The Italian Surgeon's Christmas Miracle

by Alison Roberts

  ‘Do you remember anything about Uncle Vanni’s son?’

  ‘Luca? Not really. He was only three when he was killed and our birthdays were on the same day so I was only three, too. Bit young to remember much.’

  ‘You had the same birthday? I never knew that.’

  ‘That was how they knew each other. Mamma and Caroline were in the hospital together and Luca and I were like twins for a year or two. There’s lots of photos somewhere.’

  There was only one Amy could think of. The one on Uncle Vanni’s mirror with that chubby, laughing baby. She carried the cordless phone with her as she walked towards the room on impulse.

  ‘So we weren’t actually related to Uncle Vanni?’ Why did the prospect of that being true make her feel better?

  ‘No. But we adopted Uncle Vanni when we found him in London. He was so miserable. He needed a family and the rest, as they say, is history.’

  Amy was in the room now. In front of the dresser. Staring at the gap at the top left-hand corner where that photograph had been. Remembering that flash of guilt she’d seen on Luke’s face when he’d appeared in the kitchen, having been snooping around the house.

  ‘Rosa?’

  ‘Sì?’

  ‘Did Uncle Vanni ever talk about Caroline’s mother?’

  ‘The Prude? Once. He swore me to secrecy and showed me a scrapbook Caroline had started making for Luca. It had her family history and pictures of the house and all sorts of things. It was like a cross between a photo album and a diary. She wrote in it. Mostly about how happy she was but there was a bit about how sad it would be to never see her mother again.’

  ‘What happened to the scrapbook?’

  ‘I have no idea. It was years and years ago and I’d forgotten all about it. Maybe it’s still in the same place.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Tucked under all the stuff in his bottom drawer.’

  Amy opened the drawer while Rosa was still talking. ‘You know, all Uncle Vanni had wanted for years was to visit the graves and put some flowers on them, but they were both buried in some private cemetery beside the family chapel. Mamma persuaded him to try again and Dad even went with him in his policeman’s uniform, but she wouldn’t let them into the house and the butler or whoever he was said they would be prosecuted for trespass if they ever set foot on the property again. How horrible was that?’

  ‘Pretty horrible.’ Amy had found the leather-bound scrapbook exactly where Rosa had thought it might be. She carried it back to the kitchen. She had been five when they had moved to London, which made her older sister ten at the time. Luke had been the same age. Maybe Luke couldn’t be held responsible for what had been said when he’d been five, but ten had been more than old enough to know about his father. To choose whether to have contact or not.

  The hope that she might have been wrong died with a painful quiver.

  Maybe Prudence had simply done what her grandson had wanted. It was easy enough to imagine a smaller version of Luke with his privileged life so precisely ordered. Had he been ashamed of the fact that his father was Italian? That he had been merely a vineyard worker? Even as an adult, he’d never come looking. Never given Giovanni a single chance.

  Should she tell Rosa that her almost twin wasn’t dead after all? That he now owned the house they were coming back to just in time for a Christmas celebration?

  No. There would be time enough to say what had to be said later.

  And Amy had a few things she wanted to say to Luke first. She also had something she intended to show him. She slipped the scrapbook into her red tote bag.

  Six o’clock, but it seemed much later.

  From the neon-lit interior of St Elizabeth’s, it looked pitch-black outside. Luke could see the Christmas lights decorating the lampposts on the main road beyond the car park. He’d just come from the intensive care unit where baby Liam and his other surgical cases for the day were all doing as well as he could hope for. He’d checked on Summer, as well, and she was stable, but who knew how long that would last? Something could tip the balance at any time and send her into heart failure they had no hope of reversing. Or her heart might simply give up the struggle and stop.

  Luke paused momentarily. He should put a call through to the Eastern Infirmary in Glasgow and find out what the results had been of the EEG they’d been planning to repeat on that child in the coma. Checking his answering-machine for a message first would be polite, however, so he changed direction to head for his office before going back up to the theatre suite’s changing rooms to get out of his scrubs.

  He was almost there. Just outside the on-call bedroom he’d used last night, in fact, when he saw a slight figure turn from his office door and stride towards him.

  ‘There you are!’

  Luke halted, taken aback by the anger he could hear in Amy’s voice. What had he done? The last contact he’d had with this woman had been in his office earlier that afternoon. Rather close physical contact, and he hadn’t been aware of any undercurrent of antagonism at the time.

  Far from it!

  Had Amy been as embarrassed as he had been when his grandmother had interrupted them? Was that what was upsetting her?

  No. The commanding tone of the single word she spoke next put paid to that theory.

  ‘Luca!’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Why?’ Amy asked with deceptive softness. ‘Why did you hate him so much? What did your father ever do to deserve that?’

  ‘He was never a father to me.’ Luke spoke just as quietly and he glanced swiftly around, but there was nobody to overhear. Nevertheless, this was a conversation that should be private. His office? The on-call room right beside them?

  But Amy wasn’t going anywhere. She planted her hands on her hips and glared up at him.

  ‘And whose choice was that? You wouldn’t let him be a father to you, would you? You refused to see him. Did he know that? Had he had to pretend to his family that you had died so he didn’t have to admit to the shame of having a son who didn’t want anything to do with him?’

