your mum let you down.’
She thought about it, and, yes, he was probably right, but she didn’t want him to know that. Like a lot of things, it was easier to shove them deep down than face them. ‘I suppose you could say that my relationship with my mother is as broken as my foot.’ In fact, the thought of even discussing anything other than the weather with her mum brought Ivy out in hives. As far as she was concerned, it was better to be on her own than risk her heart again. A girl could only take so much emotional fallout.
‘Thanks for the psychology lecture. But I’m just who I am, Poison Ivy, who won’t tolerate defective people thinking they’re immune to the law or to recrimination. Or surgeons who think they’re God. Or people who don’t take me seriously. Okay, so I’ve learnt to be like this, but I’m not ashamed of it.’
‘You are Ivy. Yes. And you are stronger for your experiences.’
‘And do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about them before.’ Not in so much detail. So God only knew what the hell that meant. That she’d exposed her weakness, not only allowed him to see her scars but discussed them too.
Suddenly she felt a little vulnerable. She shrugged her foot from out of his hand and scuttled her feet under her bum as she sat up, inadvertently shuffling closer to him as she resettled herself. ‘So, please, please, don’t say anything to anyone, I don’t really want this to be hospital gossip. Every surgeon’s going to think I’m on some kind of witch hunt and I’m not at all. I just want to do my job to the best of my ability, and scuttling out dodgy surgeons is only a tiny part of it. The rest is to put systems in place to prevent these things happening again.’
He frowned. ‘Of course. But the scarring and the injury are hardly something you should be ashamed of.’
‘If you’d seen the cruel reaction of the kids I grew up with, and then the men I dated who wanted tabloid perfect, you wouldn’t be saying that.’
‘Then they are all idiots.’
Yes. Maybe they were. And so was she for being taken in by his words. By his touch. By the way he sounded so unlike every man she’d ever dated—his words like a salve to her wounds. By the little dimple in the cleft of his chin. And by that tiny frozen part of her that had started to thaw, just a little, leaving her open and vulnerable.
She did not want this. Did not have space in her life for this. And, really, she should have stood up and left, but she reached to him anyway, placed her hand over his. Because it seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. ‘Thank you. That was a nice thing to say.’
‘My pleasure.’ His hand cupped her face and he looked at her with such intensity that her heart beat a wild staccato against her ribcage. ‘So don’t be so hard on yourself.’
He was just being kind in that Italian way of his. He was being gallant and it was so nice to actually be on the receiving end of something like that. Just for once in her life. And he was so close. Looking down with a heated gaze that stoked something deep inside her. Something that answered the question in his eyes.
Then, unable to stop herself, she lifted her face and pressed her lips to his.
What kind of madness was this? Matteo mused in a barely coherent thought process as his hands curled around her, dragging her onto his lap and returning the kiss like a starving man. He was jaded and cynical and not able to offer anything more than this.
Her fingers spiked his hair and she moaned his name, her voice tinged with that cute accent that was so different and refreshing and intriguing and haughty. She tasted delicious. Of risk and freedom and the melting of barriers. Of layers and depth and heat. And wetness.
Her tongue slipped into his mouth and meshed with his, dancing an age-old dance that fired an intense need within him. He pulled her against him, relishing her soft body against his, and then, unable to wait any longer, he slipped his hand underneath the scrub top to her bra. With one easy flick of his fingers he’d undone it and palmed a hand over warm silken flesh and the tight bud of a nipple.
At his touch she moaned again, wriggling her backside against his erection, slowly gyrating on his lap. She was driving him crazy. Wild with desire. That clever mouth that kissed as well as it shot out smart retorts. This achingly sexy body with the softest skin and the scars of a history that made his gut clench. And that drive deep within her that had elevated her from her experiences and made her so much more. He wanted to do anything to erase that hurt.
But wait.
Taking her in the staffroom? That was not his plan. She was worth more than that, deserved more. What kind of madness indeed. But he wasn’t thinking straight. It had been a long, hard day and she was just so irresistible. Such a bundle of contrasts, and so damned hot. And he did not know what any of it meant, what this need that drove him was about, that he dreamt about her. But he knew it was intense. That it was something he should be afraid of, yet at the same time he was intrigued and, mio Dio, he just couldn’t keep away.
A vibrating whirr and a tinny sound had her jumping off him, swiping a hand across her mouth and straightening her top. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a phone and frowned. ‘Oh. Er … strange? I should probably get this.’
‘Sure.’ It would give him time to calm down a little and get things into perspective. Actually, to man up and put a stop to this fooling around in a public place. Said the guy with his ass hanging out over the internet. The more he thought about that, the more he realised what a stupid prank it had been. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Ivy.
She turned away from him, her shoulders rising up to her ears as she talked. ‘Oh. Okay. I see. When? Where?’
A silence stretched as she listened. The longer she stood there the more her body tensed, her hand slowly moving up to her mouth. And, as if in harmony with her, Matteo’s heart clutched too. Clearly there was a problem and it went deeper than a work issue.
‘Of course,’ she said finally, her voice weak and wobbly. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please, tell her to … I don’t know … Tell her to hold on.’
As she slung the phone back into her pocket she turned to him, her face pale now, all traces of their passion erased. ‘I have to go back to York. My mum’s sick. She’s had a heart attack … they think, they’re running tests as we speak. Er … she’s asking for me.’
‘Of course. You must go.’ But there was something about her hesitation that gave him pause too. After all, it hadn’t sounded like she had the best relationship with her mother. And he knew how being angry and disillusioned with family could affect someone. ‘You think that’s the right thing to do?’
She raised her head enough to hold his gaze, and in her darkened, hooded eyes he saw fear and sadness and determination. Her voice was calm. ‘Just because she’s a lousy mother, it doesn’t mean I have to be a lousy daughter. If she needs me, I’ll be there for her.’
‘Of course, and you shall go. Do you need help organising things?’
‘Oh. Well, I guess I need to either hire a car or get the train. Driving’s crap on a Friday, but it means I’ll be able to go see her straight away, and also pop home for things she might need. But I think the train might be quicker … but … I don’t know …’ She took a step forward, then back. Almost as if she didn’t know how or where to start. For the first time since he’d met her she seemed totally out of her depth. Blindsided.
And
