Second Chance With The Surgeon
Second Chance With The Surgeon
Robin Gianna
Can healing his ex-wife… …also mend their marriage? When occupational therapist, Jillian Keyser, breaks her wrist the last thing she wants is treatment from her ex-husband Conor McCarthy. But as a leading orthopedic surgeon, she knows she needs his help! Forced to live again with the man who broke her heart, they discover a new understanding. With their connection as strong as ever, will the Christmas lights over New York shine on their relationship for a second time?
Can healing his ex-wife...
...also mend their marriage?
When occupational therapist Jillian Keyser breaks her wrist, the last thing she wants is treatment from her ex-husband, Conor McCarthy. But as he is a leading orthopedic surgeon, she knows she needs his help! As she is forced to live again with the man who broke her heart, they discover a new understanding. With their connection as strong as ever, will the Christmas lights over New York shine on their relationship for a second time?
After completing a degree in journalism, then working in advertising and mothering her kids, ROBIN GIANNA had what she calls her ‘awakening’. She decided she wanted to write the romance novels she’d loved since her teens, and now enjoys pushing her characters towards their own happily-ever-afters. When she’s not writing Robin fills her life with a happily messy kitchen, a needy garden, a wonderful husband, three great kids, a drooling bulldog and one grouchy Siamese cat.
Also by Robin Gianna (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
It Happened in Paris…
Her Greek Doctor’s Proposal
Her Christmas Baby Bump
The Prince and the Midwife
Reunited with His Runaway Bride
Baby Surprise for the Doctor Prince
The Spanish Duke’s Holiday Proposal
Tempted by the Brooding Surgeon
The Family They’ve Longed For
His Surgeon Under the Southern Lights
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Second Chance with the Surgeon
Robin Gianna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09030-8
SECOND CHANCE WITH THE SURGEON
© 2019 Robin Gianakopoulos
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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Note to Readers (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
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Text to speech
Thank you to Dr. Ray Kobus
for putting my wrist back together again!
Also thanks to the wonderful occupational therapists
who helped me take it from useless, post-surgery, to
close to normal. Kathy, Janet, Paula and Heather—
you all are fun and fabulous! I would have expected
to be thrilled, walking out the door of the therapy
clinic for the last time after three months of visits,
but knowing I wouldn’t be seeing you anymore
made it bittersweet. You all are the best! xoxo
Contents
Cover (#u19506f62-e8f1-5dcb-9b41-cc00edd7d275)
Back Cover Text (#ua570792d-646d-5f48-9ee0-e5f318fb6515)
About the Author (#uc687acd0-f755-5238-b0f4-60089ceb3c8a)
Booklist (#u25e3f741-3d10-58c3-a07b-abaa141fa2c6)
Title Page (#ucf520fa1-befd-5f8a-ae6a-54e789faff69)
Copyright (#u56accc2a-b304-5d1b-8395-601bdbe32f4d)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u1cc3b677-0a85-5af5-b2a2-1e70a789a4dc)
CHAPTER ONE (#u60b24cff-36fe-5fea-ab16-9058d906687c)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubf6be872-6e9f-515d-bfb8-4d32f0180f6a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4bf9200c-aef0-54d1-9092-5265bd43f82a)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
“DOWN! DOWN, HUDSON. DOWN!”
Apparently the dog decided he didn’t need to take her seriously because she was laughing, and he enthusiastically licked her face. She gave up for a moment and hugged his big body. How was it possible he’d grown so huge, when the shelter had guessed he’d be about average-sized? She was pretty sure that average-sized dogs couldn’t slap their paws on your shoulders in greeting, but then again she’d known he was special the second she’d met him.
“You’re such a good boy. I’m happy to see you, too.” She grinned and shoved at his paws to take a quick step sideways—only nearly to trip when her other dog, a Yorkshire Terrier not much bigger than a city rat, bit down on her pant leg.
“No snagging my pants with your little dagger teeth, Yorkie. Off. Off, please!”
She yanked her leg loose and the slight unsteadiness of the movement didn’t embarrass her anymore, the way it had when she’d been a child and even for a long time after she’d had surgery as a teen. Growing up with her legs different lengths hadn’t exactly helped her fit in with the crowd, and had invited the kind of nasty teasing bullies were infamous for. Good thing those days were over. Now most people couldn’t even tell she’d been a misfit for much of her life.
She crouched down to give Yorkie a hug, too, and the rambunctious greeting from her pups made her smile. Nothing like the unconditional love of dogs, was there? You didn’t have to worry whether they really wanted to be with you, or were disappointed in you, or embarrassed by you. They just loved you, period.
“All right, I know you two are bored after being stuck in here all day. But working the early shift means I’m home early today! Plenty of time for a walk before it’s dark.”
The word walk incited yipping and excitement as Jillian walked the six steps it took her to get to the tiny bedroom in her New York City apartment, where she’d barely managed to squeeze in a double bed and a small dresser. It was an apartment that hadn’t been designed to hold two dogs—especially one nearly the size of a motor scooter.
Familiar pain and regret stabbed at her heart when she thought about why she was living there instead of in the much more spacious apartment she and the pups had lived in before. The place they’d shared with her ex-husband until, after barely a year, their marriage had disintegrated. The place she’d heard through the grapevine he’d sold in order to move into an even bigger penthouse apartment in an even more exclusive area of the city. A place she’d fit into even less than she had before.
But there was no point in thinking about that anymore, was there? Her short marriage was over and done with.
From the first second her eyes had met her ex-husband’s she’d felt as if the ground beneath her feet had shifted. It had been an earthquake like nothing she’d experienced before and she hadn’t been able to escape.
It had taken only two dates for her attraction to morph from starry-eyed to head over heels in love with the man, and they had eloped into a dizzyingly fast and wonderful wedding even as her worried inner voice had told her all along it was too good to be true. She had always known, deep inside, that she wasn’t the kind of woman who could measure up to being the wife of a man like super-surgeon, jet-setting, workaholic Dr. Conor McCarthy.
Unbidden, a vision of his dazzling smile, his messy thatch of blond hair and his heartbreakingly handsome face came into her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing all that sexiness to go away. The fact that she just might have to see it for real every day made her stomach physically hurt.
How could she face having to work with him again?
Last week her boss at Occupational Therapy Consultants had told her she had to go back to the company where she’d met and worked with Conor, and the horror of it had made her feel so woozy she’d had to sit down. Apparently OTC was shifting its focus to work exclusively on lower body therapy, instead of hands and wrists, which meant she had to transfer back to HOAC, the hand and arm orthopedic center owned by Conor. She knew that seeing him all the time would rip off the scab on her heart that was still healing, and she feared it might start bleeding all over again if that had to happen.
Escape was the only answer, and she prayed the job interview she had set up for next week in Connecticut would get her out of New York City and away from Conor. Housing there would be a lot cheaper, too, which would mean a bigger place for her and the dogs. And, while she’d miss the city and her friends, a move there would be a good thing.
At least she hoped it would be good. But, regardless, there was no way she could work again at the place where she’d have to see and sometimes share patients with Conor McCarthy.
She drew in a calming breath. No point in worrying about it this second.
Banishing all those scary thoughts from her head, she quickly changed from her work clothes into leggings and sneakers and a snug jacket. It was a surprisingly nice day for December in New York City, and she planned to take advantage of every moment of it before gray skies and cold and snow blanketed the city. To enjoy every minute of this crazy and wonderful place before she had to move away.
When the dogs saw the leashes in her hands their tails wagged so hard their entire rear ends wagged along with them, and Yorkie briefly danced around on his short back legs, helping her smile again. At least she still had these two. The two puppies she and Conor had chosen together at the shelter the very first week after their honeymoon.
Her heart pinched all over again at the memory of that day, and of their seemingly idyllic perfect days together until it all had fallen apart.
“Come on, you two!” she said, practically jogging them to the elevator in her hurry to breathe in some fresh air and banish the depressing thoughts that seemed stuck on repeat. “It’s warmer today than yesterday, so this walk will be a nice long one. Happy about that?”
Tongues hung out in doggie smiles as they moved out to streets still lit by the low evening sun and all walked briskly toward the park, a few blocks away.
When they turned the corner they came face to face with two black dogs almost as big as Hudson, accompanied by a small elderly man. Normally Hudson and Yorkie were good around other dogs, but the second the other two saw her animals they growled and bared their teeth, which sent Yorkie onto his rear legs, barking furiously back.
“It’s okay. Okay, guys,” Jill said.
She turned to see if there was any way they could quickly cross the street. But traffic streamed through the green light, and just as she was tugging the dogs around the light pole to head in a different direction, the aggressive dogs lunged.
Hudson leaped away, pulling Jill with him into a stumble, and Yorkie rushed under his legs toward the other dogs.
Trying to firmly plant her feet, she felt a slight feeling of panic fill her chest as she worked to get her two dogs reined in. She could hear the man shouting, see him trying to control his dogs, but her two had got their leashes wrapped around the light pole, and as she tried to unwrap them she was yanked off her feet.
In one split second she went from standing to slamming onto the hard concrete, catching herself with her right hand, and the moment she hit the sidewalk she cried out at the intense pain radiating up her arm.
Damn it! Squeezing her eyes shut at the searing pain and the reality of the situation, she clutched the leashes with one hand and knew, just knew, without a single doubt, that her wrist was broken. How was she going to handle her dogs now?
“Sorry!” the man said breathlessly.
Jill blinked up at him and could see the light had changed. Thank the Lord he was now hurrying across the street, putting distance between her dogs and his. Gingerly, she rose to a sitting position and frowned down at her already swelling wrist.
A woman leaned over her, grabbed the dogs’ leashes and finished untangling them from the pole and each other. “You okay?”
“Maybe not.”
Shaking now, Jill struggled to get her bag unzipped to fish for her phone. Then she realized she had no one who could come and get the dogs while she went to an ER or to urgent care. Not her OT friends, who never answered their personal phones when they were working. Not her parents, who still lived in her home state of Pennsylvania, nor her sister, who lived in New Jersey and was out of town for work.
And not Conor. Not anymore.
“I need to get home.”
“I’ll help you with your dogs. You live very far?”
“No. Just a couple blocks. Thank you... I... Thanks so much. I’ve hurt my wrist and the dogs might be hard to handle on my own.”
“Happy to help. Come!” The woman gave a quick tug on the dogs’ leashes and they both dutifully came to stand quietly next to her.
“You’re obviously an experienced dog-handler,” Jill said, trying to smile. “And at this moment my guardian angel, I think.”
“Ways to be a guardian angel don’t come by too often, so you’re making my day. Except that you’re hurt, which I’m sure sorry has happened,” she said. “I’m Barbara Smith. You need help getting up?”
“No, I... I’m okay.”
Using her good hand to awkwardly push herself to her feet, Jill knew she was definitely not okay, and prayed it was a simple break. Nothing that would require surgery or weeks of the kind of therapy she helped her own patients with.
But, looking at the odd angle of her wrist, and the fact that it was already discoloring, she had a bad feeling she wouldn’t be that lucky.
“Then show me where you live, dear, so you can get that wrist looked at.”
“It’s just a couple blocks north. I’m Jillian Keyser, by the way.”
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you—but the circumstances aren’t very nice, are they?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Pain still radiating up her arm, she held it protectively against her stomach as they walked the few blocks to her apartment building. She didn’t feel much like talking, which worked out fine because Barbara kept up a cheerful monologue about dogs and the city and the parks she often took her own animals to.
Beyond glad to finally get her pets inside the door, Jill turned to her guardian angel in the flesh. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. Truly. I... I’m not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there when it happened.”
“No thanks necessary. I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Thank you again.”
The door clicked closed. Jill drew several steadying breaths before she struggled one-handedly to get the dogs fresh water, then debated what to do next.
The surgery center she’d worked at before her divorce had some of the best hand and wrist surgeons in New York City. One of them being her ex-husband. She’d been at her job at OTC for ten months, which had given her some idea about the other surgeons out there, but the truth was she felt more comfortable reaching out to someone she knew well. Someone she knew would fit her in right away for an X-ray, and who wouldn’t blab about it to Conor McCarthy if Jill asked her not to.
