Praise for

Louisa George:

‘Author Louisa George fulfilled the promise she made with her emotionally satisfying debut offering, ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM, and took us to unexpected depths of human relationship with WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE.

This story is a captivating blend of drama, passion, emotional tension and romance.’

—Contemporary Romance Reviews

‘A most excellent debut from Louisa George.’

—www.GoodReads.com on

ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM

About the Author

A lifelong reader of most genres, LOUISA GEORGE discovered romance novels later than most, but immediately fell in love with the intensity of emotion, the high drama and the family focus of Mills & Boon® Medical RomanceTM.

With a Bachelors Degree in Communication and a nursing qualification under her belt, writing medical romance seemed a natural progression, and the perfect combination of her two interests. And making things up is a great way to spend the day!

An English ex-pat, Louisa now lives north of Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, two teenage sons and two male cats. Writing romance is her opportunity to covertly inject a hefty dose of pink into her heavily testosterone-dominated household. When she’s not writing or researching Louisa loves to spend time with her family and friends, enjoys travelling, and adores great food. She’s also hopelessly addicted to Zumba®.

Recent titles by Louisa George:

 THE LAST DOCTOR SHE SHOULD EVER DATE

 THE WAR HERO’S LOCKED-AWAY HEART

 WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE

 ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM

Also available in eBook format

from www.millsandboon.co.uk

How to Resist
a Heartbreaker
Louisa George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE

‘WE HAVE A DONOR.’ Max Maitland put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. A first step to making things right between them all. God knew, they needed it. That, plus a hefty dose of courage and his surgical skills.

Little Jamie’s life depended on this being a success. Failure wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.

‘Yes, we do have a donor.’ Mitchell’s eyes lit up with hope as they walked towards the nurses’ station. ‘Me.’

‘What? No. There was an accident—the kidney’s being flown in. We have to run some tests, but first thoughts are that everything’s compatible.’ Max couldn’t risk his brother on the operating table too. ‘I’ll be the principal transplant surgeon, obviously. We’re just waiting for the rest of the team.’

‘No. I want to do this. I want to donate my kidney to my son. I have to do this, goddamit.’ Mitch’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles blanching.

Max knew how hard coming to terms with being a father had been for his brother. Harder still to learn the child he’d only just met would die without urgent help.

Dragging him away from the screaming telephones, the bleeping monitor and babies’ wails, Max looked Mitch squarely in the eye. The steel gaze he knew was mirrored in his own eyes bored into him. Eyes so eerily identical to his. Maitland eyes. The same ones Jamie had. His nephew. His brother’s son.

Max’s chest tightened. How long had he wished for this kind of connection with his own flesh and blood? How many nights had passed in a fit of fantasy—about a family with people who cared, who believed in him?

Now Max could do something to make a difference, bridge that gap between himself and his estranged twin—make a real family. ‘Are you sure? You know the risks? It’s major surgery.’

‘I know that I’m a positive match. I know that adult-to-child transplants work best. That living donors work better. I know I’d do anything. Anything. For my child.’

Max nodded. In the Maitland gene pool determination beat anything else hands down. Stubbornness came a close second, which meant he hadn’t a hope of changing his brother’s mind. But he had to try. ‘Let’s see what the tests show on this donor kidney. Then we’ll take it from there.’

‘No. Give it to someone else.’

‘This is a good chance for Jamie. Donors are few and far between. At least wait and see … ’

Mitch shook his head, sucked in air. ‘Would you do that for your child? Would you wait to see if things panned out okay? To see if the higher chances of tissue rejection from an unrelated donor made him sick again? Watch him suffer when you could easily make things better for him? Or would you give him the best chance? Would you do it?’ For your nephew? For me?

Mitch didn’t have to say the words. Years of frustration and jealousy, anger and grief hovered round them tainted with the thick disinfectant smell that coated everything in the hospital ward. Would you put yourself on the line for your family? Even if that family was something you hadn’t spent a whole lot of time with.

Without hesitation Max answered. ‘Of course I would. I’ll make it work.’

CHAPTER ONE

THE SHED PUMPED with the throb of techno beat. A deep bass rhythm resonated off Max’s ribcage, as if the music came from within him. Hard. Loud. Raw. Through a glass door leading out back he saw silhouetted people dancing, arms punching the air, the way he wanted to right now. The way he felt whenever surgery had been a success. But today—hell, nothing came close to that kind of buzz.

Mission accomplished.

Bill, the barman, nodded towards the bottles in the fridge. ‘Hey, Max. Usual?’

‘Sure. Line them up.’

‘Celebrating?’

‘I think so.’ It paid to be cautious. The first twenty-four hours were often the decider, although with transplants the decider could be years down the track. He’d laid it all out to Mitch and Jodi, plain and simple; Jamie’s operation had resulted in a functioning kidney, but a lot could still go wrong. Too much.

He didn’t want to go there. Emotions had no place in a surgeon’s work and in his career he’d always managed that—but saving his nephew’s life? That was all kinds of different.

Bill slid the beer bottle across the bar, his eyebrows raised in understanding. The great boutique beer, plus the fact the staff never asked questions or gave advice, was the reason The Shed was Max’s home away from home. After a heavy day of intense surgery he relished the chance to de-stress the best way he could in familiar surroundings, followed by some kind of hot physical workout—a bed was optional.

Here in the public bar there was no one save a couple from the phlebotomy unit and a single woman a few seats down with her back to him. A mass of thick dark curls covered her shoulders.

His gaze drifted down her straight back, stopping short at the taut line of the black long-sleeved blouse stretched across her spine. Her dress was more funereal than fun, so much so he wondered why she’d be in party central. Most girls here showed far more skin. Intrigued, his gaze travelled over the narrow dip of her waist. The flair of her skirt over a decent amount of hip. The right amount.

He imagined running his palm over those curves.

Running a cool hand over the back of his neck instead, he eased the tension in his shoulders. Man. After eight hours of surgery his hyped muscles needed a release. And he knew the perfect way.

A quick drink first. Then hit the back bar. Then … maybe … who knew? The night was still young.

‘Barman? Excuse me? Hey.’ The curls shivered as the woman raised her hand. ‘Excuse me. Another mojito, please.’

Bill’s pupils widened as he leaned across the bar to Max, his voice low. ‘Been here an hour. Had three already.’

Following Bill’s line of vision, Max caught a view of her face. In an urgent and acute response something twisted in his gut, tightened with an awareness that was full and powerful. Hell. It had been a long time since he’d had that kind of immediate reaction to a woman.

Her hair framed a soft face, kissable lips with a smattering of red lipstick. Almost perfect features—cute nose, a dusting of freckles. She was the kind of woman any man would give a second glance to. And most would chance a third. But the clip in her voice screamed that she was a woman not to be messed with.

So of course his interest ratcheted up the scale. Fiery women always presented a challenge. And, boy, did Max love a challenge. He hadn’t become Auckland’s most successful transplant surgeon without pushing a few boundaries.

Okay—a lot of boundaries.

She caught him looking at her but he refused to look away.

Her eyes. Wow. Large, dark, almond-shaped, glittering with something. Hurt? Anger?

Which in itself was a warning sign. But, hell, a conversation didn’t mean a whole lot of anything. And if it went further—he’d lay out his intentions from the get-go. Starting with nothing deep and meaningful. Ending with don’t ask for forever.

Max leaned across the bar to Bill. ‘Is she waiting for someone? Been stood up?’

The barman shook his head. ‘Nah. Don’t think so. She hasn’t checked her phone or looked at her watch.’

Good. Not stepping on anyone’s toes. He didn’t break that brotherhood code as easily as others. As easily as Mitchell had. Max raised his beer to her. ‘Tough day?’

‘And getting tougher by the minute.’ She took her refreshed drink and turned her back to him.

‘Okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk, right?’

