Kitabı oxu: «Hot-Shot Surgeon, Cinderella Bride»

CHAPTER ONE

WHO on earth was that?

The conversation he’d been engrossed in a moment ago became a meaningless blur of sound for Dr Anthony Grimshaw. For just a heartbeat he had caught a glimpse of the most stunning-looking woman he’d ever seen, standing between two pillars on the far side of the ballroom.

Much to the delight of the organising committee, St Patrick’s fundraiser had become the function of the year, and there was a sea of people moving to the excellent music being provided by a small live orchestra. The dance floor was so well populated it was inevitable that his line of vision was obscured, but Tony still found himself trying to see those pillars again as he tuned back in to the voice beside him. A well respected voice that belonged to a senior colleague: paediatric cardiologist John Clifford.

‘…and anyway, didn’t I see a photo of you in some gossip rag? Out and about with Morrison’s daughter? What’s her name?’

‘Miranda,’ Tony supplied absently.

‘Ah, yes! So. As I was saying. The fact that Gilbert’s father is on the board should be well cancelled out by you having a prospective father-in-law with the same— if not greater—power to cast a vote in favour of you becoming HOD.’

‘What?’ Tony’s attention was recaptured. ‘What on earth are you talking about, John?’

‘You. And Miranda.’

‘There is no me and Miranda.’

‘But…’

‘We met at some charity do. Not unlike this one but without the fancy dress.’ He smiled at the rotund figure of his companion. With his genial expression and fluffy mane of white hair it was no wonder his small patients loved him. Dr Clifford had answered tonight’s medieval theme by wearing a king’s robe and a crown. ‘That outfit suits you, by the way. Very regal. Yes, Miranda and I went out a couple of times, but it’s not going anywhere.’

‘Why ever not? The girl’s beautiful. Wealthy. Probably one of the many that seem to find you irresistible. My word, if I was still your age, I’d—’

The direct look Tony gave his companion was enough to break a flow that would have been extraordinary if they hadn’t known each other so well for many years. In his early sixties, John Clifford was a family friend and had been Tony’s mentor since he’d joined the staff of St Patrick’s as a surgical registrar some years ago now.

‘Don’t you think it would seem a little blatant to be dating the daughter of the chairman of St Pat’s board of trustees at exactly the same time I’m up for the coveted position of head of the cardiothoracic surgical department?’

John’s sigh was resigned. ‘But it’s the fact that you’re young and single that counts against you, Tony. The powers-that-be see you as someone who’s going to be distracted by a wife and family in the next few years. Responsibilities that might compromise your ability to lead the department into becoming the cutting-edge facility they’ve set their hearts on having.’

‘I’ll be able to assure them that isn’t the case,’ Tony said with quiet confidence. He tempered any implied criticism with a grin. ‘With any luck Miranda will have told Daddy she broke it off with me because she wasn’t about to try and compete with my job. That I’m far more interested in research than romance.’

The smile was returned. ‘Don’t understand it myself. She looked perfect.’

Tony’s grin faded to a poignant curl. ‘Want to know a secret, John?’

‘What is it?’

Tony leaned closer. ‘Perfection can be very, very boring.’

His gaze shifted as he straightened. Straight back to where he’d be able to see those pillars if the dancers would just move out of the way. His eyes narrowed as he tried to see past the colourful swirl of ornate costumes, and he only turned away briefly to acknowledge the farewell as John responded to a wave from another group.

What was it about that woman that drew his line of vision so compellingly? He was too far away to recognise her, or even see her features in the soft light from the flames of dozens of gas lamps on the walls of this vast ballroom. Maybe it was something about the way she was standing? Poised. Graceful even without any motion. With an aura that spoke of being alone but not lonely. Independent.

Yes, that was an intriguing enough impression to explain the attraction.

He felt a bit like that himself tonight. Independent.

Free.