She grabbed her cell phone, drew another deep breath, then dialed HOAC. The awkwardness of doing it made her think about how hard it was going to be to function with only one usable hand. Her years of working as an occupational therapist had told her a lot about how handicapping it was, but she had a feeling that having her own struggles would be eye-opening.
“Hi, this is Jillian Keyser. I used to be a OT there. Hey, Katy! Yeah, long time no see. Um...can I speak with Dr. Beth Crenshaw? Believe it or not, I’m pretty sure I’ve broken my wrist.”
“Looks like a fairly light surgery schedule today,” Conor McCarthy said to the two other orthopedic surgeons in the men’s locker room as they changed into scrubs.
“Yeah. Glad the snow and ice season is coming. It’s good for business,” Bill Radcliff joked.
Conor couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing Bill was kidding. “Don’t let your patients hear that, or it’ll be all over social media how you like to see people slip and fall so you can fix them up.”
“It’s an unfortunate reality that our jobs entail being there for people after they hurt themselves, and my patients love me for it.” Bill grinned. “Always confounded, though, by the folks who decide to take up running in the winter, instead of getting into the groove while the weather’s nice. Wouldn’t you love to know what percentage end up falling and breaking something?”
“Yeah...”
The mention of runners made Conor think of Jillian, which sent all amusement from his chest, leaving it feeling hollow. A vision of her slender body in running tights or shorts that showed her shapely legs immediately came into his mind, along with her beautiful smile and the cute messy bun she always wore her hair in when she ran.
He’d loved seeing that bun bounce as she ran out the door almost every day, probably trying to make up for not being able to run for so many years. She’d told him that after the leg-length discrepancy she’d been born with had been surgically repaired in her teens, running had been the first thing she’d wanted to do. He’d always admired the hell out of her for her determination to overcome what some would have thought a handicap.
The ache in his chest almost physically hurt, and he dropped his hand when he realized he’d been unconsciously rubbing it over his sternum, as though he could somehow soothe his stupid broken heart. He’d have expected that after nearly a year apart he wouldn’t be reminded of her by the least thing, but obviously he was nowhere near getting over Jillian Keyser.
“You close to finalizing that deal with Urgent Care Manhattan to partner with us? That would be huge, if they could move in next door now that the space is vacant,” Bill said. “We’re all counting on you making it happen.”
“I have a meeting with them today, as a matter of fact. Hoping to close on it soon—before our competition woos them with an offer they think they can’t refuse.”
“I know you have a lot on your plate, but you’re still planning to be chairman once the companies merge, right? With you there, making sure they’re both managed the way they should be, I’ve got my check already written as an investor.”
“Believe me, I’m going to make it happen and I’ll have them running as smooth as a Wall Street banker. So get your checkbook ready.”
Conor took a last swig of coffee and headed toward the OR to find his surgery schedule. Studying the paper in his hand, he walked past several patients being prepped for surgery in cubicles only partly curtained off—and then the sound of a woman speaking caught his ears and he stopped dead.
He turned to see the owner of the melodic voice and felt his heart drop into his stomach. Her body was wrapped in a hospital gown, her usual sweet smile was on her face, and her hair tumbled across her cheek as she exchanged comments with the prep nurse and an anesthesiologist.
“Jillian? What the...?”
She looked up and his eyes met the gorgeous ones he’d missed so much. A mesmerizing mix of green and gray and gold—like clouds on the horizon with the sunlight shimmering through.
Damn it. The connection between them was still there. In spite of everything he could feel the electric zing of it, and his breath caught in his lungs.
Then she blinked, and her gaze shifted to the hallway behind him. Her smile flatlined and her lips twisted into a grimace before she looked at him again, cool now, all that feeling of connection gone.
“Oh. Hi, Conor. I... I broke my wrist. Distal radius fracture. Beth is putting in a plate and screws this morning to put it back together.”
“How? What happened?”
“I took the dogs for a walk. A couple of big dogs weren’t very friendly, Yorkie freaked out, and we got all tangled up—next thing you know, I’m flat on the sidewalk.”
“Ah, hell. Is it your right hand?” He stepped closer to reach for it carefully, and the feel of her soft hand in his felt so good his heart got all twisted up—which bothered him no end.
What was wrong with him? No matter how hard he’d fallen for her, he should never have married Jillian in the first place. He’d learned the hard way that he wasn’t husband material any more than his father had been, obviously having inherited his bad DNA. He’d had a selfish, cold father and a mother who’d twisted herself into knots trying to somehow make his father happy—until the day he’d left. Which had made a bad home situation dramatically worse.
Their eyes met again, and he knew the pain and sadness he saw there had nothing to do with her wrist and everything to do with him. God knew he’d wanted his own marriage to be different. But she’d been right to leave. The last thing a special woman like Jillian needed was to be tied to a man who made her miserable.
Except he couldn’t lie to himself. In the ten months since she’d been gone he’d thought of her every day and every night, missing her even as he’d forcibly reminded himself how much he’d hurt her. Disappointed her.
“Yeah. No fun, but I’ll get through it.”
“Titanium time!” Dr. Beth Crenshaw appeared in the curtained doorway with a grin that faltered a little when she saw Conor standing there. “Hey, Conor. Surprise, surprise, huh?”
“Definitely a surprise.” It took some effort to release Jill’s hand before he folded his arms across his chest. “Why is it no one has told me this happened? That Jill is having surgery here today?”
“Because I asked her not to tell you,” Jill said in a stiff voice. “No reason for you to know.”
The truth of that stabbed his chest all over again. “Maybe not, but I would have liked to know anyway. Who’s taking you home post-op?”
As soon as he asked the question his heart jolted. If she had a new guy Conor hoped and prayed he wouldn’t have to see him with her in Recovery.
“I asked Ellie next door. She’s the only person I know who has a car.”
“Wait. Isn’t she the one who’s about eighty and has a bum knee?”
Her lips twisted again, this time in a wry smile. “I know it’s not ideal, taking advantage of her good nature when she has a tough time getting around. But they won’t let me take a taxi by myself, as you well know.”
“You should have told me you were having trouble finding someone,” Beth said. “I can take you home. You’ll just have to hang around in Recovery until the end of the day. You’ll still be partially out of it for a bit, anyway. I assume you have a friend to take care of you tonight? You know you shouldn’t be alone.”
“I think Kandie from the other office is planning to stop by and check on me at some point. And my sister’s coming sometime later this week. But she’s got a big project at work and can’t take off right now.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t figured all this out already.” Conor looked from Jill to Beth, then back. “She’ll be coming back tomorrow to get the cast off, right? And what about the dogs? Plus, your sister’s work schedule is almost as bad as mine, so how can you count on her to get here soon?”
“You know, I appreciate your concern, but frankly I don’t see how this is any of your business,” Jill said, her chin jutting out with that mulish look he was all too familiar with. At the same time he could see plain as day that she felt anxious about how she was going to manage everything post-op. “The dogs and I will be okay.”
“Considering you’ve seen hundreds of patients, and know how they feel the day the cast comes off and you work with them to make a splint, I’m pretty sure you know how much pain you’ll likely be in. How completely non-functional your arm and hand will be at first. Hudson’s a big lug—not to mention there’s no way you can take them outside for a walk. Not for quite a while—until your bones and the titanium plate and screws have fused. If you fall again before that happens it could be a disaster.”
“I won’t fall. And there are dog-walking services, you know,” Jill said. “I... I didn’t think to look one up before surgery, but I’m sure I can find one. And, like I said, Briana is coming as soon as she can.”
“Let me check to see if there’s a nurse or one of the office staff who wouldn’t mind making some cash by helping you tonight and bringing you back tomorrow. Walking the dogs, too,” Beth said, looking from him to Jill, then back. “Meanwhile, we have to get you into twilight sleep and to the OR—or the whole day’s schedule will be messed up, which nobody wants.”
Obviously Beth’s calm tone was designed to keep Conor from getting upset about this, but it wasn’t working. Jillian might not be his anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still care about her. Wouldn’t worry about her.
“I have a light surgery schedule this morning, so I can take you home,” he said. “Though I do have a—”
Abruptly, he closed his mouth. He’d almost followed his comment about taking her home by telling her he had an appointment at one o’clock with some of the decision-makers from Urgent Care Manhattan, to go over the details of the potential collaboration with HOAC. Telling her that he’d take her home when the meeting was over. But his work and business schedules had been part of the reason why she’d left and how badly he’d failed her.
But this was an emergency, damn it. Much as he hated any delay in getting the deal closed, his competitor shut out and the urgent care department up and running, he’d just have to reschedule the meeting.
“I’ll come to Recovery as soon as I’m done with my last surgery and I’ll take you home. Get you settled.”
“Conor, no.” Despite her obvious need, her beautiful eyes widened in clear dismay. “I—”
“Perfect,” Beth interrupted cheerfully. “I’ll meet you in Recovery. And now, Jill, it’s time for Dr. Fixit to fix you up.”
Jillian opened her pretty lips to protest more, which tightened his chest. Was it really that horrifying for her to have to spend a few hours with him?
Conor watched the anesthesiologist administer twilight anesthesia through Jill’s IV. Her long lashes swept her cheeks as her lids slid closed, and he forced himself to turn away from her beautiful face in sweet repose. She looked very much as she had back when he’d held her in his arms every night as she fell asleep.
Damn. That ache pressed in on his chest again, but at the same time his heart strangely, bizarrely, lifted. He was going to get to be with her this evening for the first time in nearly a year. Drugged up and in pain, she wouldn’t be like the smiling Jillian he’d loved. But knowing that she needed help, that he could be there for her at least for a few hours, made him feel better than he’d felt in a long time.
And never mind that the hollow loneliness he knew he’d experience when he went back to his regular life without her in it might feel every bit as bad as when she’d first left.
CHAPTER TWO (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
CONOR DOUBLE-PARKED IN the loading zone outside Jillian’s apartment building and prayed he wouldn’t get a ticket—or, worse, towed. Presumably it wouldn’t take long to get her into her apartment and comfortable, and he could get the car to the parking garage down the street after that.
He jumped out of the car and ran around to open the passenger door. “Okay, I know you’re still feeling weak and weird, so I’m going to hold you up in case your legs feel wobbly.”
Her eyes blinked up at him and she nodded. He reached into the car to place his hands around her waist, pretty much lifting her out of the seat—which wasn’t easy, considering she couldn’t help much and he was worried about jostling her arm. Not that he needed to be concerned that he’d hurt her. It was covered in a cast and an elastic cover and would stay totally numb from the nerve-block for at least twelve hours.
“You’re doing great,” he said as she walked slowly beside him to the front doors of the building, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her steady.
Thank God he’d had the foresight to get her keys before they got out of the car. It would have been a serious juggling match trying to get them out of the pocket of the jacket he’d draped over her shoulders without her falling down right there on the concrete steps.
Once they were in the building, maneuvering her to her apartment wasn’t difficult. He’d only been there once—the day he’d brought the dogs over to live with her after she’d moved out—but he remembered exactly where it was. Had often pictured her there when he was lying in bed at night. Wondering how she was doing. Wishing he was a different kind of man. Wishing things could have gone differently for them. Wishing she hadn’t stubbornly refused any money from him so she could live in a bigger place. He had hoped she was happier now, even as the thought of her being happy with someone else tore him up inside.
The moment he unlocked her door he heard the dogs running across the hardwood floor. Worried that Hudson might accidentally knock her over in her current wobbly state, he turned her sideways and put his body in between them as a buffer, reaching to scratch the dog’s head.
“Sit, Hudson. That’s a good dog. Good boy.”
It tugged at his heart that the dog obviously remembered him, whining and thrashing his tail back and forth so hard his hind end went along with it. Yorkie leaped up and down on his short legs, too, equally excited to see him.
