placed the specimen in a collection vial and one of his nurses hurried with it to the adjacent lab. Viv turned her eyes to him, all he could see of her behind her mask.
“We’ll have our verdict in minutes,” he murmured. “You can move on to the next step while we wait.”
She at once made an incision in their patient’s armpit.
He tensed. “Removing the axillary lymph nodes?”
“I’m going for sentinel node biopsy.” She paused. “You have a different course of action?”
He didn’t. He gestured for her to go ahead.
She started dissecting the first node. His muscles tightened, ready to jump in. This was where surgeons of less than extensive experience messed up. But with every fluid, precise movement of her hands his tension eased. He couldn’t have done it better.
After he sent another nurse to the lab with the nodes, they spent the following minutes exchanging opinions.
The nurses came back with a favorable verdict and the rest of his tension dissipated. It ratcheted up again at Viv’s tremulous exhalation. He studied her, gauged her reaction.
Yes. There it was. Unmistakable. What echoed inside him.
She validated his analysis when she murmured, “Now I can hope this procedure will be the last es-Sayedah Afaf will suffer on account of that tumor.”
He muttered his corroboration. And as if to show him that was of no consequence to her, she removed the drain he’d inserted, murmured for suturing materials, then proceeded to give es-Sayedah Afaf one of the most undetectable suture jobs he’d ever seen.
They finally pulled back from the table, leaving the others to wrap up, and Viv slipped from the chair she’d asked for in mid-surgery and stretched her back. His eyes clung to her movements, each accessing memories of nights when he’d massaged that resilient back, luxuriating in her feel, in her pleasure, before he’d mounted her, given her what by then she’d been whimpering for…
He remained seated. He’d remain seated until she’d long left the OR, otherwise he’d have a scandal on his hands.
He realized she was looking at him when his face began to burn. He swung his eyes back to her, found her gaze on him, steady, neutral. Then she only said, “Next.”
And for the next ten hours, even forgoing a lunch break, they went through the varied, demanding list. By the time their last patient was wheeled to Resuscitation, there was no doubt in his mind anymore.
Doubts had started to crumble with that first incision she’d made. From then on, as she’d passed every test he’d thrown at her with ease and confidence, they’d disintegrated faster. They now lay pulverized at his feet. He had the verdict of his own eyes.
The only thing she’d been guilty of had probably been to understate her skills. As a diagnostician she was uncanny; as a surgeon she was unparalleled.
And he couldn’t believe how much that upset him.
It meant she really could just be here for the job.
Everything validated this theory. Her every nuance said she’d become the opposite of her old accommodating, approval-seeking self. Her antagonism had been superbly leashed in front of those she believed she’d oversee, but it had been unmistakable to him. And it was no act to whet his interest. His approval was the last thing she coveted. And it outraged him.
It was contrary of him when he had every reason not to wish for any personal reaction or interaction with her.
But now she was withholding it he wanted it, had to have it.
He would have it.
He would also find out how she’d become the woman who’d stood up to him, who’d surprised him at every turn, the woman he’d depended on through some of the most demanding surgeries possible.
And when he did so, he’d find out what her game was this time. He was certain there was far more than met the eye to Dr. Vivienne LaSalle.
But her secrets would be surrendered. He wouldn’t think of a next step until he was in possession of every last one.
Viv staggered into the—thankfully deserted—ladies’ room, groped for the support of the nearest solid surface.
Her hand slipped off the quartz vanity top. She barely steadied herself then met her reflection in the mirror—and gasped.
It was like looking at the worst days of her life.
She looked nothing like the scrawny, sunburned, crackling-with-need woman Ghaleb had used and discarded. It was her expression—the vulnerability, the despondency she’d become resigned to after Ghaleb had left and throughout her pregnancy.
Bile rose, mortification splashing through her system, melting the grip of resurrected insecurity and misery.
She was damned if she’d let herself sink back into those. She was double-damned if she let him affect her this way, or at all.
But, damn it all, he did affect her. Worse than before. He got to her so badly she’d had to ask for a chair during surgery for the first time ever, murmuring something stupid about jet lag.
It seemed absolute power and endless privileges agreed more and more with Ghaleb the longer he had them. And he knew his effect, used it.
One thing made it all bearable. She’d passed his test. And then some. She’d almost had a nervous breakdown holding up under his pressure, but she had. She let reaction rack her now.
In hindsight, she would have preferred it if he’d forgotten her name, had hired her unaware it was her then been enraged at seeing her and sent her out of Omraania on the spot. The more she thought of it, the more she didn’t understand why he had hired her for such a position when he’d once thought her beneath the position she’d begged him for, that of a mistress he would frequent on his infrequent visits to the U.S. Was he really that detached and professional?
What was going on in that convoluted mind of his?
One thing she knew. If she’d thought meeting him again would settle her mind, she’d been catastrophically wrong.
She lowered her head to the sink and the tap turned on. Water streamed over her face, warm yet still cooling her burning skin…
“Are you okay, Doctorah Vivienne?”
She inhaled water, jackknifed up spluttering, found a pile of paper towels being shoved into her hands. She dried her watering eyes, focused on the younger woman with exquisite dark eyes and exotic features. The surgical resident whose name she’d forgotten.
God, that was all she needed. To cultivate a reputation for being a spaced-out lightweight among the people she was supposed to spend her two months in purgatory leading.
“I’m so sorry I startled you.” The woman looked contrite. “I heard you moaning and got worried.”
Viv forced a bright smile. “It’s jet lag catching up with me.”
The