Swivelling round, she gave him a full-tilt death stare. Definitely anger in her eyes. Hurt was a distant cousin. ‘Gee, whatever gave you that idea? Very sorry, but my back’s not feeling very chatty tonight.’ She turned away again, but not quite as far as she’d gone before.

‘Watch you don’t get whiplash with all the swivelling around.’ He caught her profile. The uplift of her chin. Tight lips.

And very possibly the hint of smile.

He’d been on the verge of leaving, but the fading smile reeled him in.

Never one to admit defeat, he slid into the seat next to her, determined to make that smile last a little longer. ‘It’s okay. We don’t have to talk.’

‘Get out of here. Really?’ Her ribcage rose and fell quickly as she turned to face him, slim fingers running a diamond locket along a thin silver chain at her throat.

Her dark gaze slid from his face down his body and back again. ‘People actually say that? Is it from Cheesy Pick-ups for Dummies?’ She held up her hand. ‘Wait. No. It’s a phone app, right? Lame Lines for Getting Laid. ’

‘Ouch. Cruel. I’m mortally wounded.’ He touched his heart for effect. ‘Actually, it’s from Just trying to be friendly dot com. But forget it. I’ll leave you in peace.’

She blinked. ‘No. I’m sorry. Come on, hit me with another line.’

‘That was my best shot. I’m all out.’ He winked, took his phone out and whispered, ‘Quick. Help me out here. What was that app called again?’

‘Yeah, right. Like you’d need it.’ She laughed. The glitter in her eyes turned to one of humour. Her mouth kicked up at the corners—she was fighting it, but he’d made her laugh. And that gave him a sharp punch of pride to his gut. She clearly got a kick out of the sparring and, hell, judging by the effect of that smile on his libido, so did he.

Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You must have some more lines? Surely? Tell you what—you try them on me and I’ll rate them out of ten. Then no other poor unsuspecting woman has to put up with the bad ones.’

‘Okay.’ He took a slug of beer and rose to the bait. If it meant a few more minutes laughing with her, then game on. Then he’d go out back. ‘My friend’s all-time favourite was “Hey, darling, do your legs hurt from running through my dreams all night?”’

‘No. No. No. Stop. Running away from a nightmare, more like.’ She grimaced and put her fingers in her ears. ‘That’s terrible. A very poor three. Please don’t tell me people actually use that?’ Her head tipped back a little as she laughed.

He was mesmerised by the delicate curve of her throat. Imagined placing a kiss in the dip lined with the silver chain. When she leaned forward again he got a delicate scent of flowers. Made him want to inhale way more deeply than he should.

Boy, he definitely needed to get out more.

She shook her head. ‘Was that your best shot? You are so bad at this.’

‘Thank God, I’ve never needed them. Obviously.’

‘The worst one I ever heard was “Is your dad a baker? Because you’ve got a nice set of buns.”’ She snorted into her drink, then pointed to her face. ‘Hey. Eyes up here.’

‘Clearly he was a good judge of … character.’ Max reluctantly dragged his gaze from the swell of her blouse-covered breasts back to her smiling mouth. Whatever shadows had been haunting her when he’d arrived had gone. Her eyes shone clear and bright. Job done. ‘Seriously, you just looked like you could do with cheering up.’

‘And you voted yourself cheerleader? How sweet.’ Her eyes narrowed and she pointed at him. ‘But I was managing just fine without the benefit of your help. Now you should go. Thank you.’

Huh? This was new. He hadn’t been knocked back for a very long time.

Adrenalin pumped round his veins. Instinct told him they could have fun together—and his instinct was rarely wrong. That and the fact he always liked to win meant he’d have to up his game. The chase usually lasted all of two seconds once they knew who he was, what he did. ‘And yet here you are, smiling … er?’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Max.’

‘Max.’ She paused, clicked her fingers together. ‘Max … Max Maitland. You’re that guy. Thought I’d seen you before.’

‘Seen me where?’ Because he sure as hell hadn’t seen her. He’d have remembered.

‘I had my first-day orientation on the paediatric high dependency unit today. While you were doing your rounds I looked after little Jamie for a few hours. He’s gorgeous.’

‘Yes. Yes, he is.’ A weird tightness squeezed his chest. He breathed it out, chalked it up to the long day. He’d just left Jamie sleeping soundly in his mother’s arms, tubes and drains permitting. He’d looked so small, still a baby really. Renal failure sucked at any age—but at three? The world wasn’t fair. He quickly checked his phone. No messages. No news was good news. ‘He’s my nephew.’

‘I get that. Same name. Same eyes. Cute kid. That must have been hard, watching your nephew fighting for his life then having to operate on him. Takes guts.’

The guardedness she’d had in her eyes relaxed a little as she watched him. She held his gaze as if weighing him up—no, more, as if she could see right through to his core. A hazy connection snapped between them—he sensed she understood some of what he’d been through.

Weird. The women he usually met only wanted a good time, a turn on his boat, expensive dinners, the high life of a successful surgeon. None of them ever saw past the label and the cash. Certainly none of them had X-rayed his soul before.

Her lips formed a small pout. ‘You did good today. Very good.’

He leaned in. ‘That’s because I am good.’

‘Now, that’s better. Rising up the scale, Mr Maitland—maybe an eight.’ Raw need flared behind her gaze. Her lips parted a little as she ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip.

This was dodgy territory.

Mixing business with pleasure was a definite no. Too much gossip, too much to live up to. Hell, he’d had enough of that.

And yet … there was something simmering between them. A tension building, an awareness they both acknowledged, if not with words then with those fleeting looks. Like a gathering storm, intense, alive with static.

Then the connection fractured as she frowned. ‘But I know all about men like you. Big-shot surgeon. Work too hard. No time for friends or relationships.’ She glanced at his hand. ‘No wedding band. No one to go home to—or you’d be there already. You just want something quick and hot and uncomplicated.’

And now she was stamping on a raw nerve. No woman had ever challenged him so blatantly. Pure lust fired inside him. He whispered in her ear. ‘You reckon you fit the picture?’

‘Not today. So if you don’t mind, I need a little privacy.’ She held her glass out to Bill. ‘Another one, please.’

Max didn’t want to ask why she was so intent on getting tanked. The woman was free to do what she liked. She certainly looked as if she could handle herself. In truth, the less he knew about her the better—that way things could stay strictly professional.

But his interest was way off the scale.

He wrapped his hand over her wrist, gently pulling the glass onto the bar. His fingers were drawn to her hand. He turned it over and rubbed her palm with his thumb. Checked for wedding rings. None. Good. The static jumped and buzzed around them at his touch. ‘Don’t you think you should be slowing down?’ And why did he care?

Her fingers shook free and the frown deepened. ‘Seriously? I’ve had four drinks. I can still walk, talk and count. No big deal. Don’t bust a gut over me. This is a once-a-year indulgence I allow myself. I’m having a ball, so don’t go spoiling my party.’

He wanted to ask why. Why once a year—what had happened? Why here? Why the hell had things aligned for him to bump into her today, when he needed something, as she’d so rightly said, hot and quick. With her it felt complicated already, not least because they were going to be colleagues. And there was that thing … that invisible tug between them. ‘Hey, I’m a transplant surgeon. Livers fail. I worry.’

‘Oh, sweetie. Don’t.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘Once a year. The rest of the time I’m a saint.’

‘Well, lucky I found you tonight, then. Your liver will be eternally grateful.’

‘Sure it will. But my brain will never forgive you.’ Gabby shook her head. The man was beyond irritating. Okay, she conceded, and not a little gorgeous with his dark messy hair, tight black jeans and startling blue eyes that drew her gaze every time she looked in his direction. They were a deep-set, mesmerising, intense blue framed by eyelashes bordering on illegally long.

Not to mention the way his white shirt clung to thick biceps and broad shoulders dragging her eyes to his body.

