Career Girl in the Country / The Doctor's Reason to Stay (6 page)

Every part of her burned as Matt’s expert mouth dismantled any lingering doubts that kissing him was a bad idea. She kissed him back. She kissed away the past, banishing Steven’s cold, hard voice and releasing the barrier on her femininity, letting it flood her and then flood Matt.

He gasped, his hands tangling in her hair and then gripping her head to gain access to her throat. He trailed spine-tingling kisses along her jaw before dropping his head lower, tracing the hollow of her neck with his tongue. She sagged against him as she heard a mewling sound in the back of her throat.

She hauled his mouth back to her own, needing that intimate contact and tasting salt and her own heady desire. Nothing mattered except losing herself in the heat of that hot, throbbing place, and she turned herself over to its power, allowing her mind to spin out on bliss and her body to burn.

She was boneless, wet with need, weak with longing yet strong with the power of her body and she gloried in it. His hand covered her breast, the thin material of
her blouse and bra feeling like a concrete slab between them. She wanted to feel the heat of his palm against her skin, let the weight of her breast fill his hand, and she ached for the graze of his thumb on her tightening nipple. She popped her shirt open and guided his hand. ‘Touch me.’

His body stiffened against hers, rigid from head to toe, and suddenly his hands were on her shoulders, pushing. He ripped his mouth from hers, stepping back, breaking the kiss, breaking all contact.

‘This is a mistake.’ His words shredded the night air—harsh, ragged and uncompromising.

You’re a machine, Poppy, not a woman.
The memory of Steven’s voice taunted and the fire in her body chilled to ice. Her legs shook, followed by the rest of her, and she desperately wanted to evaporate like water against parched ground. Instead, she lifted her chin, locked down every emotion and pulled her blouse shut tight. ‘That’s what they all say.’

She strode to the car, slamming the door against his voice, and gunned the vehicle out of the car park, not caring how the hell he got home.

‘E
XACTLY
where
is Victor Chu’s fluid balance chart?’ Matt’s head pounded and the backs of his eyes ached.

Jen frowned but her mouth moved into an anxious smile. ‘It’s clipped to his chart board.’

‘If it was there, I wouldn’t be asking.’ He spun the chart board so it skidded across the desk. ‘His pulmonary oedema is worsening and he’s now on a strict fluid intake, which I’d write on the chart, if I could find it.’

She pulled the sheaf of charts out of the folder and started going through them one by one. ‘You don’t look very well. Do you need some of my winning combination of complex B and C vitamin drink?’

‘I’m
not
hungover.’

She smiled overly brightly as if she didn’t believe him and produced the elusive, pink, fluid balance chart.

‘I’m not.’ He sighed and tried to swallow his defensive tone. ‘I had a terrible night and no sleep.’ He wrote his orders on the chart and added a new drug regime in an attempt to dry Victor’s lungs and maximise the effectiveness of the weak beats of an old and tired heart. ‘I just need coffee.’

‘There’s a fresh pot in the lounge.’

He nodded his thanks and backed away from her sympathetic glance. He didn’t deserve it. Not this time when his lack of sleep had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with Poppy. God, why on earth had he kissed her?

But he knew why. He’d had plenty of time to think about it as he’d walked the three kilometres home. He poured himself a large mug of the aromatic brew and closed his eyes, instantly seeing Poppy’s plump, lush lips. He forced his lids open but it didn’t help—he could still see the after-image of their shape and colour, and that, combined with those startling eyes, had him almost permanently hard. It had rendered his restraint so thin it was friable. Last night, standing so close to her under that bright, white moon, with her intoxicating perfume spinning around him and her body heat rolling into his, it had all combined to demolish the tattered shreds of his self-control. All he’d known was that he’d ached to touch her, craved to taste her, and hungered to savour her.

So he had.

And she’d flooded him with unforeseen and unrestrained passion. Passion that had roared through him, feeding his desire with so much fuel that he’d almost combusted on the spot. His body had taken over, emptying his mind of everything except the white-hot pleasure of sex. And he’d revelled in it. It had been so long since he’d felt alive like that and nothing had existed except two hot bodies seeking each other.

Touch me.
Her tremulous and breathy voice had sliced through him, penetrating his lust-fogged mind like a knife and dumping reality upon him as he’d realised who he’d been kissing.

Not Lisa.
Hell, he’d had his tongue down the throat
of another woman and it hadn’t been enough: he’d wanted so much more.

So he’d pulled away, despising himself for betraying Lisa.

What about betraying Poppy?

He stifled a groan and slugged more coffee. He hadn’t seen her since she’d stormed away from him and he’d been in no state then to even try and call her back. Even if his mind and voice had worked, he knew she would never have stopped to listen and he’d been incapable of telling her the truth.

‘Matt, ambulance is pulling in,’ Jen called out as she hurried towards the ambulance bay.

