Louisa George - 200 Harley Street - The Shameless Maverick

‘Excellent.’ He nodded, walking into the room he’d personally had allocated to Safia. ‘This looks perfect, but keep the bed away from the window.’ He peered through the blinds down to the road outside. ‘No one should be able to see her here on this floor. As soon as she arrives we’ll need to check her pain levels and medication. I don’t want her to be scared we’re going to hurt her when we remove the dressings. Then I’ll need an immediate blood screen to make sure she’s haemodynamically stable. Then … then we can take a good look and see what we’re dealing with.’

‘No worries.’ She picked up the clipboard on the end of the bed and checked all the correct paperwork was in place.

‘So.’ Declan glanced around. ‘What’s her ETA?’

Kara glanced at her watch. ‘Ten minutes.’

‘Excellent.’

Although this was a devastating case, he looked wired and ready. This was another side of him she’d heard about but hadn’t yet encountered: his infectious enthusiasm for his work. It seemed the man had many sides apart from his infamous charm, and yet—as she’d witnessed—a mysterious unwillingness to open up about anything personal.

Which was fine. Because she would not let that kiss get in the way of her job. Or let that body of his distract her from her purpose. Or those eyes … Her stomach did a little cartwheel … Those eyes staring at her with playful teasing.

‘So, Kara Stephens, it looks like we have just enough time to check out the sheets.’

‘What?’ Her pulse rocketed.

The smile he flashed her was nothing less than wicked. ‘Thread count?’

‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’ And she blushed again, because one mention of sheets and their thread count was the furthest thing from her mind.

‘I SAID, DON’T touch me.’ A pair of dark, frightened eyes, trying desperately hard to be brave, peered out through a face covered in bandages. ‘Go away.’

Kara leaned in to the bed and lowered her voice. This was getting precisely nowhere, but she could not and would not rush her patient. ‘I’m sorry, Safia, but we are going to have to remove the dressings sometime so we can see your burns and then treat them. We just want to help.’

‘What part of go away don’t you understand?’ Her muffled voice was thick with the tears the teenager steadfastly refused to allow. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘Does it hurt? I can give you some more medicine to take the pain away. You must tell me if you need more.’

The girl shook her head.

‘I’ll do it slowly and carefully. I promise.’

But Safia raised a heavily bandaged arm and pulled the sheet over her head. The spaghetti of tubes reverberated at the swift move. An alarm rang out.

Kara took a moment to compose herself, checked the drips were patent, reset the machines and tried again. And she would continue trying until the poor girl agreed. However long it took. The theatre was booked from eight tomorrow morning. That gave her about eighteen hours. She hoped it would be enough. ‘Your Highness …’

‘Let me try.’ Sheikh El-Zayad of Aljahar, the girl’s father, stepped forward. ‘For goodness’ sake, Safia, do as you’re told. We’ve been waiting for twenty-five minutes for your bandages to come off and it’s getting past a joke. The doctors can’t do their job and you won’t get better.’

‘I’m never going to get better. This is it. Scarred for life. So get used to it.’

The Sheikh frowned. ‘Do as the doctor says. Stop behaving like a child.’

She is a child . Kara bit that thought back. He had just endured the worst thing any parent could live through—watching his child suffer—and no doubt wanted her full co-operation to get better. But seventeen was barely mature, and the ramifications of such injuries would surely make anyone scared and fractious.

She shot a look over to Declan as he finished his conversation with the Sheikh’s wife, psychologically prep-ping her for the forthcoming procedures and long-term treatment plan. Throughout the long thirty minutes of cajoling and waiting she’d felt Declan’s eyes on her, assessing, weighing her up, his playful teasing forgotten, cemented now into something much more serious.

‘So to recap—’ He leaned forward to speak to Safia’s parents. ‘We’re planning to do a series of operations over the next few weeks. Because Safia’s wounds are of differing severity and depth each one will be in its own individual recovery phase. Some wounds, I understand from her notes, are ready for closure or grafting tomorrow. Some will have to wait for closure because they need debriding. I’ll keep you fully informed as we proceed.’

Declan’s demeanour was one of total calm and efficiency, yet he commanded an authority that stood him apart as he spoke.

‘Now, it’s getting a bit hot in here. Perhaps Your Highnesses might like a tour of the facility? There’s a particularly nice view out over the river from the roof garden. It’s very private up there and shouldn’t be busy. In fact, I can make sure it isn’t. And I can organise some tea for you both.’

Safia’s mother nodded and wafted in front of her face with her hand. ‘Oh, please. Yes. I need some fresh air.’ Leaning in to her daughter, she whispered, ‘That is, of course, if you don’t mind, darling Safia? We won’t stay away for long.’

The sheets moved a little. ‘Go. All of you. Leave me here. Forever.’

A quick phone call later and Safia, Kara and Declan were alone.

But now what? Even without her parents in the room it was going to be tough convincing Safia to comply.

Kara was just about to broach the dressings conversation again when Declan laughed. ‘Well, would you look at that eejit .’

‘What? Where?’ Kara frowned as she looked over to him. His focus was on a pile of magazines on the table. The latest teen heart-throb was emblazoned on the front cover of BFF! magazine, which had been covered in pink glitter hand-drawn hearts. ‘Oh, that’s Liam from Oblivion.’

‘I don’t care where he’s from,’ he continued. ‘He looks like he needs a decent feed and a new belt. Are those his grandaddy’s trousers he’s wearing? Because they don’t seem to fit.’

Kara looked up again and noticed he was watching the sheet move down. Just a little.

She joined in. ‘How can you say that? Don’t break my heart. Liam is hot, hot, hot . And what do you know, Mr Fuddy-Duddy? Those baggy trousers are all the rage. Maybe you should get a pair.’