Damn it. Letting down Jillian had been the worst, but the dogs’ happy greeting reminded him he’d let them down, too. She’d wanted them to have dogs and he’d gone along with it. Had wanted her to be happy. Wanted to know what it would be like to live a completely different kind of life from the one he’d grown up in. To love someone who loved you back and have a family that was always there for one another.
Instead he’d turned out to be a bad husband and bad dog dad, incapable of giving any of them what they needed. Thank God they hadn’t had children for him to hurt, too. He’d failed at being there for his mother the way he should have been, and he had failed at being there for Jillian.
That dismal reality had shown him that the focus of his life had to be only on what he was good at—and that was surgery and business and building his bank account and portfolio. Lonely, maybe, but at least he wouldn’t hurt the people he loved. He believed providing for them financially, for their future, was the best way to show his love.
Jillian hadn’t agreed.
“Sit. Sit, you two.”
He held up his hand to signal that he meant it, the way the dog trainers had shown him and Jill when they’d first gotten the puppies. Jillian tripping over the excited animals on their way to the sofa would not be good, and he was both glad and surprised that they actually did as he told them to.
“Jill, we’re going to walk to the sofa. I’ll be holding on to you, so try not to trip over Yorkie if he jumps around again.”
“Okay. I’m not as unsteady as you think I am.”
“That’s good. But I’ll hold on to you anyway.”
Because the feel of her body in his arms felt better than anything had in a long time, even as the ache of his failures burned in his chest.
He eased her down on to the sofa. “You feel like sitting for a while? Or do you want to lie down in bed?”
“I feel okay. Just groggy. But I want to wake up, not go to sleep. Once I’m feeling more alert you can head on home. Or back to work, probably.”
“I don’t have any surgeries or patients to see this afternoon. And I canceled a meeting I had scheduled, so I’m all yours.”
Or he had been once.
But for today, at least, he had this chance to be there for Jillian in a way he hadn’t during their marriage, although at the same time he somehow needed to keep a cool head and an emotional distance. Except looking at her now, with her arm in its huge cast, her hair all messy and her expression a little vulnerable, he wanted to scoop her into his arms, sit on that sofa and hold her close. Kiss her face and stroke her hair until she relaxed against him.
Bad idea for both of them.
He cleared his throat. “You hungry? How about a little soup and toast, or something like that?”
“Maybe in a little bit. I’ll just sit here for now. Why don’t you take the dogs out? Their leashes are in that basket by the front door.”
“Okay. Come on, you goofs.”
Wagging tails and little leaps from Yorkie had him smiling despite the weight he felt in his chest at being here. At the memories of him and Jill during happy times together. He’d never expected to be a dog person, but he had loved spending time with them. Loved seeing how much Jill enjoyed them. In some ways that seemed like a long time ago, and in other ways it seemed like yesterday that they’d lived together and loved one another until it had all imploded.
Heaving a sigh, he took the dogs outside. They were better behaved on their walk than he remembered them being as puppies, and he had time to ponder how it was going to work out, him helping Jill. He was pretty confident that she’d be okay on her own most of the time, so long as he saw her every morning and evening and took care of the dogs until her sister showed up.
Problem was her apartment was a long way from work, while his was just a couple blocks away from the surgery center. Somehow he’d have to find extra hours in the day, or look for someone to walk the dogs.
The animals were panting by the time they got back to Jill’s door, and he pulled her key from his pocket and tried to open the door quietly, in case she was sleeping—then wondered why he’d bothered when both dogs leaped into the room, making all kinds of racket on the wood floor.
Her eyes were closed when he looked across the room at her, but her lids lifted and she sent him a surprisingly sweet smile. Probably because the drugs hadn’t worn off enough for her to remember that she didn’t like him much anymore.
“Seems like you just left. Were the dogs good?”
“Really good. You’ve done a nice job training them.”
“Don’t think I can take a lot of credit. They just needed to mature a little bit. But they still have their moments, believe me.”
“Moments like when they get upset at other dogs and get tangled up and make you fall and break your wrist?”
“Yeah. Like that.”
Her lips curved even more, into the kind of laughing smile he’d fallen for like a ton of bricks when they’d first met, and it felt good to smile back.
He stepped closer and crouched down in front of her. “How you feeling?”
“Arm feels like someone attached a log to me. Can’t feel it at all yet. Sometimes I forget and lean down, then it swings out and I have to grab it back. I know you always tell patients that’s what it’ll feel like, but I’ve gotta tell you... Much as it makes me want to laugh when I lose control of it, it feels super-weird.”
“It’ll be numb like that for at least another eight or nine hours. Then it’ll feel tingly, like you’ve laid on it funny and it’s gone to sleep. Then it’ll finally feel normal.”
“I think you mean my new normal—for now. Painful and immobile.”
“Yeah.” He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t reach out and tuck those wisps of hair behind her ears, as he would have before. “You feel like eating something now? I can get some soup from the deli? Or does something else sound good?”
“Something light, like soup and crackers, sounds perfect.”
“You got it.”
It would be good to have something to do besides talk with her and look at her. From the first moment he’d seen her in the occupational therapy room two years ago, he felt like he’d been smacked in the head by some unexplainable force. She’d stood up from the table, her athletic runner’s body in a slim-fitting dress, and her laughter at something her patient had said slipped into his chest. When her beautiful gray-green eyes had lifted to meet his he could have sworn his heart completely stopped.
Looking down at her now, he felt waves of tenderness mingle with memories of that day. He wished that he could take away the pain he knew she’d be in as soon as the brachial plexus block wore off. Felt the desire to pull her close, to take care of her, to make all that pain go away.
“I’ll be right back.”
He made himself turn away before he reached for her, and then left for the deli. He chose two kinds of the soup he knew she liked, and a bagful of crackers. When he came back and opened the door to her apartment he stopped abruptly when he saw she wasn’t on the sofa, and neither one of the dogs were in sight, either.
No way would she have decided to venture out while still half drugged up. Would she?
A panicked sensation rose in his chest and he strode to the galley kitchen, shoved the food onto the counter, then moved to her bedroom. “Jill? Jilly?”
One of the dogs whined before she answered. “In here. The bathroom. I... Go ahead and come in.”
He pushed open the door. Was stunned to see both dogs and Jillian sitting on the floor of the tiny room. Her sweatpants were twisted around her thighs and her good hand was held to her forehead.
He dropped to his knees. “What the hell happened? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Kind of. I’m so stupid. I had to go to the bathroom, and while I was sitting here I dropped the new roll of toilet paper. I leaned over to get it. Forgot all about my arm. It flung forward and dragged me off the toilet. I landed right on my cast and hit my head on the wall. Kind of funny, really.”
She sent him an adorable crooked smile and his heart squeezed even tighter. He grasped her wrist to lift her palm from her forehead. “Let me see.”
“Just a bump. Not a big deal.”
“Maybe not compared to your broken wrist, but it still hurts, I bet.” He wanted to lean down and kiss the offending red lump, and drew in a deep breath to quell the urge. “Let’s get some ice on it.”
He wrapped his arm around her back to help her up, and realized she was having trouble standing.
“You hurt your leg, too?”
“No. I just... I couldn’t get my stupid pants pulled up using only one hand while sitting on the floor.”
He lifted her to her feet. “Hang on to the sink while I finish pulling them up so you can walk.”
“This is ridiculously embarrassing,” she said, her face now stained pink and no longer smiling. “My ex-husband having to pull up my pants.”
“Just think of me as your doctor. Not a big deal.”
Logically, it shouldn’t be. But the truth...? The sight of the smooth skin of her thighs, of her round rear peeking out from beneath her panties and all the memories it conjured, made him want to tug those pants down, not up, and touch her and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.
He gritted his teeth and pulled up the sweatpants as fast as possible, before lifting her into his arms to move them toward the sofa. The scent of her wafted to his nose and he breathed her in. Who’d have thought the woman could smell so good after being in surgery and then Recovery half the day? But it wasn’t perfume, it was simply her, and he remembered it so well it seemed they’d been holding one another just yesterday.
Damn it.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“Yes, but this is easier and faster, and there’s no risk of additional injury.” He sat her on the sofa again. “I’ll get some ice for your head, then you can have some soup.”
“I don’t need ice. It’s just a little lump.”
“Trust the doctor. You need to ice it.”
“I see Dr. Bossy is alive and well.”
Her pretty lips tipped into a smile as she rolled her eyes and the tightness in his chest loosened. He had to grin, remembering all the times she’d given him that look.
“I consider the nickname Dr. Bossy to be a compliment. Where are your plastic bags?”
“In the second drawer, next to the refrigerator.”
Once a bag was filled with ice and wrapped in a towel he sat close beside her. Slipped strands of hair away from the bruise before he placed the bag on it. Their eyes met and he nearly forgot to place the bag on her injury, wanting so much to kiss her instead.
“That’s cold!”
Thank God for that distraction.
“Ice generally is cold. It’ll help with the swelling and make it feel better.”
“Yeah, well, right now my forehead hurts way more from the ice than the bruise.”
“Once your skin is numb it won’t hurt anymore.”
“Says the surgeon who lies to his patients about pain every day.”
“Lies to my patients? I never lie. I may downplay what they’re going to experience so they don’t freak out, but I never lie.”
“You forget I’ve heard you talk to patients when they’re in occupational therapy.” Her voice went into a bass tone. “Well, sir, your bones are healing nicely and the ligaments are stretching out well. In no time your fingers are going to be playing the piano again. You don’t play piano? Well, because of my magical surgical skills now you will.”
He had to laugh at her words and her cutely ridiculous expression. “I don’t believe I’ve ever said that to a patient.”
“No? I do sometimes. It’s an occupational therapy joke that most people enjoy.”
“And that’s one of the many reasons why your patients think you’re wonderful.”
He knew they did. Her numerous thank-you notes and high patient satisfaction scores proved that. He’d always thought she was pretty wonderful, too, even though she hadn’t believed it.
“Feeling any less painful?”
“Um...yes, actually.”
He watched her lids slide closed and held himself very still so he wouldn’t stroke her soft cheek or lean in to kiss her, which he suddenly wanted to do more than he wanted to breathe.
“Thank you. I’ll take over holding it now.” Her hand covered his on the ice before he slid his away.
“I’ll warm your soup. Which do you want—chicken noodle or tomato basil?”
“I love both—as you know.” She opened her eyes and turned to him, her expression serious. “I appreciate all this. I do. It’s... awkward me being here with you, and I know it’s awkward for you, too. I’m sorry about that. But I realize you were right. You bringing me home was lots better than trying to have my neighbor do it. She wouldn’t have been able to steady me the way you did. Or pick me up off the floor and bring me food, and walk the dogs and all. So thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. I...we might not be together anymore, but I’ll always care about you.”
And the truth of that made his throat close and sent him to the kitchen to busy himself and get her some food before he showed her exactly how much he still cared.
He helped her move to one of the two chairs at the tiny table placed at one end of the living room. “You comfortable enough to eat here? Or do you want to sit in your armchair and drink the soup from a mug?”
“This is okay. Smells wonderful.”
“I’ll take the dogs out again while you eat. Don’t try to get up until I get back, promise? We won’t be gone long.”
She nodded, and he escaped with an urge to kiss the top of her head before he went, as he often had when he’d left for work or meetings in the past.
The dogs were excited to be outside again, and he wondered how often Jill had to walk them. Did she take them on her runs sometimes? Probably only Hudson would be up for that. Yorkie might have a big attitude, but there was no way his short little legs could handle the miles Jill logged.
Probably he should keep the dogs out longer, but he felt an uncomfortable niggle, worrying about Jill and how she was doing all alone, and hurried back after only about twenty minutes.
Seeing her still sitting at the table when he nudged open the door had him smiling in relief.
“I see you’re being a good patient.”
“Did you doubt me?”
The smile she sent back held a hint of the mischievous Jill he’d adored.
“I’m limiting myself to one event per day of finding myself on the floor.”
“How about trying for zero events? The first one about gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m still sitting here, aren’t I? By the way, Kandie called and she said she can stop by after work tonight to check on me, see if I need anything. How would you feel about taking the dogs to your place until Briana gets here? I mean, I know you’re super-busy, but you can hire a dog walker to take them out while you’re at work. It...it wouldn’t be for long.”
