The Italian Surgeon Read online

  ‘Are you already going with someone or would you like to be my date tonight at the party?’

  ‘No.’

  The word positively erupted from her lips, so blunt it sounded rude. Politeness forced her to explain, ‘It’s not that kind of party. It’s a celebration for Phil and Maggie, and a double celebration in a way because some bad stuff that’s been happening for the team has been resolved. But it’s a team party—everyone goes—so you don’t need a date.’

  ‘Besides, if she did need a date, she’s got me,’ Kurt said, turning from the washbasin a little distance away where he’d been pretending to wash out a small bottle while listening avidly to the conversation.

  ‘She’s the cat’s mother!’ Rachel spat the words at her well-meaning friend. She definitely wanted to fend Luca off—to slow him down—but she wasn’t altogether, one hundred per cent, absolutely and utterly certain that she wanted to lose his attention altogether.

  And that thought was even scarier than her physical reactions. Crikey—it was hard to know what she wanted.

  Though given that it had been months since she’d had even a casual date, and four years since her marriage had ended in the most disastrous way possible, maybe a four-week flirtation with Luca Cavaletti might be just what the doctor ordered.

  The person inside her head groaned at the weak pun.

  ‘I’m going to the office to do some paperwork,’ Rachel said, hoping the Italian would take the hint and move away to torment someone else. ‘I’ll see you at home, Kurt.’

  She walked away, but escape was never going to be that easy. Stopping outside the changing room to talk to Annie, who was checking the lists for the following day, meant Luca caught up with her and then accompanied her to the suite of rooms the team used for an office.

  ‘You live with Kurt?’ he said, following her into the room, his voice alerting Becky, the secretary, who was manning the front desk.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But he flirts with me! He’s gay, isn’t he?’

  Rachel wasn’t sure if he was being sexist or not, but years of defending Kurt, her best friend, had her hackles rising.

  ‘So?’ she demanded, and Luca’s smile lit up his face as he stretched his arms wide to each side and shrugged his broad shoulders.

  ‘So he’s not your boyfriend, just your friend,’ he said, then he turned and winked at Becky who was staring at the two of them as if this was a show put on solely for her amusement.

  ‘Mr Cavaletti—or Dr Cavaletti—whichever you prefer,’ Rachel said, trying hard to sound icily in control while in reality the smile and shrug had turned her bones to jelly and she was considering returning to the shower to try the cold-water treatment. ‘Just because Kurt isn’t my boyfriend, it doesn’t mean I don’t have one. I don’t know how you do things back in Italy, but for an American woman, you’re moving far too fast. If you’re anxious about the limited time you have here in Australia, then go sweep someone else off her feet. Mine are staying firmly on the ground.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I felt an attraction—the hair maybe—I don’t know…’ He offered an apologetic smile. ‘I’m not normally impulsive.’

  Shoot—it was with difficulty she stifled the ‘crikey’—but the man’s remorse was nearly as good as his smile! The feet, which she’d said were firmly planted, now seemed to be floating several inches above the floor.

  Luca touched her lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘You do have a boyfriend?’

  Rachel stared at him. Big opportunity here! The lie—a simple yes—hovered on the tip of her tongue. An easy word to say—a single syllable—but she’d left it too late, because he was smiling again.

  ‘I will slow down!’ he said softly.

  Then he leaned forward and kissed her, first on one cheek, then on the other. And while Rachel pressed her hands to the burning patches of skin, he walked away.

  ‘If you don’t want him, give him to me,’ Becky said, her awed tone conveying loads more than the words themselves.

  ‘Feel free,’ Rachel told her, but Becky shook her head.

  ‘It seems he’s only got eyes for you.’

  Embarrassed, both by Becky’s words and the little pantomime that had been played out in front of the secretary, Rachel shook her head in denial.

  ‘It’s the hair,’ she told Becky. ‘Apparently it’s not a common colour in Italy.’

