Picking up the Pieces

‘You could have moved the trolley. Whatever, I’m sorry I embarrassed you publicly.’

She blinked. That was it? She had expected a mild reproof, at the very least, if not an outright dressing-down — certainly not what amounted to a full-scale apology! And in that soft, coaxing voice, like rough velvet.

He had turned and was looking round her bed-sitting-room with interest.

As well he might, she thought with a sudden flare of embarrassment. Her undies were draped over the radiator to dry, scraps of silk and lace, her one major weakness. Hurriedly she scooped them up and shoved them into a drawer, her cheeks flaming.

He was looking at her Christmas cards, his mouth twitching as he pretended to ignore her embarrassment.

‘Um …’ she began, but then floundered to a halt. How could she get rid of him before she made a total fool of herself?

He straightened, as if he read her mind. ‘I’m just going, but before I do, one last thing.’

He crossed the room slowly, purposefully, and held out a card to her.

‘See this?’ he said softly.

It was a picture of a sprig of mistletoe. Belatedly it dawned on her what he was going to do, but she was too late to move, and anyway, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

‘Happy New Year,’ he murmured, and, holding the card over their heads, he wrapped his other arm round her, drew her up against his chest and lowered his mouth to hers.

The sensation was electric, his lips soft and yet firm against hers, and she could feel his heartbeat against her own. She gave a little cry, and he took instant advantage to deepen the kiss.

Dimly she was aware of the card fluttering to the floor as his hands came up to cup her face and steady her against his onslaught, and then she was aware of nothing except the heat of his mouth, the urgent rhythm of his tongue and the way her body ached to know him.

Her hands were on his back, and through the soft cotton of his sweater she could feel the muscles ripple as she kneaded them with her palms.

‘Cassie,’ he groaned, and his hands left her face, one sliding down her back to ease her hips more firmly against his, the other coming round to cup her breast in his large, skilful hand.

One hard thigh nudged between hers, and his mouth abandoned its exploration of her jaw to return to her lips, sucking and nibbling, then soothing with the moist velvet of his tongue.

He was trembling, his body taut with passion, and she arched against him, desperate to eradicate even the tiny space still left between them. There was no thought of stopping him, no way she could find the resolve to push him aside. Her mind had surrendered absolutely to her body’s needs, and at that moment in time, she needed this almost-stranger with the laughing eyes and the ready wit and the clever, clever mouth.

Just then his clever mouth lifted from hers, and he rested his cheek on her hair, his hand leaving her breast to cup the back of her head and tenderly smooth the tousled curls.

Oh, Cassie,’ he said softly after several minutes, and then eased away from her.

His mouth was softly swollen from their kisses, his hair mussed, his eyes dark with wanting.

‘You were right,’ he told her gently, and his voice shook. ‘You shouldn’t have let me in.’

Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, and she sat down with a plonk on the edge of the bed, stunned.

She tried to analyse what had happened, but her brain didn’t seem able to co-operate. She was awash with sensation, her body alive and tingling, and the only thing that penetrated her awareness was the dull ache of longing that kept her awake for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER TWO

NICK was stunned.

OK, it had been a long time — nearly a year, in fact, the longest he had been without a woman since he had gone to college.

Even so …

He dropped on to the bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling and rerunning the last few hours.

It had all started in Theatre, of course, with the subtle warmth of her body soft against his side, the slight shift of her hip, the delicate fragrance of her hair — or had it? Had it started when she had crashed into him, her soft breasts pressed against his chest, that same delicate fragrance invading his nostrils and tangling in his senses?

He could smell her still, a faint trace of the scent lingering on his jumper — and small wonder. He had got close enough to her, for God’s sake!

And yet not close enough. His body ached, the heavy fullness taunting him. He closed his eyes and groaned, shifting his jeans to ease the pressure.

Who was he trying to kid? Only one thing would ease it, and, even at his worst, he would have balked at falling so easily into bed with a woman he had just barely met.

He was too old for this, for the raging hormones of adolescence, the uncontrollable reaction of his body, the shattering, all-consuming need for sex. What he needed was a relationship, a full, balanced, mature relationship based on considerably more than just lust.

