Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon

by Louisa George

  ‘Of course I love her.’ And now he had time to think about it, he did miss the closeness they’d all had, growing up. But betrayal had blown a hole into that that could never be healed. He’d purposely left them all to their lives and chosen disconnectedness. That way he would remain intact, heart and soul. To go home would be to have a constant reminder of what had happened.

  But, of course, Ivy did not need to know any of this. Why go deep when this was not that sort of relationship?

  This was a weekend for her to be with her family, not for him to get intense about his. Or intense about anything, for that matter, or to lose himself at the whim of emotions that he knew never lasted.

  Ivy ran a hand across her blonde hair and fluffed it up nonchalantly. She didn’t seem to care that it stuck up in tufts. She had stopped hiding her limp. She was cheering like a madwoman. He was seeing a very different Ivy from the one at work. She was letting her guard down; was that a good sign, or a dangerous one? He had a bad feeling it was the latter. And all he knew was that she was in his head and he couldn’t get her out of it.

  ‘Don’t you miss it all, though, Matteo? Your family. The sunshine. Decent food. Blue sky. All that wine. Amazing architecture. Art…? Nah, there’s nothing there at all for you, is there? God, I’d love to live in Italy.’

  ‘You have a very touristy image of my home.’ Which was indeed all the things she’d mentioned but with a large dose of reality. And feuding families. And hurt. ‘But now you come to mention it, I guess it does have a few things going for it. Decent coffee, for a start. Although you do have some pretty amazing architecture here too. The Minster is stunning, with its stained glass, and the intricate carving and the history.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Just not marble enough?’ After she’d signalled to a glass collector and given a repeat order for beer and wine she turned back to him. ‘What do your parents do?’

  He shrugged. ‘So clichéd. A small taverna. My mum’s the…I suppose you’d call it the maitre d’. She makes it work, ruling with a fist of iron. My dad is the chef. We all did our time there, growing up, in the kitchen, waiting tables.’

  She eyed him suspiciously, eyes narrowing. ‘What’s the problem with your dad?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ But he was aware that he had become tense and tried to loosen his shoulders.

  ‘Your voice changed, you paused. Your eyes narrowed. Your shoulders are trying to break for freedom. You’re not the only one who can ace elementary psychology. You have father issues.’

  No, he’d solved them years ago and never looked back. ‘He’s not worth wasting your time over. None of it is. Live in the now, Ivy. Oh, look, the game’s beginning again.’

  Her eyes flicked to the TV screen and back to him again. ‘Sod the game.’

  Forcing a smile he shook his head. ‘Ivy, Ivy, you are too…what is the word?…fickle. I thought you were the world’s biggest rugby convert?’

  ‘Not when there are more interesting things to talk about.’

  Thankfully the waiter brought their drinks, buying Matteo some time. He took a long drink and tried to watch the game. But he’d underestimated her. She nudged him. ‘Your dad?’

  ‘Trust me, my past is not interesting.’

  ‘It is to me.’

  That was an admission. Her eyes clashed with his and he saw the moment she also realised the enormity of what she had just said.

  What the hell was happening here he didn’t know. Because he was as shocked as she was. Right when part of him was keeping that door slammed closed there was a part of him that wanted to talk. That wanted out-and-out openness. It wasn’t that he had made a solemn vow never to talk about it, he just hadn’t ever wanted to expose so much of his damaged past.

  This was neither the right time nor the right place. ‘You need to focus on yourself. On healing things with your mum, on how you’re going to do your job next week. And the fact we just scored a try while you weren’t paying attention. Now we are drawing. England are on the run.’

  She looked at him for a long time. Long enough for Italy to miss the conversion. For them to stay just behind their opponents.

  Nothing was said. She didn’t push. She didn’t nag him, she let him off. Which was the sweetest thing she could do right then, when he didn’t want his past interfering with this moment. It seemed she knew when to ask, when to stop. She knew every damned button he had and pressed them all. Too much.

  Something shifted in his chest, something momentous. Something real. Something he hadn’t been looking for and didn’t know if he wanted. In fact, something that scared the hell out of him because he’d felt similar things before and it had ended horribly. He didn’t want anything close to that happening again. He needed to get away from here. From her.

