CAROL MARINELLI - English Doctor, Italian Bride

Bonny jerked her head up— looked at him again—and the pain that was inside her today was there on his face; the agony she felt was mirrored in his eyes.

And it wasn’t wanton, or bold, or even particularly brave—because, looking at him, Bonita knew her kiss wasn’t about to be rejected.

Kisses—strange, delicious things, her mind thought as their lips mingled.

Just this delicious sharing, this sweet acknowledgement that was better expressed without words. A kiss that wasn’t about escaping, more about sustenance. A little pause in a vile day—a kiss that wouldn’t go further because for now it was absolutely enough.

‘You and I,’ Hugh said, as their kiss inevitably ended, ‘are going to have to do some serious talking.’

‘I know.’

Carol Marinellirecently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title, and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and after chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked—‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But—given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open—I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Recent titles by the same author:

Medical™ RomanceONE MAGICAL CHRISTMAS A DOCTOR, A NURSE: A LITTLE MIRACLE BILLIONAIRE PRINCE, ORDINARY NURSE*

Modern™ RomanceHIRED: THE ITALIAN’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS ITALIAN BOSS, RUTHLESS REVENGE EXPECTING HIS LOVE-CHILD*

* The House of Kolovsky

By

CAROL MARINELLI

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘SORRY if this is awkward for you!’ Hugh Armstrong flashed a tight smile at his reluctant patient.

‘It’s not awkward for me.’ Bonita managed through pale lips, shaking her head as Deb, the charge nurse, offered her more gas to inhale. Bonita held her arm slightly away from her body, terrified to move it and even more terrified at the thought of anyone touching it. The journey to the hospital had been short but hellish, the makeshift sling her friend had applied had done little to help and certainly hadn’t provided a buffer to the pain—she’d felt every jolt. Every movement, anticipated or real, had also been agony as Deb had helped get her out of the car and onto the trolley. ‘I’m just in a lot of pain.’

‘Good!’ Hugh said, as Bonita shivered on the trolley. ‘Not good that you’re in pain, of course!’ He gave her a patronising smile. ‘I mean, it’s good that it’s not awkward for you. Accidents happen after all or we wouldn’t have a job!’

He thought he was funny!

Bonita wished she could make light of the fact that she was sitting bolt upright on a trolley in the accident and emergency department she worked in, dressed in her netball gear, her long brown curls all damp and frizzy, her shoulder hanging out of its socket and her arch-enemy Hugh Bloody Armstrong the only senior doctor available!

Just her luck. But, then again, the whole day had been a series of errors. She wasn’t even supposed to have been playing netball today, had actually given it up last year after she’d knocked herself out and then a fortnight later had hurt her knee. But an early morning phone call telling her that the team was short and begging her to fill in had caught her off guard. She should have said no—centre forward wasn’t even her position!

And as for Hugh Armstrong treating her—well, he wasn’t even supposed to be on duty, Bonita thought, holding onto her arm so carefully that her neck was starting to hurt with the tension of trying to stay still. Andrew Browne was the consultant on duty today, only he was stuck in Resus and Hugh had just happened to call in to drop off the emergency pager, midway between the wedding and reception he was attending today. Dressed in a grey morning suit, knowing damn well that he looked fantastic, reeking of cologne, with Amber, his stunning girlfriend, trotting faithfully behind, he’d seen Bonita being wheeled through the department. Of course, given she was a staff member, and there was no one else available, it was only right that he deal with her, only right that she wasn’t left waiting.

She was staff.

And, because today she was also a patient, for once he’d be nice to her and, in turn, she’d suffer his patronising attempts at humour, if it meant that her shoulder would get sorted quickly.

It was entirely irrelevant that they loathed each other.

‘Take a couple of breaths of this, and then hopefully you can give me your arm.’

She was making a scene; Bonita knew that, but bravery was something she was having great difficulty summoning.

Sobbing, crying and red in the face, she’d turned more than a few heads since her arrival.

Hugh had almost got an IV in when she’d first arrived, which had been a feat in itself, given she had useless thready veins, yet he’d somehow managed to find one on her good arm.

And then she’d suddenly moved.

Which had caused more pain, made her yelp and Hugh had let out a hiss of frustration as the tiny plastic tube had kinked beneath his fingers and her vein had collapsed.

‘Come on, honey!’ Deb soothed. ‘You’re an Azetti—you should be used to this!’

Not this Azetti!

Having a girl after three strapping sons, her mother, it seemed to Bonita, should have wrapped her in cotton wool, dressed her in pink and enrolled her for ballet. Instead, until puberty had hit loudly, she had been raised as one of the boys, brought up in her brothers’ cast-offs and forced to play with their toys. She had proved a constant source of irritation to her mother because she hadn’t liked roughing it and, horror of horrors, had no affinity for horses. Sure, her mother and three brothers might pop out a shoulder or dislocate the odd patella when they took a tumble from a horse, and handle themselves with pained dignity, but it just wasn’t Bonita.

Like her Sicilian father, Luigi, emotion was Bonita’s forte, and Hugh knew that. He smiled just a touch as Bonita rolled her eyes at Deb’s comment and said nothing. Neither correcting nor commenting on the fact that he knew different.

‘Can’t you just do something for the pain?’

Impatient to get her to X-Ray, Hugh was trying to do just that, Bonita knew. He was holding up a mask and trying to be patient, but the rubbery smell, along with the anticipation of pain, was just upsetting her more.

‘Come on, now.’ He tried again to be nice. ‘I know you’re upset, I know you’re in pain, but if you just take a couple of big breaths of this and give me your arm, we can get an IV in and give you something more substantial for your pain.’ Which was the only thing Bonita wanted to hear. Oh, she’d dealt with plenty of dislocated shoulders in the year she’d worked here, knew that it hurt, only she hadn’t realised just how much.

‘I really think I’ve done more than just dislocate it…’ Bonita shivered. ‘It’s way worse than a straight dislocation—I think I might have fractured it or maybe done something to the nerves.’

‘Let’s just get something into you for pain, we’ll get some X-rays and then I’ll make my diagnosis!’