Marion Lennox - Midwives On Call - Stealing The Surgeon's Heart

‘Gosh!’ Harriet blinked. No wonder he was so good with women, the poor guy was surrounded by them. ‘What about Nikki? How is she?’

‘She is doing great now, busy working and getting on with her life.’

‘What work does she do?’

‘She models, which is not the ideal environment for someone who is so delicate, but she seems to be coping well at the moment.’

So good looks clearly ran in the family.

‘And these sisters of yours.’ Harriet took a gulp of wine, nervously broaching a subject she desperately wanted answers to while hoping to sound somehow casual. ‘When your relationships end, do they do the mercy dash with chocolate and wine and slushy movies?’

‘Oh, no!’ Ciro shook his head firmly.

‘Too proud to cry?’

‘No.’ Ciro shook his head again. ‘I am not one for regrets, for thinking what might have been.’ He dusted his hands together in a gesture of finality. ‘If it’s over, it’s over.’

‘Ouch!’

He laughed as she flinched. ‘It is much better that way. Most of my ex-girlfriends are still friends of mine. What?’ he asked as Harriet shot him a disbelieving look. ‘You don’t believe me—but they really are!’ Ciro insisted. ‘Just because we are no longer in a relationship it doesn’t mean we cannot still be friends.’

‘Ciro.’ She couldn’t help but smile, a tiny sigh of sympathy escaping her lips for all his ex-girlfriends, because, as sure as eggs were eggs, one night in Ciro Delgato’s arms would render any friendship null and void. ‘I guarantee these so-called friends of yours don’t see it that way. In fact, I’d bet that these friends of yours would tumble into bed with you at a moment’s notice.’

‘Of course!’ He wasn’t remotely embarrassed and Harriet’s mouth dropped open at his shameless honesty. ‘So long as neither of us are in a relationship, where is the harm?’

‘I don’t know,’ Harriet said feebly, suddenly feeling horribly unsophisticated. ‘It just seems so…pointless, I guess. I mean you know it isn’t going to work out…’

‘Harriet, do you read books again?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You have a favourite book that your read over and over?’

‘Yes,’ Harriet agreed faintly.

‘Even though you know the ending, those books you once adored can still give you pleasure.’

‘Book,’ Harriet corrected briskly. ‘I have one favourite book that occasionally I take down and read again, and then I wonder why I bothered because as it turns out, the ending is absolutely horrible! Personally I’d rather explore pastures new than visit old haunts…’

‘I’m teasing you, Harriet.’ He smiled a delicious, lazy smile. ‘And you are very easy to tease. But I am friends with some of my exes, though not Lana.’ He gave a slight wince. ‘That one did hurt a bit.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Ciro shrugged. ‘Now I realise we’re better apart. Lana didn’t want a relationship, more someone on her arm looking good.’ Somehow Ciro could say it without it sounding boastful, and most amazingly of all Harriet actually understood.

‘Drew was the same. Not at first, of course, but as he got more successful more and more he wanted the trophy wife.’

Ciro gave a knowing nod. ‘Someone to look the part!’

‘Or, in my case, not looking the part,’ Harriet sighed. ‘I never quite managed to look like the gorgeous wife Drew so badly wanted.’

‘But you are gorgeous,’ Ciro said as if it were fact, as if it were absolutely unequivocal. She waved him away, stood up, collected the wineglasses and empty bottle and headed for the kitchenette, sure that gorgeous wasn’t the word he was looking for, that his mental Spanish to English thesaurus had somehow misinterpreted the word. Nice? Perhaps. Friendly? Maybe. On a good day she could even muster passably attractive, but she was definitely not gorgeous.

‘You are,’ Ciro insisted, walking in behind her, and suddenly the simple became terribly complicated. Rinsing two glasses under the tap and putting the wine bottle in the recycle bin took a mammoth effort of concentration. ‘And, no, I have not got my words mixed up,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘It was the first thing I thought when I saw you.’

‘What was the second?’ Harriet asked, embarrassed but pleased, and scarcely able to comprehend that she was prolonging this dangerous conversation, scarcely able to believe she was pushing further.

‘Married.’ Picking up her hand, he held it, brushing her newly naked ring finger. ‘And I’m sure you can guess the third thing I thought.’

‘No.’ Harriet swallowed, because she could hope she knew the third thing Ciro had thought, could hope that this stunning, sensual man had truly been disappointed by the sight of a ring on her finger. But until he said it, until she heard those words coming from his full, very close mouth, she didn’t dare to believe it.

‘Damn,’ Ciro said slowly. ‘And that’s the polite version.’

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ Ciro murmured, and she could have sworn he was about to kiss her, his eyes narrowing in thought as he stared down at her. ‘Should I go?’ She could hear the question in his voice as he smiled down at her, could feel the lust thrumming in the air as he continued to stare, his mouth a mere breath away. She knew he was offering her an out, only Harriet didn’t want it.

His hand still warm and dry around hers, his face was moving closer but Harriet stood still. In that tiny slice of time her mind processed a multitude of thoughts, a flurry of internal conflict, as his other hand coiled around her waist, slipping under the flimsy fabric of her wrap and meeting the warm sun-kissed flesh, his fingers softly stroking her spinal column, running shivers the entire length of her body, every slow, measured move accelerating her heart rate.

Her eyes wide in a strange sensual terror.

This could only end in tears—hers.

It was too soon, way too soon.

Surely it could never, ever work.

But she needed this. With blinding clarity Harriet realised she needed this more than the air she was breathing—needed to experience the weight of his mouth on hers, to feel as divine and gorgeous as Ciro made her feel, to be kissed, tasted, wanted. And if it couldn’t work, she’d just live for the moment. If she was heading for a fall, for now she’d enjoy the ride.

A hastily drawn-up contract with her inner soul was penned in a nanosecond!

His breath was dusting her cheeks, the heat from his palm radiating through the small of her back, his mere touch, his very presence in her personal space so exquisitely sensual Harriet could feel the heavy stir of her own arousal, and his lips hadn’t even met hers. Could feel her breasts swell, filling the Lycra triangles, her nipples straining against the flimsy fabric, her stomach liquid churning to the pulsing beat between her legs. And now it wasn’t just Ciro moving closer but Harriet, too, her eyes closing in dizzy anticipation, but nothing could have prepared her for the impact of his searching lips on hers.

It had been for ever since she’d been kissed.

Really kissed.

With Drew, more and more it had been a perfunctory thing, had made her feel as sensual as an old maiden aunt with a hairy chin that one was forced to kiss at Christmas—the only thing he hadn’t done had been to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand afterwards. Yet with Ciro it was as if he couldn’t get enough of her, tongues mingling, lips swelling against each other. And not just lips. The drag of his rough unshaven skin against her cheek, pulling the soft skin, the utter size of him engulfing her, holding her fiercely, making her feel more of a woman than she had ever felt.

And if this was a rebound, Harriet gasped as his hand pulled her closer, as she felt the muscular firmness of his thighs pressing against hers, the swollen heat of his arousal nudging into her stomach, if this was a rebound then bring it on. If this was the cure for a broken heart, balm for raw wounds, then she wanted it, needed it.