  ‘No! It wasn’t like that. It was him who wanted nothing to do with me. Or so I thought. I grew up believing he didn’t care.’

  ‘Pfff!’ The sound was outraged. ‘It very nearly destroyed him, Luca!’

  He wished she wouldn’t say his name like that. He wasn’t Luca. Hadn’t been since before he could remember.

  ‘He loved you. So much. As much as he loved your mother.’ Amy sucked in a breath. ‘Why did you steal the photograph?’

  ‘I…ah…’ God, she was mesmerising. Her face alight with the intensity of her emotions. Her eyes flashing sparks of fury.

  ‘You destroyed it, didn’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re planning to. Just like you’re planning to destroy his house.’

  Luke couldn’t deny it.

  ‘You don’t want to believe he loved you. That he would have died for you. That all he ever wanted was a chance to love you.’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Luke snarled. He put his hands on Amy’s shoulders and turned her so that her back was against the wall. So she would have to look up and listen. ‘I never knew he came looking for me. My grandmother thought she was protecting me. She told Giovanni his son had died. I grew up believing he didn’t care and…yes, I hated him and that was the reason I wanted to get rid of the house, but now…’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now I’m not sure. I need time to figure out what to do. What it is I…want…’ Luke’s words trailed away. He’d got carried away with what he was saying. So carried away he’d actually forgotten it was possible that someone coming along the corridor could overhear and that his most private life could become a subject of gossip. Or observe him with his hands on a female colleague. Leaning towards her, for all the world as though he was about to kiss her.

  Worst of all, he didn’t give a damn.

  Because he knew what he wanted. He was touching it and his hands were burning.

>   ‘Luca?’ The word was a whisper and Amy’s gaze clung to his. Her lips were slightly parted and the flush of anger sill tinged her cheeks. ‘What do you want?’

  Luke reached down beside Amy. To turn the handle of the door and push it open. He turned Amy’s shoulder with his other hand and drew her into the privacy of the on-call bedroom.

  ‘You,’ he said, his voice raw. ‘God help me, Amy. I want you.’

  Amy was, quite literally, being swept off her feet.

  Into a small room that Luke’s presence filled with an overpowering force, even before he closed and locked the door behind them.

  An outside window with curtains that were only half-drawn allowed light to filter in from the outside world. Just enough to give form to the force overpowering every one of Amy’s other senses.

  Not that she really needed to see Luke. She could feel him with every cell of her body. Smell his maleness and his arousal. Breathe him in along with the air she managed to snatch before his lips claimed hers with a hunger that could have been frightening.

  Except it wasn’t because her own hunger matched his. Her lips were parted before contact was made and her tongue tangled with Luke’s before she gave in with a groan of need and allowed his to penetrate her mouth unhindered. The shaft of desire it sparked was so intense she groaned again, helping Luke as he rucked up her skirt, gripped her hips and pulled her against his hardness that the thin cotton of his scrub pants did nothing to restrict.

  Thin layers of cotton and silk were the only barriers to the penetration her body was desperate for, and Amy couldn’t wait. She slid her hands beneath Luke’s tunic top to feel the smooth skin of his back and then her hands moved down and it was so easy to slip them beneath the elastic of the loose pants and delight in taking hold of buttocks that felt like silk-covered steel.

  Luke echoed her own sounds of need and Amy’s feet left the floor again as she was lifted and placed on the narrow bed. Not that she noticed the size of the bed. Or even the room. Luke filled the space. The room was Luke.

  Her blouse lost at least one button and her bra was unfastened but not removed. Luke simply pushed it aside as his hands cupped her breasts. Then his lips and tongue replaced the brush of his fingers and Amy cried out softly as she felt the graze of his teeth against nipples that had never been this sensitive.

  Clothes were a nuisance, bunched and clinging, but the luxury of getting naked was going to take too much time for either of them so they dragged them aside only as much as absolutely necessary and ignored the discomfort. They were unaware of it in the throes of physical passion, the likes of which Amy had certainly never experienced.

  It was crazy. White-hot lust that carried her to the brink of insanity and then exploded. It wasn’t until well after Luke had shuddered in her arms in the wake of his own climax and then slowly—heartbeat by heartbeat—relaxed against her that Amy could start thinking again.

  Not that she wanted to think of anything other than the sensation of lying in Luke’s arms like this. The patches of their skin that were naked still in contact. His breath, ragged against the side of her neck. His hands still holding her as though they never wanted to let her go. Her own arms were around him.

  Holding him.

  An embrace that was so tender it was heart-breaking.

  She should say something, but what?

  That was amazing?

  I never knew sex could be that good?

  I love you, Luca?

  What would he say to that? That he wasn’t Luca, he was Luke? A Harrington? That while the sex had certainly been good, this was a relationship that could never go any further?

  Safer to remain silent and not risk hearing something that could destroy what was still the most magic moment of Amy’s life.

  One that had, beyond any other, taken her breath away.