He rolled on to his front and groaned.

Ok, his mind knew all that. Try telling his body!

He did — for the next two hours. Then he went up to the ward and checked on his patients, to find a pale but unchastened Trevor slumped in the sister’s office swilling black coffee. He glared at Nick balefully.

‘I gather you did a magnificent job.’

Nick snorted. ‘Well, one of us had to, and you were clearly in no condition to be let loose near a patient.’

‘Yes, well, I should keep that to yourself, old chap. Family contacts and so on — wouldn’t look good for the new boy to cast aspersions…’

He levered himself up and groaned involuntarily, then forced a smile. ‘I’ll return the favour one day.’

Nick stepped back out of his way. ‘That won’t be necessary — I like to remain sober when I’m on duty.’

Trevor stopped. ‘I don’t think you’ve been listening tome.’

‘Oh, I have — and I didn’t like what I heard. I won’t be intimidated, I don’t care who the hell you’re related to. If you foul up again, I’ll report you.’

Trevor gave a short, contemptuous laugh. ‘I’m terrified. Excuse me.’

Nick watched him go, disgust and anger warring within him. There was nothing he hated more than people using their contacts — unless it was being threatened by those people.

He went back out into the ward and found the staff nurse on duty at the work station. After discussing last night’s patients with her, he went back to his room, picked up a coat and walked the deserted streets around the hospital until the light faded.

Then he returned to his room, exhausted, and threw himself down on to the bed.

Perhaps now he could sleep, he thought, but the faintest trace of Cassie’s fragrance drifted off his clothes still and he groaned, still tormented by the memory of her sweet softness cradled against him.

Was there no peace?

There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to get to know her — fast!

Cassie had given up all attempts at sleep and was making a cup of tea when the knock came on the door late that afternoon.

She opened it, and stepped back in surprise.

‘Nick!’

He grinned, a little sheepishly, and thrust a bunch of flowers at her. ‘For you.’

She took them, flustered, and then found she was holding a handful of wet stems.

She met his laughing eyes suspiciously. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘One of the wards.’ His grin was infectious, but she tried not to be influenced.

‘I should make you take them back.’

‘No point — she’s gone home without them. Discharged herself. Can I come in?’

She stood back and he pushed the door shut behind him and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

She glanced down at the flowers. They were lovely, their bright jewel colours bringing sunshine into the room. So what if he had lifted them from a ward? She smiled at his cheekiness.

‘So, to what do I owe these…?’ She gestured with the flowers, and he smiled slightly.

‘I owe you an apology,’ he said eventually. ‘I came on to you like a hyperactive schoolboy — I’m sorry.’

Good lord, he was flushing! Cassie hid her smile.

‘Please, don’t worry. It was sort of mutual.’

He snorted with laughter. ‘I beg to differ. No schoolboy ever came on to me like that before!’

The giggle escaped before she could stop it. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. Look, I was just making tea — would you like some?’

He looked slightly surprised — as if he was expecting her to throw him out. She probably should.

She dumped the flowers in the sink, washed her hands and wiped them on her jeans. God knows where the towel was.

‘Yes or no?’

His gaze dragged up from her hips and focused blankly on her eyes. ‘What?’

‘Tea.’

He flushed again. ‘Yes — please.’

‘How do you like it?’

His eyes flew up to hers, startled, and then fluttered shut.

‘On second thoughts, perhaps this isn’t such a good idea,’ he muttered. His voice sounded strained, slightly choked. He went to turn away but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

‘Nick? Why did you come?’

He sighed and turned back to her. His eyes were staggeringly blue, clear and bright and filled with conflicting emotions.

‘I wanted to get to know you. I’ve been thinking about you all day. You’re driving me crazy. I want you. It’s ridiculous; we have to work together. I thought if we spent some time just talking, getting to know each other — perhaps it would all simmer down and we could — oh, hell, I don’t know. You got any good ideas?’

She shook her head, compelled by his honesty to be truthful. ‘None. I feel the same. Nuts, isn’t it?’

Her smile was tentative, uncertain, and Nick felt the tension inside him ease a little.