  ‘It is beautiful, your hair,’ Becky told her. ‘A true red-gold. Makes us blondes look ordinary.’ She eyed Rachel consideringly before adding, ‘Although I’d always been given to understand Italian men went for blondes. What are you wearing tonight?’

  The question was so transparent Rachel laughed.

  ‘My old flannel pyjamas with Snoopy all over them?’ she teased.

  ‘That might work,’ Becky said, ‘though if he’s hooked on your hair he probably wouldn’t notice anything else. Pity, because Alex was saying he’s rich as well as gorgeous—well, Alex didn’t say he was gorgeous, that was me.’

  Rachel chuckled and headed for the desk she shared with Kurt. So Luca was the wealthy man Alex had mentioned.

  And with looks and money, he was probably used to women falling at his feet, when he went into flirt mode.

  Well, if he was expecting her to fall anywhere near his feet tonight, whatever she was wearing, he was in for a disappointment!

  Ignoring a twinge of regret she didn’t want to analyse, Rachel turned her attention back to work. She wanted to check on the paperwork from today’s operation—make sure all the team members present had signed it—then look at the programme for the following week. Alex had suggested she take some time off, but she didn’t want to leave him with a new assistant for any complex cases.

  Tonight could wait…

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE wore black. A slinky silk jersey dress Kurt had talked her into spending an entire pay cheque on when the team had been working in Melbourne. She’d worn it to Alex’s wedding to Annie, the team’s manager, and would probably have to wear it again when Phil and Maggie, the team anaesthetist, were married, as she certainly didn’t want to splash out on another expensive outfit.

  ‘No one will recognise it as the same dress,’ Kurt assured her as they walked the short distance to the restaurant. ‘The wedding was in the afternoon, and you wore it with a white jacket and those divine white and black sandals. Tonight it’s pure sex appeal.’

  Then, without giving Rachel time to protest, he added, ‘Though my guess is you could be wearing your Snoopy pyjamas for all the attention the Italian will give to your clothes.’

  ‘Ho!’ Rachel scoffed, but just thinking about Luca brought butterflies to her stomach, and she wondered how she was going to get through the evening.

  And why, after all this time, she was feeling such strong physical reactions to a man…

  ‘That is a beautiful dress, but no more beautiful than the woman wearing it,’ Luca, standing outside the restaurant as if expecting her arrival, greeted her.

  ‘That kind of over-the-top compliment might be flattering to an Italian woman,’ Rachel told him, cross because now her heart was racing and, with the butterflies fluttering wildly, internally she was a mess. ‘But American women are more embarrassed than flattered by people saying things like that.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Luca responded, quite matter-of-factly, as if she hadn’t been deliberately rude to him. ‘Then, as well as slowing down, I must tone down my compliments, although they’re no less genuine for being—what did you call it?—over the top?’

  He took her arm and led her up the stairs. Kurt, who’d walked ahead when they’d reached Luca, was watching from the top with a grin of teasing delight. Rachel glared at her best friend, though she knew he wasn’t the cause of her consternation, because in spite of her denial she was, in some peculiar way, both flattered by Luca’s compliments and excited by his company.

  And his touch…

  No way! She was definitely not going there!

&nbs
p; Dating was one thing, but a relationship?

  Though if he was only here for four weeks…

  She drew away from him, unable to believe the way her mind was working. How could she even consider such a thing? Especially with a man like this—so far out of her league they were practically different species.

  Maggie and Phil were waiting just inside, Maggie reaching out to take Rachel’s hand and draw her close for a kiss.

  ‘If I wasn’t so besotted by Phil, I’d be throwing myself at that man,’ she whispered to Rachel. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’

  ‘I guess so.’ The reluctant admission was forced from Rachel’s lips, making Maggie laugh. Rachel moved on, kissed Phil and offered her congratulations once again, then Kurt was by her side, leading her to a table on the far side of the room.

  ‘Thought you might have needed a breather from that walking sex god,’ he said, and Rachel nodded, thinking if she stayed away from Luca, the butterflies might settle enough to make room for food in her stomach.