She tried to ignore the fire smouldering in her belly as he touched her hand.

But really? The man was rude and way too self-assured. Six feet plus of trouble.

His reputation went before him—first time she’d had an orientation that had come with a health warning—Max Maitland, legendary surgeon, serial heartbreaker.

If she hadn’t seen the softening in him at the mention of Jamie she’d have believed the hype—chalked him up as a self-centred charmer.

She had to admire him, though. He could spar as well as she could. But his ego was spilling out of that crisp cotton shirt. From previous ugly experience she’d erased over-confident and über-charming from the list of qualities she liked in a man. Nonna had been right about one thing, men just couldn’t be trusted.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Next time I need some advice from the fun police I’ll know who to call.’

‘And I’ll make sure I’m right there in my superhero outfit.’

‘I so did not need an image of you with your undies over your trousers.’ She shrugged, stifling a laugh, trying hard not to look at the way those jeans hugged his long legs. His perfect backside. Fascinating.

‘It’s the twenty-first century. We don’t do outfits like that anymore. I’ll let you into a secret …’ He finished his beer. ‘We transform.’

She mustered indifference, holding her laugh back. ‘I’m only interested if you transform me another mojito.’

‘A virgin mojito for sure.’ He motioned to Bill to bring an alcohol-free drink despite her protests. ‘Er … I still don’t know your name.’

‘You are very annoying.’ And damned gorgeous, and way off-limits. And all the things she’d been warned about. And funny and sexy, too, and there was that strange pull to him that she was trying to ignore. But they were going to be working together so he’d find out her name soon enough. ‘Charge Nurse Radley. Gabby, to my friends.’

‘Well, Gabby, pleased to meet you.’ He stuck out a hand. ‘Do you have any interesting secrets you’d like to share?’

Not even if hell froze over. She’d moved to Auckland to restart her life, not relive it. Freedom. At last. Space of her own. No one to tell her what to do.

She regarded his hand with as much disdain as she could muster. God, she’d met her match here. Most men had run a mile by now.

In another life this could be fun. He could be fun.

Dodging his question, she bristled. ‘Like I said, you don’t get to call me Gabby. I’m Charge Nurse Radley.’

‘Gabby. So that is Gabrielle? Gabriella?’ His grin widened as she stuck her tongue out. It was as if he knew exactly which buttons to press, and definitely how to tease. ‘Ah, Gabriella, your eyes give so much away. Nice name, and I’ll stick with Gabby, thanks.’

‘Are you this forward with everyone or is it just me?’

‘Considering it’s your first day in a new job, I’d have thought you’d want to make a good impression.’ He laughed, his chin jutting up. ‘Here’s a hint—you could make it easier for people to get to know you.’

‘I do, usually. Just not people like you.’ And not today, when she just wanted to be left alone. ‘Don’t worry, I can do professional and competent. Tomorrow.’

‘I can’t wait. Any more frostiness and we’ll need to increase the central heating. I’ll make sure I pack a scarf.’ He checked her half-empty glass and then his watch. His smile turned from friendly to insanely wicked. ‘Gabby, you’ve got the wrong impression of me. Or you’re delusional. Or drunk. Whichever, clearly you’re a danger to yourself. So, if you’re done, I’m taking you home.’

‘Whoa, buster. You are not.’ She’d had enough of people telling her what to do. ‘I’m not ready to go home …’ She paused.

Home? Where the heck was that? Certainly not the new shared flat she’d dumped all her boxes into yesterday.

Or Wellington, with its bittersweet memories and dark, dark corners.

But she’d determined not to think about any of that. Apart from tonight. The whole day had been exhausting—a new job, new people. A sweet baby fighting for his life. Piling a tumult of more emotions to the anniversary she kept, like a vigil, every year.

And now Mr I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it was piggy-backing on it. Adding a hint of danger to the heady cocktail of anger and hurt.

‘Thank you, but I’m fine on my own.’ She dragged on her jacket, lost her balance and slid off her chair, slamming into his hard wall of stomach. ‘Oops.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ His voice sent a breeze against her neck followed by ripples of something hot pattering through her stomach. ‘Because if there’s anything I can help you with.’

Well, she had been sure. Sure she wasn’t tipsy, sure she was going to walk away.

But now? Not so much. Maybe the mojitos had made her a bit woozy after all. She wasn’t used to drinking, to meeting men in bars. To the dizzy lights of a strange new city, or the safe embrace of a man like Max Maitland.

Strong arms circled her waist as he hauled her upright and led her outside into the dark street. Heat fizzed through her body. His smell, woody and heady, washed over her. She put her hands out to his chest to create space, but something held her there—her body flat refused to move. A wave of awareness jolted through her.

As her gaze travelled up his chest, over his too-damned-sexy mouth and up to his bright blue eyes, she realised it was no good fighting it. What he hadn’t offered in words she could see from the spark, feel from his increased respiratory rate. God, she was still thinking like a goddamned nurse. How long had it been?

Too long.

She’d managed to keep that bridge between her and intimacy for so long, fortified by Nonna’s rules and ugly experience.

But what he was offering her? What she thought he was offering her, hot and quick, would take her off that bridge with a wide leap. She’d spent ten years clinging on by her fingertips, frightened of what might happen. Of how much she’d have to give and lose all over again.

But this was different. He was different. Max wasn’t asking for anything but a good time—he wasn’t the type to make promises or offer her any more. She’d been warned about that already. Which was fine with her.

So, she could go back to the people she didn’t know in her cold unfamiliar house and spend the night alone with her memories. Like she’d done for a decade. Or she could take him up on his offer. One night of heat and fun and danger.

She could scramble back onto the bridge tomorrow.

The mojitos made her bolder. Instead of pushing away from him, as she knew she should, she held on to his arm and looked straight into his eyes. Made sure he got the message. What she wanted. Where they were headed.

Never had she felt so brazen, so alive. ‘Actually, I can think of a few things I need help with.’

‘Then I’m your guy.’ For a second he seemed to still, confused no doubt by her see-sawing signals. Then heat ignited in his pupils. He tipped his head, his mouth a fraction away from hers.

An ache spread from her abdomen to her groin, rushing through her blood to every nerve ending. When his hands reached for her waist and pulled her closer she stepped into his arms, pushing away any negative thoughts.

When his thumb rubbed against her hip bone her heart rate spiked. Then his mouth was covering hers with a force she’d never experienced before.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepened the kiss, opening her mouth to his tongue. His hardness pressed between them and she rocked against it. The desire he’d unleashed in her only seemed to grow more intense as she curled into his heat.

She didn’t know where this temptress act was coming from. Something about Max Maitland made her feel so sexy—and knowing it was for one night only, she played along. God, if her nonna could see her … No. No. No. She hauled Max closer and lost herself in his heat, erased any thoughts of home from her brain.

Shivers tingled down her spine as he cupped her face and crushed his mouth to hers.

Eventually he pulled away, his breathing ragged. ‘Okay, Gabby.’ Still keen to play games with her. Good. She wanted to play. ‘You want to rate me now?’

She pretended to think for a moment, pressed her lips together—relishing the unfamiliar stinging sensation from his kiss. ‘Nine.’

‘Nine?’

She bit her bottom lip and leaned closer to his ear. Breathed in the scent that had started to drive her wild. ‘Okay, nine point five.’

‘Really? And I lost half a point for what, exactly?’

‘It didn’t last anywhere near long enough.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘I CAN REMEDY THAT.’ Max’s forehead rested against hers, his breathing finally steadying. He’d met his match here. Hallelujah. Things could get very interesting between now and tomorrow morning. ‘I’m not back on duty for a few hours. You?’

Gabby frowned. ‘Early shift. And as it’s my first day in charge, I have to make an impression—so watch out, Mr Maitland. I can be ruthless.’