‘Absolutely crazy,’ he agreed. ‘White, no sugar.’

Her jaw sagged a little, and then the smile broke out in earnest and brushed her eyes with gold. ‘Find yourself a seat.’

He looked at the bed — tugged up rather than made, the cover still turned back, doubtless laden with that delicate fragrance — and chose the solitary chair for the sake of his sanity.

‘So,’ she handed him a mug, dropped on to the bed and hitched her legs up, crossing her bare feet at the ankle, ‘what do you want to know?’

‘Everything — anything. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight.’

His brows shot up. ‘Really? You don’t look it.’

‘You’re supposed to say that to ladies in their eighties,’ she teased.

He felt a grin pluck at his lips.

‘Touché. What else? Oh — where did you train?’

‘The Westminster. You?’

‘Barts. Did you know Simon and Jodie Reeve?’

The question was totally unexpected, and Cassie felt shock crawl over her skin. She managed to answer, though, but her voice sounded strained to her ears.

‘I worked with Simon for a while. I only met Jodie once.’ The once she had come and begged Cassie not to ruin her marriage — the marriage Cassie hadn’t known existed.

They split up about three years ago — some heartless bitch got her claws into him.’

She controlled the urge to deny it, to tell him that she hadn’t been heartless, just endlessly, blindly, stupidly in love with a manipulative snake and a compulsive liar. Instead she simply nodded. ‘So I gather. I’d left by then.’ She took a steadying breath and changed the subject — fast. ‘So, about you — how old are you?’

‘Thirty-three. Have you ever been married?’

‘No. How about you? Are you married?’

He shook his head. ‘No. No, I’m not married.’ Not any more. He wasn’t ready to enlarge on that, though. It was all too fresh, too raw. He turned the conversation back to her.

‘Anyone special in your life? Anybody you love?’

She thought of Simon. She had loved him once, or so she thought, but not now, and maybe not ever. She shook her head. ‘No, no one special. No one at all, actually.’ Her smile was wistful, and covered a wealth of loneliness. ‘How about you?’

Only Tim, he thought, but she didn’t mean that, and, if he wasn’t ready to talk about Jennifer, he certainly wasn’t ready to talk about his son. ‘No. I am, as they say, footloose and fancy free.’

‘The perennial bachelor,’ she teased, and he smiled slightly.

‘Sort of. Are you doing anything tonight?’

‘No-why?’

‘Come out for dinner.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Nick.’

‘No strings, I promise.’

‘No goodnight kiss?’

There was a long pause that zinged with tension, and then his mouth twisted into that one-sided grin that melted all her resolve.

‘Maybe just a little one.’

‘And then another, and another, and before you know it —’

‘No kiss, then.’

‘Promise?’

His eyes softened with rueful humour. ‘I promise.’

‘Seven, then. I don’t want to be late tonight, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow — family lunch.’

‘That’s fine, I could do with an early night myself. I’ll pick you up.’

He stood up, and she unwound her legs and slid off the bed. ‘Er — how dressy? Like, jeans, ball gown — which?’

‘Is that the choice?’

His grin was infectious. ‘I do have one or two things in between,’ she told him with heavy irony.

He paused, then shot her a keen look. ‘Do you like dancing?’

‘Dancing?’

‘Yes — you know, jiggling about to music —’

‘OK, OK — yes, I love dancing!’

‘Good. We’ll go dancing. Wear something —’ he waved his hands expansively ‘— dressy and appropriate.’

‘Dressy — appropriate — right. OK, out. If you’re taking me dancing, I need time to prepare.’

He grinned and winked. ‘I can hardly wait.’

Cassie’s heart was thudding and her palms felt clammy by seven o’clock. She had dragged the entire contents of her wardrobe out and ferreted through them in growling desperation. The only thing — absolutely the only thing she could possibly look right in for what Nick had in mind was practically topless and virtually bottomless as well.

Black, tight, the ruched satin bodice miraculously clinging to her slight breasts and hugging her ribs and waist, the skirt full from the hip and outrageously short, it was sexy, fun, provocative and totally over the top.

