How To Resist A Heartbreaker Page 3

  ‘You have a spa and a garden all the way up here? Oh. My. God.’ She ran to the Ranchslider doors but he flicked the remote and they opened before she got there.

  ‘Oh.’ Disappointment laced her voice as she stepped out. ‘That’s not a garden, it’s a desert. There’s nothing here.’

  ‘I don’t have time to look after plants. I hardly have time to sleep these days.’ He tutted, took her hand and walked her across the empty decking space towards the spa.

  Looking at it all through her eyes, yes, it was kind of sparse. Just how he’d planned it. Uncomplicated, stress-free.

  Just like Gabby seemed to be. Instead of all the pretence that he usually went through with women—the faux affection, the predictable seduction, the craning of their necks to see the colour of his credit card before they said yes—Gabby seemed undeniably, ruthlessly real.

  Her bright-eyed reaction to his apartment was genuine, not greedy. She’d been honest about her expectations. And flirty and unexpectedly fun.

  A pinky-orange glow shimmered across the balcony, illuminating the red and gold highlights in her hair, her dewy skin, warm eyes. She fitted perfectly into his arms, soft curves filled with promises.

  No, it wasn’t his flat that was breathtaking—Gabby was. How amazing to make love with her out here in the moonlight…in the spa.

  Anywhere.

  She leaned back against the railings, her forehead crinkled with frown lines. For a moment he felt like he’d disappointed her, but then she smiled. ‘If I lived here I’d have an oasis—somewhere I could come sit and read, relax. A sky garden with lots of plants. A home isn’t a home without flowers and plants.’

  Where’s home? The question almost tripped off his tongue, but he remembered their agreement—no questions. His hands ran over her shoulders, down her triceps, and he realised she was shivering in the early-winter breeze. He locked her into his arms. ‘I’m not into flowers and plants. That’s girl stuff.’

  ‘No. Real men get their hands dirty.’ Taking his hand in hers, she examined it. ‘You’ve got surgeon’s hands. Wow. Just think of all the lives these hands have saved.’ She pressed her lips into his palm, kept her eyes locked with his, then slowly placed his hand over her breast. Went up on tiptoe and filled his mouth with her tongue.

  Maybe this was a dream. A post-surgery dead-on-his-feet hallucination. A beautiful woman. A still night. Promises… Anytime soon and his cellphone was bound to go off. He was going to wake up.

  On paper she was his perfect woman: she didn’t want a relationship, didn’t want more than one night. Was happy to forget it all tomorrow. Just like him. Sure, on paper she was perfect, but there must be a catch. There was always a catch. ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘No, I’m a figment of your imagination. Open your eyes and I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke…gone…’ she whispered, and giggled.

  ‘Then I’ll keep them shut. I don’t want you disappearing on me. Not just yet.’ He kissed her again hard and fast, cupping her breast. Her excited moans of pleasure spurred him on. Just the simple act of kissing her was a sensual feast that he didn’t want to end. Her hips ground against his and suddenly a fire blazed in his groin, hot and hard. Tearing at her straps, he removed her top, lifted her bra and took one nipple into his mouth.

  Watching the reaction on her face—concentrated joy—spurred him to give the other nipple the same treatment.

  She clutched at his hair. ‘Oh, God, this is so good. I don’t suppose this place has a bedroom?’

  ‘I have three.’

  ‘Goody. Which one do we start in?’

  Her skin against his mouth fired spasms of need through him. He dragged his lips from her shoulder. ‘Master. Now.’

  ‘Don’t stop, though. Don’t stop.’ Ignoring her groans of protest, he took her hand and led her into his bedroom. ‘Wow. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more impressive.’

  As she pointed to his bed he was hit with a surge of pride. Okay, so it was a handcrafted masterpiece, imported mahogany, Egyptian cotton. Yeah, it was impressive.

  But when she said, ‘It looks so perfect I daren’t mess it up,’ he swooped her into his arms and lifted her onto his bed—her dark hair instantly flaming against the white linens. Her skirt ruched up to her hips, revealing long shapely legs.

