A Kiss To Change Her Life

Their mouths met in an accidental kiss—a faux pas which might have been easily rectified if Jess had apologised immediately and created some distance. Except Rob’s lips were as soft as they looked, and she lingered there a little longer than was probably socially acceptable.

‘Sorry.’ She stepped back when common sense kicked in again. Kissing Rob when all he’d done was be nice to her was a stupid, impulsive move which screamed desperation.

Rob shot out his hand to catch her around the waist and pull her back. She was mid-gasp and flush against him when his mouth came crashing back down on hers.

He stole her breath away as he caught her bottom lip between his and sent her head spinning from the lack of oxygen. She didn’t know where the unexpected display of passion had come from, but she wanted more.

The sensation of butterfly wings on her skin tickled her from head to toe, until every erogenous zone in her body was on high alert. She really shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she was. He was grieving. She was a mess. But this felt so good …

Dear Reader,

As a mother, I know that feeling of helplessness when my sons suffer any sort of illness or injury. For those whose young children have been struck by cancer it must be even more difficult to stay strong. It’s a devastating disease which affects the whole family.

The research I did for this book taught me a lot about the patients and staff who inhabit the oncology wards. There are some amazing stories of courage and determination out there, along with some truly heartbreaking tales. However, one thing is clear—thanks to the ongoing research carried out in this field, survival rates are higher than ever.

My glamorous heroine, Jessica, is a survivor of childhood leukaemia herself. She’s keen for her documentary to show the amazing work that goes on behind the scenes of cancer treatment, but finds opposition in Rob, a fiercely private oncologist. Behind their successful careers both are grieving losses of their own, but they can’t hide for ever when they’re working together in such an emotional environment.

I loved writing this book, even though the subject matter was so difficult it brought me to tears on more than one occasion. I have nothing but respect for the families and staff who deal with this illness every day. I will be making a donation to my local children’s hospice from the proceeds of this book.

Love,

Karin x

KARIN BAINE lives in Northern Ireland with her husband, two sons, and her out-of-control notebook collection. Her mother and grandmother’s vast collection of books inspired her love of reading and her dream of becoming a Mills & Boon author. It wasn’t until she joined her critical group UCW that she started to believe she could actually write—and only her husband’s support enabled her to pursue it. At least now she can tell people she has a proper job! You can follow Karin on Twitter: @karinbaine1.

A Kiss to Change Her Life

Karin Baine

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my bestie, Cathy. I still owe you a Mr G story!

A huge thanks to Charlotte Mursell for working so hard with me on this book. My afternoon with you and Laura McCallen is one I’ll remember for a long time. xx

I also need to give a shout-out to Brian and AJ, who helped me with the technical stuff. Even though I may have taken a few creative liberties with it …

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Endpages

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE BANK OF monitors filled with Dr Dreamboat’s handsome profile as he strode past the remote camera in the hospital corridor. Jessica could see why the female members of the production team, and some of the men, had bestowed the nickname upon him. His strong stubbled jawline, wavy dark hair and piercing blue eyes made Rob Campbell perfect eye candy. With the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt bunched at his biceps and his sand-coloured trousers taut across muscled thighs, the guy looked as if he should be playing rugby and smashing into other huge beasts rather than holding hands with poorly children. As the consultant paediatric oncologist at the Belfast Community Children’s Hospital, he was a vital link between the patients, staff and camera crew. It was a shame he’d been so reluctant for the documentary series to go ahead in the first place.

He’d voiced his considerable concern that they were violating his patients’ privacy at the production meetings and it was in the project’s best interest for Jessica to get him on board. Regardless of the hospital board’s decision to allow filming and the crew’s assurances that they would be sympathetic and respectful to all involved, the consultant had treated their presence here with quiet disdain. Jessica hadn’t addressed him directly in the few days they’d been on-site to prepare for filming and instead had focused on building a rapport with the families on the ward. She had the signed consent forms of those willing to participate and didn’t want anything to jeopardise everything she’d worked towards. This meant more to her than ratings and job security.

Cancer had been a huge part of her life; it still was in some ways. Not content to hijack her childhood, it had also tried to dictate her future. The after-effects of her treatment had followed her into adulthood and triggered early menopause. Just as she’d started to recover her femininity, that life-stealing illness had dealt the ultimate blow and made sure she could never be a whole woman.

Well, cancer had taken on the wrong redheaded warrior to tango with. It could take away her fiancé who couldn’t deal with a barren future wife. It could take away the daughter she’d always dreamed of pampering like a little princess. But it couldn’t take away her spirit. Nor anyone else’s if she could possibly help it. If this series brought more funding to the hospital and helped even one child with their fight, it would be worth the pain it caused Jessica to relive her own.

