met before that. The woman with lacerations needed someone with real skill if she wasn’t to be scarred for life. Once again he found himself in Theatre, with Lily as second scrub.
This wasn’t a life-and-death situation. Becky Martin would survive with barely a scar from her drunken joy ride in a powerboat, and the mood in the theatre was a far cry from last night’s trauma.
But it was also a far cry from the usual relaxed theatre. Everyone was watching Luke—and Lily. One glance between them and it’d start again.
No. They didn’t even have to glance for the gossip to keep going, Luke thought. This hospital used gossip as a means to dispel tension, and what they’d done last night had started a wildfire that only time would extinguish.
Or Lily leaving.
She might. She looked strained and flushed.
She was working with professional competence, anticipating well, displaying skills he valued. Even so, he wasn’t sure he wanted her here. He didn’t like his staff distracted and they were distracted by her.
That wasn’t fair, he thought grimly. She was being judged because she’d tried to comfort him.
His colleagues thought his actions were amusing. They saw her as … easy.
That was a harsh judgement by any standards.
He put in the last suture, stood back from the table and sighed.
‘Well done, Luke,’ his anaesthetist said. ‘Great job. You deserve a wee rest. I hear the on-call room’s free. Nurse Ellis, maybe you’re free, too?’
‘Leave it,’ he growled, and watched in concern as Lily started to clear.
The junior nurse was sniggering.
He needed to talk to her, he thought. He needed to apologise.
Not in the on-call room.
He was due to sleep. Lily was on duty all night. He’d come in at change-over, he decided. He’d see her then.
Not in the on-call room.
Luke disappeared and she could get on with her night’s work. Which was just as well. The guy was distracting, to say the least, and the staff reaction was well nigh unbearable. With him gone she could lose herself in what needed to be done.
She felt mortified. She was also feeling … ill? Her stomach cramps were getting worse, and now there was nausea on top of them.
She’d left Lighthouse Cove to get rid of the tension that was making her sick. In two days here, she’d only created more tension.
‘You’re looking pale,’ Elaine said in passing. ‘You’d better not be coming down with gastro. Half this hospital’s had it, but I thought we were past the worst. Are you feeling okay?’
‘I’m just tired,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve had a hard …’ She caught Elaine’s gaze and stopped. ‘I mean …’
‘No, no, I understand,’ Elaine said, grinning. ‘You and Luke … I’d imagine he can be very tiring. But according to Dr Blain, who heard it from Dr Lockheart, word is you already know him. Is that right? Why did you make me tell you about him if you’re old friends?’
‘I—’
‘I know he keeps to himself, but if he pairs up with someone who does the same thing we’re in real trouble,’ Elaine said. ‘Apparently he’s coming to take you home at six. If you make it that long.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re looking sick as a dog. Tell you what, you stick round the nurses’ station until handover and finish the paperwork there. If you’re coming down with gastro, we don’t want you near patients.’
‘I’m just tired—and I don’t need anyone to take me home.’
‘It’s not anyone, it’s Luke Williams. Paperwork for you, my girl, and then let your lover take you home to bed.’
Lily had felt bad before. She tackled her paperwork feeling infinitely worse.
Luke found her in the locker room, preparing to leave.
He could have gone the whole four weeks of her contract without seeing her again, he thought. With the gastro outbreak almost over, staff levels were nearly back to normal. He could easily arrange for her not to be rostered to Theatre with him.
He could pretend the encounter had never happened.
Finn used women to forget, Luke thought. Maybe he could, too.
Only … there was something about Lily that made him think it hadn’t been a casual embrace. That her need had been almost as great as his.
A lesser man wouldn’t need to ask why, but for some reason this didn’t feel like a simple matter of honour. It was how she’d made him feel. It had been the generosity of her body, the smile behind her eyes, the touch of her …
He’d remember it, he thought, and he honoured her for it.
And she was being labelled because of it. The least he could do was thank her and apologise.
He opened the locker-room door and she turned to face him. She looked white faced. A bit unsteady on her feet. Wobbling?
He crossed the room in four long strides to reach her. Gripped her shoulders. Steadied her.
‘Hey …’
‘It’s … it’s okay,’ she said, and hauled away to plonk herself down on the wooden bench. ‘I’m just having a queasy moment.’
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’
She gave him a look that would have withered lesser men. It was the look he deserved.
What had made him say that? Of all the ridiculous …
‘We didn’t make it that far, Superman,’ she retorted. ‘You don’t get pregnant by kissing, no matter how hot you think you are.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with feeling. ‘That was dumb. Plus offensive. But you’re ill.’
‘I suspect,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster, ‘that I’m coming down with this blasted gastroenteritis that half this hospital seems to have suffered. You should have a huge skull and crossbones on the entrance with a sign saying “Abandon hope all ye who enter here”.’
‘Or abandon the contents of your stomach.’
‘Don’t,’ she begged. ‘Go away.’
‘Let me take you home.’
She glared. ‘Tell me you don’t have a car with leather upholstery and I might be interested.’
‘I do,’ he admitted. ‘But we can go via Emergency and get a supply of sick bags. I had it last week so I won’t get infected.’
‘You might have infected me.’
‘Then that’d be yet another thing I need to apologise for,’ he said grimly, and took her elbows, propelling her up. ‘We’ll organise you a shot of metoclopramide for the nausea. Then we’ll take some paper bags and take you home and to bed.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘I mean, yes, please,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘Only I need to spend ten minutes in the bathroom first.’
They didn’t speak on the way to the address she’d given him. She didn’t lose her dignity, but he could see she was holding onto it with every shred of effort she could muster. One shot of metoclopramide was barely holding it.
She wasn’t what she’d seemed. Questions were crowding in, but his medical training told him that breaking her concentration would be unwise. So he focused on driving, found the address, pulled up in front of