  He sat back in his seat, putting distance between himself and the woman who he knew was taking up more of his heart and his head than she should. But Ivy didn’t seem to notice, fixed her eyes on the game.

  She wasn’t quiet for long.

  ‘Come on, boys. Come on. That’s it. Pass it out. To the left. Yes! Yes! We won! You beauty!’ She jumped up, turned, squeezed his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger and kissed him on the lips, hard and fast. And another. ‘Beat that, Matteo.’

  For a second he stilled. He didn’t want to touch her.

  Could not. Would not.

  Who was he kidding? No matter what he thought, his body was hell-bent on betraying him at every turn. He wanted her.

  It was a normal, natural attraction. It didn’t have to mean more than that. It didn’t have to be dangerous. He was worrying over nothing. He’d had sex many times with many women and he’d made sure he’d got out with his heart unscathed. He could do that with Ivy, couldn’t he?

  He was through thinking about it, he was getting as bad as she was.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t get away that easily.’ Yanking her towards him amongst the cheering supporters who had all left their seats, he gripped her waist. Planted another kiss on her lips. Then another. My God, she tasted divine. Heat shimmied through him, heat and need. Hot and hungry.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss with equal hunger. Her body pressed against his, curling into him. When she wriggled her hips against his erection he felt her sigh. With a dirty smile she pulled away but kept a grip on his arm, her words forced out. ‘Sod the game. Sod everything. Matteo, do you have to go home tonight?’

  * * *

  ‘Typical northern weather.’ For an early evening the sky was dark. Heavy clouds loomed overhead, threatening a downpour. Ivy’s hands were shaking as she stepped out into the thick raindrops that began to fall. This was so out of her comfort zone. She didn’t do this. She didn’t straight up ask a man to come back to her place. She didn’t have wanton sex. She never made a move, first or otherwise. Her heart jittered as she quickened her pace, more out of a desire not to lose her nerve than anything else. ‘Come on, we’ll have to hurry or we’ll get soaked.’

  Matteo was uncharacteristically quiet as they headed down the river path to her mum’s house. Slipping his hand into hers, he pulled her against him. Rain fell in relentless waves feeding the swollen river, water dripping in gullies between their layers of clothes.

  ‘Ivy.’ His eyes were dark and intense and misted. And she knew from one look that he wanted her, wanted this as much as she did. There was a promise between them, silent and yet overt. Dangerous. Dark. So very sexy. One step over an invisible line. Her tummy danced and curled and tightened as the sexy look in his eyes seemed to reach into her gut and tease.

  He ran his thumb down her cheek, traced a path over her bottom lip.

  She bit down.

  His eyes grew darker, hotter. His body tensed. ‘Mi fai impazzire.’

  She groaned. ‘What are you saying? Please, tell me that means come to bed.’

  ‘Almost. It means you make me crazy.’

  ‘It could mean two tickets to Leeds, please, and I swear I wouldn’t care, I just
love how you sound. Say more…’

  ‘Sei cosa bella. Due biglietti per Leeds, per favore.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Anything you want.’ Without thinking further than this moment, she pulled him towards her, fixed her mouth on his and tasted him again. Maybe it was the wine that had relaxed her reserve but she felt tipsy with desire, filled with a need that seemed to become more intense, more breathtaking every time she looked at him.

  As she heard a moan coming from her throat she was shocked by the spiralling need at her core. She wanted this man. So much. Too much. Her hands circled his waist, palm flattening against that famous backside. With a sudden rush of excitement she pressed herself against him. She wanted to feel every inch of him against her. Naked. Wet.

  She began to explore the taut ridges of his back, hands running over wet linen that stuck to a body she’d dreamt about, that she’d seen butt naked on a screen. Until now out of reach, but still stalking her thoughts. Now it was real. It was real and she wasn’t going to think too deeply about it. She was going to do what her mother said…she was going to enjoy it. She was going to not overthink it.

  Her mother…good God. Ivy felt her body shut down.

  No way in hell.