‘Woo—scary nurse lady.’ But, yes, they would be colleagues from tomorrow. Damn. This was getting too complicated. He hesitated, his judgement getting the better of him. And his conscience too.

He didn’t know her—but what he’d seen so far was that no matter how much of a front she put up, she had shadows, and a past—or else why would she be in the pub on her own, hell-bent on getting wasted?

And he didn’t want to veer into that kind of territory.

But she was intriguing. Strong and strident one minute, sexy siren the next, and all the time with an undercurrent of vulnerability that tugged at his protective instinct.

And right now he wanted to bury himself inside her. Not just anyone. Not someone. Her.

‘Hey.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Earth to Max.’

‘You want to talk about why you were in the pub?’

‘No. I don’t want to talk at all. Don’t ask me anything, and I won’t ask you.’ She placed her finger to his lips. ‘You don’t want more. And neither do I. So forget the sensitive-guy thing.’

‘But.?’

‘But nothing. Tonight we are … friends. Tomorrow we are co-workers. I can cope with that if you can. Seriously. Cross my heart.’

Her fingers tiptoed down his shirt buttons and she drew a cross over his heart. When she peered up at him through thick black eyelashes he caught the flash of desire in her eyes. ‘Now you are severely dropping in my ratings. If you want to get back up to at least a seven, you’ve got a bit of work to do.’

‘Seven? How did that happen?’

She wiggled her hips against his thigh. ‘You, Mr Maitland, are all talk and no action.’

‘You want action? Right.’ Max walked her across the deserted street and into his apartment block. Crazy stuff. He never offered his place. One of his rules, and he had a few—no staying the night. No promises of anything. Anything. No sharing his private cave. That was way too personal—and he didn’t do intimacy on any level, not if he could help it. But his apartment was close by. And what they needed right now was hot and quick. He punched ‘P’ and the lift jolted.

‘You live in the penthouse? Wow.’

‘Sure. You have a problem with heights?’

He couldn’t resist the smile. It had taken a lot of damned hard work to earn enough to get this place—but it had been worth every hour and every cent just to see the look on his uncle’s face. ‘We could go back to the ground floor. I own an apartment there too—but it’s rented out at the moment—could be a bit crowded.’

‘Now you’re just showing off.’

‘Oh, believe me, I haven’t even started.’ He nibbled her ear and watched her squirm with delight further into his arms. Her scent coated everything—her hair, her skin—his skin. And it fired a zillion nerve endings in his groin.

He swiped his card and opened the apartment door, activating the lights.

He couldn’t help the smile when Gabby gasped. Whether it was at the one-eighty-degree view of Auckland’s glittering night skyline or his kisses on the back of her neck he didn’t know. Either way, with her sharp intake of breath he was all turned on as hell. He took her hand and led her into his space.

‘Wow! Look! The lights. You didn’t even touch a switch.’

He laughed. ‘There was me thinking my kisses made you gasp.’

‘You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?’ But she traced a finger down his cheek and over his lips. ‘Do it again.’

He waved a hand and the room plunged into darkness again. ‘Like that?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Palms worked their way down to his chest.

Then the lights came on again.

Then off.

Then on.

She grinned as he caught her, her arm in mid-air. ‘Oops. In the real world we have flicky switch things. This is so cool.’

As the room plunged into darkness again he found her mouth, the pressure of her fingers on his back stoking the fire in his belly. He guided her to the couch, raking his hands through those thick curls he’d been aching to touch all evening.

With every stroke of his tongue she moaned with pleasure, sending him dangerously closer to the edge. He undid the buttons on her blouse, slid his hand under her bra, felt the delicious contraction of her nipples against his palm.

He struggled with an intense need to take her. Here. Now. But he sensed he needed to take it more slowly with her. Wanted to take it more slowly. They only had a few hours before morning and he felt as if time was running out. If he hurried, the magic would be lost too soon.

When he pulled away slightly he watched her face transform from beguiling to bewitched as she gazed across the room to the city view.

‘This place is freakin’ huge! Incredible! Look at all those lights, the harbour. I can see a cruise ship down there in dock. It’s magical.’ Then she glanced around the moonlit room, her delight evident, like a kid in a sweet shop. ‘The glass … so much glass … must cost a fortune in window cleaning.’ She laughed, ran her hand along the top of the couch. ‘And all these white fixtures, the blonde wood … but no knick-knacks? Pictures? Photos?’

‘No.’ He wouldn’t explain.

‘What about Jamie? Your family? You must have photos of them.’

‘I don’t like clutter.’ He’d managed to live like that for a long time. No mess—physical or emotional. ‘I keep things simple.’

‘I see. Noted.’ She paused and seemed to take that in. Then she nodded, understanding his hint not to probe further. ‘It’s stark, but breathtaking. I’ve never seen such a space. It’s like something out of a magazine.’

‘Metro House Monthly—February edition.’ At her frown he explained. ‘The interior designer was pretty happy with it so she booked an editorial. There’s a spa, too, out there in the garden.’

‘You have a spa and a garden all the way up here? Oh. My. God.’ She ran to the Ranchslider doors but he flicked the remote and they opened before she got there.

‘Oh.’ Disappointment laced her voice as she stepped out. ‘That’s not a garden, it’s a desert. There’s nothing here.’

‘I don’t have time to look after plants. I hardly have time to sleep these days.’ He tutted, took her hand and walked her across the empty decking space towards the spa.

Looking at it all through her eyes, yes, it was kind of sparse. Just how he’d planned it. Uncomplicated, stressfree.

Just like Gabby seemed to be. Instead of all the pretence that he usually went through with women—the faux affection, the predictable seduction, the craning of their necks to see the colour of his credit card before they said yes—Gabby seemed undeniably, ruthlessly real.

Her bright-eyed reaction to his apartment was genuine, not greedy. She’d been honest about her expectations. And flirty and unexpectedly fun.

A pinky-orange glow shimmered across the balcony, illuminating the red and gold highlights in her hair, her dewy skin, warm eyes. She fitted perfectly into his arms, soft curves filled with promises.

No, it wasn’t his flat that was breathtaking—Gabby was. How amazing to make love with her out here in the moonlight … in the spa.

Anywhere.

She leaned back against the railings, her forehead crinkled with frown lines. For a moment he felt like he’d disappointed her, but then she smiled. ‘If I lived here I’d have an oasis—somewhere I could come sit and read, relax. A sky garden with lots of plants. A home isn’t a home without flowers and plants.’

Where’s home? The question almost tripped off his tongue, but he remembered their agreement—no questions. His hands ran over her shoulders, down her triceps, and he realised she was shivering in the early-winter breeze. He locked her into his arms. ‘I’m not into flowers and plants. That’s girl stuff.’

‘No. Real men get their hands dirty.’ Taking his hand in hers, she examined it. ‘You’ve got surgeon’s hands. Wow. Just think of all the lives these hands have saved.’ She pressed her lips into his palm, kept her eyes locked with his, then slowly placed his hand over her breast. Went up on tiptoe and filled his mouth with her tongue.

Maybe this was a dream. A post-surgery dead-on-his-feet hallucination. A beautiful woman. A still night. Promises … Anytime soon and his cellphone was bound to go off. He was going to wake up.

On paper she was his perfect woman: she didn’t want a relationship, didn’t want more than one night. Was happy to forget it all tomorrow. Just like him. Sure, on paper she was perfect, but there must be a catch. There was always a catch. ‘Are you for real?’

‘No, I’m a figment of your imagination. Open your eyes and I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke … gone …’ she whispered, and giggled.

‘Then I’ll keep them shut. I don’t want you disappearing on me. Not just yet.’ He kissed her again hard and fast, cupping her breast. Her excited moans of pleasure spurred him on. Just the simple act of kissing her was a sensual feast that he didn’t want to end. Her hips ground against his and suddenly a fire blazed in his groin, hot and hard. Tearing at her straps, he removed her top, lifted her bra and took one nipple into his mouth.