Part of it could be explained by the costume. Not that Tony had been keen on the idea of being one of the Three Musketeers when the idea had been mooted by one of his registrars, but much to his surprise he was loving it. The soft suede boots, tailored jacket, frilly shirt, and the sword dangling by his side. Even the wig and preposterously wide hat with its ridiculous feather. Not one to do anything by halves, he’d added a mask, moustache and neat goatee beard, which had the unexpected bonus of being a very effective disguise.

The rest of it could probably be attributed to the conversation he’d just been having with John. Or perhaps more to the ending of it. Not that he ever minded talking shop, but he was more than happy to forget the background tension of the career competition he was currently engaged in. He could probably avoid it for the rest of the evening, too, in this disguise. Now that he was alone he could virtually disappear into this incredibly colourful crowd, half of whom he wouldn’t be able to recognise.

Like that woman between the pillars.

The princess with the dark dress and jewels sparkling in her hair.

He watched the crowd of dancers, enjoying the visual feast of this enormous costume party. The timeframe had been—loosely-adhered to, and the variety was impressive. There were knights and highwaymen, kings and queens and Vikings. Milkmaids and monks and jesters. Crusaders and pirates. More than one Merlin and a good crowd of peasants.

And…yes—there she was again!

Dancing, now. With a Robin Hood who was possibly a little merrier than he should be. Not the best dancer, in any case. But the princess…she was on another level entirely. The grace with which she had been holding herself whilst standing still had been a faint reflection of her body in movement.

The way she turned—with that subtle bend, like a leaf in a gentle breeze.

The way her hand traced a shape only she could feel in the air. The shape of the music as it danced in his ears.

There had to be a better position from which to watch the dance floor. One without the frustration of having his view constantly interrupted in this fashion. The best available seemed to be where she had been standing. Between those pillars.

Having chosen his desired position, Tony moved with a determination that had the customary effect of people unconsciously moving aside to clear his path.

Who on earth was that?

Standing there, at the vantage point she had recently vacated herself.

No—lounging might be a better word, with the padded shoulder of an ornate red jacket shifting his weight onto that pillar. On one foot with the other crossed elegantly at ankle level and just the toe of the boot touching the floor. Kelly almost expected to see him twirl the end of that fake moustache or sweep his hat off as she noticed him watching her.

Was he watching her?

Hard to tell with that mask and the flickering shadows from the atmospheric lighting behind the pillar, but it didn’t matter because it felt as if he was watching her— and there was something incredibly exciting about the notion. Kelly wanted to be watched. To feel…desirable.

He was tall and lean. In a costume that could only be considered ideal fodder for a romantic fantasy. And that was precisely what Kelly was in the mood for.

This whole night was a fantasy as far as she was concerned. It had been ever since she had become the envied winner of the raffle for one of the astonishingly expensive tickets to St Patrick’s annual ball. Not that she’d intended to actually come. That had been Elsie’s doing. Her boss. Surrogate mother, almost. It had been Elsie who’d hunted down the costume hire shops and dragged her along after work.

Even then Kelly had been ready to give her ticket away. She’d barely listened to Elsie clucking on about how much she was looking forward to babysitting Flipper. Or to the pointed reminders of how much she loved to dance.

‘I dance every day,’ she’d told Elsie. ‘Flipper lives for her music.’

‘Not the same as being in the arms of some tall, dark, handsome stranger, though, is it?’

‘A man is the last thing I need in my life right now.’

She’d said it with the conviction of utmost sincerity. She’d just been jumping through hoops as she tried to find an acceptable excuse to decline. But then she’d seen the dress in the shop.

Midnight-blue velvet. High-waisted, with a laced bodice over a silver chemise. Sleeves that were shaped with a long, long back to them that would almost touch the ground. Folds of soft material that shimmered when she couldn’t resist touching the garment.

It was a dress that could almost dance all by itself, and as her fingers had trailed down the skirt Kelly had known she was lost.

For just one night, she had to wear that dress.

And dance like there was no tomorrow.