  Palming her thigh, he joined her on the bed. She edged closer, fitted into his space. Kissed him again, soft and sweet. Then in an electric moment the tension ratcheted, the kissing became more frenetic, the need more explicit.

  He slipped her skirt off, kissing across her bellybutton down to the edge of her panties. ‘How am I doing on the rating front?’

  ‘Oh…nearing eight…’ she breathed out on a sigh.

  ‘Only an eight? I show you this…I do this…and this…’ He moved back up to her neck, nibbled her ear, slicked a slow trail from her lobe. Tweaked her nipple again with his hot mouth. ‘And I only get an eight?’

  ‘Hey, a guy’s always got room for improvement.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’ Grabbing his condoms from the bedside-table drawer, he paused and looked at her. Realised he didn’t want hot and quick. Wanted long and slow. And maybe again tomorrow.

  He shook those kinds of thoughts from his head—useless and pointless. People walked through his life, no one ever stayed for long. That was how it worked for him. And for Gabby, too, it seemed. ‘Are you sure?’

  Placing her hands on his chest, she frowned. ‘I want you to know this is not something I’ve done in a very long time. I don’t usually…you know…do this… I am on the Pill but, yes, definitely use a condom.’

  She seemed hesitant. Maybe the alcohol was wearing off. Good call—he wanted her head to be in full working order if they were going to do this. No regrets for either of them. He brought her fingertips to his mouth. ‘It’s okay, you know. I could take you home. We don’t have to do this.’

  *

  ‘Oh, yes, we do. You promised me hot and quick.’ Gabby’s courage had begun to waver, but her need to have him hadn’t diminished. No, siree.

  Running her hands over his back towards his waist, she pulled him to her and crushed her lips against his. A surge of heat spiralled through her from the small of her back to the top of her head. Mr I’m Sexy was so different from any other man she’d kissed. Not that there’d been many—she’d made sure of that.

  Dumb, really, that on today of all days she was doing this. When she should be staying away from any kind of risk. But the headier the risk, the more her body wanted to take it. Take him. Now. And nothing was going to stop her finally taking something for herself.

  Because, for the first time in forever, she felt absolutely, totally free.

  Scragging his shirt over his head, she slicked kisses down his hard chest, over a smattering of hair, across hard muscle. He pressed against her as he shucked off his jeans. His hands grasped her hips, slipping off her pants, fingers reaching her inner thigh.

  For a moment she stiffened, worried about what could happen. If she even knew what to do now. If she would be enough for him. What would happen afterwards. Tried to put out of her mind what had happened last time she’d done this.

  But unlike last time she wasn’t an innocent grasping at a fairytale, looking for an escape and dreaming about happy ever after—this time she knew exactly where she was headed. Sex. Need. No promises. No illusions. She was a woman, powerful and in control.

  His hands stroked her skin and it felt as if he was stroking her insides too. And she wanted more. His kisses heated her. Banished the cold she’d felt for so long. Stoked the fire that raged from her belly to her breasts and that didn’t stop…couldn’t stop…wouldn’t stop until he was inside her.

  Then there he was, edging into her, telling her to relax, calling her beautiful over and over. Until she truly believed she could be. His breathing quickened and his words stopped, and all she could hear was their sighs and the thud of her heart and the blood pounding round her veins. Until he took
her over the edge, and all sounds splintered into one explosion of shuddering joy.

  A perfect ten.

  *

  A harsh, tinny tune jolted Max awake. His first instinctive reaction was to feel across the duvet for the uncompromising Gabby.

  His second was to reach for his phone.

  God, he was doomed.

  And she was gone. He’d opened his eyes and she’d disappeared, just like she’d promised. Which irritated him more than it should have. Most women wanted him to stay, had always been put out when he’d made up his excuses and left.

  He’d never had the time or the inclination to invest in anything longer than a fling. And he’d certainly never given any woman time to do the walking—he’d had enough of people he loved disappearing from his life already.

  But the room still smelt of her scent. The sheets did. And so did he.

  His phone blared again.

  Focusing on the lurid green message, his heart began to race. Jamie.

  A rising temperature less than twenty-four hours post-op. Dipped urine output. Distressed kid.

