a procedure done with Leo. Jealousy. Wow, just like that, red flames of anger shot up his spine.

  He stiffened. “She’s definitely a knockout,” he said between clenched teeth. He was at work, talking to a colleague, he had to play along and not let on how he really felt.

  The men smiled at each other in appreciation for the opposite sex in general. But, damn, Mitch couldn’t let it go.

  “Just one more thing, Declan.”

  Declan raised his dark brows in anticipation.

  “I saw her first.”

  Now added to the wild stew of emotions simmering through him, Mitch had thrown total confusion into the pot. Hadn’t his last office relationship ended in disaster? If he was looking for mommy material, he needed to stick with his plan, no matter how bored he was with the process.

  Did he want Grace? Or did he want to run as far and as fast as he could away from her? At some point he’d have to make up his mind.

  “Message received, Lips,” Declan said, wandering off, giving the appearance of not being the least bit offended.

  Six days later, having done a fantastic job of not seeing Mitch since last Friday’s staff meeting—thanks to conflicting O.R. and clinic schedules and well-planned avoidance techniques—Grace stayed late at work to catch up on some paperwork.

  The laser procedure Leo had performed on the buckling scar on her chest was smoothing out and healing beautifully, and she thought about asking him to touch up a few other spots in the near future.

  Her phone rang.

  She answered, and the person introduced herself.

  The Cumberbatch case she’d been assigned on her very first day at the Hunter Clinic was proving to be high profile.

  She was surprised that the call was from a tabloid journalist with a long list of questions about Britain’s favorite bad-boy punk rocker. She refused to disclose anything and soon as she hung up needed someone to bounce her concerns off.

  Sitting in her office that late Thursday afternoon, knowing Mitch was just around the corner—because she’d heard his door open not less than a half hour ago—she decided to finally pay him a visit. After all, she’d been at the Hunter Clinic going on two weeks and he was her next-door neighbor. Yes, they’d seen each other at the staff meeting last Friday but hadn’t spoken to each other, just passed a meaningful glance or two each other’s way. It was high time she popped in … for a strictly business matter.

  She took an extra few moments to smooth her hair, which she’d worn down today. She checked her makeup, or what was left of it, and applied a new layer of lipstick. Then she retied the colorful scarf she wore with a double-loop wrap around her neck, loose yet high enough to cover her scars. She’d skipped her usual turtleneck today and wore a long-sleeved, boat-necked, white silk top over her black straight-legged slacks, so she needed that scarf. Besides brightening up the outfit, the scarf also picked up the yellow plaid bow on her work flats.

  With butterflies winging through her chest, she headed out of her office.

  She waited at his door, which was already open. He proved to be in deep thought, poring over his computer and some notes on his desk. And, damn, he looked gorgeous all thoughtful, strong and silent. She stood for a moment, watching, enjoying the view. Slowly his gaze drifted from the computer to the doorway.

  “Knock, knock,” she said.

  His face brightened, and he stood. “Hi. Come on in.”

  The genuine welcome made a little happy spot crop up in her chest, until he schooled his expression to all-business mode, making her doubt he was happy to see her. Mitchell looked handsome, as always. His hair was mussed, with one lock dangling over his forehead, and she had the urge to run her fingers through it in the guise of fixing it, but practiced restraint.

  “Have a seat. Can I get you some water or coffee?” It sounded more like obligation.

  “Oh, no, thanks.” She took a chair opposite his desk, wondering why he’d gone from warm to chilly as he sat down again. May as well get right down to business, then. “Say, have you gotten any calls from the local press about Davy Cumberbatch?”

  “Nope. Have you?” He discovered and fixed his errant lock of hair with a quick raking of fingers, and she felt she’d fallen off the job by not doing it for him. Silly thoughts, really, but, still, they kept cropping up. Of course she had no right to touch him since they were merely colleagues, though adventurous pod people would always look out for each other. Damn, now he’d gotten her thinking like that again.

  The quick memory of their one evening together and the fantasy of touching his hair converged and gave her a little thrill. She forced both thoughts out of her mind and herself back on topic.

  “Just dodged a few questions from someone saying they were a journalist from Talking London,” she continued.

  “That rag? Nothing but a gossip paper.” He pushed back from his desk. It made the muscles tighten around his upper arms beneath his white polo-style shirt. She shouldn’t have noticed but … “You didn’t give them any information, did you?”

  “No, of course not, but I wonder how they got my personal office number?”

  “They’re devious, those guys.”

  “It was a woman, actually.”

  “Well, be careful. They hound us a lot as we do cosmetic surgery on the rich, royal and famous. Should have warned you about it. Davy Cumberbatch is a biggie over here.�
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  “I suppose they’ve run out of stories to print about his barroom brawl,” she said. “Shown all the gruesome pictures. Now they want the lowdown on how we intend to fix him.”

  “Guy got his face mangled in that fight, didn’t he? Half of it was caved in.” He laced his fingers and put his hands behind his head. Did he have a clue how distracting these poses were? “What he expects us to do is going to take a miracle.”

  “I thought that was our specialty here at Hunter, to make miracles happen. Every day.” She quoted the clinic pamphlet. Rather than stare at him, her gaze drifted around his office as she’d never been in it before. He had a striking modern art painting on one wall—she hadn’t a clue what it depicted—his diplomas and awards on another, but his solid oak desk was reserved for one single picture frame. It faced him, and Grace wanted more than anything to turn it around and find out who he valued most in life—who got center stage on his desk.

  She hoped it was a dog, not a woman. She could deal with him loving his pet.

  “Miracles are one thing but rebuilding a face to look like Elvis is a whole different ballgame,” he said, still all business.

  A light laugh escaped her mouth. Mitch had a knack for putting things in perspective. “I thought he only wanted Elvis’s chin, nose and cheeks. And he wanted you to give him Mick Jagger’s lips.” She considered calling him “Lips” like a few other guys in the clinic, but thought better of it.

  “Talked him out of that one. He’s down for the whole Elvis package now.” Mitchell began to warm up to her, breaking a smile and softening the tension around his eyes. Maybe it was the topic.

  “Wise decision. So when do I meet him?” She crossed her leg and laced her hands around one knee.

  “He’s currently in rehab. That was the stipulation the Hunter Clinic had before we’d take him on as a client. He has to dry out first.”

  “Another good call.” She bobbed her head in agreement.