  Her heart pounding fast and hard, Ivy turned away from him, away from the path, and strode towards the road. It was slippery and cold and she tried to concentrate on putting her weight onto her right foot but her head was filled with Matteo and his kisses and the wrongness and the rightness. And she was so torn and muddled. The only thing she knew with any clarity was that she wanted to kiss him. To hold him. And that, for so many reasons, seemed the worst course of action.

  ‘Ivy?’ His voice was behind her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Matteo. I just need to go home.’ She knew she was being a jerk. But she couldn’t do this. Not with him. Not if it meant she was following in her mother’s footsteps. She had to take some time out to think about what the hell she was doing at all. If she was going to do anything, she’d do it on her own terms.

  ‘Wait. Ivy. Stop! Sto—!’

  She kept her head down and eyes fixed forward.

  ‘Ivy!’

  It was fear, not anger she could hear in his voice. Fear? What the—? ‘What’s wrong?’

  As she turned she felt a thump against her body, and at the same time she heard a screech and a scream. Then pain seared through her leg. Someone flew across her path. A whirr of wheels filled the air and a crash. A bicycle? A man on a bicycle?

  Off now. On the ground. Shouting at her. Her leg hurt.

  Blood was starting to drip from his knee. His face was scrunched up. There was blood. Uh-oh. What did she have to do? Breathe? Tense? Relax? She couldn’t remember.

  Breathe.

  Matteo? Where was Matteo?

  Strong, warm arms circled her, lifting her off the road as her knees buckled and her vision began to swim.

  ‘Ivy. What the hell? Are you crazy?’ Matteo was sitting her down on the kerbside, his hands on her leg, on her foot, ripping her shoe off. She didn’t have the energy to stop him. ‘Are you okay? Ivy?’

  She swallowed the pain and didn’t look at the man with the bike. It was her fault.

  All her fault. She’d spent her whole life being cautious and this one time…this was her fault. She should have been more careful. Right from the get-go. Right from the second she’d downloaded that picture. She should have been more careful.

  She did a mental body scan. Her leg hurt, more than usual, but she wasn’t badly injured. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine. You’d better go and see the man. I didn’t see him. He came out of nowhere. He wasn’t there and then he was.’

  ‘He didn’t have any lights on. In this weather.’ Matteo glanced towards the guy on the ground. The whirring of the wheels were slower now. The man groaned. ‘Please. Help me.’

  Within an instant Matteo was gone from her side, giving her time to take stock. Every time she let herself go just a little, something happened to remind her of the folly of her actions.

  ‘Ivy.’ Matteo’s voice was the one he used in the operating theatre. ‘Ivy. I need you to focus.’

  ‘Y-yes?’

  ‘Call an ambulance. Now. Then come here and give me help.’

  ‘Okay.’ As rain teemed down and soaked through to her skin she did as she was asked, telling the ambulance receiver their location. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and her body felt as if it had gone into shock. She tried to take a few breaths to steady herself, her voice, mirroring Matteo’s demeanour when in medical scenarios. She would not think about the blood dripping from the man’s head. ‘What is the injury?’ she called over to Matteo. ‘Head injury? Broken arm?’

  His voice was too casual as he undid his trouser belt and fashioned a sling around the man’s wrist and neck. ‘Tell them it looks like a…’ He slowed down his speaking so she could understand and repeat his words. ‘A displaced clavicle fracture. A bump to his head, a laceration. No loss of consciousness. Tell them it would be really great if they got here pretty soon.’ Then he turned to the man. ‘Okay, mate. Sit up and take a few deep breaths. The ambulance will be here soon. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘It hurts like hell,’ the man groaned, as he sat on the opposite kerb to Ivy, Matteo’s hands guiding him into place but supporting the elbow and taking it very slowly so as not to jolt his collarbone.

  Ivy limped across the road, her left foot bruised and becoming more sore as she put weight on it. The man’s collarbone looked misshapen at its mid-point. But it wasn’t sticking out, as she’d assumed it might. It looked as if it had buckled in on itself. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yeah. You should…watch where…you’re going.’ Their patient heaved out between breaths. ‘But I should have…had lights on…I know. I know…’

  ‘Save your energy, both of you.’ Matteo interceded. ‘What is done is done. We now have to get this fixed. And quickly.’