How much he didn’t want to leave her or the dogs shocked him, and his feet seemed rooted to the floor even as he’d been thinking about how difficult it was to be here with her.
“Is Kandie spending the night?”
“No, of course not. She has a young son, and there’s no reason for her to do that.”
“Post-op orders are for you not to be alone tonight.”
“I feel okay. Barely woozy from the pain meds now. I’ll be fine.”
“Is the woman who just fell in the bathroom actually saying this?” He stared at her. “You’ll need to take meds when you go to bed, to help with the pain when the block wears off. And what if you fall again with nobody here?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“It did happen—and, since you’re a smart woman, you know that’s not something you can assume.”
He folded his arms across his chest, ignoring her mulish expression. Two could play at the stubborn game, and he had no intention of losing because the thought of her lying hurt and alone chilled his blood.
He realized there was only one solution that would solve the problem, difficult though it might be.
“You and the dogs are coming home with me, and staying there until your sister comes.”
CHAPTER THREE (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
JILL’S HEART BUMPED hard against her ribs, then seemed to stop for a moment before revving up again. Stay at Conor’s place? Be close to him for hours on end, reminded of all the good and bad parts of their marriage and why it had fallen apart?
“No.” A feeling of panic filled her chest. “I’m not doing that. Period.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. I live just a couple blocks from HOAC. Tomorrow morning you’ll get your cast off and have a splint made, then you’ll be able to easily go back to my apartment and get some rest.”
“No. There’s no way—”
“Listen to me.”
He pulled the other chair close to her and leaned forward. His expression was earnest and determined, and she’d learned from the past that trying to fight him when he’d made up his mind would be like beating her head against a brick wall, bringing another bruise. But that kind of bruise wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly as the one on her heart.
“I get that you want to limit how much time we spend together—I do, too, to be honest. But remember my work hours that you hated so much? I’ll hardly be around—just enough to make sure you’re okay overnight. To walk with you to your appointment tomorrow morning. I’ll find someone who wants to make some extra cash by checking on you when I’m not there and walking the dogs. It’ll work out until your sister gets here. By then you’ll be off the pain meds and able to stay alone.”
She absorbed his words. The logic behind them. Her apartment was a good half-hour trek away from the center on the subway. When the numbness wore off and her cast was replaced by a splint she’d be in pain and still a little drugged up. Plus, she knew from talking with her patients that the challenge of trying to function with one hand wasn’t going to be easy—especially with no one around to help.
Time for her to act like the mature and reasonable woman she was trying to be. The one who was fighting her insecurities and who didn’t want or need a relationship until she’d dealt with all the baggage her marriage to Conor had proved she still carried around.
And maybe it wouldn’t be too awful. He worked so much she’d probably hardly see him. Finding someone else to help her and take care of the dogs, with him basically an overnight watchdog for the next few days, was the logical solution.
Rock versus hard place. That described the situation to a T. She couldn’t deny that trying to stay here alone, with her arm still in the nerve block, and then somehow making her way to the orthopedic center all by herself in the morning wouldn’t be easy, even if she took a taxi.
“All right.” She heaved out a resigned sigh, shoving down the dread that came along with it. “I know you’re right. I shouldn’t be alone right now. Just for a day or two, though. Then I’ll come back here, and you can keep the dogs until Briana comes.”
“Thank you.” He stood and looked down at her, his expression hard to read. “I’ll clean up the dishes while you rest.”
Hating this whole scene, she reached for her spoon but managed to knock it off the table instead. Apparently clumsiness was part of this whole experience, and she sighed as she leaned over to pick it up off the floor. As she did so, her stupid dead arm swung out.
Yorkie had been standing there, waiting to see if some treat might be offered, and her arm in its heavy cast hit the poor pup right on his little nose, knocking him sideways to the floor as he yelped.
“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry! Aw, come here, Yorkie.” She reached out her good hand and was glad he came over to let her pet him, clearly not holding a grudge.
“Damn. That thing is a lethal weapon,” Conor said as he stepped away from the sink. He reached for her numb arm, currently held in a sling, and placed it back against her stomach. “Poor dog. And poor you.”
He gathered up Yorkie, tucked him under his arm and scratched behind his ears, with an indulgent smile on his face which sent another stab to her chest.
This was the sweetness she’d fallen head over heels in love with. The thoughtful and considerate man who had treated her like a princess during that brief month they’d dated before they’d impulsively, excitingly, got married. The man who hadn’t even particularly wanted the dogs, never having had a pet, but who’d wanted her to be happy. And then had seemed to so enjoy playing with them for the few hours a week he’d been free.
A thick lock of blond hair tumbled onto his forehead as he talked to Yorkie, and remembering how they’d felt about each other not too long ago made her heart pinch. How in the world were they going to handle spending time together again?
A deep fatigue crept through her bones and she found herself folding her good arm onto the table and leaning her head on it. Tonight and the next few days couldn’t go by fast enough.
A large hand rested softly on her temple, its fingers caressing the top of her head. “You’ve had a big day. Let’s get your overnight things packed up. The sooner you can get to bed, the better.”
“All right. But you don’t need to help. I can do it.”
“Three hands are better than one.” He sent her a lopsided grin. “Show me where your suitcase is and we’ll get it done.”
It seemed to take longer than it should to pack a few clothes and toiletries, but of course there were the dogs’ things to get, too. Their beds, with Hudson’s being a big armful, their food and bowls, their leashes... Finally Conor had everything stowed in the car and had come back to help her to the curb.
“You want me to water your plants before we go?”
“Water my plants?” She stared, astonished he would have thought of that. “You never even liked all the plants I brought to...to our apartment before.”
“Just wasn’t used to having living things around that needed attention.” His smile disappeared. “And that was a poor choice of words, wasn’t it?”
She knew he was referring to her. To her neediness and insecurities during their marriage. Something she wasn’t proud of. “Accurate choice. And I’m working on all that.”
“Nothing you ever needed to work on. I told you that. It was all me.”
Not true, and she knew it, but it was ancient history. “Anyway... I just watered the plants a few days ago, so they’ll be fine until I get back.”
“Let’s go, then.”
He helped her down the narrow stairwell of her apartment, then eased her into the plush front seat of his car. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze to get both dogs in the back seat, but they’ll be okay, don’t you think?”
“They haven’t been in a car since...you know. When you brought them here.” Lord, this was feeling more awkward by the moment. “But I think they’ll be fine.”
In minutes he’d returned with the dogs, who bounded into the back seat with excitement. Jillian had to laugh at how comical it was to see Hudson pretzeled in there, but his doggie grin showed he didn’t mind a bit.
“This reminds me of a clown car,” she said, glad to have the dogs to talk about. “How many Hudsons can you fit in a luxury sedan?”
“I believe the answer is one.” Conor grinned as he slid into the driver’s seat. The purr of the powerful engine competed with the sounds of the city as they drove through streets now brightly lit through the dark night sky.
Jillian wanted to ask where his new apartment was, but decided to stay silent, since she’d be finding out soon enough. Besides, he’d said it was close to HOAC, and that was only one block away from Central Park.
The car came to a stop in front of an old stone apartment building and Jillian’s throat closed. Yes, the man had upgraded all right. As though his last apartment hadn’t been prestigious enough...
“Your new apartment is off Fifth Avenue? Wow.”
“It’s a good location for work and a good investment.”
He slid out of the car as a valet came from the building. She could see him talking to the man, who nodded and opened the back door to get the dogs as Conor helped her from her seat.
“Alfred will bring your suitcase and the dogs’ stuff up, then get the car parked.”
“You’ve really been slumming it, having to juggle with illegal parking in front of my place and walking up and down a bunch of crooked steps, haven’t you?” she said, trying to bring some levity into this distinctly uncomfortable situation.
“I slummed it for plenty years of my life,” he said quietly. “And you’re the one who wouldn’t accept any money from me after our divorce. Which still upsets me. I wanted you to live in a better and bigger place, but you hated me too much to take even a cent.”
“I never hated you. I just felt there was no reason for you to give me anything. Our marriage was a mistake for both of us and I just wanted to move on, like it didn’t happen.”
“But it did happen.” He held her hand and looked down at her. “And I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know that I made you so unhappy.”
If felt as if her heart was shaking inside her chest. They’d both contributed to their mutual miseries, hadn’t they? Definitely not all his fault. Something she’d come to see even more clearly over the past ten months.
“Conor, listen. I—”
The dogs leaped from the car, with Alfred holding their leashes, and Conor stepped over to take them. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been going to say, but was glad the dogs had interrupted. Everything had been said that needed to be said—or at least most of it. Hashing over it again would make both of them sad or mad or critical or defensive—just like before. None of those emotions would accomplish a thing—especially considering she had to stay at his apartment for a night or two.
Cool and calm was the way to go. Starting now.
Conor led the way to the elevator, which opened on to a floor with only two doors in the hallway. Obviously his new place was way bigger than even his other apartment. He unlocked one of the doors and gestured for her to go inside.
“I’ll keep the dogs out here for a second, so they don’t knock you over on the way in.”
“They’re not that bad. Though it’s true that they seem pretty excited to be checking out a new place.”
It was like stepping into something from a magazine. He’d clearly decided to start over completely, since not a single thing in the entire space looked familiar. Modern furniture in neutral tones sat near floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the twinkling lights of the city, and beyond the curve of the windows was a huge kitchen with an island and bar stools. It was surprisingly as comfortable-looking as it was breathtaking, and she wondered how his designer had accomplished that feat.
A familiar hollow feeling weighed down her stomach. The same weight she’d carried to every highbrow event they’d attended, knowing she’d never fit in to Conor McCarthy’s life.
“It’s...beautiful. Really gorgeous. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I like it.” He unleashed the dogs, who instantly ran around, sniffing the room, then grasped her elbow. “How about sitting down until Alfred brings your things? Then you should take your pain meds and get to bed.”
“Okay. I admit I feel pretty tired.”
“I’d offer you a glass of the wine you like, but it’s not a good idea to mix it with drugs,” he said, a slight smile curving his mouth.
“Are you sure? Because a glass of wine sounds pretty good.”
She was kidding, though at that moment she thought maybe mixing alcohol and painkillers would be a good way for her to completely pass out and not have to deal with how strange this felt.
He shook his head, probably knowing exactly how she was feeling since he doubtless felt the same way. Soon Alfred brought everything up, and Conor placed the dog beds at one end of the room, then filled their water bowls and placed them on the stone-tiled kitchen floor. Enthusiastic slurping by Hudson left puddles all around it.
“Being the neatnik you are, I guess you’re glad to not to have to deal with doggie messes anymore.”
“I got used to the messes. The dogs were always fun to be around.”
But she hadn’t been so fun to be around, which was why he’d been gone all the time.
The words came into her head but she fiercely banished them. This was the baggage she had to unload. These damned insecurities that flew into her head with the least provocation. Making a simple statement about the dogs, making small talk, didn’t mean she should take it personally, the way she had before. That had to stop.
“I...um...guess I’ll go to bed now.”
“Good idea. I’ll show you your room. Mine’s at the end of the hall. If you need me for anything in the middle of the night, just yell.”
“I’ll be okay.” And even if she wasn’t she wouldn’t call for him unless it was a dire emergency.
He carried her small suitcase as he led her down a hallway covered with lush carpeting, then went through the door of yet another beautiful room with a different view of the city. Two chairs and a table formed a small sitting area in one corner, with a large bed in the center, and another door that doubtless led to a bathroom.
He set her suitcase on a folding thing obviously designed for that purpose. “Okay if I get your things out? I want you to take the pain pills right now, so they’re working when the plexus block starts to wear off. Then I’ll help you undress.”
Her eyes lifted to his. They held only a cool detachment. No sign of what the words had made her feel, which was her belly jumping, her breath catching and her heart beating a little harder.
“I’m sure I can get ready by myself.”
“Yeah? With that thing on your arm and it held in a sling? No way.”