Watching the reaction on her face—concentrated joy—spurred him to give the other nipple the same treatment.

She clutched at his hair. ‘Oh, God, this is so good. I don’t suppose this place has a bedroom?’

‘I have three.’

‘Goody. Which one do we start in?’

Her skin against his mouth fired spasms of need through him. He dragged his lips from her shoulder. ‘Master. Now.’

‘Don’t stop, though. Don’t stop.’ Ignoring her groans of protest, he took her hand and led her into his bedroom. ‘Wow. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more impressive.’

As she pointed to his bed he was hit with a surge of pride. Okay, so it was a handcrafted masterpiece, imported mahogany, Egyptian cotton. Yeah, it was impressive.

But when she said, ‘It looks so perfect I daren’t mess it up,’ he swooped her into his arms and lifted her onto his bed—her dark hair instantly flaming against the white linens. Her skirt ruched up to her hips, revealing long shapely legs.

Palming her thigh, he joined her on the bed. She edged closer, fitted into his space. Kissed him again, soft and sweet. Then in an electric moment the tension ratcheted, the kissing became more frenetic, the need more explicit.

He slipped her skirt off, kissing across her bellybutton down to the edge of her panties. ‘How am I doing on the rating front?’

‘Oh … nearing eight …’ she breathed out on a sigh.

‘Only an eight? I show you this … I do this … and this …’ He moved back up to her neck, nibbled her ear, slicked a slow trail from her lobe. Tweaked her nipple again with his hot mouth. ‘And I only get an eight?’

‘Hey, a guy’s always got room for improvement.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Grabbing his condoms from the bedside-table drawer, he paused and looked at her. Realised he didn’t want hot and quick. Wanted long and slow. And maybe again tomorrow.

He shook those kinds of thoughts from his head—useless and pointless. People walked through his life, no one ever stayed for long. That was how it worked for him. And for Gabby, too, it seemed. ‘Are you sure?’

Placing her hands on his chest, she frowned. ‘I want you to know this is not something I’ve done in a very long time. I don’t usually … you know … do this … I am on the Pill but, yes, definitely use a condom.’

She seemed hesitant. Maybe the alcohol was wearing off. Good call—he wanted her head to be in full working order if they were going to do this. No regrets for either of them. He brought her fingertips to his mouth. ‘It’s okay, you know. I could take you home. We don’t have to do this.’

‘Oh, yes, we do. You promised me hot and quick.’ Gabby’s courage had begun to waver, but her need to have him hadn’t diminished. No, siree.

Running her hands over his back towards his waist, she pulled him to her and crushed her lips against his. A surge of heat spiralled through her from the small of her back to the top of her head. Mr I’m Sexy was so different from any other man she’d kissed. Not that there’d been many—she’d made sure of that.

Dumb, really, that on today of all days she was doing this. When she should be staying away from any kind of risk. But the headier the risk, the more her body wanted to take it. Take him. Now. And nothing was going to stop her finally taking something for herself.

Because, for the first time in forever, she felt absolutely, totally free.

Scragging his shirt over his head, she slicked kisses down his hard chest, over a smattering of hair, across hard muscle. He pressed against her as he shucked off his jeans. His hands grasped her hips, slipping off her pants, fingers reaching her inner thigh.

For a moment she stiffened, worried about what could happen. If she even knew what to do now. If she would be enough for him. What would happen afterwards. Tried to put out of her mind what had happened last time she’d done this.

But unlike last time she wasn’t an innocent grasping at a fairytale, looking for an escape and dreaming about happy ever after—this time she knew exactly where she was headed. Sex. Need. No promises. No illusions. She was a woman, powerful and in control.

His hands stroked her skin and it felt as if he was stroking her insides too. And she wanted more. His kisses heated her. Banished the cold she’d felt for so long. Stoked the fire that raged from her belly to her breasts and that didn’t stop … couldn’t stop … wouldn’t stop until he was inside her.

Then there he was, edging into her, telling her to relax, calling her beautiful over and over. Until she truly believed she could be. His breathing quickened and his words stopped, and all she could hear was their sighs and the thud of her heart and the blood pounding round her veins. Until he took her over the edge, and all sounds splintered into one explosion of shuddering joy.

A perfect ten.

A harsh, tinny tune jolted Max awake. His first instinctive reaction was to feel across the duvet for the uncompromising Gabby.

His second was to reach for his phone.

God, he was doomed.

And she was gone. He’d opened his eyes and she’d disappeared, just like she’d promised. Which irritated him more than it should have. Most women wanted him to stay, had always been put out when he’d made up his excuses and left.

He’d never had the time or the inclination to invest in anything longer than a fling. And he’d certainly never given any woman time to do the walking—he’d had enough of people he loved disappearing from his life already.

But the room still smelt of her scent. The sheets did. And so did he.

His phone blared again.

Focusing on the lurid green message, his heart began to race. Jamie.

A rising temperature less than twenty-four hours post-op. Dipped urine output. Distressed kid.

Within minutes he was on the HDU, trying to keep his voice in check so as not to spook Jamie’s mum, Jodi. He scratched his head as he approached the bed, still unused to her being round again after so long.

It was weird enough when Mitch had dated Max’s ex. But even more awkward to have her back in his life, at his work after so long. Not that anything lingered between them anymore, except his wish they could all move on. But Jodi’s hurt was still there, along with his brother’s betrayal. Unmentioned. Unresolved. Like everything with Mitch.

His attempts not to growl at the surgical on-call house officer disappeared along with any trace of post-damned-fine-sex good humour.

‘I need full blood and urine screens, swab drain and catheter sites, keep an eye on central venous pressure and his blood pressure. How long has his temp been this high?’

‘An hour, maybe two.’

‘And you waited to tell me. Why? I said I was to be contacted immediately if there was a change in his condition.’

‘I thought we could control it. I was hoping the paracetamol would hold it in check.’

‘Since when does paracetamol hold an infection in check? You wanted to mask the symptoms and not investigate them. Pretend he hasn’t got a problem, right? Great.’ God, he was surrounded by.

He took a breath. It was the middle of the night. They were tired. He was tired. And poor Jamie. Thick, dark shadows edged the little boy’s eyes as he stared up at them.

Max’s heart squeezed. He never allowed himself to feel anything but professional concern for his patients. But Jamie? Jamie was special. He was the sticking plaster they needed to stick them all back together. They hadn’t come this far for the kid to get sick again. Not on his watch, anyway.

He should never have left them this evening. Even though he’d been exhausted by the surgeries and countless demands on his time.

He shouldn’t have gone to the bar. Even though he’d left clear and strict instructions with his staff.

He shouldn’t have taken Gabby to his apartment. Just in case something like this happened.

So that was a mistake he wasn’t going to repeat. He didn’t need a hefty dose of guilt to add to his conscience.

Although Jodi was a doctor, he tried to explain the turn of events in everyday language. Knowing that in the middle of a long night, with spiralling concern, technical terms wouldn’t be much use.

‘Jamie’s got a spiking temperature. Which could mean one of a few things. Pneumonia, urine infection or just something sticky at the drain sites.’

‘Or it could be rejection, right?’ Her palm covered her mouth as she held in the tears Max knew she wanted to shed.

Accelerated acute rejection—death of the kidney soon after operation. He didn’t want to imagine it.

He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he would with any other patient’s relative, but did she think that was strange coming from him? So far he’d played out the ex card pretty well, but everything normally clear-cut had become muddied. He focused instead on upholding his professional manner. Hiding behind that was preferable to dealing with emotions.

‘It’s a very real possibility, but he has a reasonable urine output. We’re doing a blood scan and antibody check. Honestly, it could be anything. It’s quite common to have some sort of low-grade infection post-op. So we’ll increase the antibiotics and titrate his fluid input. That should keep him comfortable.’