It was also the only thing in her wardrobe other than black leggings and a sequin-studded camisole that was remotely dressy, and she hardly ever got the chance to wear it.

She found a soft black wool shawl that covered her almost completely, and draped it round her shoulders.

Instantly better. With the spangled tights and the high, strappy sandals she felt ready to dance the night away, and that was just what she was going to do!

She was just doing a last twirl in front of the mirror when she heard a firm stride stop at her door, and then a sharp knock.

She opened the door, and totally forgot her nerves.

He looked stunning. She had thought he was attractive tired and rumpled at the end of a long night’s operating — like this, freshly showered and shaved, with a sparkling white shirt, silk bowtie and dinner suit, he was devastating.

He was also standing in her doorway with his mouth hanging slightly open — much like hers.

She collected herself and found a smile, suddenly shy. ‘Come in.’

‘Ah — um …’He cleared his throat and met her eyes again. ‘You look…’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Are you ready?’

She nodded.

‘Come on, then, I’ve got a taxi outside.’

His hand on the small of her back was firm and warm, and he didn’t remove it until he opened the car door and ushered her in.

They went to a club she had never been to, but Nick was clearly known. The woman behind the desk almost oozed over the top.

‘Hello, there. Long time no see. Thought you’d deserted us.’

‘Would I, Janet?’ he said lightly, and placing his hand firmly in the small of Cassie’s back again, he guided her towards the restaurant.

‘Nick — good to see you again. How was Suffolk?’

‘Fine — Carlo, this is Cassie Blake. She’s very special. I hope you’ve saved us somewhere romantic.’

Carlo winked at her. ‘Always the romantic — you known this guy long?’

She smiled self-consciously. ‘Twenty-four hours?’

‘Ah — love at first sight! For you, I have the best table…’

It was, indeed, wonderfully romantic, screened by lush plants and bathed in soft music. Although it was still very early by London standards, it was already busy, but tucked away in their leafy nook they could have been quite alone.

They ate, and drank, and talked softly, though what food and drink and words crossed her lips Cassie couldn’t say. She was totally absorbed in Nick, to the exclusion of anything and everything else.

And later, when the tempo changed and the music grew lively, he led her on to the dance-floor and they danced for hours.

He was incredible, but so easy to dance with. His movements were fluid, his body graceful, but always in tune with hers, sometimes leading, sometimes following, always together. It was like being in Theatre with him, she thought, perfectly attuned, anticipating each other as if they had danced together for years.

After a few dances the band struck up a rock ‘n’ roll number, and Nick pulled her close. ‘Can you jive?’ he asked.

She laughed in delight. ‘Can a bird fly?’

He kissed her briefly and then threw her out to the end of his arm, reeling her in again and twirling her under before turning her to face him.

She matched him move for move, and, as his steps grew more complicated and daring, so she kept up without missing a beat.

As the dance finished he pulled her close and kissed her soundly. ‘You’re fantastic!’ he laughed breathlessly. ‘Oh, Cass…’

They jived again and again, and then when the tempo slowed they came together, swaying gently in each other’s arms, trapped by the spell of the music and the magic they found in each other’s eyes.

At last he led her back to their table and asked Carlo to call them a taxi.

‘You wanted an early night,’ he said apologetically.

She realised with amazement that it was almost three o’clock, but she didn’t care.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said softly, and there were stars in her eyes.

‘Cassie…’

He took her hand and wrapped it in his, then led her to the door.

The receptionist gave Cassie an envious look but she ignored it, too wrapped up in Nick even to notice.

There was no question in her mind, no doubt, no hesitation.

As the taxi dropped them off at the hospital gates, Nick turned to her.

‘I don’t think I’d better come to your room with you tonight. I made you a promise — somehow I have a feeling I’ll end up breaking it.’

She slid her hand up his arm and on to his chest, feeling the heavy beating of his heart against her palm. Her own heart was beating faster, too, racing against her ribs and making it hard to breath. Her voice was soft, deep, a little husky.

‘What if I release you from that promise?’

He swallowed convulsively. ‘Cassie…’

‘Come on.’

She slid her hand back down his arm and threaded her fingers through his. They tightened protectively, and she felt a wave of tenderness wash over her.

