Alison Roberts - The Night Before Christmas

She had never expected to see them again. Certainly not at close range. But here they were, on the other side of Dr Kingsley’s desk.

‘Who are you?’

Oh … Lord … It was supposed to come out as ‘Who are you ?’ and not ‘Who are you?’, as if she remembered him and was desperate to know his name.

He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was giving her the same kind of odd look he had when he’d passed her in Bennett’s department store yesterday.

‘I’m Jack,’ he told her. ‘Jack Rousseau.’

His voice was as smooth as the rich chocolate his eyes made her think of. Just as dark, too. And there was a subtle hint of a very attractive accent. Rousseau? Was he French?

Lizzie’s mouth went curiously dry and she dropped her gaze instantly. Not that it helped. He had both his hands on the desk, fiddling with the disc of a stethoscope lying on the blotter. Long, shapely fingers and hands, the backs of which were dusted with dark hair. Absolutely masculine hands but they looked very clever.

Sexy hands. Like the rest of this man whose name meant nothing to her. He was a complete stranger despite this odd feeling that she knew him. A two-second encounter in a crowded shop couldn’t account for this feeling of familiarity but illicit fantasies in the privacy of her own bed certainly could.

This was appalling. She had to say something before her hesitation became any more obvious but Lizzie could feel a blush of gigantic proportions blooming. She felt somehow exposed. Vulnerable. Backed into a corner simply because she’d done a tiny thing for her own pleasure.

There was only one thing for it. She needed to come out fighting. Her chin rose sharply and she met those dark eyes directly.

‘Where’s Dr Kingsley?’ she demanded.

As if to answer her sharp query, the door of the consulting room burst open.

‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie,’ Dave Kingsley said. ‘I wanted to be here to introduce you to Jack myself.’ He sent an apologetic smile to the younger man as he pulled another chair to that side of the desk. ‘Didn’t mean to abandon you for so long either.’

‘Couldn’t be helped,’ Jack Rousseau said graciously. ‘Emergencies happen.’

‘Car accident to a patient of mine who had a transplant five years ago,’ Dave explained to Lizzie, before turning back to his new colleague. ‘Looks like he’s damaged the kidney, unfortunately, along with messing up his spleen and liver.’

‘He’ll be on his way to Theatre, then?’

‘Yes. I might get a call. I said I wanted to have a look before any call was made about removing the transplant. Now …’ The surgeon’s smile signalled his change of focus to Lizzie. ‘You’ve obviously met Jack already.’

‘Mmm …’ Lizzie kept her gaze firmly on Dr Kingsley.

‘And he’s explained why he’s here?’

‘We were about to get to that, I think,’ Jack said.

Lizzie didn’t have to look to know that he was smiling. She could hear it in his voice. He was finding this amusing in some way? She could feel the skin on her forehead tightening as she frowned.

‘Let me do the honours, then,’ Dave said. ‘Mr Rousseau … Jack … is very well known for his expertise in abdominal transplant surgery, Lizzie. Westbridge Park has been trying to lure him away from his Paris base for some time but the best we’ve been able to manage is to persuade him to spend a month or so giving a series of lectures and working with other surgeons in some individualised training programmes. I’m one of them, I’m delighted to say.’

It would have been impolite not to shift her gaze to acknowledge the apparently famous expert. To nod, at least, as a sign of respect. Wiping the frown from her face was a bit more of an ask. Having their paths cross again like this still seemed a rather unfortunate twist of fate given her enthusiastic foray into the world of fantasy last night.

Her frown was noted.

‘I’m not really as young as I look,’ Jack Rousseau said kindly. ‘I’m thirty-six and I can assure you that I’ve had considerable experience in cases such as yours.’

Was he planning to take over her surgery? Misty’s surgery?

‘I’m more than happy with Dr Kingsley’s experience, thank you,’ she announced. ‘For myself and for my daughter.’

‘Heavens above, Lizzie,’ Dave put in. ‘I’m not about to hand you over. Though I have invited Jack to supervise and possibly assist in the surgery if that’s acceptable to you. Never hurts to have an extra set of eyes and hands, particularly if they happen to be regarded as the best in the world.’

The sound from the other man in the room was a protest of modesty. ‘The real reason I want to be there,’ Jack told her, ‘is that I’d like your permission to film the surgeries for use in my upcoming lectures.’

Lizzie stared at him. So he was thirty-six? Yes, she could see the fine lines that life had etched around his eyes and the first hint of the odd silver hair in those dark waves. He had the aura that only came with a combination of intelligence and power and she could imagine how skilled those hands must be. Oddly, the memory of those hands made a sudden heat bloom in her belly. It was disconcertingly difficult to drag her gaze away.

‘I can assure you that it won’t compromise your care in any way,’ Jack continued. ‘I have a highly skilled cameraman who’s worked with me in many major hospitals across Europe and in the States.’

Lizzie blinked at that. He must be famous and to be that famous at such a relatively young age must mean that he was seriously good at what he did.

And this was on top of being by far the most attractive man she’d ever been this close to. Certainly the first chance encounter she’d ever indulged in fantasising about.

That initial embarrassment had faded but did she really want him to be involved in any way with her medical procedures? Being in Theatre while she was lying there with her abdomen exposed?

The very idea made her squirm uncomfortably.

Jack could see that Lizzie wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea.

He sat back, toying with the stethoscope hanging around his neck, listening to Dave Kingsley explain how her case had been chosen out of all the ones they’d reviewed yesterday afternoon for just this purpose.

He could understand why she was uncomfortable with having to deal with an unexpected new development. This morning’s appointment was a crucial point in the journey she was on and lives were at stake on this journey. Specifically, the life of a six-year-old girl. What he could see in front of him was a mother who was prepared to do whatever it would take to keep her family safe.

She didn’t need a father for her children because she loved them so much she didn’t need anybody else. Because they were the best little girls in the whole world.

He’d been right, of course. Her eyes were as blue as her daughter’s.

‘I don’t care about myself,’ she was saying, ‘but I’m not having Misty turned into some kind of reality TV show.’

‘It’s nothing like that,’ Dave assured her. ‘She won’t be identified and it’s purely for the purpose of training other surgeons.’

Lizzie shot a suspicious glance in his own direction and Jack tried to look suitably serious. She was a fighter, this one. Determination like that, especially on behalf of someone else, was admirable. It was hard not to give her an encouraging smile.

She was also … absolument magnifique .

Quite possibly, the most attractive woman Jack had ever seen. So soft and feminine with those curves and the shining waves of her hair. It was her eyes that really caught him, though. They were utterly compelling. The urge to win her trust and thereby win permission to be part of the team that could remove some of the sadness from those eyes was so powerful it made him tighten his grip on the stethoscope he was fiddling with. The plastic cover on the disc popped off and provided him with a momentary and probably very timely distraction.