The easiest way to allay Dr Campbell’s fears that they’d trample over anyone in the pursuit of a good story would be to explain she was a survivor of childhood leukaemia herself. It would substantiate her plea that she simply wanted to raise public awareness of the incredible work that went on here. But that would mean exposing her weakness and the last time she’d done that it had cost her everything.

Adam, the man she’d thought she’d spend the rest of her life with, simply hadn’t been able to cope with her health problems and who could blame him? When a man proposed to a vibrant young woman, he didn’t expect to be marrying some prematurely aged, decrepit version of her. Their engagement had ended once Jessica’s failings as a woman had become apparent. The hot flushes, mood swings and childless future had been difficult enough for her to deal with, never mind live alongside.

In tear-filled hindsight, he probably hadn’t been the right man for her. Although he’d been right when he’d told her no man should be expected to take her on now that she was infertile. It would be selfish of her to ask that of anyone, not to mention detrimental to her well-being to imagine it a possibility. She’d only got through her body’s changes and the break-up by accepting her fate as an eternal singleton and moving on. These days, her career was her significant other and these programmes filled that void where a family should be. They were her babies and she cherished every one. Each successful production she made was validation of her worth and all that she needed to fill her life. No man could ever make her feel as good as the awards and accolades bestowed on her for her work to date.

Now, not even an uncooperative oncologist could persuade her to divulge that deeply personal medical information lest it be used against her in some way. She’d worked too hard to put the pain of the past behind her to use it as a bargaining tool.

This was the first day of shooting and Jessica wanted to get it off to the best start possible. She’d done some reading up on Dr Campbell, enough to understand where his passion lay, and it wasn’t a million miles from her own. He was leading the fundraising drive to pay for an MRI scanner for the Children’s Hospital. There was no reason they couldn’t use the airtime to promote the cause and perhaps cultivate a more harmonious relationship at the same time.

With that in mind, Jessica left the busy hub of the mobile production unit situated in the grounds of the hospital car park and went in search of her latest challenge. She’d learned at an early age to meet every obstacle in her path head-on and Rob Campbell was no exception. A liberal application of lip gloss, and a toss of her bouncy auburn curls later, she was ready to make contact with her target. She strode through the hospital entrance with a confidence that wasn’t one hundred per cent genuine.

It was still early morning, the best time to do a recce around the corridors while it was relatively peaceful, quiet except for the sharp tap of her stilettos on the tiled floor. The impending sense of doom which descended as she navigated the maze of corridors had less to do with first-day nerves and everything to do with her residual hospital phobia.

The bright, airy atmosphere of the modern hospital was a far cry from the imposing Victorian building she’d attended for treatment. Instead of dark and imposing corridors, this wing was lined with colourful frescos designed to appeal to the children who attended.

Despite the visual differences and the time she’d had to get used to the surroundings, the glare of fluorescent lights and smell of bleach and antiseptic still took her back to a time when she wasn’t so in control of her own destiny. Her steps faltered as a tide of nausea washed over her and forced a halt to her journey. She leaned against the wall, fighting to regulate her breathing and quell her rebelling stomach.

Inhale. Count to five. Exhale. Try not to puke on your expensive red-soled shoes. Repeat until normal brain function returns.

Jessica pulled off her heels so her stockinged feet rested flat on the cool floor, back on solid ground. This wasn’t about her. She was a visitor this time around, a grown-up replacing that pitiful figure who’d once resided here. When she’d first heard about this opportunity, she’d jumped at the chance to take part, regardless of her personal experience, perhaps even because of it.

Good or bad, hospital life had been a huge part of her childhood. Without the staff who’d looked after her, she would never have made it past adolescence, never mind the ripe old age of twenty-eight. Finally, she was in a position to pay something back. Replacing a husband and two point four kids with an impressive CV and impeccable professional reputation meant she could shine a light on a worthy cause. Nothing was going to stand in the way of that. Not her own personal issues and certainly not a difficult doctor who didn’t know the first thing about her.

The double doors at the end of the corridor swung open and closed as staff walked in and out, giving a quick flash of the elusive consultant in his natural habitat. Every glimpse of Tall-Dark-and-Handsome reminded her how he’d earned his hospital heart-throb status. The nurses were flitting around him like groupies around a rock star and she was sure there were a few hoping to catch his eye for more than professional reasons. She could see why his good looks and high-ranking position seemed to attract every female within a five-mile radius but Jessica’s focus had to remain on her project. There was no time for distractions. Certainly not a sexy, six-foot-plus real-life superhero one.