“Then I’ll just sleep in what I’m wearing,” she said. “I won’t be the first patient to arrive at the clinic wearing the same clothes they wore for surgery.”
“Suit yourself. But you’re going to be overly warm and uncomfortable in that sweatshirt. And you’ll need something with no sleeve to wear over the cast tomorrow when they take it off.” He shrugged, seeming to not care one way or the other.
She knew he was right—damn it. “Fine. Can you pull the sleeve off over my cast?”
He did as she asked, carefully removing the sling, then pulling the sleeve off her arm before reaching for the bottom of her sweatshirt. He gently slipped it up and over her head, exposing the camisole she wore beneath. He seemed to be concentrating on the sweatshirt, but when his eyes met hers for a long, suspended moment his expression made it hard to breathe, and she was beyond glad when he turned to grab her toiletries bag from her suitcase.
“I’ll get you some water for the pain meds.”
The speed with which he strode from the room told her she hadn’t imagined it. This crazy situation was reminding both of them of things better left forgotten.
He returned with a glass of water and wordlessly handed it to her. “Take a drink, then I’ll hold the glass and you can pop the pills.”
Even taking pills with only one hand required either help or juggling, and she hoped and prayed her hand would be usable sooner than some of her patients experienced.
“Thanks.”
“Think you’ll need help to go to the bathroom?”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”
Her face burned all over again, and she could feel his eyes on her as she went into the chic bathroom and closed the door, leaning back against it. She stared at her toothbrush and toothpaste, sitting on the counter, and wondered how she was going to manage to put paste on the brush with only one hand, or wash her face.
Lord. How had her world gotten so messed up in one split second? No doubt about it—the next few days, and longer, were going to be misery in more ways than one.
And being close to Conor again was definitely at the very top of the misery list.
Thank heavens Conor had insisted she take the pain medicine. At about two a.m., when the nerve-block began to wear off, the intense tingling pins and needles sensation accompanied by pain surging through her whole arm was way worse than she’d expected—even though she’d had plenty of patients complain about it.
Another dose of medicine to get her through the night left her feeling a little woozy in the morning and, as uncomfortable as she was being in his apartment, she had to acknowledge—again—that Conor had been right. If she’d tried to take the subway in to HAOC all by her lonesome to get the cast taken off, or even taken a cab, it would have been hard going, possibly even unsafe.
Except there was one significant problem she had to deal with right now. When Conor had simply and without expression stripped off her oversized sweatshirt so she could sleep comfortably in the camisole and sweats she’d worn yesterday it had been in a fairly low light, and quick enough that she hadn’t had to endure feeling embarrassed, or whatever it was exactly that she’d been feeling, for very long.
This morning. Though... After struggling for a few minutes trying to get a loose short-sleeved shirt on over the giant cast, she huffed out a frustrated breath. Clearly not going to happen. What was it going to be like, trying to get dressed and undressed after the cast was off and a splint had been put on instead? Regardless, she was absolutely not going to ask Conor for help—even if it meant wearing the same clothes for days until her sister came.
Not going to cross that bridge until she came to it. But this bridge had to be crossed right now—because she couldn’t exactly show up at her former workplace with only her thin camisole covering her torso.
“Um... Conor?”
She heard the rattle of cups and walked into the kitchen, ridiculously holding the shirt over her front even though he was facing the sink. As though the man hadn’t seen her half naked last night and totally naked a hundred times in the past.
But they weren’t together anymore, and she just couldn’t feel comfortable walking around with her breasts visible through the thin fabric as if it was no big deal.
“Can you slip this over my head? Can’t quite manage it.”
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Robin Gianna
Can healing his ex-wife… …also mend their marriage? When occupational therapist, Jillian Keyser, breaks her wrist the last thing she wants is treatment from her ex-husband Conor McCarthy. But as a leading orthopedic surgeon, she knows she needs his help! Forced to live again with the man who broke her heart, they discover a new understanding. With their connection as strong as ever, will the Christmas lights over New York shine on their relationship for a second time?
Can healing his ex-wife...
...also mend their marriage?
When occupational therapist Jillian Keyser breaks her wrist, the last thing she wants is treatment from her ex-husband, Conor McCarthy. But as he is a leading orthopedic surgeon, she knows she needs his help! As she is forced to live again with the man who broke her heart, they discover a new understanding. With their connection as strong as ever, will the Christmas lights over New York shine on their relationship for a second time?
After completing a degree in journalism, then working in advertising and mothering her kids, ROBIN GIANNA had what she calls her ‘awakening’. She decided she wanted to write the romance novels she’d loved since her teens, and now enjoys pushing her characters towards their own happily-ever-afters. When she’s not writing Robin fills her life with a happily messy kitchen, a needy garden, a wonderful husband, three great kids, a drooling bulldog and one grouchy Siamese cat.
Also by Robin Gianna (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
It Happened in Paris…
Her Greek Doctor’s Proposal
Her Christmas Baby Bump
The Prince and the Midwife
Reunited with His Runaway Bride
Baby Surprise for the Doctor Prince
The Spanish Duke’s Holiday Proposal
Tempted by the Brooding Surgeon
The Family They’ve Longed For
His Surgeon Under the Southern Lights
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Second Chance with the Surgeon
Robin Gianna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09030-8
SECOND CHANCE WITH THE SURGEON
© 2019 Robin Gianakopoulos
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
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Text to speech
Thank you to Dr. Ray Kobus
for putting my wrist back together again!
Also thanks to the wonderful occupational therapists
who helped me take it from useless, post-surgery, to
close to normal. Kathy, Janet, Paula and Heather—
you all are fun and fabulous! I would have expected
to be thrilled, walking out the door of the therapy
clinic for the last time after three months of visits,
but knowing I wouldn’t be seeing you anymore
made it bittersweet. You all are the best! xoxo
Contents
Cover (#u19506f62-e8f1-5dcb-9b41-cc00edd7d275)
Back Cover Text (#ua570792d-646d-5f48-9ee0-e5f318fb6515)
About the Author (#uc687acd0-f755-5238-b0f4-60089ceb3c8a)
Booklist (#u25e3f741-3d10-58c3-a07b-abaa141fa2c6)
Title Page (#ucf520fa1-befd-5f8a-ae6a-54e789faff69)
Copyright (#u56accc2a-b304-5d1b-8395-601bdbe32f4d)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u1cc3b677-0a85-5af5-b2a2-1e70a789a4dc)
CHAPTER ONE (#u60b24cff-36fe-5fea-ab16-9058d906687c)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubf6be872-6e9f-515d-bfb8-4d32f0180f6a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4bf9200c-aef0-54d1-9092-5265bd43f82a)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
“DOWN! DOWN, HUDSON. DOWN!”
Apparently the dog decided he didn’t need to take her seriously because she was laughing, and he enthusiastically licked her face. She gave up for a moment and hugged his big body. How was it possible he’d grown so huge, when the shelter had guessed he’d be about average-sized? She was pretty sure that average-sized dogs couldn’t slap their paws on your shoulders in greeting, but then again she’d known he was special the second she’d met him.
“You’re such a good boy. I’m happy to see you, too.” She grinned and shoved at his paws to take a quick step sideways—only nearly to trip when her other dog, a Yorkshire Terrier not much bigger than a city rat, bit down on her pant leg.
“No snagging my pants with your little dagger teeth, Yorkie. Off. Off, please!”
She yanked her leg loose and the slight unsteadiness of the movement didn’t embarrass her anymore, the way it had when she’d been a child and even for a long time after she’d had surgery as a teen. Growing up with her legs different lengths hadn’t exactly helped her fit in with the crowd, and had invited the kind of nasty teasing bullies were infamous for. Good thing those days were over. Now most people couldn’t even tell she’d been a misfit for much of her life.
She crouched down to give Yorkie a hug, too, and the rambunctious greeting from her pups made her smile. Nothing like the unconditional love of dogs, was there? You didn’t have to worry whether they really wanted to be with you, or were disappointed in you, or embarrassed by you. They just loved you, period.
“All right, I know you two are bored after being stuck in here all day. But working the early shift means I’m home early today! Plenty of time for a walk before it’s dark.”
The word walk incited yipping and excitement as Jillian walked the six steps it took her to get to the tiny bedroom in her New York City apartment, where she’d barely managed to squeeze in a double bed and a small dresser. It was an apartment that hadn’t been designed to hold two dogs—especially one nearly the size of a motor scooter.
Familiar pain and regret stabbed at her heart when she thought about why she was living there instead of in the much more spacious apartment she and the pups had lived in before. The place they’d shared with her ex-husband until, after barely a year, their marriage had disintegrated. The place she’d heard through the grapevine he’d sold in order to move into an even bigger penthouse apartment in an even more exclusive area of the city. A place she’d fit into even less than she had before.
But there was no point in thinking about that anymore, was there? Her short marriage was over and done with.
From the first second her eyes had met her ex-husband’s she’d felt as if the ground beneath her feet had shifted. It had been an earthquake like nothing she’d experienced before and she hadn’t been able to escape.
It had taken only two dates for her attraction to morph from starry-eyed to head over heels in love with the man, and they had eloped into a dizzyingly fast and wonderful wedding even as her worried inner voice had told her all along it was too good to be true. She had always known, deep inside, that she wasn’t the kind of woman who could measure up to being the wife of a man like super-surgeon, jet-setting, workaholic Dr. Conor McCarthy.
Unbidden, a vision of his dazzling smile, his messy thatch of blond hair and his heartbreakingly handsome face came into her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing all that sexiness to go away. The fact that she just might have to see it for real every day made her stomach physically hurt.
How could she face having to work with him again?
Last week her boss at Occupational Therapy Consultants had told her she had to go back to the company where she’d met and worked with Conor, and the horror of it had made her feel so woozy she’d had to sit down. Apparently OTC was shifting its focus to work exclusively on lower body therapy, instead of hands and wrists, which meant she had to transfer back to HOAC, the hand and arm orthopedic center owned by Conor. She knew that seeing him all the time would rip off the scab on her heart that was still healing, and she feared it might start bleeding all over again if that had to happen.
Escape was the only answer, and she prayed the job interview she had set up for next week in Connecticut would get her out of New York City and away from Conor. Housing there would be a lot cheaper, too, which would mean a bigger place for her and the dogs. And, while she’d miss the city and her friends, a move there would be a good thing.
At least she hoped it would be good. But, regardless, there was no way she could work again at the place where she’d have to see and sometimes share patients with Conor McCarthy.
She drew in a calming breath. No point in worrying about it this second.
Banishing all those scary thoughts from her head, she quickly changed from her work clothes into leggings and sneakers and a snug jacket. It was a surprisingly nice day for December in New York City, and she planned to take advantage of every moment of it before gray skies and cold and snow blanketed the city. To enjoy every minute of this crazy and wonderful place before she had to move away.
When the dogs saw the leashes in her hands their tails wagged so hard their entire rear ends wagged along with them, and Yorkie briefly danced around on his short back legs, helping her smile again. At least she still had these two. The two puppies she and Conor had chosen together at the shelter the very first week after their honeymoon.
Her heart pinched all over again at the memory of that day, and of their seemingly idyllic perfect days together until it all had fallen apart.
“Come on, you two!” she said, practically jogging them to the elevator in her hurry to breathe in some fresh air and banish the depressing thoughts that seemed stuck on repeat. “It’s warmer today than yesterday, so this walk will be a nice long one. Happy about that?”
Tongues hung out in doggie smiles as they moved out to streets still lit by the low evening sun and all walked briskly toward the park, a few blocks away.
When they turned the corner they came face to face with two black dogs almost as big as Hudson, accompanied by a small elderly man. Normally Hudson and Yorkie were good around other dogs, but the second the other two saw her animals they growled and bared their teeth, which sent Yorkie onto his rear legs, barking furiously back.
“It’s okay. Okay, guys,” Jill said.
She turned to see if there was any way they could quickly cross the street. But traffic streamed through the green light, and just as she was tugging the dogs around the light pole to head in a different direction, the aggressive dogs lunged.