Robin Hood was an unskilled but enthusiastic dancer. It was easy to slip from his grasp and put some of her own style into the nondescript pattern they had been locked into. Kelly stepped back, raised her arms to cross them over her head, and, with her hands held like butterfly wings, she spun herself around fast enough to make the full folds of her dress billow. Then she caught the hand of her partner, twirled beneath it, and stepped back into his arms for some more sedate steps.

‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Do it again.’

This time Kelly kept hold of Robin’s hand and turned sideways before spinning in to lean on his shoulder. For just a split second before the spin her line of vision had those pillars directly ahead of her, and it was all too easy to imagine that he was watching her.

That he wanted her.

The orchestra was in no hurry to complete this particular medley, and suddenly neither was Kelly.

Poor Robin Hood was simply an accessory. She was dancing for him. The stranger in the shadows. Why him? she wondered fleetingly. There was something about the way he was standing there, she decided. The way he might be watching her, as though he found her attractive. But more, it was a vehicle for unleashing a side of herself that had been neglected for so long it was virtually forgotten.

The sensuous side.

Dancing would have been enough to satisfy her if she’d been with a partner who could have challenged her ability or let her express herself completely. This fantasy of dancing to attract a total stranger was exciting enough to fill any gap this somewhat stilted movement left. The dress had already made Kelly feel beautiful. Being watched made it real.

She could dance her way into his heart.

Seduce him without touching. Without even seeming to notice him. And then she could melt into the crowd and simply disappear, to leave him wondering who the hell she was. The smile touching Kelly’s lips was unconscious. It was a fitting part of this fairytale night. A bit of magic, like a tiny crystal ball she would be able to keep and look into occasionally when she wanted to remember feeling this good.

‘Wow,’ Robin Hood said again as the music finally faded. ‘You’re something else! What’s your name?’

Kelly laughed. ‘Cinderella.’

He grinned. ‘Fair enough. Can I get you a glass of champagne, Cinders?’

‘No—thank you.’

They both turned at the sound of the decisive negative, and Kelly felt a prickle run down her spine. How had he moved so fast? He must have been waiting for precisely this opportunity.

The musketeer swept a hand up in front of his chest and then moved it sideways in a graceful arc that left his fingers enticingly close to Kelly’s.

‘My dance, I think,’ he said.

‘Hang on, buddy!’ Robin Hood was scowling. ‘I was just going to get…’

Kelly could see, no—feel the commanding stare her recent dance partner was receiving. In normal life that kind of arrogance would have put her back up instantly— but this wasn’t normal life, was it? It was a fairytale, and he wanted to dance with her.

With a totally uncharacteristic, demure downward glance, Kelly put her hand into his.

The touch of her hand was like…like nothing Tony had ever felt before when his skin had come into contact with that of another person.

Thank goodness she took his hand when she did, because Tony had been experiencing an astonishingly strong desire to say something to Robin Hood that he might regret.

No one, nothing, was going to take away his chance to meet this woman. He tightened his grip around that slim hand.

What on earth was happening to him? The Grimshaws never behaved with anything less that the utmost decorum in public. He cast a suspicious glance at the cause of his unusual emotional state, but she was looking at the floor and standing very still in that poised manner she had. If Tony hadn’t just spent nearly ten minutes watching her dance and finding his heart rate steadily increasing, his breathing becoming shallow and his tight breeches becoming less comfortable by the second, he might have believed her to be completely innocent.

Robin Hood muttered something unintelligible as he melted into the crowd, and it was only then that the princess raised her gaze. Tony was instantly aware of two things.

That they both knew their behaviour to her last dance partner had been unacceptably rude but also unavoidable. And that something was happening here that was simply meant to be.

Something as unreal as pretending to be part of a medieval gathering.

No. He’d better make that three things.

His awareness of this woman’s beauty had been overwhelming even from the distance of the pillars. This close, Tony could believe he was looking at the nearest thing to perfection in a woman he’d ever seen.