Matt joined her, glad to be distracted from the mess he’d created, and he pulled on gloves, ready to treat the young man writhing in pain on the ambulance’s stretcher. ‘What happened?’

‘His apprentice said he’d been lifting concrete slabs and went down screaming. I gave him some nitrous but he’s still in pain.’ Doug Finlay, the senior paramedic, gave a brief handover.

‘Hernia?’ Jen muttered, before moving to transfer the man onto the trolley, but as she reached his side she paused in surprise. ‘Liam?’

Matt instantly recognised one of the town’s builders and based on what the ambulance officer had said thought an abdominal or spinal disc hernia were very possible. ‘Where does it hurt? Your back?’

Liam shook his head, his expression a combination of pain and embarrassment. ‘It’s
not
my back.’

Matt caught the look. ‘Ah, Jen, can you go and start the paperwork.’

‘Sure.’

As the door closed behind her, Liam started to dryretch
and Matt grabbed a kidney dish. ‘As soon as I’ve examined you, I can give you something for the pain.’

‘I remember being kicked in the balls when I was aa kid but this—’ He seemed to have trouble breathing against the pain. ‘This is absolute agony.’

Matt nodded sympathetically. ‘I want to rule out a couple of other possibilities.’ He palpated Liam’s abdomen and groin but he couldn’t feel a hernia. ‘I need to examine your testicles.’

Liam barely nodded as his white-knuckled hands gripped the silver railing of the trolley.

‘I think you’ve got a torsion of the testicle.’

Liam looked blank. ‘What?’

‘It’s twisted.’ He pulled the ultrasound over and examined the area. He pointed to the screen. ‘There’s the problem.’

Liam looked like he could hardly focus. ‘It’s absolute agony.’

‘That’s because the blood supply is being restricted.’ He saved the picture, wiped the Doppler and returned it to its holder.

A knock sounded on the door and Matt tossed the modesty sheet over Liam as he called, ‘Come in.’

Jen entered the room, followed by a woman who appeared to be a similar age to his patient. She rushed towards Liam, picking up his hand. ‘I came as soon as Tim called me.’

Jen slung the clipboard over the end of the trolley and said quietly to Matt, ‘Should I page Poppy?’

Matt tilted his head in agreement.

Jen returned it as she spoke. ‘This is Emma Water-son—Liam’s fiancée.’

Emma, still holding Liam’s hand, looked up,
her forehead creased with worry. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

Matt filled her in on his diagnosis and watched her face pale.

‘Why …? I mean, how did it happen?’

‘It’s not an uncommon condition in men under twenty-five and I’d say Liam probably has a genetic or structural weakness. Combine that with heavy lifting, and it would be enough to cause the twist.’

She turned accusingly to her fiancé. ‘You told me you were getting the bobcat in to lift that concrete.’

Liam blanched as another wave of pain hit him. ‘Em, I’m sorry. I couldn’t get it today and I was trying to get everything done so we could have a two-week honeymoon.’

Emma let out a wail. ‘Oh, God, the wedding. Can you untwist it?’

Matt tried to suppress a shudder. ‘Liam needs surgery. The good news is that we have a surgeon here.’
Good news for Liam, anyway.

‘Good news?’ The soon-to-be bride swayed on her feet. ‘That means there’s bad news too. Will it mean we can’t have children?’

‘If the testicle has to be removed, the other one won’t be affected.’

‘And the honeymoon?’ Liam grimaced as he moved.

Matt gave a wry smile. The guy was in agony but still thinking about sex.
It’s all you’ve been thinking about today.

He rubbed his temple. ‘You’ll be a bit tender for a day or so but the second week you should be just fine.’

Liam sunk back on the pillows. ‘In that case, do your worst—just stop the pain.’

‘I can do that.’ Poppy strode into the room, her blue eyes flashing brightly.

With her green theatre scrubs floating around her and concealing the soft curves Matt knew nestled underneath, she gave him an almost imperceptible nod before studying the ultrasound screen.

Liam choked. ‘You’re the surgeon?’

Poppy gave a restrained smile. ‘I understand you’d probably feel more comfortable with a man but think of it as taking one for all the women in the world who find themselves being treated by male gynaecologists.’

Emma laughed. ‘I like her.’

‘You’re not the one going under the knife,’ Liam grumbled.

‘Poor baby, I’m sure she’ll be gentle.’

Matt didn’t disillusion either of them with his thoughts.

After Poppy had explained the procedure and obtained consent, he followed her out of the room, thankful they had a patient to discuss. ‘I’ll put in an IV, take some blood for FBC, U&Es and cross-matching, and then he’s all yours.’

She raised her well-shaped jet brows. ‘As long as you’re sure. I’d hate it if you made a mistake.’ Hurt shimmered around the sarcasm.

He swallowed a groan. It was time to make some sort of restitution. ‘I wanted to talk to you this morning but you left before dawn.’