Hudson leaped away, pulling Jill with him into a stumble, and Yorkie rushed under his legs toward the other dogs.
Trying to firmly plant her feet, she felt a slight feeling of panic fill her chest as she worked to get her two dogs reined in. She could hear the man shouting, see him trying to control his dogs, but her two had got their leashes wrapped around the light pole, and as she tried to unwrap them she was yanked off her feet.
In one split second she went from standing to slamming onto the hard concrete, catching herself with her right hand, and the moment she hit the sidewalk she cried out at the intense pain radiating up her arm.
Damn it! Squeezing her eyes shut at the searing pain and the reality of the situation, she clutched the leashes with one hand and knew, just knew, without a single doubt, that her wrist was broken. How was she going to handle her dogs now?
“Sorry!” the man said breathlessly.
Jill blinked up at him and could see the light had changed. Thank the Lord he was now hurrying across the street, putting distance between her dogs and his. Gingerly, she rose to a sitting position and frowned down at her already swelling wrist.
A woman leaned over her, grabbed the dogs’ leashes and finished untangling them from the pole and each other. “You okay?”
“Maybe not.”
Shaking now, Jill struggled to get her bag unzipped to fish for her phone. Then she realized she had no one who could come and get the dogs while she went to an ER or to urgent care. Not her OT friends, who never answered their personal phones when they were working. Not her parents, who still lived in her home state of Pennsylvania, nor her sister, who lived in New Jersey and was out of town for work.
And not Conor. Not anymore.
“I need to get home.”
“I’ll help you with your dogs. You live very far?”
“No. Just a couple blocks. Thank you... I... Thanks so much. I’ve hurt my wrist and the dogs might be hard to handle on my own.”
“Happy to help. Come!” The woman gave a quick tug on the dogs’ leashes and they both dutifully came to stand quietly next to her.
“You’re obviously an experienced dog-handler,” Jill said, trying to smile. “And at this moment my guardian angel, I think.”
“Ways to be a guardian angel don’t come by too often, so you’re making my day. Except that you’re hurt, which I’m sure sorry has happened,” she said. “I’m Barbara Smith. You need help getting up?”
“No, I... I’m okay.”
Using her good hand to awkwardly push herself to her feet, Jill knew she was definitely not okay, and prayed it was a simple break. Nothing that would require surgery or weeks of the kind of therapy she helped her own patients with.
But, looking at the odd angle of her wrist, and the fact that it was already discoloring, she had a bad feeling she wouldn’t be that lucky.
“Then show me where you live, dear, so you can get that wrist looked at.”
“It’s just a couple blocks north. I’m Jillian Keyser, by the way.”
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you—but the circumstances aren’t very nice, are they?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Pain still radiating up her arm, she held it protectively against her stomach as they walked the few blocks to her apartment building. She didn’t feel much like talking, which worked out fine because Barbara kept up a cheerful monologue about dogs and the city and the parks she often took her own animals to.
Beyond glad to finally get her pets inside the door, Jill turned to her guardian angel in the flesh. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. Truly. I... I’m not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there when it happened.”
“No thanks necessary. I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Thank you again.”
The door clicked closed. Jill drew several steadying breaths before she struggled one-handedly to get the dogs fresh water, then debated what to do next.
The surgery center she’d worked at before her divorce had some of the best hand and wrist surgeons in New York City. One of them being her ex-husband. She’d been at her job at OTC for ten months, which had given her some idea about the other surgeons out there, but the truth was she felt more comfortable reaching out to someone she knew well. Someone she knew would fit her in right away for an X-ray, and who wouldn’t blab about it to Conor McCarthy if Jill asked her not to.
She grabbed her cell phone, drew another deep breath, then dialed HOAC. The awkwardness of doing it made her think about how hard it was going to be to function with only one usable hand. Her years of working as an occupational therapist had told her a lot about how handicapping it was, but she had a feeling that having her own struggles would be eye-opening.
“Hi, this is Jillian Keyser. I used to be a OT there. Hey, Katy! Yeah, long time no see. Um...can I speak with Dr. Beth Crenshaw? Believe it or not, I’m pretty sure I’ve broken my wrist.”
“Looks like a fairly light surgery schedule today,” Conor McCarthy said to the two other orthopedic surgeons in the men’s locker room as they changed into scrubs.
“Yeah. Glad the snow and ice season is coming. It’s good for business,” Bill Radcliff joked.
Conor couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing Bill was kidding. “Don’t let your patients hear that, or it’ll be all over social media how you like to see people slip and fall so you can fix them up.”
“It’s an unfortunate reality that our jobs entail being there for people after they hurt themselves, and my patients love me for it.” Bill grinned. “Always confounded, though, by the folks who decide to take up running in the winter, instead of getting into the groove while the weather’s nice. Wouldn’t you love to know what percentage end up falling and breaking something?”
“Yeah...”
The mention of runners made Conor think of Jillian, which sent all amusement from his chest, leaving it feeling hollow. A vision of her slender body in running tights or shorts that showed her shapely legs immediately came into his mind, along with her beautiful smile and the cute messy bun she always wore her hair in when she ran.
He’d loved seeing that bun bounce as she ran out the door almost every day, probably trying to make up for not being able to run for so many years. She’d told him that after the leg-length discrepancy she’d been born with had been surgically repaired in her teens, running had been the first thing she’d wanted to do. He’d always admired the hell out of her for her determination to overcome what some would have thought a handicap.
The ache in his chest almost physically hurt, and he dropped his hand when he realized he’d been unconsciously rubbing it over his sternum, as though he could somehow soothe his stupid broken heart. He’d have expected that after nearly a year apart he wouldn’t be reminded of her by the least thing, but obviously he was nowhere near getting over Jillian Keyser.
“You close to finalizing that deal with Urgent Care Manhattan to partner with us? That would be huge, if they could move in next door now that the space is vacant,” Bill said. “We’re all counting on you making it happen.”
“I have a meeting with them today, as a matter of fact. Hoping to close on it soon—before our competition woos them with an offer they think they can’t refuse.”
“I know you have a lot on your plate, but you’re still planning to be chairman once the companies merge, right? With you there, making sure they’re both managed the way they should be, I’ve got my check already written as an investor.”
“Believe me, I’m going to make it happen and I’ll have them running as smooth as a Wall Street banker. So get your checkbook ready.”
Conor took a last swig of coffee and headed toward the OR to find his surgery schedule. Studying the paper in his hand, he walked past several patients being prepped for surgery in cubicles only partly curtained off—and then the sound of a woman speaking caught his ears and he stopped dead.
He turned to see the owner of the melodic voice and felt his heart drop into his stomach. Her body was wrapped in a hospital gown, her usual sweet smile was on her face, and her hair tumbled across her cheek as she exchanged comments with the prep nurse and an anesthesiologist.
“Jillian? What the...?”
She looked up and his eyes met the gorgeous ones he’d missed so much. A mesmerizing mix of green and gray and gold—like clouds on the horizon with the sunlight shimmering through.
Damn it. The connection between them was still there. In spite of everything he could feel the electric zing of it, and his breath caught in his lungs.
Then she blinked, and her gaze shifted to the hallway behind him. Her smile flatlined and her lips twisted into a grimace before she looked at him again, cool now, all that feeling of connection gone.
“Oh. Hi, Conor. I... I broke my wrist. Distal radius fracture. Beth is putting in a plate and screws this morning to put it back together.”
“How? What happened?”
“I took the dogs for a walk. A couple of big dogs weren’t very friendly, Yorkie freaked out, and we got all tangled up—next thing you know, I’m flat on the sidewalk.”
“Ah, hell. Is it your right hand?” He stepped closer to reach for it carefully, and the feel of her soft hand in his felt so good his heart got all twisted up—which bothered him no end.
What was wrong with him? No matter how hard he’d fallen for her, he should never have married Jillian in the first place. He’d learned the hard way that he wasn’t husband material any more than his father had been, obviously having inherited his bad DNA. He’d had a selfish, cold father and a mother who’d twisted herself into knots trying to somehow make his father happy—until the day he’d left. Which had made a bad home situation dramatically worse.
Their eyes met again, and he knew the pain and sadness he saw there had nothing to do with her wrist and everything to do with him. God knew he’d wanted his own marriage to be different. But she’d been right to leave. The last thing a special woman like Jillian needed was to be tied to a man who made her miserable.
Except he couldn’t lie to himself. In the ten months since she’d been gone he’d thought of her every day and every night, missing her even as he’d forcibly reminded himself how much he’d hurt her. Disappointed her.
“Yeah. No fun, but I’ll get through it.”
“Titanium time!” Dr. Beth Crenshaw appeared in the curtained doorway with a grin that faltered a little when she saw Conor standing there. “Hey, Conor. Surprise, surprise, huh?”
“Definitely a surprise.” It took some effort to release Jill’s hand before he folded his arms across his chest. “Why is it no one has told me this happened? That Jill is having surgery here today?”
“Because I asked her not to tell you,” Jill said in a stiff voice. “No reason for you to know.”
The truth of that stabbed his chest all over again. “Maybe not, but I would have liked to know anyway. Who’s taking you home post-op?”
As soon as he asked the question his heart jolted. If she had a new guy Conor hoped and prayed he wouldn’t have to see him with her in Recovery.
“I asked Ellie next door. She’s the only person I know who has a car.”
“Wait. Isn’t she the one who’s about eighty and has a bum knee?”
Her lips twisted again, this time in a wry smile. “I know it’s not ideal, taking advantage of her good nature when she has a tough time getting around. But they won’t let me take a taxi by myself, as you well know.”
“You should have told me you were having trouble finding someone,” Beth said. “I can take you home. You’ll just have to hang around in Recovery until the end of the day. You’ll still be partially out of it for a bit, anyway. I assume you have a friend to take care of you tonight? You know you shouldn’t be alone.”
“I think Kandie from the other office is planning to stop by and check on me at some point. And my sister’s coming sometime later this week. But she’s got a big project at work and can’t take off right now.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t figured all this out already.” Conor looked from Jill to Beth, then back. “She’ll be coming back tomorrow to get the cast off, right? And what about the dogs? Plus, your sister’s work schedule is almost as bad as mine, so how can you count on her to get here soon?”
“You know, I appreciate your concern, but frankly I don’t see how this is any of your business,” Jill said, her chin jutting out with that mulish look he was all too familiar with. At the same time he could see plain as day that she felt anxious about how she was going to manage everything post-op. “The dogs and I will be okay.”
“Considering you’ve seen hundreds of patients, and know how they feel the day the cast comes off and you work with them to make a splint, I’m pretty sure you know how much pain you’ll likely be in. How completely non-functional your arm and hand will be at first. Hudson’s a big lug—not to mention there’s no way you can take them outside for a walk. Not for quite a while—until your bones and the titanium plate and screws have fused. If you fall again before that happens it could be a disaster.”
“I won’t fall. And there are dog-walking services, you know,” Jill said. “I... I didn’t think to look one up before surgery, but I’m sure I can find one. And, like I said, Briana is coming as soon as she can.”
“Let me check to see if there’s a nurse or one of the office staff who wouldn’t mind making some cash by helping you tonight and bringing you back tomorrow. Walking the dogs, too,” Beth said, looking from him to Jill, then back. “Meanwhile, we have to get you into twilight sleep and to the OR—or the whole day’s schedule will be messed up, which nobody wants.”
Obviously Beth’s calm tone was designed to keep Conor from getting upset about this, but it wasn’t working. Jillian might not be his anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still care about her. Wouldn’t worry about her.
“I have a light surgery schedule this morning, so I can take you home,” he said. “Though I do have a—”
Abruptly, he closed his mouth. He’d almost followed his comment about taking her home by telling her he had an appointment at one o’clock with some of the decision-makers from Urgent Care Manhattan, to go over the details of the potential collaboration with HOAC. Telling her that he’d take her home when the meeting was over. But his work and business schedules had been part of the reason why she’d left and how badly he’d failed her.
But this was an emergency, damn it. Much as he hated any delay in getting the deal closed, his competitor shut out and the urgent care department up and running, he’d just have to reschedule the meeting.