Dark, dark blue eyes. Pale skin made all the more dramatic by the fall of that glorious wig. He’d been watching the black ripples that fell to her waist lift and swirl as she danced, and was thankful she hadn’t braided it, or bundled it up to wear one of those pointy hats with veils attached at the sides that some women were wearing tonight. Dark stones like teardrops lay against her forehead, and the chain of jewels was the only restraint to her loose, flowing locks.

His hand lifted of its own accord to touch a soft curl.

‘Nice,’ he murmured. ‘It feels almost real.’

‘Does it?’ A tiny smile pulled up the corners of her mouth and Tony found himself staring. Trying to extinguish what threatened to be an irresistible urge to kiss her.

Right here. Right now. In the middle of a dance floor where people around them had already started to dance to a new bracket of songs. Slightly faster music at the moment. Like his heartbeat.

‘Shall we?’ He gave a mock bow. Play-acting seemed to be the way forward here, because none of this felt real.

‘Please.’ The smile had an impish quality. ‘But…’

‘But?’

‘I’m just wondering how safe it is to dance with you.’

Oh, not safe at all, he thought, but he pressed his lips closed on the warning and raised his eyebrows instead.

‘Your sword?’

‘Oh…’ With a slow, deliberate, one-handed movement, Tony unbuckled the big silver clasp and pulled the belt from his waist. He looked up to inform the princess of his plan to drop the accessory out of the way—by the pillars, perhaps, along with his hat.

She looked up at the same instant, from where she had clearly been staring at his hands, and when he saw the tip of her tongue emerge to run across her bottom lip it felt as if some giant vice was squeezing every last molecule of oxygen from his chest.

Yes!

She wanted him. The way he wanted her.

Desire threatened to suffocate him. He could simply walk out of this ballroom and take her somewhere more private, couldn’t he? No. It was a long time since he’d been an inexperienced teenager, for whom where lust could obliterate the ability to think clearly. This combination of confidence and anticipation might be heady stuff, but experience had taught him something else as well. It was a thrill that should be savoured for as long as possible.

Somehow he sucked in a breath as he led her to the edge of the floor to get rid of his unwanted accessories. Then he drew her into his arms.

‘Did I hear correctly?’ he enquired politely. ‘Is your name Cindy?’

Those eyes were huge and… Dear Lord, even the way she blinked so slowly was erotic.

‘Yes,’ she said softly.

‘Cindy who?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It might.’

He could feel her responsiveness as he manoeuvred them to a clear space on the floor. She felt weightless in his arms, like an extension of his own body rather than a separate partner. God, if she felt like this on a dance floor, what would she be like in bed?

He saw the way the soft mounds of her breasts, pushed up by the corset top of her dress, rose even further as she took a deep breath. His mouth went dry.

‘Riley,’ she said at last. ‘My name is Cindy Riley.’

‘And you work at the hospital, Cindy Riley?’

‘Yes.’

‘Whereabouts? Which department?’

‘All over.’ She was smiling again. ‘A bit of everything, really.’

Ah… She must be a pool nurse. Filling in wherever they required assistance. No wonder he hadn’t seen her often enough in one place to recognise her. Tony ignored the scoffing sound in the back of his mind. The voice that said he would have only needed to see her once to recognise her again.

‘Favourite places?’

‘Emergency,’ she said without hesitation. He could see the flicker in her eyes that spoke of a real passion for her work. ‘And Theatre.’

Tony pulled her a little closer. ‘My kind of girl,’ he told her. ‘And my favourite places as well. I’m Tony Grimshaw, by the way. I’m on the cardiothoracic surgical team.’

‘Mmm.’ The sound seemed oddly strangled. ‘Could we stop talking, please, Tony Grimshaw? And dance?’

By way of response, Tony altered the way he was holding her. He might be rusty, but already the short time of moving with this woman felt natural. He sent Cindy Riley into a brief spin and then caught her, stepping sideways so that she could bend and dip—one arm extending gracefully. Then, the instant she was back on balance, he flipped her into a dip on his other side.

She was laughing as she came upright again, those incredible eyes letting him know that she was happy.

Impressed.

That she wanted more.