  Something about his tone had Ivy looking over at Matteo. His eyes were darkened and his jaw taut. There was something more here that she didn’t understand. But he clearly couldn’t discuss it in front of…

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, trying to keep the conversation light, and to keep the man focused on something other than his injury. He grimaced, his eyes fluttering closed as he spoke. ‘Pete. Pete O’Donnell.’

  ‘Well, Pete.’ She smiled at him, digging as deep as she could into her failing reserves. ‘I don’t suppose you caught the rugby game today?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I was…going home…to watch…it. Win? Or lose?’

  ‘A great seventeen-fifteen win.’

  Matteo gave a hollow laugh. ‘Depends who you support.’

  ‘He’s Italian,’ she explained, hoping to keep Pete interested enough to forget a little of his pain and shock. ‘And not particularly happy. But, really, they played well. It was touch and go at one point.’

  In the distance a siren blared shrill and welcome. It came closer and closer and louder and louder and Ivy could see Pete starting to become agitated. Mixed with her relief was a little bit of panic. ‘If you can just hang on a bit longer, they’ll have something to help with the pain.’

  Pete tried to push her away with his elbow. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Okay.’ She rubbed her palm gently up and down his back. ‘It’s shock setting in. Take some deep breaths. In. That’s it…’ She watched as he followed her lead. ‘Great. Now out. In again…’

  Within seconds the paramedics were out of the ambulance and giving him some gas and air to help with the pain. Within minutes they’d stabilised his injury, stemmed the bleeding from his grazed head and loaded him into the ambulance. Within half an hour she was alone again with Matteo, facing the real reason this whole sorry scenario had played out. She’d wanted to kiss him so badly it had frightened her.

  Her heart hammered. ‘God, that was awful.’ Now her hands began to shake again as the images of broken bones and blood flitted back into her brain. ‘I wish I’d se
en him.’

  ‘It is dark and raining and he had no lights. How can he expect to ride on a cobbled street in those conditions and not get hurt? But…’ Matteo took her arm and prised her gently from her seated position to standing. ‘He’s gone and is going to be fine. But you? Not so much? Tell me what the hell was going on.’

  ‘I was in a hurry to get back.’

  ‘Yes? But because you wanted to get away from me.’ His hands clenched and he shook his head. ‘One minute you were willing, the next you were running away. I don’t understand.’

  ‘Mixed messages. I’m so sorry. That wasn’t my intention. I just got a little spooked.’

  He shook his head. ‘You should have told me what you were feeling. Talked to me, Ivy. Not run out into the road. Especially with your leg being so damaged. It could have been serious for you too.’

  ‘I did not run. I was walking. And I looked before I crossed.’ She took his arm and tried not to wince as they turned the corner towards her mum’s place. ‘I don’t care about my leg and neither should you.’

  ‘I don’t care about your leg. No, I do care. I mean I don’t care about how it looks. But now it hurts and I don’t want to see you in pain because of me.’ He stopped and took her by the shoulders to face him. ‘What is the matter?’

  How honest could she be with him without making herself vulnerable? ‘I don’t know. I panicked, suddenly. I didn’t know what I was doing.’

  ‘You were kissing me. And it was good. And now you’re shivering and we’re both soaked and a man has a potentially life-threatening injury.’ His thumb ran across her cheek, and his eyes were concerned as he gazed at her. He wasn’t cross, as she’d thought he might be.

  Even so, her stomach felt as if it had dropped to her toes. ‘Was it really bad? I thought you were worried, I could tell by your voice. But you stayed so calm.’

  ‘And you managed to distract him while I stemmed the bleeding and stabilised the break. We were a great team. And you didn’t flinch at the blood—too much. A major step forward.’ His eyebrows rose and did she see just a little pride there simmering in his pupils? ‘His collarbone broke inwards—it could have punctured a blood vessel or his sternum. He may have—we don’t know. But it was an emergency in any case.’