The Heart Surgeon's Baby Surprise Page 9
perfection.
‘The work of a surgeon undoubtedly,’ she said, trying
for a joke as being in Theo’s house—Theo’s delightful
house—was making her more and more uncomfort-
able.
‘I enjoy doing it,’ he said, shrugging off her com-
ment. ‘Do sit.’
He indicated a padded bench, set under a pergola
against the back wall of the house. Beside it was a table,
a bottle of wine standing in an ice-bucket and, beneath
a fine muslin cloth, obviously the makings of their
dinner.
‘Barbeque,’ he explained. ‘But not the traditional
Aussie steak and sausages, unless, of course, you don’t
eat salmon. I do have steak.’
‘Fresh salmon, I love it. Hate cooking it because it
makes the kitchen smell.’
‘Which is why I always barbeque it,’ he said, his lips
twitching so much she frowned at him.
‘What?’ she demanded, and he finally gave in and
laughed.
‘Oh, Grace,’ he said, when his laughter stopped, but
a smile remained in his voice. ‘Do you hear us?
Prattling on about cooking smells while in the back of
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both our minds are things of such magnitude salmon
smells are the least of our worries.’
He paused, then added, still smiling at her, ‘It’s
how we’re brought up, isn’t it? Politeness at all costs!
Don’t talk about anything that’s inappropriate—and
sex definitely comes into the “don’t talk about it”
category. So we go through life talking about nothing
in particular, while in our heads totally different con-
versations are going on.’
The smile made her uncomfortable—kind of squirmy
inside—but not as uncomfortable as the things he’d said.
‘I thought I was the only person in the world who
had head conversations so totally different from my
audible conversations they might come from different
people.’
‘No way—why should you have all the fun?’ he
said, so lightly she knew he was teasing her. But instead
of upsetting her, as teasing usually did, it made the
squirmy feeling worse.
‘Mine aren’t fun most of the time,’ she muttered, dis-
tracted by her insides, although now she thought about
it, it had been a long time since lunch so maybe she was
just hungry?
Which made her feel much better, although when
Theo’s fingers brushed hers as he passed her a glass of
wine, and the feeling intensified yet again, she was
hard put to convince herself it was hunger.
Was her insecurity solely the result of the rat who’d
jilted her? Theo wondered as he took the salmon out of
the marinade and set it on the hot grill plate.
Or had growing up without a mother contributed?
Grace obviously adored her father so he must have
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done the right thing by her, but without a mother to tell
her she was pretty, to build up her self-esteem—was
that where things had gone wrong?
She was talking now about Scarlett and the improve-
ment in her condition, so he could watch the fish cook,
join in the conversation, and still ruminate on what had
made Grace the way she was.
He lifted the cooked salmon pieces off the barbeque,
set them on plates, then put them on the table, lifting
the protective cloth to reveal a leafy salad and a special
potato salad his mother swore had been handed down
in the family since biblical times.
‘Help yourself,’ he said, pushing both bowls to-
wards her.
She did, then ate with relish, and as he ate he realised
that, when she wasn’t asking very intrusive questions,
she was very restful company.
Undemanding.
He liked that in a woman.
He didn’t get involved with colleagues—too com-
plicated.
This wasn’t exactly getting involved…
‘That was delicious.’
Her voice startled him out of his reverie, which was
just as well, because he didn’t like where his thoughts
had been leading. Although the idea of a child was
becoming more and more appealing, what he had to do
was keep the conception purely clinical.
Enjoyable, his body was sure it would be that, but
clinical…
‘Is that the oven?’
Had she just noticed his work in progress or was the
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silence stirring her senses as much as it was stirring his?
Although he had offered to show it to her earlier.
‘It is,’ he said, and she stood up and walked across
to where he’d built the basic structure of his beehive-
shaped oven. ‘I need to render it both outside and inside
so the surfaces are all smooth, then try it out.’
‘Lovely shape,’ she said, running her hands down the
fat-bellied curve, and seeing her, a faint smile of pleasure
on her face, her hands touching the bricks he’d touched,
he wanted her with such fierce hunger he had to turn
away.
He took the plates and dishes inside, and was going
back to get the glasses and half-empty wine bottle when
he saw she’d moved, this time over to his apple tree, ex-
amining the diamond patterns into which he’d trained
it.
‘May I see your hands?’ she asked, such a bizarre
question he held them out, palms upward, so she could
inspect them.