“I’ll come to Recovery as soon as I’m done with my last surgery and I’ll take you home. Get you settled.”
“Conor, no.” Despite her obvious need, her beautiful eyes widened in clear dismay. “I—”
“Perfect,” Beth interrupted cheerfully. “I’ll meet you in Recovery. And now, Jill, it’s time for Dr. Fixit to fix you up.”
Jillian opened her pretty lips to protest more, which tightened his chest. Was it really that horrifying for her to have to spend a few hours with him?
Conor watched the anesthesiologist administer twilight anesthesia through Jill’s IV. Her long lashes swept her cheeks as her lids slid closed, and he forced himself to turn away from her beautiful face in sweet repose. She looked very much as she had back when he’d held her in his arms every night as she fell asleep.
Damn. That ache pressed in on his chest again, but at the same time his heart strangely, bizarrely, lifted. He was going to get to be with her this evening for the first time in nearly a year. Drugged up and in pain, she wouldn’t be like the smiling Jillian he’d loved. But knowing that she needed help, that he could be there for her at least for a few hours, made him feel better than he’d felt in a long time.
And never mind that the hollow loneliness he knew he’d experience when he went back to his regular life without her in it might feel every bit as bad as when she’d first left.
CHAPTER TWO (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
CONOR DOUBLE-PARKED IN the loading zone outside Jillian’s apartment building and prayed he wouldn’t get a ticket—or, worse, towed. Presumably it wouldn’t take long to get her into her apartment and comfortable, and he could get the car to the parking garage down the street after that.
He jumped out of the car and ran around to open the passenger door. “Okay, I know you’re still feeling weak and weird, so I’m going to hold you up in case your legs feel wobbly.”
Her eyes blinked up at him and she nodded. He reached into the car to place his hands around her waist, pretty much lifting her out of the seat—which wasn’t easy, considering she couldn’t help much and he was worried about jostling her arm. Not that he needed to be concerned that he’d hurt her. It was covered in a cast and an elastic cover and would stay totally numb from the nerve-block for at least twelve hours.
“You’re doing great,” he said as she walked slowly beside him to the front doors of the building, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her steady.
Thank God he’d had the foresight to get her keys before they got out of the car. It would have been a serious juggling match trying to get them out of the pocket of the jacket he’d draped over her shoulders without her falling down right there on the concrete steps.
Once they were in the building, maneuvering her to her apartment wasn’t difficult. He’d only been there once—the day he’d brought the dogs over to live with her after she’d moved out—but he remembered exactly where it was. Had often pictured her there when he was lying in bed at night. Wondering how she was doing. Wishing he was a different kind of man. Wishing things could have gone differently for them. Wishing she hadn’t stubbornly refused any money from him so she could live in a bigger place. He had hoped she was happier now, even as the thought of her being happy with someone else tore him up inside.
The moment he unlocked her door he heard the dogs running across the hardwood floor. Worried that Hudson might accidentally knock her over in her current wobbly state, he turned her sideways and put his body in between them as a buffer, reaching to scratch the dog’s head.
“Sit, Hudson. That’s a good dog. Good boy.”
It tugged at his heart that the dog obviously remembered him, whining and thrashing his tail back and forth so hard his hind end went along with it. Yorkie leaped up and down on his short legs, too, equally excited to see him.
Damn it. Letting down Jillian had been the worst, but the dogs’ happy greeting reminded him he’d let them down, too. She’d wanted them to have dogs and he’d gone along with it. Had wanted her to be happy. Wanted to know what it would be like to live a completely different kind of life from the one he’d grown up in. To love someone who loved you back and have a family that was always there for one another.
Instead he’d turned out to be a bad husband and bad dog dad, incapable of giving any of them what they needed. Thank God they hadn’t had children for him to hurt, too. He’d failed at being there for his mother the way he should have been, and he had failed at being there for Jillian.
That dismal reality had shown him that the focus of his life had to be only on what he was good at—and that was surgery and business and building his bank account and portfolio. Lonely, maybe, but at least he wouldn’t hurt the people he loved. He believed providing for them financially, for their future, was the best way to show his love.
Jillian hadn’t agreed.
“Sit. Sit, you two.”
He held up his hand to signal that he meant it, the way the dog trainers had shown him and Jill when they’d first gotten the puppies. Jillian tripping over the excited animals on their way to the sofa would not be good, and he was both glad and surprised that they actually did as he told them to.
“Jill, we’re going to walk to the sofa. I’ll be holding on to you, so try not to trip over Yorkie if he jumps around again.”
“Okay. I’m not as unsteady as you think I am.”
“That’s good. But I’ll hold on to you anyway.”
Because the feel of her body in his arms felt better than anything had in a long time, even as the ache of his failures burned in his chest.
He eased her down on to the sofa. “You feel like sitting for a while? Or do you want to lie down in bed?”
“I feel okay. Just groggy. But I want to wake up, not go to sleep. Once I’m feeling more alert you can head on home. Or back to work, probably.”
“I don’t have any surgeries or patients to see this afternoon. And I canceled a meeting I had scheduled, so I’m all yours.”
Or he had been once.
But for today, at least, he had this chance to be there for Jillian in a way he hadn’t during their marriage, although at the same time he somehow needed to keep a cool head and an emotional distance. Except looking at her now, with her arm in its huge cast, her hair all messy and her expression a little vulnerable, he wanted to scoop her into his arms, sit on that sofa and hold her close. Kiss her face and stroke her hair until she relaxed against him.
Bad idea for both of them.
He cleared his throat. “You hungry? How about a little soup and toast, or something like that?”
“Maybe in a little bit. I’ll just sit here for now. Why don’t you take the dogs out? Their leashes are in that basket by the front door.”
“Okay. Come on, you goofs.”
Wagging tails and little leaps from Yorkie had him smiling despite the weight he felt in his chest at being here. At the memories of him and Jill during happy times together. He’d never expected to be a dog person, but he had loved spending time with them. Loved seeing how much Jill enjoyed them. In some ways that seemed like a long time ago, and in other ways it seemed like yesterday that they’d lived together and loved one another until it had all imploded.
Heaving a sigh, he took the dogs outside. They were better behaved on their walk than he remembered them being as puppies, and he had time to ponder how it was going to work out, him helping Jill. He was pretty confident that she’d be okay on her own most of the time, so long as he saw her every morning and evening and took care of the dogs until her sister showed up.
Problem was her apartment was a long way from work, while his was just a couple blocks away from the surgery center. Somehow he’d have to find extra hours in the day, or look for someone to walk the dogs.
The animals were panting by the time they got back to Jill’s door, and he pulled her key from his pocket and tried to open the door quietly, in case she was sleeping—then wondered why he’d bothered when both dogs leaped into the room, making all kinds of racket on the wood floor.
Her eyes were closed when he looked across the room at her, but her lids lifted and she sent him a surprisingly sweet smile. Probably because the drugs hadn’t worn off enough for her to remember that she didn’t like him much anymore.
“Seems like you just left. Were the dogs good?”
“Really good. You’ve done a nice job training them.”
“Don’t think I can take a lot of credit. They just needed to mature a little bit. But they still have their moments, believe me.”
“Moments like when they get upset at other dogs and get tangled up and make you fall and break your wrist?”
“Yeah. Like that.”
Her lips curved even more, into the kind of laughing smile he’d fallen for like a ton of bricks when they’d first met, and it felt good to smile back.
He stepped closer and crouched down in front of her. “How you feeling?”
“Arm feels like someone attached a log to me. Can’t feel it at all yet. Sometimes I forget and lean down, then it swings out and I have to grab it back. I know you always tell patients that’s what it’ll feel like, but I’ve gotta tell you... Much as it makes me want to laugh when I lose control of it, it feels super-weird.”
“It’ll be numb like that for at least another eight or nine hours. Then it’ll feel tingly, like you’ve laid on it funny and it’s gone to sleep. Then it’ll finally feel normal.”
“I think you mean my new normal—for now. Painful and immobile.”
“Yeah.” He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t reach out and tuck those wisps of hair behind her ears, as he would have before. “You feel like eating something now? I can get some soup from the deli? Or does something else sound good?”
“Something light, like soup and crackers, sounds perfect.”
“You got it.”
It would be good to have something to do besides talk with her and look at her. From the first moment he’d seen her in the occupational therapy room two years ago, he felt like he’d been smacked in the head by some unexplainable force. She’d stood up from the table, her athletic runner’s body in a slim-fitting dress, and her laughter at something her patient had said slipped into his chest. When her beautiful gray-green eyes had lifted to meet his he could have sworn his heart completely stopped.
Looking down at her now, he felt waves of tenderness mingle with memories of that day. He wished that he could take away the pain he knew she’d be in as soon as the brachial plexus block wore off. Felt the desire to pull her close, to take care of her, to make all that pain go away.
“I’ll be right back.”
He made himself turn away before he reached for her, and then left for the deli. He chose two kinds of the soup he knew she liked, and a bagful of crackers. When he came back and opened the door to her apartment he stopped abruptly when he saw she wasn’t on the sofa, and neither one of the dogs were in sight, either.
No way would she have decided to venture out while still half drugged up. Would she?
A panicked sensation rose in his chest and he strode to the galley kitchen, shoved the food onto the counter, then moved to her bedroom. “Jill? Jilly?”
One of the dogs whined before she answered. “In here. The bathroom. I... Go ahead and come in.”
He pushed open the door. Was stunned to see both dogs and Jillian sitting on the floor of the tiny room. Her sweatpants were twisted around her thighs and her good hand was held to her forehead.
He dropped to his knees. “What the hell happened? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Kind of. I’m so stupid. I had to go to the bathroom, and while I was sitting here I dropped the new roll of toilet paper. I leaned over to get it. Forgot all about my arm. It flung forward and dragged me off the toilet. I landed right on my cast and hit my head on the wall. Kind of funny, really.”
She sent him an adorable crooked smile and his heart squeezed even tighter. He grasped her wrist to lift her palm from her forehead. “Let me see.”
“Just a bump. Not a big deal.”
“Maybe not compared to your broken wrist, but it still hurts, I bet.” He wanted to lean down and kiss the offending red lump, and drew in a deep breath to quell the urge. “Let’s get some ice on it.”
He wrapped his arm around her back to help her up, and realized she was having trouble standing.
“You hurt your leg, too?”
“No. I just... I couldn’t get my stupid pants pulled up using only one hand while sitting on the floor.”
He lifted her to her feet. “Hang on to the sink while I finish pulling them up so you can walk.”
“This is ridiculously embarrassing,” she said, her face now stained pink and no longer smiling. “My ex-husband having to pull up my pants.”
“Just think of me as your doctor. Not a big deal.”
Logically, it shouldn’t be. But the truth...? The sight of the smooth skin of her thighs, of her round rear peeking out from beneath her panties and all the memories it conjured, made him want to tug those pants down, not up, and touch her and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.
He gritted his teeth and pulled up the sweatpants as fast as possible, before lifting her into his arms to move them toward the sofa. The scent of her wafted to his nose and he breathed her in. Who’d have thought the woman could smell so good after being in surgery and then Recovery half the day? But it wasn’t perfume, it was simply her, and he remembered it so well it seemed they’d been holding one another just yesterday.
Damn it.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“Yes, but this is easier and faster, and there’s no risk of additional injury.” He sat her on the sofa again. “I’ll get some ice for your head, then you can have some soup.”
“I don’t need ice. It’s just a little lump.”
“Trust the doctor. You need to ice it.”
“I see Dr. Bossy is alive and well.”
Her pretty lips tipped into a smile as she rolled her eyes and the tightness in his chest loosened. He had to grin, remembering all the times she’d given him that look.
“I consider the nickname Dr. Bossy to be a compliment. Where are your plastic bags?”
“In the second drawer, next to the refrigerator.”
Once a bag was filled with ice and wrapped in a towel he sat close beside her. Slipped strands of hair away from the bruise before he placed the bag on it. Their eyes met and he nearly forgot to place the bag on her injury, wanting so much to kiss her instead.
