Luca's Bad Girl (10 page)

Their combined groan no doubt caused a blip at some seismic centre somewhere.

And then they were moving and pounding together in unison, rocking and rocking, higher and higher, gasping and sighing and reaching for breath until it all coalesced in one magical moment and the stars shattered around them.

CHAPTER SIX

A
WEEK
later Mia was examining a severe case of cellulitis around a ten-day-old calf laceration when Luca entered the cubicle. He smiled at her and her breath hitched.

‘Can I help you, Dr di Angelo?’

‘You don’t happen to have an otoscope by any chance? They all seem to have gone walking.’

Mia didn’t register his words. Just the way his eyes crinkled at the edges as he looked at her with a gaze that paid way too much attention to the dip of her cleavage. And the way his lips moved, all soft and full, exactly the same as when they stroked down her neck.

Luca quirked an eyebrow as Mia’s normally clear blue gaze became a little heated. ‘Mia?’

She blinked and her cheeks warmed as she realised she had no idea what he’d asked for. ‘Sorry?’

Luca grinned. It wasn’t often he saw her blush and he liked it. It seemed completely at odds with her feisty, my-way-or-the-highway demeanour, softening her. Cranking up the strong sense of attraction another notch. ‘Otoscope?’

‘Oh. Yes.’ she shook her head to clear it as she removed
the equipment from the pocket she’d jammed it in earlier. ‘Here.’

Their fingers brushed as he took it and Luca smiled again as he felt the pulse of awareness in his fingertips and knew she’d felt it too. ‘Thank you.’

It took Mia a few seconds to realise he’d disappeared as her body recovered from just the faintest contact with his.

‘He’s a bit of a hottie, dear.’

Mia looked down absently at Mable Richardson, her eighty-six-year-old patient. She had snowy white hair and a wicked gleam in her eyes.

‘He could park his slippers under my bed any day.’ Mable sighed. ‘If I was only forty years younger …’

Mia stared at her patient open-mouthed, shocked by such ribald frankness from an octogenarian.

Mable cackled. ‘I’m old, deary, not dead.’

Mia laughed. From the twinkle in her eyes, Mable was obviously one of those lovely old ladies who loved to shock.

‘Laugh all you want.’ Mable patted Mia’s hand. ‘You blink one day and suddenly you’re eighty-six. Mark my words, young lady—take your opportunities when you get them.’ And then she winked.

‘Mable, you’re incorrigible.’

Mable cackled again, seemingly delighted by Mia’s description. ‘I hope so, deary.’

Mia returned her attention to Mable’s gardening wound, which had developed an infection in the subcutaneous tissues. Had Mable seen something pass between her and Luca—something intangible—that had prompted such an observation, or was she just someone who appreciated good eye candy when she saw it?

Not for the first time she wondered what the hell she and Luca were doing. Okay, there’d been no more liaisons since the party and they’d only been together a few times anyway. But it was a few times more than she’d ever allowed any other man. And, if his rep was accurate, the same applied to him.

Why did this man, Luca di Angelo of all men, have this … pull, this sway over her?

No
.

Mia smiled absently at Mable as she pulled the gurney rail up decisively and excused herself to arrange for Mable’s admission for several days of intravenous antibiotics.

She wasn’t going to analyse what had gone on.

She wasn’t going to give it any importance by pontificating over it.

They were attracted to each other. They’d had a good time. And that was that.

Period.

A couple of hours later the red emergency phone rang and Luca picked it up. He scribbled notes as he listened to the ambulance comms officer on the other end.

Mia and Evie looked at him as he hung up and Mia quirked an eyebrow. ‘Multiple casualties, first five minutes out, from the Douglas army base. Some sort of an explosion. Two critical. One with penetrating chest trauma, the other with a partially severed leg.’

Caroline, on triage, appeared at his elbow and said, ‘On it.’

Luca thanked her. ‘I’ll page Finn,’ he said.

Then everyone scattered to do their jobs, ensuring the trauma bays were fully stocked for the incoming
wounded and other departments alerted, including Pathology, Radiology and the operating theatres. Luckily it was Sunday when demand for these services was reduced.

Finn, in his standard surgical uniform of blue scrubs, arrived just as the first ambulance was pulling in.