  It might also give her mind time to sort out what was happening, and remember all the reasons she no longer did relationships.

  With any man!

  But avoiding Luca was like avoiding Aussie flies in summer. Impossible. The meal was no sooner finished than he appeared by her chair.

  ‘You will dance with me?’

  Maggie and Phil were already on the dance floor, and a number of the nursing staff and their partners had joined them. Rachel glanced at Kurt who offered no help at all, announcing he and Becky were going to show the team how real dancers danced.

  Rachel stood up, then realised immediately how big a mistake she’d made when Luca put his arm around her waist to guide her towards the floor. The clasp was as light as thistledown, but even so it alerted every nerve-ending in her body.

  Finally, Luca had the woman in his arms. Why it had been so important, he didn’t know, but he’d seen her first in the theatre and had been fascinated by her total competence and composure, then, meeting her afterwards in the lounge, he’d felt attraction stir.

  That, in itself, had been enough to confuse him. Lately he’d been so busy with his work, and plans for the new clinic, he’d had no time at all for a social life—a fact his long-term fiancée had pointed out with some bitterness, just before she’d flung the engagement ring at him and gone off to marry the industrialist who’d been after her for so long.

  But that had been six months ago and half a world away. Now here he was, with another woman in his arms—a very different woman—one with something special about her—something that had drawn him to make a fool of himself with his compliments and behaviour earlier. Now he held her loosely, fearing she would break away if he tried to hold her close. Her tension was so palpable he could feel it vibrating between them.

  But why?

  She was beautiful. She must be used to men falling at her feet. She should carry the assurance that came with the combination of beauty and experience. Yet her tension suggested there was more behind her reaction to him than a wish for him to proceed more slowly.

  He would find out.

  ‘You like theatre work?’

  Rachel nodded, and he suspected, as he watched her slide her tongue surreptitiously across her lips, that it had been safer to answer that way than to try to form words.

  ‘You’re good at it, I saw that. You chose it because it suits your skills?’

  She didn’t answer immediately, and he felt a hitch in the smooth movement of her feet, then she lifted her shoulders in a little shrug as if either his question or her reply was unimportant.

  ‘It’s detached,’ she said, a slight smile curving up the left side of her lips. ‘Working in Theatre, I don’t need to get involved with either the patients or their families.’

  A slight pause then her head tilted upward and warm golden brown eyes met his.

  ‘I don’t get involved with men either, Luca,’ she said quietly.

  And she meant it. He knew that immediately, but refused to be daunted.

  ‘You’ve been hurt! I can see that in your—your defensiveness. Will you tell me what happened?’

  He felt a tremor run through her body and regretted his curiosity, but that curiosity was part and parcel of who he was, and he could no more have not asked than he could have stopped his heartbeats.

  ‘No!’

  She whispered the word, almost under her breath, but he caught it anyway, and drew her just a fraction closer.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he assured her. ‘You don’t know me, so why should you tell me personal things? My family all talk too much. We talk about everything—our hopes and dreams and fears and worries. We dramatise, cry, yell, fight, hold and hug each other over the talk we share, so I ask questions an American or Australian man might not ask.’

  She looked up at him, a smile in the eyes that were widely spaced and slightly elongated, like the eyes of a very beautiful cat.

  ‘And do you mind if you don’t get answers?’

  He couldn’t help but respond to that smile.

  ‘Ah, but I did get an answer. You don’t get involved with men. You told me that much. So I remind you now I am not men in general.’ He held her lightly so she wouldn’t feel trapped. ‘I am a man, singular, and we will be working together a lot of the time. If I promise to take it slowly, will you consider seeing something of me when we are both off duty?’

  He heard the words and knew he’d said them, but in his head he was wondering why.

  How much easier to find someone else to flirt with—the little secretary, Becky, for one? She would go out with him, show him the city that was her home and, he was reasonably certain, they would have a good time together.

  But, glancing across to where Becky danced with Kurt, Luca knew it wouldn’t work.