She gave herself a mental shake and coaxed her mind away from the image of her new work colleague in body-hugging Lycra and tights. Fantasy rarely lived up to reality anyway.

With another deep breath, she drew herself up to her full five feet eight inches and made her way towards him, her shoes still in hand. Since any infection was potentially life-threatening to those on the other side of the doors, she paused only to squirt some hand sanitiser from the dispenser on the wall before she entered the ward.

Dr Campbell was standing at the nurses’ station, his back to her, exuding a don’t-come-any-closer authority without even trying. It took every ounce of her courage to edge closer to him.

‘What do you want?’ He didn’t look up from the charts he was studying as he barked at her. It was the tone a busy and important professional used to fend off time-wasters so that only the bravest souls would persevere with their queries. She used it herself from time to time.

Having seen him in action on the ward from a distance, she knew how tender he could be under different circumstances. Clearly he didn’t intend to make friends with her any time soon. Jessica reminded herself she’d taken on much worse than a doctor with a chip on his shoulder and lived to tell the tale.

‘Hi. I’m Jessica Halliday, a producer for the documentary series currently being filmed. I was hoping we could have a quick chat before filming gets underway.’

‘No can do. I have a full schedule this morning, even if I thought there was any point in speaking to you.’ That gruff Scottish accent could’ve reduced a lesser mortal to a puddle of hormones, or tears. Not this girl. She didn’t do swooning. Although when he did eventually turn around she might have shivered a tiny bit under his blue steel stare.

‘It’s important the viewers see the stories from the staff point of view as well as the patients’. I really think we could both benefit from working together and, as the man in charge, your input means a lot to the show.’ As much as it galled her to sacrifice her pride, she wasn’t averse to using flattery in order to get his approval.

‘I’m sure there are a lot of men who would bend over backwards to keep you happy, Ms Halliday.’ The doctor swept his gaze over her and, to her horror, a tingle of awareness danced across her skin. Male appreciation wasn’t unfamiliar to her when a busy lifestyle ensured she kept her slim figure. However, she wasn’t in the market for an inflexible male, and she didn’t appreciate her body trying to convince her otherwise.

‘I have no interest in reality television. If I did, I’d audition for one of those singers’ got-no-talent shows instead of piggybacking on the misfortunes of the sick for celebrity status. I’ve consented to filming—that doesn’t mean I’ll pretend to be happy about it. These kids are going through enough without having cameras and microphones shoved in their faces. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to see.’ He broke off eye contact and returned to shuffling his paperwork.

The visual dismissal was the human equivalent of being hit with a fly swatter. Thanks to one life-altering break-up, Jessica didn’t take rejection well. Her self-esteem demanded she leave more of an impression than an indistinguishable smudge in his day.

She shot out her hand to still his and demand attention. If she’d imagined him to feel like the cold fish he’d portrayed, the heat burning her fingertips where she touched him told her otherwise. Before she could linger on that thought, he snatched his hand away, frowned and took a step away from her as though she was contagious.

The snub stung like a sunburn in a hot shower. From her expensive clothes habit to her regular beauty treatments, she worked hard to make an impression on people. And to feel good in her own skin. She couldn’t help but take any unwarranted slight against her personally and there was only one way to soothe the burn. With cool, hard facts.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way about what we are trying to do here. For the record, this is not a reality show—it’s a factual documentary series. As we explained before, our intention is to provide an accurate record of the process here and how serious illness affects the lives of everyone involved. I’ll have to interview the staff and patients, so we’ll need to draw up a schedule … I know there’s a disused storeroom we can use for that once it’s cleaned up … It would be great if we can organise a team meeting between my crew and yours every morning to coordinate filming. I hope we can find a way to work together, Dr Campbell, because I would really like to help—’

‘I think you’re under the misapprehension that we’re somehow colleagues. I am not here to make your job easier, but to ensure my patients receive the best care available. For their sake I hope you don’t get in the way of that.’ He swept the files under his arm in one smooth motion and started to walk away before she had a chance to mention the MRI scanner.

As if sensing her mentally swearing at him, the consultant turned back. ‘And please put your shoes on and at least try to be professional here.’

With her livelihood on a collision course with his ego, Jessica hopped across the floor after him, desperately trying to wedge her shoes back on her feet. As the go-to person on these productions, she didn’t normally get flustered. She was the cool one in a crisis. Until now. She put it down to the surroundings rather than being nervous around this particular man.

‘I am trying to be professional, if you would only cooperate.’