‘You take the chest trauma,’ Luca said to his colleague, donning a yellow paper gown. ‘I’ll take the leg.’

Finn nodded, accepting a gown from Evie and quickly securing it before snapping disposable gloves into place.

‘Evie, you go with Finn. Mia, you’re with me.’

Finn opened his mouth to protest but Mia and Luca had already split off and ultimately it didn’t matter who worked with him as long as they were competent. And, as reluctant as he had been to believe it, Princess Evie knew her stuff.

‘You ready for this?’ he demanded as the paramedic opened the back door.

Evie nodded, determined not to show him how much his enquiry rankled. ‘Of course.’ She gave him a serene smile to hide her gritted teeth.

A cry of pain, like that of a wounded animal, penetrated Finn’s cynicism and tore his attention away to the soldier on the gurney, his dusty boots and army fatigues eerily familiar.

It took him back a lot of years.

He knew all about cries like that. Had heard them too often to forget. Had held Isaac, rocked him, as the yelling had quietened and finally abated, leaving only silence as the life had drained from his brother’s trusting eyes.

‘Twenty-eighty-year-old sergeant, bomb disposal
officer at Douglas, took the full impact of an explosive device. Safety gear rendered some protection.’

Finn shook his head and blinked as the rapid-fire handover spat out at him like the rat-a-tat of a machine gun. He couldn’t think about Isaac. About a distant battlefield.

This
soldier needed him.

But
this
soldier was about Isaac’s age and cried out in pain just like Isaac had.

Finn pushed it away, knocked it back as the gurney moved rapidly into the emergency department.

‘Matthew! Matthew!’ the soldier called, pulling the oxygen mask aside with bloodied hands.

The paramedic continued his handover above the soldier’s increasingly frantic cries. Evie listened intently while Finn stared at the young man’s bloody face.

‘Matty!’

‘Matthew is his brother,’ the paramedic informed Finn and Evie quietly as he helped transfer the soldier to the hospital gurney. ‘He’s the second soldier. With the … leg.’

Finn gave a grim nod as he looked at the blood-soaked combat shirt that had been cut away from the bleeding chest wound. Isaac had cried out for him, too. He could still hear the panic in his brother’s voice.
Finn! Finn!

‘Matthew. Are you okay, Matthew?’

Finn moved in close to the soldier’s head while all around him nurses jumped into action. Tears had cut grimy streaks through his grisly war paint of dirt and blood.

‘Oxygen saturations eighty-nine, tachy at one fifty-nine,’ a nurse relayed.

Finn’s heart thundered in his chest as he fought back a tide of memories he’d thought he’d long ago buried deep. ‘What’s your name, Sergeant?’

Finn’s enquiry was quiet but held a note of authority not forgotten from his own time in the army. It seemed to settle the soldier’s agitation. He looked at Finn, his eyes filled with pain and emotional anguish.

‘Phillips, sir, Sergeant Damien Phillips.’ Damien grabbed Finn’s gown, yanking him close, jarring his already throbbing upper arm and neck. ‘Don’t let me die. I don’t want to die.’

Finn suddenly felt the weight of the promise he’d made to his brother all those years ago. It burned as fiercely on his conscience at this moment as it had that day sprawled in the dirt of a land far away. A promise he’d known, crippled by his own injuries and with help too many precious minutes away, he couldn’t keep.

A promise that had haunted him.

But he could make good on a promise to Damien. In this top-notch facility and with his top-notch skills.

And he’d be damned if he’d lose another soldier on his watch.

‘I won’t, Damien. I won’t.’

Evie looked at him sharply as a nurse passed her a chest tube. The soldier and Finn were practically nose to nose but, still, the husky promise surprised her. And not just because of the raw emotion she could hear in it.

Had Finn gone mad? Why on earth would he make such a promise? Damien’s injuries were extensive—no one could promise that. Not even someone with Finn’s legendary skill!

‘Blood pressure ninety systolic.’

Finn glanced at her and she sucked in a breath at the brief flash of anguish, like the sweep of a lighthouse beacon, she saw there. His piercing gaze clouded temporarily with something she couldn’t put her finger on—pain, compassion, loss?—then cleared as he stood abruptly.