  In the end, the transformation from Luca to Luke happened rapidly thanks to the strident sound of his pager coming from somewhere on the floor. Amy could feel the way reality came between them, breaking the connection. Making every muscle in Luke’s body tense as he reached for the phone on the beside table.

  ‘Harrington.’

  He listened for less than a minute. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said.

  He turned back to Amy. ‘The EEG on the child in Glasgow was negative. The parents have signed donor-consent forms. Summer’s heart’s on the way.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHAT had he done?

  For the next hour, Luke had no time to think about anything other than the logistics of bringing a donor heart to a dying child. Co-ordinating the harvest surgery in Glasgow, the helicopter that would rush it to London and his own part in the procedure—starting the surgery on Summer and getting her onto a heart-lung bypass machine, trimming and preparing the donor heart as soon as it arrived and then removing Summer’s heart, matching the excision as exactly as possible to the same shape as the donor organ.

  To create a perfect match.

  This had to work because it would save Summer’s life and…for the first time, Luke’s motivation had a new edge. That he was doing this for Amy, as well as Summer, could not be dismissed as irrelevant.

  It was a gift that would bring tears of joy to her eyes. An amazing gift that Luke was capable of bestowing, and Amy would love it.

  Would she love him for giving it?

  A respite in organisation came when everything was set up. The surgery would start in Glasgow and a phone line was being kept open, linking the theatres. When the donor heart was removed and pronounced viable, the clock would start ticking in London and Summer would move into Theatre and go under the anaesthetic. She was already in the anteroom and under mild sedation but the small girl did not seem at all frightened.

  Why would she be?

  She lay cuddled in Amy’s arms and Luke knew exactly how that felt. How much was being given. And that was when the enormity of what had happened in the on-call room hit home.

  Luke had never been cuddled. His grandmother loved him, he knew that, but she wasn’t capable of being physically demonstrative. Maybe she never had been. Maybe that had contributed to his mother falling in love with someone who could show her how important that kind of comfort was. His own parents had certainly been comfortable with close contact. He could tell that from that photograph he had looked at many times since he had stolen it.

  So he had known love through touch and then it had been wrenched from his life and he hadn’t experienced it again.

  Until now.

  He wasn’t a virgin. Far from it. But he’d never, ever felt threatened by sex.

  Afraid.

  Afraid he’d found something he’d been looking for his entire life because, having found it, he would have to live with the fear—no, the knowledge—that it could be wrenched away from him.

  No. His heart told him he could trust Amy. With his life.

  He could hear her reassuring Summer.

  ‘Everything’s fine, cara. It’s going to be all right. I’m taking care of you. I’m taking care of everything.’

  Everything?

  What did that mean?

  Oh…Yes…

  Luke’s brain dredged up what was ringing the alarm bell and his head had always won over anything his heart had to say. Good and bad. That’s why he had learned to listen and follow what it said. Rational thinking over emotion. His head had something very different to his heart to say right now.

  You can’t trust it, it said. Remember!

  Remember what?

  Remember what she said.

  What did she say?

  She’d do anything to save that damned house. To keep it for her family. Anything! And she just said it again, didn’t she? She’s taking care of everything.

  She might have meant the operation. The other children. Christmas.

  No. She had sex with you because she wants something.

  Me. She wants me the same way I want her.

  No. She wants the house. That’s all. Remember?
She’d do anything!

  It was true. He’d looked at her in his office and the desire to hold her and kiss her had been overwhelming, and she’d said she’d do anything and his body had screamed the question—even this?

  And her eyes had given him the answer. Yes. Especially this.

  She may have wanted it as much as he had, but had that been because she was prepared to do anything to save her home and he’d just gone along with it? His grandmother had been horrified that he was kissing Amy in his office. How shocked would she be to know he’d had sex with her in the on-call bedroom? Good grief, what if that hit the grapevine? His reputation would be ruined. Amy could blackmail him with that if she was so inclined. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He could not allow that to happen.

  He could make sure it didn’t. She could have the damned house. He’d hand it to her on a plate and see if that made a difference. He’d be able to tell. Her face. Those eyes—they were so incredibly expressive. If the house was all she’d wanted, he’d see satisfaction for payment of services rendered. Victory would be written there for him to read.

  And if he saw something else?

  There was no time to contemplate that scenario.

  ‘The Eastern Infirmary’s called through,’ a nurse relayed. ‘Heart’s good. It’s being chilled and packed now and the helicopter is standing by on the roof.’

  ‘Code green, then.’ Luke simply nodded at the anaesthetist, any personal thoughts banished instantly. ‘You start while I’m scrubbing.’

  He had to ignore the flash of fear in Amy’s eyes. The way she used both her hands to stroke the child’s face as she bent down for a final kiss.

  ‘It’s all right, cara,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  The surgery was going to take hours. Rather than wait and pace outside Theatre, Amy chose to go home. While Zoe was happy to babysit and Robert proud to help, they were still both too young to have complete responsibility for the others, especially two lively six-year-old twins.

  Part of Amy wanted nothing more than to stay and keep vigil and she was missing her mother and sister more right now than ever, but that was another reason to leave for a while. She needed to call them and tell them about this new, potentially miraculous development in Summer’s life.