‘Okay.’ Jodi’s lip wobbled as she looked equally uncomfortable. ‘Er … thanks. For everything.’

‘Hey, it’s my pleasure. Anytime.’ Although heading up the team operating on his twin brother and his nephew in a double-whammy of transplant surgeries was a one-off he hoped never to repeat.

As he injected more antibiotics into Jamie’s Luer, Max dredged up a smile for Jodi. ‘How’s Mitch doing?’

‘He’s fine. He was wheeled in for a few minutes to say good-night to Jamie, but he was wiped out after his operation so he went to sleep. He says to say thanks, mate.’

Mate? Since when was he his brother’s mate? Maybe they were finally getting somewhere. Such a shame it had taken something so drastic to get them talking again. Max huffed out a breath.

Jodi managed a tired smile in return and he felt a strange pang of regret. Not of losing her—because she had been so wrong for him and so right for Mitch—but because he’d never seen anyone have that love-filled, misty-eyed look over him.

Must be getting soft.

‘You look bushed. Why don’t you have a lie-down?’ He dragged over a foldaway bed, grabbed some pillows and covers, and made her sit down. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll stay right here with him.’

‘But what about his temperature? Or if he cries?’ She was terrified and exhausted and what she needed was a rest, away from the eternal twilight of the hospital ward. A foldaway bed was the closest he could come to providing that.

Not for the first time he wished he could do something, anything, to prevent his estranged family from suffering through this.

‘Then I’ll wake you up. Trust me. We’ll be fine.’ Resisting an urge to drop a kiss on his cute cheek, he scruffed the boy’s hair instead. Keeping a lid on his emotions at work was his mojo—and he intended to keep it that way.

The boy murmured a little but finally went back to sleep, leaving Max in the cold silence with too many thoughts.

Too many worries about the fate of this little chap.

Too many guilty stabs about where he’d been and what he’d been doing instead of keeping watch over his family.

Too many memories of a pool of thick black curls, a sarcastic mouth.

And a very sexy smile.

CHAPTER THREE

‘HE’S HAD A LONG and difficult few hours, so don’t wake him.’ The night charge nurse finished her handover by parading the whole of the day staff in front of cubicle four.

Gabby’s chest did a funny little hitch at the sight of a sleeping Max. Slumped half on a chair and half on Jamie’s bed, he was completely and utterly comatose. And with stubble on his proud jaw he was completely and devastatingly gorgeous.

God. She glanced round at the rest of the crew. Could they all tell? Did she have ‘Guilty’ written all over her face? Did her smile scream I’ve just had fabulous sex with Mr I’m Sexy here?

She tried to make the smile more interested in the handover than the subject, as the unfamiliar ache of bedtime gymnastics thrummed through her body.

Bad, bad girl. Maybe her nonna had been right all along. She waited for the thunderbolt her grandmother had promised. The dark satanic music as she was dragged away to the bowels of hell.

Nothing happened. Gee—what a surprise.

If sex was so bad, why had it felt so good?

Her palm found its way to her throat. She tugged on the necklace she refused to take off. She knew exactly why.

Concentrate.

How would she ever concentrate with Max there?

‘Where’s Jamie’s mum?’ she whispered to the night nurse, dragging her eyes away from Max. God, he’d been amazing. She’d been amazing—and that threw her even more. She didn’t know she could be like that.

‘Mr Maitland sent Jodi home at five-thirty, once he’d got Jamie’s fever under control. Said she needed a good rest and a hot shower. He’s been here ever since. Wouldn’t leave him. Wouldn’t even let go of his hand.’

Gabby’s heart constricted as she noticed the tiny hand wrapped in Max’s fist. No. Harden up, Gabby. Don’t get involved. Don’t let a little boy tug at your heart. Or a grown man snag a piece of it.

Hurriedly closing the curtain and shushing the staff away, she took a moment to compose herself. Tried to think through the thud of her alcohol-induced headache and the wave of lust fizzing all the way down to her knees. She’d allocate Jamie to someone else. That way she wouldn’t have to spend any more time with Max or his family. No looking into too-blue eyes that made her feel weak. Then she’d avoid him, for the rest of her life.

The sluice was looking pretty attractive right now. The treatment room. Cleaner’s cupboard. Africa …

Coward.

Sure, sleeping with him had been epic. Fan-bloody-tas-tic. The best and most wild thing she’d done in a decade. Liberating. Affirming. Crazy. But now?

Not so much.

She didn’t regret it, though. It had been one amazing night that she’d always treasure. But focusing on him took her brain power away from the things that mattered—her new job, her future. Putting the cloistered past behind her. And that included Max and his far-side-of-minimal apartment. She refused to let everything go to hell again because of a man. Especially a man like Max Maitland.

She found one of the house officers loitering too near the biscuit tin at the nurses’ station. ‘Hey! Hands out. Are they clean?’

The HO snatched his hand away from the chocolate digestives and looked down at his fingers. ‘Er … yes.’

‘Makes a nice change.’ She refused to smile. She would start as she meant to go on. Her reputation as efficient and no-nonsense had preceded her. Give them a smile and before she knew it there’d be chaos … and no biscuits left. Every hospital ward was the same—the doctors always devoured the biscuits. ‘And you’re waiting here for.?’

‘Mr Maitland’s ward round. It started five minutes ago but he’s not arrived. That’s not like him. Should I call him?’

Cripes, and it was her job to accompany the ward round too.

So much for her well-constructed avoidance plan. ‘I’m sure he’s very busy and has just been held up. He’ll be along in a few minutes. Why don’t you chase up those blood results for Peter Brooks in the meantime?’

It was no sin to fall asleep when off duty but no doctor would want to be found sleeping on duty, even if he’d been up most of the night.

Scanning round for someone to go wake him up, she saw a very organised ward—her new staff all working under her strict instructions, getting patients up and washed, doing pre-op checks, dressing changes, no idle chit-chat. A hive of activity that left no one, no one else she could ask to stop their work and go and wake Mr Maitland.

That was the first time her efficiency had been back to bite her in the backside.

One steaming mug of coffee and a round of toast and jam later she dragged open the cubicle curtain. ‘Max? Mr Maitland?’

Placing the tray on the over-bed table, she bent to his ear. Resolutely did not breathe in that delicious smell that had driven her wild and that she’d been reluctant to shower off only hours ago.

Did not look at the stubbled cheek she’d dropped a kiss on as she’d left.

Did not allow herself any spare emotions other than that she was very busy and he was taking up her time. ‘Oi! Maitland, wake the hell up.’

‘Lovely to see you again, too.’ He lifted his head from the sheets, creases streaking down his cheek. The sweet curl of his lips made her heart hiccup in a peculiarly uncomfortable way. She’d kissed that mouth. It had roamed over her body into places no one else’s mouth had ever been. That mouth had given her so much pleasure she felt the heat seep into her cheeks at the memory.

But there was a line between kissing and fun and a bit of harmless sex, and the cold harsh reality of relationships. Harmless sex? Boy, she’d been dreaming that day ten years ago. And after her heart had been shattered into too many pieces she’d made sure she kept on the right side of that line.

Even though last night she’d tested it, seen how much the line could bend, nothing Mr I’m Sexy could do would drag her to the dark side.

He sat up and stretched, glanced over at Jamie—satisfied himself with his observation—and then turned back to her. ‘So you didn’t disappear into thin air after all, Gabby. Here you are. Lovely … and fresh … and … so loud?’

‘Busy ward, Mr Maitland. Busy day.’

‘After what you did to me last night you can definitely call me Max.’ His smile morphed into that wicked look he’d had in the bar. ‘How’s the head? How are you?’

She so did not want to have this conversation. ‘Fine. Now eat this. Quickly. Your ward round was due to start fifteen minutes ago. We need to get a wriggle on.’