‘Let’s get him prepped for Theatre,’ Finn ordered.

Two hours later, in the thick of the operating theatre after Finn had demanded she scrub in, Evie’s shoulders ached and her neck was stiff as they battled to plug the holes in Damien’s heart. They’d replaced his entire circulation with donated blood products twice over. And he was still bleeding.

No one was surprised when a life-threatening arrhythmia caused a sudden dangerous dip in his blood pressure.

But Finn didn’t give up.

He had the young soldier’s heart in his two bloodied hands and was squeezing it as if he could make the heart start beating again through sheer force of will.

He’d promised.

Too much death. Too many young men like Damien.

Like Isaac.

Damn it! He’d promised.

But as the downtime extended, even he could see the futility of it. Finn found it hard to breathe as he gently removed his hands from around the soldier’s heart and stepped back. He peeled off his gloves and glanced at the clock.

‘Time of death fifteen thirty-one.’

No one spoke as they watched Finn walk out of the theatre. But a little bit of Evie went with him.

An hour later after attending to all the legalities, Evie felt drained, totally strung out from the after-effects of adrenaline and their exhaustive yet futile efforts to save Sergeant Damien Phillips’s life.

Except it wasn’t over because she had to find Finn, who wasn’t answering his page. He had to sign some paperwork.

And she was worried about him …

Her fingers trembled as she pushed the change-room doors open. She needed to get out of these scrubs. They reminded her too much of the tragedy she’d just witnessed.

Of Finn’s hands squeezing Damien’s dying heart.

Her heart leapt in her chest as Finn came into view. He was sitting on the floor, staring at the wall, the lockers supporting his back. His knees were bent up and his hands were hanging between them, his surgical cap dangling from his fingers.

She swallowed. ‘I’ve been paging you.’

Finn heard her voice as if from far away. He didn’t want her there. He didn’t want her to look at him with those calm hazel eyes of hers, eyes that saw too much, and mouth some horrible cliché.

He wanted to go home, pour himself a Scotch. And then another one. Drink until he could be sure he wouldn’t dream about Isaac.

He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the wall. ‘I’ve been ignoring you.’

Evie stared at him, dismayed at the return of his churlish tone. She should have expected it but for some
reason, after their frantic efforts with Damien and the shared horror of losing him, she’d thought it’d be different.

He’d be different.

Irritated, she sauntered over to the patch of wall he was fixated on and deliberately parked her butt on it. Now he had no choice but to look at her. She folded her arms.

‘There’s some paperwork for the coroner you need to sign out in the office.’

Finn flicked his gaze up to her determined face. ‘Fine.’

They stared at each other for a moment, the blue of Finn’s eyes even more pronounced against the blue of his scrubs. Evie battled the urge to debrief, as she would normally with a colleague who had shared such an emotionally intense situation. Even a churlish one. But everything about Finn said,
Back off.

But, then, when hadn’t it?

‘Damien’s been taken to the morgue and—’

Finn pushed himself to his feet, interrupting her words. He bit down on a wince as a hot needle jabbed viciously into the nerves that ran down his right arm.

‘We’re not talking about Damien,’ he said, turning to his locker, his back deliberately to her.

Evie took in the expanse of his back in his scrubs as she reeled from the vehemence in his words.

But I want to talk about him
.
I had my hand in his chest too, felt his heart pulsating. I need to talk about him.

She pushed off the wall and took a tentative step towards him and even though she knew she was overstepping the line, she didn’t seem to be able to stop.

‘Finn.’

His back stayed stubbornly turned away. Evie stared at it and let out the breath she’d been holding. She waited for a moment and stepped closer. ‘Maybe it’d help … to talk about it?’ she murmured.

His silence was absolute and out of pure frustration she tentatively placed her hand on his left shoulder. Despite the flinch she felt right down to her soul, Mia kept it there. His muscles were knotted with tension, practically vibrating beneath her hand, and she moved closer again until her body was almost touching his.

Finn shut his eyes as her scent and her warmth enveloped him. He could sense her right there behind him. Could hear the soft huff of her breath and the empathy oozing from every pore. A part of him wanted to unburden so badly it was shocking in its intensity.