She folded her arms, scrunching the scrubs tightly over her breasts. ‘Ah, the apology. No need, heard it before.’

Apology? What apology?
But his gaze snagged on the outline of her bra and he swallowed, hard, forcing his mind to stay on track with the conversation. ‘How
can you have heard it before? I haven’t ever apologised to you.’

She rolled her eyes, azure deepening to midnight. ‘You’re a man, I’m a woman. Believe me, I’ve heard it and I’ve heard every single excuse in the book of sorry. I don’t have time for this, Matt. I’m due in surgery.’

He trapped his angry retort and watched her walk away.
Believe me, I’ve heard it.
What the hell did that mean? Did she think she could throw off some line and just keep walking?

Well, what did you really expect?
He had no clue. Damn it, he hadn’t actually planned on apologising. She’d been an equal participant in the kiss and this was 2011. Surely people had a right to change their minds.

You touched her breast; it had gone way past a kiss.

He tried to recall the sequence of events last night after his head had roared so loudly with the realisation of what he’d been doing—when betrayal and lust had collided and he’d pulled back.

This is a mistake.

That’s what they all say.

Who the hell were ‘they’?

This time Matt didn’t cook. He didn’t go to bed at 10:00 p.m. Or eleven. He opened the door to Poppy at eleven-fifteen.

Shocked surprise crossed her face and she quickly glanced towards her house before staring straight back at him. ‘Two houses, both have rats.’

Anger scorched his intention to invite her to sit down and calmly talk this mess out. ‘Oh, and that’s really mature.’ He ran his hand through his hair, trying to find the calm he’d once been known for. ‘Look, we have to work together and right now we’re sharing a
house, so what do you need me to say so we can go back to being semi-civil with each other?’

‘Nothing.’ She tried to move past him.

He blocked her. ‘That’s rubbish. If it was nothing you wouldn’t have left me out at the point last night to walk home.’

She shrugged. ‘You told me you were planning on walking home anyway.’

‘From the pub!’ He heard his voice rise. ‘Which is three minutes away, not three kilometres.’

Her stony expression wavered slightly with the tiniest mark of contrition, and he pounced on it as a sign of a chance at reconciliation. ‘Do you want a drink?’

Her brows rose. ‘Isn’t that what got you into trouble last night?’

‘I was
not
drunk.’ For the second time that day, he ground out the indignant words. ‘Six months ago you could have levelled that accusation at me but not last night.’

The faintest tremble wove across her bottom lip before she snagged it with her teeth. Teeth that had nipped at his lips last night in the frenzy of
that
kiss. The memory sent a bolt of heat through him and he realised he was staring at her mouth.

Her chin shot up. ‘So you were sober. That makes it worse. I have to say, this is one hell of an apology.’

‘I’m not apologising.’ The yelled words shot around them both, loud and uncompromising.

She blinked and then spoke quietly. ‘No, you’re not.’

She walked past him, leaving him standing in the hall, stunned.

Your manners always made me feel special.

Lisa’s voice chided him. He’d never yelled at a woman in his life so what the hell was wrong with
him? He leaned against the wall and slowed his breathing before walking into the kitchen. Poppy had poured herself a glass of sauvignon blanc from the bottle he’d put in the fridge earlier, and was staring out into the night.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I don’t usually yell.’

She didn’t turn round but her shoulders stiffened so much that balls could have bounced off them. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve been known to have that effect on men. That and not being woman enough. Congratulations. You’ve gone two for two and you’re up there with the best.’

He felt like the floor was tilting under his feet and he was left scrabbling for purchase while careering inexorably into a black sinkhole. ‘What are you talking about?’

She spun to face him, her face pinched as conflicting emotions broke through her usually impenetrable armour. ‘You want me to spell it out to you?’ Her voice rose and she dragged in a breath. ‘I’m an exceptional surgeon but a lousy kisser. I’m sorry it was such a disappointment for you.’

Her words hit with the velocity of a missile, stunning him. ‘That’s what you think?’ He picked up his bottle of water, trying to assemble coherent thought. ‘You think you’re bad at kissing? Why on earth would you think that?’

A shudder whipped across her shoulders, round her torso and down her long, long legs. ‘Oh, let me see. It started at high school with my name scrawled all over the boys’ toilets, then my ex-husband mentioned it as often as he could and, hmm, last night you told me it was a mistake.’

That’s what they all say.
Her words from last night
lanced him and then all-encompassing anger at an unknown man erupted so fast it turned his breath fiery. ‘Your ex-husband doesn’t know squat.’

Her pupils dilated, drowning her shimmering cornflower-blue irises, and she swallowed, the ripple of movement centred in the hollow of her throat. The place he’d branded last night. The plastic bottle of water crunched loudly under his tightening fingers.

She shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, let’s not go there.’

‘Poppy, believe me, you can kiss.’ The husky words somehow passed through his tight throat and he downed some water, trying to douse his burning need for her.