It would be wonderful. He would be gentle, and caring, and the heat would flare between them, melting away any last reservations and leaving them complete …

‘I have to get something from my room,’ he said softly, and they walked swiftly down the corridor, impatient to be alone.

He paused at his door, a frown of consternation on his face as he read the note pinned to it.

Oh, damn…’

‘What?’

‘I’m needed in Theatre for some reason. I’ll have to go.’

‘Trevor,’ she said heavily. ‘Again.’

He turned to her, his eyes still dark with passion. ‘Cassie, I’m sorry…’

She swallowed her disappointment. ‘There’ll be another day.’

‘I must go…’

She watched him stride away, his legs eating up the corridor, until he turned at the end and was gone.

Because New Year’s Day had been a Saturday, the following Monday was a bank holiday and so the hospital didn’t get back to its normal routine until Tuesday, and it was Tuesday morning in Theatre before she saw Nick again.

As he walked in, her heart stopped in its tracks and then crashed back to life again, and he headed straight for her, a smile lighting up his eyes.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi, yourself. How’ve you been getting on?’

He laughed shortly. ‘Busy. I seem to have alienated Trevor — whenever he’s supposed to be on call, he shoves off and tells them to get me.’

‘Doesn’t that make you sick? Just because his father’s a big shot he thinks he can do whatever he likes.’

‘Who is his father?’ Nick asked curiously.

‘Old man Armitage? He’s the top cardio-thoracic surgeon — and he’s a big wheel in the trust, as well.’

Nick groaned. ‘That’ll teach me to open my mouth.’

‘What?’

He laughed softly. ‘He threatened me the other day — told me not to make waves about him being drunk. I told him I didn’t frighten easily, and ever since then he’s gone AWOL. Maybe I ought to report him.’

Cassie snorted. ‘Not if you want to survive. You’ll find your contract abbreviated or your budget cut or your beds disappearing if you do that.’

Nick looked incredulous. ‘Are you joking? The guy’s a total waste of space.’

‘He’s also Daddy’s golden boy, and nothing and nobody gets away with anything.’

Nick snorted in disgust. ‘We’ll see. Right, let’s get down to work. We’ve got a nice, steady list this morning — a hip, an arthroscopy and a thumb.’

‘How boring!’

‘And amen to that! Frankly, after the weekend I could do with being bored. I’ll see you in there.’

He left for the men’s changing-room, and Cassie finished scrubbing and went into the operating-room.

The first patient was a woman of thirty-seven, who was having a hip replacement following deterioration of her joint with recent pregnancies. She had had Perthes’ disease as a child, and after she had slipped and fallen out of a tree at the age of eleven the subsequent displacement of the head of the femur had been corrected with surgery.

Now, twenty-six years later, the joint had finally and literally ground to a halt and was to be replaced.

Nick and Cassie were looking at the X-rays when Miles Richardson, the consultant in charge, popped his head round the door and grinned.

‘OK? How’s the new boy? I gather young Armitage has been under the weather and you’ve had to take over the weekend. Sorry about that — went to the wife’s parents’ for a night or two, or I would have done it myself.’

Nick’s smile was rueful. That’s all right, sir. No problem. Might as well start with a bang.’

‘Good chap — happy on this one? Nasty mess on the radiograph — need to be a bit ruthless, I feel. Left it rather long. Ah, well, off to the wards. See you later.’

The door swooshed shut behind him, and Nick turned to Cassie and smiled.

‘Shall we?’

It was, as Richardson had predicted, a nasty mess, and it taxed all Nick’s skill to position the joint to his satisfaction.

Once again, working with him was a joy. They were perfectly in tune, their minds and bodies in total harmony, and, when he shifted against her, as well as the thrill of awareness, there was a wash of familiarity and happiness.

They exchanged glances over their masks, and she knew he felt it, too. And somehow acknowledging it made it easier to ignore, to subdue and dismiss, so that it just became a part of working with him, like the smell of his soap and the deeper, more natural smell of his skin, warm and faintly musky.

They finished that hip, and then the arthroscopy on the knee of a young amateur footballer with meniscal tears.