And they’d done a lot of that last night, too. Her cheeks blazed.

His mouth twitched. He rested his chin on his hand and held her gaze, his eyes misty with sleep. His hair was dishevelled and annoyingly perfectly ruffled. Sex hair.

It would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him again. But she pushed the plate towards him instead. ‘Hurry up. I haven’t got all day.’

His hand covered hers. ‘Not before we clear the air.’

‘Nothing to clear.’ She twisted her hand out of his grip.

‘You sure, Charge Nurse Radley? You were an animal. I particularly liked that thing you did with your finger—’

‘Do not …’ His proximity was jangling the one nerve she had left. First proper day in charge and she did not need this distraction.

She glanced over to make sure Jamie was still asleep. Peered out through the curtains to see if anyone could hear.

The patient in the next bed grinned at her and waggled his finger. Gabby silently wished the poor sick teenager a swift dose of short-term memory loss and dodged back behind the curtain.

She jabbed her filed-to-a-sharp-point fingernail into Max’s chest. ‘Okay. You. Me. Sluice. Now.’

‘But I’ve got a ward round.’

‘Coward.’

‘Never, ever challenge me like that. Because I have no fear, Gabby.’ His words breathed down her neck as he followed her into the sluice and closed the door.

Trapped. In a small, hot room. Alone. No, not alone—with six feet three of glorious out-of-bounds hunk. ‘You want to taunt me some more? Just to see?’

‘I am a professional person trying hard to get a little respect around here. You do not talk to me like that when there are patients close by.’

‘So I can talk like that now?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Her mouth tipped into a smile. She tried to stop it. Bit her lips together, tensed the muscles, but the smile kept coming. ‘And I was not an animal.’

‘I meant it in a good way. Uncaged, wild.’

He leaned against the steriliser, folded his arms, his legs crossed at the ankles. So relaxed that clearly the one-night thing was a common occurrence for him. She’d probably been just a notch in his magnificently handcrafted bed. She’d bet anything his heart didn’t pound and skip and jitter like hers did.

His eyes pinpointed her, fixed her to the floor. He started to lift his shirt up, inching very slowly over that fine line of hair that pointed straight down towards his zipper. She swallowed through a dry mouth. Watched as centimetre by centimetre his abs then pecs were revealed.

His voice was hoarse and inviting. ‘I’m sure I’ve got scratches on my back. You want to check?’

‘No, I do not. Put yourself away.’ Before I jump your bones. ‘We’re not going to talk about this again. Okay? That person you met last night? That’s not me. That was a different Gabby.’

‘Not the real you? You seemed very real. You felt very real … Oh. No … the animal thing …’ He hit his head against the steriliser. ‘Please, God, don’t tell me I’ve woken up in some sort of paranormal universe? You’re not going to go all weird or hairy and shapeshift on me?’

Laughter burst from her throat. ‘No. I was just drunk, which is a rarity. Thank God.’ She’d been bewitched by Max, or the mojitos. Either way, she wouldn’t be giving a repeat performance. And she would never ever drink again. No matter how much she wanted to forget. She pointed to her scrubs. ‘This is the real me. This is the only Gabby you’re going to know. At work. Charge Nurse Radley.’

‘Which is a damned shame all round.’

Yes, it was. ‘And now we go out there and pretend we don’t know each other at all. At least, not in the biblical sense.’

‘Right.’ His teasing grin told her he could pretend all she liked. But he knew her. Knew her.

‘Right.’

‘Excuse me …’ The door swung open and Max Maitland walked through it. She did a double-take. Talk about a paranormal universe.

Max leaning against the steriliser, all cocksure and oversexed.

Max standing at the door in pyjamas, wheeling a drip that was attached to his arm, pale and tired-looking.

The in-patient one was minutely shorter, had longer hair and an air of worry around him. Unlike the doppelgänger in the corner. He was just downright smug. Or had been. His jaw tightened.

‘Whoa.’ She’d heard they were brothers, but no one had mentioned identical twins. How could there be two such beautiful men in the world? It made her head spin.

And did Max Two have the same freckle just above his.? Could he make her gasp and moan?

Stop.

She banished such thoughts as she held up her palms. ‘This is weird. Can—?’

Her Max was by Max Two’s side in a second. Her Max? What the.?

His cocky demeanour evaporated into concern, his voice lowered. ‘Are you okay? Who said you could leave your bed, Mitchell?’

‘I did.’ Max Two glowered.

‘I was going to come and check on you. You should have waited until the ward round.’

‘I was told you hadn’t even started it. I came to see Jamie …’ He gripped the drip pole as his jaw tightened to exactly the same tension as Max’s. ‘In case he needed anything.’

So alpha clearly ran in the family. She wanted to tell him that Max had spent a good part of the night looking after that scrap of life out there. And was running late because of it.

But she held her counsel. ‘Would anyone like to introduce me?’

Max turned and smiled. ‘Yes. Sorry. This is my brother, Mitchell. He was the transplant donor for Jamie. He’s also consultant ED specialist here when he’s not on the dark side. Mitch, this is the new paediatric HDU charge nurse, Gabby.’

‘Gabby. Hello.’ Mitch’s eyebrows rose as he looked from Max to Gabby then back again.

There was a distinct edge between the brothers. So close in appearance, but a gulf stretched between them.

Oh, she knew enough about families that things didn’t always run smoothly, that there were crises and ups and downs. Hell, she knew you could be angry and disappointed with someone for years and years, but you still had to treat them with respect.

Because they were family.

And family, she’d had drummed into her, was everything. Which was why things had turned out so perversely in the end. Why she wasn’t going to have one of her own. Because now she’d wrested some control into her life, she’d never give it up.

But this Maitland thing seemed different. The brothers stood aloof, distant. There was a strange cold charge between them. And yet a child’s life hung in the balance out there. More than anything that should count. Surely they should be united in that?

Mitch nodded towards her. ‘I came to find out who’s looking after Jamie today.’

‘I allocated him to Rachel. She’s very competent. Last thing I heard she was just about to give him his breakfast. Why don’t you come and see him? He’s probably ready for some daddy hugs. Then perhaps we could alert your nurses to your whereabouts.’

She ushered them out of her sluice room. As things had been progressing with Max in a way-too-dangerous direction, Gabby was thankful for the interruption. But perturbed by the existence of not one but two very distracting Maitlands.

Surely to God one was enough.

Six hours later Gabby finally found a moment to breathe. Slumping into the soggy orange sofa in the ward staff lunch-room, she broke out her sandwiches and yoghurt and started to eat.

Luckily the ward round had run smoothly. Jamie appeared to be making it through his first day post-op with just a niggling temperature. And there had been no major events.

Apart from her near heart attack every time Max brushed past her on the drug round, at the nurses’ station, along the corridor. Was it normal for a doctor to spend so much time on one ward?

Of course it was—he was dedicated, hard-working. And always, it seemed, there.

‘Gabby? We meet again.’

There. See? Always there, his deep voice making her stomach do cartwheels. She swallowed her mouthful of tuna mayonnaise. ‘I’m just leaving, actually.’

‘No, you’re not. Your feet are tucked up, your shoes discarded across the floor, you’re only halfway through a magazine and if I know women well …’ He let the ‘and I do’ hang in the silence. Well, hell, he certainly knew how to please a woman, as she’d learnt last night. ‘You won’t go until you finish the article on best celebrity diets.’

He squished down onto the cushion next to her, mug in hand. The fabric of his scrubs stretched tautly against the muscle of his thigh. The thigh she’d caressed, gripped and, by all accounts, scratched. She dragged her gaze back to his mouth, his words. ‘Which means, Gabriella, that we have time for a quick chat.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She made a big deal of slipping her feet into her shoes, checking her watch, weighing up her options. Still ten minutes of her break left. She could leave now and attend to the piles of paperwork or she could last out her break. With him. In here.