  No, for some reason that defied rational argument, he knew if he was to enjoy a relationship with anyone during his short stay in Australia, it would have to be with the woman who danced so reluctantly in his arms.

  Was it fate that Luca’s temporary abode was in a high tower of serviced apartments right next to the very unserviced building—there wasn’t even an elevator—where she and Kurt shared what their landlord called a two-bed flat? Kurt had made rude remarks—not to the landlord—about liking his beds flat, but they’d both known, after six months in Melbourne—learning the language, as Kurt said—that ‘flat’ down under didn’t mean an even surface, but an apartment.

  Not that the standard of accommodation had anything to do with Rachel’s discomfort as she’d walked home from the party with the two men. Mostly it was due to Luca’s presence, though anger had seethed as well because Kurt, in an excess of good spirits—no doubt brought on by an excess of the wine that had flowed—had asked the man to dinner the next evening.

  Saturday night!

  Which was fine, except her presence at the dinner table made it obvious she had no man in her life. Why else would she have been dateless on a Saturday night?

  But Kurt had done the asking so she hoped she didn’t appear desperate as well as dateless!

  Kurt cooked a delicious meal, and was at his most charming best, but Rachel found the evening uncomfortable, and Luca’s company unsettling. Physically unsettling in a way she couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

  Tension meant she had more than her usual two glasses of wine so when Luca asked, as he was taking his leave, if they would join him for dinner the following evening she thought it a wonderful idea and said, yes, her assent no sooner out than she heard Kurt pleading another engagement.

  So here she was late on Sunday afternoon, surveying a wardrobe that consisted mostly of jeans and sweat pants with a variety of tops she wore according to the weather—short-sleeved if it was hot, long-sleeved if it was cold.

  She did have one green T-shirt she particularly liked, but she’d worn it to death so it was faded and out of shape and she knew, if Kurt had been here, he’d have forbidden her to wear it.

  So she’d w
ear the black one she’d picked up at a market in Melbourne and had never had occasion to wear, because it was definitely a ‘going out’ type top—V-necked, long-sleeved, slinky kind of fabric, with a feathery bird printed on it in some kind of gold paint.

  Jeans would stop it looking too formal…

  Why the hell was she doing this?

  She didn’t date—or if she did it was with men in whom she had not the slightest interest. Not that she was interested in Luca, not really. It was just some glitch in her body chemistry—some cellular attraction in her body to the pheromones he shed so effortlessly.

  Working this out didn’t make her feel any better.

  Neither did Luca’s behaviour, which was exemplary from the moment he collected her from her flat, walking her down the stairs with only an occasional touch on her elbow for support, holding an umbrella over her as he ushered her into the waiting taxi, talking casually about the weather, which had turned bleak and wet, and what he’d seen of Sydney through the rain when Alex and Annie had taken him for a drive earlier in the day.

  The restaurant was above a row of shops and looked out over the promenade, the beach and further out to a turbulent dark ocean. White spray from the crashing waves lit its blackness, but it seemed to have a brooding power—not unlike the man with whom she shared a table.

  ‘You like the ocean?’ Luca, playing the perfect host.

  ‘Love it! Though usually when I’ve been down here to Bondi I’ve seen it in happier moods.’

  ‘I have raced on yachts across the Atlantic,’ Luca said, ‘but I prefer the Mediterranean where the weather is more predictable.’

  ‘Of course,’ Rachel said, again realising what worlds apart they were, that he could speak so casually of racing yachts and a sea she’d only heard and read of.

  ‘You like boats?’

  The question had been inevitable.

  ‘The ones I’ve been on,’ she said, then grinned at him. ‘Ferries on Sydney Harbour! I live a long way from water back at home.’

  ‘So tell me about your home.’

  He was still being the good host, but ‘home’ wasn’t a subject Rachel wanted to discuss. Once she was thinking of home, it would be too easy to think of other things. Fortunately, a waiter arrived, and began to list the specials available that night, and listening to his recital then discussing what they would eat diverted the conversation to food.