  Within minutes he was on the HDU, trying to keep his voice in check so as not to spook Jamie’s mum, Jodi. He scratched his head as he approached the bed, still unused to her being round again after so long.

  It was weird enough when Mitch had dated Max’s ex. But even more awkward to have her back in his life, at his work after so long. Not that anything lingered between them anymore, except his wish they could all move on. But Jodi’s hurt was still there, along with his brother’s betrayal. Unmentioned. Unresolved. Like everything with Mitch.

  His attempts not to growl at the surgical on-call house officer disappeared along with any trace of post-damned-fine-sex good humour.

  ‘I need full blood and urine screens, swab drain and catheter sites, keep an eye on central venous pressure and his blood pressure. How long has his temp been this high?’

  ‘An hour, maybe two.’

  ‘And you waited to tell me. Why? I said I was to be contacted immediately if there was a change in his condition.’

  ‘I thought we could control it. I was hoping the paracetamol would hold it in check.’

  ‘Since when does paracetamol hold an infection in check? You wanted to mask the symptoms and not investigate them. Pretend he hasn’t got a problem, right? Great.’ God, he was surrounded by…

  He took a breath. It was the middle of the night. They were tired. He was tired. And poor Jamie. Thick, dark shadows edged the little boy’s eyes as he stared up at them.

  Max’s heart squeezed. He never allowed himself to feel anything but professional concern for his patients. But Jamie? Jamie was special. He was the sticking plaster they needed to stick them all back together. They hadn’t come this far for the kid to get sick again. Not on his watch, anyway.

  He should never have left them this evening. Even though he’d been exhausted by the surgeries and countless demands on his time.

  He shouldn’t have gone to the bar. Even though he’d left clear and strict instructions with his staff.

  He shouldn’t have taken Gabby to his apartment. Just in case something like this happened.

  So that was a mistake he wasn’t going to repeat. He didn’t need a hefty dose of guilt to add to his conscience.

  Although Jodi was a doctor, he tried to explain the turn of events in everyday language. Knowing that in the middle of a long night, with spiralling concern, technical terms wouldn’t be much use.

  ‘Jamie’s got a spiking temperature. Which could mean one of a few things. Pneumonia, urine infection or just something sticky at the drain sites.’

  ‘Or it could be rejection, right?’ Her palm covered her mouth as she held in the tears Max knew she wanted to shed.

  Accelerated acute rejection—death of the kidney soon after operation. He didn’t want to imagine it.

  He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he would with any other patient’s relative, but did she think that was strange coming from him? So far he’d played out the ex card pretty well, but everything normally clear-cut had become muddied. He focused instead on upholding his professional manner. Hiding behind that was preferable to dealing with emotions.

  ‘It’s a very real possibility, but he has a reasonable urine output. We’re doing a blood scan and antibody check. Honestly, it could be anything. It’s quite common to have some sort of low-grade infection post-op. So we’ll increase the antibiotics and titrate his fluid input. That should keep him comfortable.’

  ‘Okay.’ Jodi’s lip wobbled as she looked equally uncomfortable. ‘Er…thanks. For everything.’

  ‘Hey, it’s my pleasure. Anytime.’ Although heading up the team operating on his twin brother and his nephew in a double-whammy of transplant surgeries was a one-off he hoped never to repeat.

  As he injected more antibiotics into Jamie’s Luer, Max dredged up a smile for Jodi. ‘How’s Mitch doing?’

  ‘He’s fine. He was wheeled in for a few minutes to say good-night to Jamie, but he was wiped out after his operation so he went to sleep. He says to say thanks, mate.’

  Mate? Since when was he his brother’s mate? Maybe they were finally getting somewhere. Such a shame it had taken something so drastic to get them talking again. Max huffed out a breath.

  Jodi managed a tired smile in return and he felt a strange pang of regret. Not of losing her—because she had been so wrong for him and so right for Mitch—but because he’d never seen anyone have that love-filled, misty-eyed look over him.

  Must be getting soft.

  ‘You look bushed. Why don’t you have a lie-down?’ He dragged over a foldaway bed, grabbed some pillows and covers, and made her sit down. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll stay right here with him.’