He stopped, arched a mocking eyebrow at her as she bobbed about like an inebriated socialite falling out of a nightclub, and walked on. She’d underestimated the strength of his objection and his unease was going to be even more noticeable on camera. She needed to fix this. Fast.

‘I want to help with the fundraising for the MRI scanner.’

That soon stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face her.

‘How?’

It seemed her determination had paid off as she located his Achilles heel. At least now she had an opening for a more civil conversation. She hoped.

‘We can flash up the details of where people can donate on screen during the programme. Do you have a website set up?’

‘Yes, but I suspect you already know that.’ He watched her through narrowed eyes. So much for getting him onside. Now he was looking at her as if she was some kind of stalker.

She shrugged. ‘I make no apologies for doing my research. This comes down to the fact that we can give the cause a boost.’

‘If I play nice?’

‘We appear to have got off on the wrong foot, Doctor. I’m not here to bully people into doing what I want. I’m simply trying to do right by all the families here. The scanner appeal will get a mention whether or not we can get along.’ Jessica could produce a stunning programme in the worst of circumstances but she could do without this, frankly uncalled for, animosity when there were already so many emotional threads tying her to this.

‘Don’t take it personally. I’m very protective of my patients, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

‘Of course. But we’re on the same team here. Why don’t we start again? I’m Jessica.’ She held out her hand and attempted to erase their first frosty introduction.

The Highland Terror began to thaw as he gave her a smile capable of breaking the hearts of every hot-blooded woman in the vicinity. Thankfully, Jessica didn’t let hers make decisions for her any more. These days she kept that vital organ out of her relationships with men and kept everything strictly casual. It was the only defence she had against the pain which would inevitably follow if she got too involved. Short and sweet was the way she ran her love life. That way there was no pressure on her to reveal her unsuitability as a prospective wife and mother further down the line.

‘Rob.’ He clapped his large hand into hers to shake on the proposed truce and startled her. It was probably just as well when her thoughts had turned to flings and relationships at the sight of one sexy smile. This wasn’t the time or place, and he certainly wasn’t her idea of fun.

‘As a producer I’m well versed in getting financial backers on board, so I will definitely see what I can do with regard to your project. I’ve spoken to the director too and, if you and the other trustees are agreeable, we’d like to film some aspects of the fundraising initiatives going on. Perhaps we could get a sound bite from you on the subject at some point?’ Jessica pushed the limits of their newly formed friendship a tad further but she hadn’t got where she was today by playing it safe. Besides, they would probably need some lighter moments to balance out a lot of the difficult emotional subject matter. She’d flicked through enough pictures of the volunteers’ antics on the website to know they had fun along the fundraising trail, regardless of whatever troubles they had at home or on the ward.

‘We’ll see.’ He didn’t commit to doing anything with, or for, her but at least he’d stopped scowling at her. She’d chalk that up as a win.

There was little more Rob could do. He’d made his objections known to the hospital board and the pretty redhead in charge of this madness. From here on in he’d just have to suck it up and put his personal feelings about the media aside.

He’d psyched himself up to do battle this morning over how this circus was going to play out in the department. On the few occasions he’d seen the producer before today she’d been placating the staff with facts and figures on why this would benefit the hospital. The lack of emotion she’d displayed on what was such a heartrending subject for most people had led Rob to peg her as a cross between a stiff in a trouser suit and another overzealous reporter.

Well, Jessica had blasted the first part of his theory out of the water, bursting in here dressed as if she was going to a wedding. Her wedding. A short white lace dress wasn’t the most practical outfit he’d ever seen on the ward. And those shoes—taupe … beige … nude … he wasn’t sure of the technical term—he was sure they would send the health and safety lot into a tailspin. One misstep on those spikes and she’d be heading back out to A&E.

The jury was still out on whether she lived up to his preconceived ideas of media types. It didn’t bode well that she already had a list of demands with no thought to the daily running of the place. Unfortunately, cancer didn’t work to a timetable and it would be down to her to fit in, not the other way around.

Perhaps he had been hasty in making assumptions about her character but he was extra-sensitive on the subject of privacy. And about intrusive investigators who unwittingly made their subjects’ lives hell.

Five years after his wife and daughter had died, he was still trying to come to terms with the car accident and his loss, which had been splashed all over the newspapers. His grief had been compounded by the idea that he’d somehow caused the deaths of his family. If only he hadn’t argued with Leah. If only she hadn’t stormed out of the house in such a temper because of him. If he’d simply gone with her and Mollie in the first place. Then perhaps they would never have crossed paths with a so-called joyrider. Since the other driver had fled the scene, never to be caught, Rob would never know how events had played out, or ever find closure.