She ran her fingers over the barely discernible scars,
her touch as light as spiders’ feet against his skin.
‘Did the car catch fire?’
He couldn’t speak. He wanted to be angry, no,
furious, with her—for her prurient curiosity, her intru-
sion—then he realised it wasn’t curiosity or intrusion,
it was empathy prompting her questions. His worst hurt
had been emotional, and that she understood.
‘It did,’ he said, then he removed his hands from hers
and put them on her shoulders, drawing her closer,
sliding his hands to her waist so she was imprisoned,
very lightly, in his arms.
‘But that was then, and this is now, and in further-
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ance of your desire to have a child I am now going to
kiss you because, as you well know, there is one almost
sure-fire way for you to get pregnant, and that is by
having sex. Not tonight, we need to know each other
better, but soon, Grace Sutherland, if we find we
click—our atoms hook—then that’s the way it will be.’
CHAPTER FIVE
WAS she really standing in this courtyard, letting this
man kiss her?
The thought had barely floated through Grace’s
brain when she realised it wasn’t all one-sided, the
kissing thing. She’d joined in, and was kissing him
back. She tried to analyse her feelings, but how to
analyse warmth
that spread from her lips, skimming
her breasts, slithering down to heat her belly, then
slinking lower to pool between her thighs, making her
feel tight and excited.
And could you analyse nerve-endings that seemed to
be alive, jangling in her body so every cell felt alert, her
flesh eager for the flood of new sensations she was
feeling?
His arms tightened against her spine so her body was
now pressed against his, fitting easily in a way hers and
Paul’s had never seemed to fit. Height, it was probably
height, she thought muzzily, then a deep-throated growl
reminded her she was kissing, not thinking, and she
concentrated again on the kiss.
Which was now making her knees feel decidedly
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weak, or was that just an excuse to lean against him, to
check the fit again? A fit so good that she was only too
aware of his arousal, but far from being put off, as once
she might have been, she found that hard core pressed
against her belly exciting.
Theo was right—sex was a time-honoured way of
conception and as long as she wasn’t foolish enough to
let emotion enter into the equation, perhaps she could
enjoy sex with Theo.
‘I’ve lost you.’
He was growling again, but words this time, and
drawing away.
‘Not really. I was thinking about sex, which wasn’t
far removed from kissing.’
And even as the words came out she wondered why
it was so easy to talk to Theo—to say things she’d never
have dreamt of saying to anyone, male or female.
Because there was no emotional involvement?
It had to be that.
‘Sex with me, I hope,’ he said, pressing his lips
against her temple in such a pleasant way she wanted
to lean on him again.
‘Of course with you,’ she snapped, frustrated that she
couldn’t lean—well aware the slightest lean would have
them both kissing again, and who knew where that
would lead?
Not yet, Theo had said, although the way she felt
right now she regretted not protesting the delay earlier.
‘Then that is good,’ he murmured, brushing his lips
against hers before straightening himself. ‘Shall we
visit Scarlett on our way back to your place?’
Grace was nodding, but Theo had a feeling she was
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still lost in the kiss and the nod was purely automatic.
That other night at the hospital, he’d seen another side
of Grace, the side who would be mother to the child
they might or might not have, and seeing her with the
very sick little girl was important to Theo.
He may not want emotional connections with the
child, but he would do everything in his power to make
sure it had all the love a mother could provide.
‘What’s wrong?’
Had he stiffened, thinking of Lena, who’d been more
than happy to pass the care of their baby to the staff,
who’d even refused to breast feed because it might de-
stroy her figure? Oh, she’d insisted little Elena be
named for her, but after that she’d wanted as little as
possible to do with their child.
‘Not a thing,’ he said, but he’d turned away from
Grace and was leading the way back through the house,
trying to shove the past back where he usually kept it,
in a deep, dark corner of his mind.
It wasn’t far to the hospital, but far enough for the
silence that now lay between them to grow heavier by
the minute. And though he could think of no way to
break it—Grace deserved better than some trite remark
about work or weather—he knew her insecurity would
be telling her it was somehow her fault that things had
changed between them.
‘I have dark memories,’ he finally admitted, pulling
up in a short-stay parking bay outside Jimmie’s. ‘They
surface at unexpected and often inappropriate times.’
He turned and ran his hand down her soft, shiny
hair, adding, ‘It was unfair on you that one popped up
back there.’