She felt the heat in her cheeks and knew her stupid body was betraying her. What to do? ‘I told you, Max. I’m not open to that.’

‘To what?’

‘More of last night. The whole sex thing.’

‘Yes. No. Me too. Although … I could be persuaded. You have to admit it was good. We were good. Anytime you want a replay, I’m your man.’ His eyes glinted and he appeared to be holding back a laugh.

Annoyingly, she liked it when he laughed. His whole body lit up and his attention focused totally on her. Made her feel he’d laughed just because of her. This was why she didn’t date. Didn’t want to get caught up in the lure and charm of someone like Max.

He leaned forward a little. ‘Don’t look so worried. I was only going to let you know I’m off to my outpatient clinic. Jamie’s temp is still wobbly, so I’m going to arrange for some more scans to double-check everything. Should be later today. In the meantime, if you need anything, call the house officer.’

‘Oh. Okay. Of course, that’s fine. And I’ll personally check Jamie’s obs.’ She managed to bluff her way through her embarrassment.

Of course he’d put their night behind him. He was a player. And at work. She’d already given him the brush-off and he’d moved on. A guy like Max wouldn’t ask twice. Didn’t need to—there would be plenty of other offers. The gossip machine whirred with his and his brother’s sexual exploits. ‘How’s Mitchell doing?’

His eyes darkened and his back stiffened at the mention of his brother. She got the impression that, like her, he didn’t talk about personal stuff. Even if personal stuff included a patient and a member of hospital staff.

‘Mitchell is fine.’ He stood to leave, but paused. ‘I think I might need to apologise for him.’

‘For what?’

‘Let’s just say that tact isn’t his forte.’

‘Believe me, I don’t think anything you Maitland brothers do could shock me. Your reputations go before you.’

Because once she’d discovered they were identical she’d made it her business to discover as much about them as possible. Didn’t want to find herself propositioning the wrong brother!

She knew about Max’s history as a heartbreaker, sure, and there were lots of women queuing up to try to cure him of that. What she hadn’t expected to hear was that he and Mitchell had barely spoken a word to each other for the last few years they’d both been working at the hospital. That some kind of feud boiled between them, making communication on any scale largely impossible. That no one really knew why.

No matter—she didn’t need to know much past who to call in an emergency. She tore off the top of her yoghurt and licked the lid.

Max grinned, reached across the back of the sofa and stuck a spoon into her yoghurt pot. Ignoring her whack on the back of his hand, he licked, eyebrows peaked. ‘So I have a reputation?’

‘Oh, yes. Big and bad.’

‘Tough job, but someone had to do it.’ He perched on the edge of the sofa arm and finished the rest of the yoghurt she held out to him.

‘It depends if good-time guy and commitment-phobe float your boat.’

‘What can I say? Having fun isn’t a crime.’

‘Not just you—your brother too.’ She didn’t even try to lose the laugh. ‘So who’s the oldest? You or Mitchell?’

‘Me. By twenty minutes.’

A blink of an eye really, and yet the responsibility clearly sat heavily on him. Operating on his younger brother’s son must have played a part in the wisps of grey at his temples. Made him look sophisticated, self-assured. Belied the playful spirit she knew lurked underneath his professional mask.

‘You must have had a lot of fun growing up with a twin. I always wanted a sister, someone to talk to. I’ve heard all sorts of stories about twins. Swapping clothes. Swapping girlfriends. Conning teachers. Secret languages …’

The grin slipped. ‘We weren’t close.’

‘How so? That’s unusual for twins. Were you always vying for position? Too much competition?’

‘Geography.’

And with that he shook his head and left the room. It was as if a switch had been flicked. All his good humour and good manners had instantly evaporated, leaving her feeling uncomfortable and strangely bereft.

What did he mean? Geography? The academic subject? Or geography as in distance?

It didn’t matter and it certainly wouldn’t have any bearing on her professional relationship with him. And she really shouldn’t care.

And if she did, it was only her innate reaction that a human being could look so hopelessly, horribly lost—if only for a second.

Before he’d managed to pull up the barriers again.

CHAPTER FOUR

SO, HE’D SAID more than he should have. That was the trouble with sleep deprivation—it did funny things to a man’s brain.

As did beautiful women. He usually handled it, no problem. But Max couldn’t put a finger on what bothered him so much about Gabby Radley. Sure, she was distractingly beautiful. But he’d taken gorgeous women to bed before and had never sought them out the next day.

And she was funny. But he’d met plenty of amusing women.

It all came back to the way one look of hers could pierce his soul.

In the staff room she’d only been making polite conversation. She hadn’t attached him to a lie detector and demanded answers. And yet for the first time ever he’d felt like talking about his past. About the way things had careered out of control, about everything he’d lost. And had never got back.

No matter. He’d survived so far—excelled, in fact. Spilling his guts to a woman wouldn’t change a thing.

He exited the lift and huffed out a long breath. The day had melted into forty-eight hours of constant demands, an unexpected death, dealing with a grieving family. The gut-wrenching reminder that life was so fragile.

All he needed was a shower and bed. Where he could put everything out of his mind. Focus on rest and getting ready for more surgery tomorrow. Ensuring Jamie got better. Putting things back together with Mitch. Forgetting Gabriella.

Gee, there’d been a time when he’d had no one to think about but himself. Be careful what you wish for.

Turning the corner towards his apartment, a flash of colour grabbed his attention. Scarlet in the midst of the carefully designed neutral palette. A splash, vivid. Bright.

Weird. He got closer. A plant? A red plant. In a black ceramic pot.

Not a pretty plant either—this was gnarled wood, browny-green leaves, a bunch of itsy red petals. He picked it up and examined it. It had a strange smell.

Why the hell would anyone leave him a plant?

Shrugging, he let himself into his apartment where the fading remnants of Gabby’s fragrance hit him square in the solar plexus. Between her and the plant they were going to fumigate him out of the penthouse.

He held his breath as he placed the plant on the kitchen bench. Stepped back. It didn’t look right—too much red.

Moved it to the dining table. No.

The coffee table. No.

It was too eye-catchingly bright, a misfit, chaotic in the sea of … in Gabby’s eyes, bland. God, now he was looking at everything from her perspective too. He really needed to stop that.

He didn’t notice the note until he’d put the plant outside on the deck. Hoping for out of sight, out of mind.

Max,

I’d rate your so-called ‘garden’ a woeful one.

And that’s only because it’s so cool to even have a garden at twenty thousand feet. Here’s something to help it rise up the scale.

Charge Nurse Radley

He smirked and began jabbing numbers into his phone. Made a few calls. On the last one she picked up. ‘Hello?’

‘What the hell am I supposed to do with this … monstrosity?’

‘Good evening to you too, Mr Maitland. It’s a geranium. They’re very popular in France. People put them in window boxes.’

He heard the laughter in her voice and immediately relaxed. ‘If I did that and it fell off the railing, it’d kill someone. It’s a long way down.’ He peered down to the city street hundreds of feet below. ‘Why are you giving me lethal weapons?’

‘It’s a flower, but you’re a guy so everything has to be a weapon, right? It was more about encouraging you to take time out to smell the … er, geraniums. Besides, it’s a sin to live anywhere where there aren’t flowers.’

‘Looks like I veered deep into the dark side, then. I’m good at that.’

‘I know.’ There was a catch at the back of her throat. Sounded a lot like the sighing noise she’d made the other night when he’d kissed her. Then her voice crackled back down the wire, softer now. ‘Hey, I heard about your day.’

‘Yeah? It happens sometimes. We lose the ones we don’t expect and sometimes the sickest ones pull through.’ Exhaustion washed over him. It was never good to let his guard down, to share the toll a day like this took on him. Much easier to push it all deep inside into a hard, tight knot and hope it didn’t get so big it strangled him.

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