  ‘But what about his temperature? Or if he cries?’ She was terrified and exhausted and what she needed was a rest, away from the eternal twilight of the hospital ward. A foldaway bed was the closest he could come to providing that.

  Not for the first time he wished he could do something, anything, to prevent his estranged family from suffering through this.

  ‘Then I’ll wake you up. Trust me. We’ll be fine.’ Resisting an urge to drop a kiss on his cute cheek, he scruffed the boy’s hair instead. Keeping a lid on his emotions at work was his mojo—and he intended to keep it that way.

  The boy murmured a little but finally went back to sleep, leaving Max in the cold silence with too many thoughts.

  Too many worries about the fate of this little chap.

  Too many guilty stabs about where he’d been and what he’d been doing instead of keeping watch over his family.

  Too many memories of a pool of thick black curls, a sarcastic mouth.

  And a very sexy smile.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘HE’S HAD A LONG and difficult few hours, so don’t wake him.’ The night charge nurse finished her handover by parading the whole of the day staff in front of cubicle four.

  Gabby’s chest did a funny little hitch at the sight of a sleeping Max. Slumped half on a chair and half on Jamie’s bed, he was completely and utterly comatose. And with stubble on his proud jaw he was completely and devastatingly gorgeous.

  God. She glanced round at the rest of the crew. Could they all tell? Did she have ‘Guilty’ written all over her face? Did her smile scream I’ve just had fabulous sex with Mr I’m Sexy here?

  She tried to make the smile more interested in the handover than the subject, as the unfamiliar ache of bedtime gymnastics thrummed through her body.

  Bad, bad girl. Maybe her nonna had been right all along. She waited for the thunderbolt her grandmother had promised. The dark satanic music as she was dragged away to the bowels of hell.

  Nothing happened. Gee—what a surprise.

  If sex was so bad, why had it felt so good?

  Her palm found its way to her throat. She tugged on the necklace she refused to take off. She knew exactly why.

  Concentrate.

  How would she
ever concentrate with Max there?

  ‘Where’s Jamie’s mum?’ she whispered to the night nurse, dragging her eyes away from Max. God, he’d been amazing. She’d been amazing—and that threw her even more. She didn’t know she could be like that.

  ‘Mr Maitland sent Jodi home at five-thirty, once he’d got Jamie’s fever under control. Said she needed a good rest and a hot shower. He’s been here ever since. Wouldn’t leave him. Wouldn’t even let go of his hand.’

  Gabby’s heart constricted as she noticed the tiny hand wrapped in Max’s fist. No. Harden up, Gabby. Don’t get involved. Don’t let a little boy tug at your heart. Or a grown man snag a piece of it.

  Hurriedly closing the curtain and shushing the staff away, she took a moment to compose herself. Tried to think through the thud of her alcohol-induced headache and the wave of lust fizzing all the way down to her knees. She’d allocate Jamie to someone else. That way she wouldn’t have to spend any more time with Max or his family. No looking into too-blue eyes that made her feel weak. Then she’d avoid him, for the rest of her life.

  The sluice was looking pretty attractive right now. The treatment room. Cleaner’s cupboard. Africa…

  Coward.

  Sure, sleeping with him had been epic. Fan-bloody-tastic. The best and most wild thing she’d done in a decade. Liberating. Affirming. Crazy. But now?

  Not so much.

  She didn’t regret it, though. It had been one amazing night that she’d always treasure. But focusing on him took her brain power away from the things that mattered—her new job, her future. Putting the cloistered past behind her. And that included Max and his far-side-of-minimal apartment. She refused to let everything go to hell again because of a man. Especially a man like Max Maitland.

  She found one of the house officers loitering too near the biscuit tin at the nurses’ station. ‘Hey! Hands out. Are they clean?’

  The HO snatched his hand away from the chocolate digestives and looked down at his fingers. ‘Er…yes.’

  ‘Makes a nice change.’ She refused to smile. She would start as she meant to go on. Her reputation as efficient and no-nonsense had preceded her. Give them a smile and before she knew it there’d be chaos…and no biscuits left. Every hospital ward was the same—the doctors always devoured the biscuits. ‘And you’re waiting here for…?’