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Then he leant towards her and kissed her on the lips,
surprised to find just touching his mouth to hers pro-
vided balm for his troubled soul.
Or perhaps forgetfulness—wasn’t that what he
needed? Temporary amnesia—to lose himself with
Grace.
In Grace?
The idea was appealing more and more but he had
to be careful. Feeling empathy with her—understand-
ing her insecurities—could be dangerous…
She returned his kiss, still tentative—just how
badly had that man hurt her?—but with such sweet-
ness and trust he again heard danger signals clanging
in his head.
Scarlett lay quietly in her crib, sleeping it seemed,
the weather-beaten man in the recliner beside her also
sleeping. One glance was enough to show her condi-
tion was unchanged, although Grace worriedly touched
the baby’s belly, muttering about distension and fluid.
‘If a heart comes up and she’s not well enough to
have it, I’ll feel guilty for not taking her off the list,’ she
said, sinking into a chair on the other side of the baby’s
crib, her eyes feasting on the tiny girl.
‘Don’t get off on guilt,’ Theo told her. ‘You were
only one of a team that made that decision, it wasn’t
yours alone. And by the time a heart comes up she
might be over whatever’s causing the fluid build-up.’
‘I’m not getting off on guilt, as you put it,’ Grace
snapped, not insecure at all. ‘But looking at her now I
think Alex was probably right in suggesting we delist
her.’
‘He’s the head of the team, he could have done it,’
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Theo reminded her. ‘The problem is that we all get not
attached but definitely involved with the babies we have
in the PICU. The fact that there’s a baby in a similar
situation in a PICU in Melbourne or Perth doesn’t have
the same impact on us as a baby we’re seeing, and
treating, and, I suppose, rooting for is the only way to
put it. Scarlett is our baby while the others are more hy-
pothetical babies.’
Grace smiled. ‘I like the idea of hypothetical babies,’
she said, then she stood up. ‘I’ve an early start
tomorrow. I’ll walk home from here.’
‘No way. I’ll drive you.’
He stood up so they were close together at the end
of Scarlett’s crib, so close Theo could feel all his
atoms hooking.
‘No, Theo, I want to walk. I need the fresh air and
some thinking time, but so I can think productively, are
we past the hypothetical as far as my baby goes?’
The clear blue eyes looked into his, not anxious but
wary, as if ready for a rebuff.
&nbs
p; ‘Let us take this slowly, I certainly can’t consider
making a child on a whim, which is why I talked about
revisions—physical revisions but ethical ones as well.
Getting to know you. And on top of that we need to
think about the child.’
Her smile stayed in place, but uncertainty replaced
the wariness in her eyes.
‘It’s not a whim on my part, I’ve really thought it
through. And although we’ve never really discussed
the revisions, I do understand what you mean. Although
I should warn you, Paul always said I was about as
much fun to go to bed with as a dead whale.’
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Theo’s gut clenched. Did she not realise what these
comments did to him?
Or how much he’d like to kill the rat called Paul?
But he had to play it cool, for her sake, so he smiled
at her and raised an eyebrow.
‘And did he go to bed with many dead whales?’
This time the smile was genuine.
‘You know, I never asked him!’ She shook her head.
‘You must think I’m stupid, still worrying about things
like that. Even I think I’m stupid. Surely an intelligent
woman should have worked through it by now and
moved on. In a way I have, but only by avoiding getting
close to anyone—by avoiding relationships altogether.
And, as you must know, that’s not hard when you work
the hours we do.’
‘I still won’t let you walk home alone. If you want
the walk I’ll walk with you, and if you want to think, I
won’t say a word.’
But you’ll be there, Grace wanted to protest, but she
could hardly say that it was him she wanted to think
about—him and the way he made her feel, all alive and
excited but at the same time fearful. Her body may be
excited but trepidation at where her feelings might lead
hung like dark, mysterious shadows in her head.
He walked her home, Grace’s body so aware of his
presence it grew more and more tense until an acciden-
tal brush of his hip against hers made her start.
‘Twitchy!’ he said, and she could hear the amuse-
ment in his voice.
‘Is it always like this?’ she found herself asking.
‘What always like what?’
He was teasing her but she was getting used to it—
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and sometimes she wondered if she might get to enjoy
it—but now when she was so uptight she was worried
the slightest touch might make her crack apart.