“That’s cold!”
Thank God for that distraction.
“Ice generally is cold. It’ll help with the swelling and make it feel better.”
“Yeah, well, right now my forehead hurts way more from the ice than the bruise.”
“Once your skin is numb it won’t hurt anymore.”
“Says the surgeon who lies to his patients about pain every day.”
“Lies to my patients? I never lie. I may downplay what they’re going to experience so they don’t freak out, but I never lie.”
“You forget I’ve heard you talk to patients when they’re in occupational therapy.” Her voice went into a bass tone. “Well, sir, your bones are healing nicely and the ligaments are stretching out well. In no time your fingers are going to be playing the piano again. You don’t play piano? Well, because of my magical surgical skills now you will.”
He had to laugh at her words and her cutely ridiculous expression. “I don’t believe I’ve ever said that to a patient.”
“No? I do sometimes. It’s an occupational therapy joke that most people enjoy.”
“And that’s one of the many reasons why your patients think you’re wonderful.”
He knew they did. Her numerous thank-you notes and high patient satisfaction scores proved that. He’d always thought she was pretty wonderful, too, even though she hadn’t believed it.
“Feeling any less painful?”
“Um...yes, actually.”
He watched her lids slide closed and held himself very still so he wouldn’t stroke her soft cheek or lean in to kiss her, which he suddenly wanted to do more than he wanted to breathe.
“Thank you. I’ll take over holding it now.” Her hand covered his on the ice before he slid his away.
“I’ll warm your soup. Which do you want—chicken noodle or tomato basil?”
“I love both—as you know.” She opened her eyes and turned to him, her expression serious. “I appreciate all this. I do. It’s... awkward me being here with you, and I know it’s awkward for you, too. I’m sorry about that. But I realize you were right. You bringing me home was lots better than trying to have my neighbor do it. She wouldn’t have been able to steady me the way you did. Or pick me up off the floor and bring me food, and walk the dogs and all. So thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. I...we might not be together anymore, but I’ll always care about you.”
And the truth of that made his throat close and sent him to the kitchen to busy himself and get her some food before he showed her exactly how much he still cared.
He helped her move to one of the two chairs at the tiny table placed at one end of the living room. “You comfortable enough to eat here? Or do you want to sit in your armchair and drink the soup from a mug?”
“This is okay. Smells wonderful.”
“I’ll take the dogs out again while you eat. Don’t try to get up until I get back, promise? We won’t be gone long.”
She nodded, and he escaped with an urge to kiss the top of her head before he went, as he often had when he’d left for work or meetings in the past.
The dogs were excited to be outside again, and he wondered how often Jill had to walk them. Did she take them on her runs sometimes? Probably only Hudson would be up for that. Yorkie might have a big attitude, but there was no way his short little legs could handle the miles Jill logged.
Probably he should keep the dogs out longer, but he felt an uncomfortable niggle, worrying about Jill and how she was doing all alone, and hurried back after only about twenty minutes.
Seeing her still sitting at the table when he nudged open the door had him smiling in relief.
“I see you’re being a good patient.”
“Did you doubt me?”
The smile she sent back held a hint of the mischievous Jill he’d adored.
“I’m limiting myself to one event per day of finding myself on the floor.”
“How about trying for zero events? The first one about gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m still sitting here, aren’t I? By the way, Kandie called and she said she can stop by after work tonight to check on me, see if I need anything. How would you feel about taking the dogs to your place until Briana gets here? I mean, I know you’re super-busy, but you can hire a dog walker to take them out while you’re at work. It...it wouldn’t be for long.”
How much he didn’t want to leave her or the dogs shocked him, and his feet seemed rooted to the floor even as he’d been thinking about how difficult it was to be here with her.
“Is Kandie spending the night?”
“No, of course not. She has a young son, and there’s no reason for her to do that.”
“Post-op orders are for you not to be alone tonight.”
“I feel okay. Barely woozy from the pain meds now. I’ll be fine.”
“Is the woman who just fell in the bathroom actually saying this?” He stared at her. “You’ll need to take meds when you go to bed, to help with the pain when the block wears off. And what if you fall again with nobody here?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“It did happen—and, since you’re a smart woman, you know that’s not something you can assume.”
He folded his arms across his chest, ignoring her mulish expression. Two could play at the stubborn game, and he had no intention of losing because the thought of her lying hurt and alone chilled his blood.
He realized there was only one solution that would solve the problem, difficult though it might be.
“You and the dogs are coming home with me, and staying there until your sister comes.”
CHAPTER THREE (#uef8002e9-1011-5f4a-841c-d7283ce3b4e4)
JILL’S HEART BUMPED hard against her ribs, then seemed to stop for a moment before revving up again. Stay at Conor’s place? Be close to him for hours on end, reminded of all the good and bad parts of their marriage and why it had fallen apart?
“No.” A feeling of panic filled her chest. “I’m not doing that. Period.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. I live just a couple blocks from HOAC. Tomorrow morning you’ll get your cast off and have a splint made, then you’ll be able to easily go back to my apartment and get some rest.”
“No. There’s no way—”
“Listen to me.”
He pulled the other chair close to her and leaned forward. His expression was earnest and determined, and she’d learned from the past that trying to fight him when he’d made up his mind would be like beating her head against a brick wall, bringing another bruise. But that kind of bruise wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly as the one on her heart.
“I get that you want to limit how much time we spend together—I do, too, to be honest. But remember my work hours that you hated so much? I’ll hardly be around—just enough to make sure you’re okay overnight. To walk with you to your appointment tomorrow morning. I’ll find someone who wants to make some extra cash by checking on you when I’m not there and walking the dogs. It’ll work out until your sister gets here. By then you’ll be off the pain meds and able to stay alone.”
She absorbed his words. The logic behind them. Her apartment was a good half-hour trek away from the center on the subway. When the numbness wore off and her cast was replaced by a splint she’d be in pain and still a little drugged up. Plus, she knew from talking with her patients that the challenge of trying to function with one hand wasn’t going to be easy—especially with no one around to help.
Time for her to act like the mature and reasonable woman she was trying to be. The one who was fighting her insecurities and who didn’t want or need a relationship until she’d dealt with all the baggage her marriage to Conor had proved she still carried around.
And maybe it wouldn’t be too awful. He worked so much she’d probably hardly see him. Finding someone else to help her and take care of the dogs, with him basically an overnight watchdog for the next few days, was the logical solution.
Rock versus hard place. That described the situation to a T. She couldn’t deny that trying to stay here alone, with her arm still in the nerve block, and then somehow making her way to the orthopedic center all by herself in the morning wouldn’t be easy, even if she took a taxi.
“All right.” She heaved out a resigned sigh, shoving down the dread that came along with it. “I know you’re right. I shouldn’t be alone right now. Just for a day or two, though. Then I’ll come back here, and you can keep the dogs until Briana comes.”
“Thank you.” He stood and looked down at her, his expression hard to read. “I’ll clean up the dishes while you rest.”
Hating this whole scene, she reached for her spoon but managed to knock it off the table instead. Apparently clumsiness was part of this whole experience, and she sighed as she leaned over to pick it up off the floor. As she did so, her stupid dead arm swung out.
Yorkie had been standing there, waiting to see if some treat might be offered, and her arm in its heavy cast hit the poor pup right on his little nose, knocking him sideways to the floor as he yelped.
“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry! Aw, come here, Yorkie.” She reached out her good hand and was glad he came over to let her pet him, clearly not holding a grudge.
“Damn. That thing is a lethal weapon,” Conor said as he stepped away from the sink. He reached for her numb arm, currently held in a sling, and placed it back against her stomach. “Poor dog. And poor you.”
He gathered up Yorkie, tucked him under his arm and scratched behind his ears, with an indulgent smile on his face which sent another stab to her chest.
This was the sweetness she’d fallen head over heels in love with. The thoughtful and considerate man who had treated her like a princess during that brief month they’d dated before they’d impulsively, excitingly, got married. The man who hadn’t even particularly wanted the dogs, never having had a pet, but who’d wanted her to be happy. And then had seemed to so enjoy playing with them for the few hours a week he’d been free.
A thick lock of blond hair tumbled onto his forehead as he talked to Yorkie, and remembering how they’d felt about each other not too long ago made her heart pinch. How in the world were they going to handle spending time together again?
A deep fatigue crept through her bones and she found herself folding her good arm onto the table and leaning her head on it. Tonight and the next few days couldn’t go by fast enough.
A large hand rested softly on her temple, its fingers caressing the top of her head. “You’ve had a big day. Let’s get your overnight things packed up. The sooner you can get to bed, the better.”
“All right. But you don’t need to help. I can do it.”
“Three hands are better than one.” He sent her a lopsided grin. “Show me where your suitcase is and we’ll get it done.”
It seemed to take longer than it should to pack a few clothes and toiletries, but of course there were the dogs’ things to get, too. Their beds, with Hudson’s being a big armful, their food and bowls, their leashes... Finally Conor had everything stowed in the car and had come back to help her to the curb.
“You want me to water your plants before we go?”
“Water my plants?” She stared, astonished he would have thought of that. “You never even liked all the plants I brought to...to our apartment before.”
“Just wasn’t used to having living things around that needed attention.” His smile disappeared. “And that was a poor choice of words, wasn’t it?”
She knew he was referring to her. To her neediness and insecurities during their marriage. Something she wasn’t proud of. “Accurate choice. And I’m working on all that.”
“Nothing you ever needed to work on. I told you that. It was all me.”
Not true, and she knew it, but it was ancient history. “Anyway... I just watered the plants a few days ago, so they’ll be fine until I get back.”
“Let’s go, then.”
He helped her down the narrow stairwell of her apartment, then eased her into the plush front seat of his car. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze to get both dogs in the back seat, but they’ll be okay, don’t you think?”
“They haven’t been in a car since...you know. When you brought them here.” Lord, this was feeling more awkward by the moment. “But I think they’ll be fine.”
In minutes he’d returned with the dogs, who bounded into the back seat with excitement. Jillian had to laugh at how comical it was to see Hudson pretzeled in there, but his doggie grin showed he didn’t mind a bit.
“This reminds me of a clown car,” she said, glad to have the dogs to talk about. “How many Hudsons can you fit in a luxury sedan?”
“I believe the answer is one.” Conor grinned as he slid into the driver’s seat. The purr of the powerful engine competed with the sounds of the city as they drove through streets now brightly lit through the dark night sky.
Jillian wanted to ask where his new apartment was, but decided to stay silent, since she’d be finding out soon enough. Besides, he’d said it was close to HOAC, and that was only one block away from Central Park.
The car came to a stop in front of an old stone apartment building and Jillian’s throat closed. Yes, the man had upgraded all right. As though his last apartment hadn’t been prestigious enough...
“Your new apartment is off Fifth Avenue? Wow.”
“It’s a good location for work and a good investment.”
He slid out of the car as a valet came from the building. She could see him talking to the man, who nodded and opened the back door to get the dogs as Conor helped her from her seat.
“Alfred will bring your suitcase and the dogs’ stuff up, then get the car parked.”
“You’ve really been slumming it, having to juggle with illegal parking in front of my place and walking up and down a bunch of crooked steps, haven’t you?” she said, trying to bring some levity into this distinctly uncomfortable situation.
“I slummed it for plenty years of my life,” he said quietly. “And you’re the one who wouldn’t accept any money from me after our divorce. Which still upsets me. I wanted you to live in a better and bigger place, but you hated me too much to take even a cent.”
“I never hated you. I just felt there was no reason for you to give me anything. Our marriage was a mistake for both of us and I just wanted to move on, like it didn’t happen.”
“But it did happen.” He held her hand and looked down at her. “And I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know that I made you so unhappy.”
If felt as if her heart was shaking inside her chest. They’d both contributed to their mutual miseries, hadn’t they? Definitely not all his fault. Something she’d come to see even more clearly over the past ten months.
“Conor, listen. I—”
The dogs leaped from the car, with Alfred holding their leashes, and Conor stepped over to take them. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been going to say, but was glad the dogs had interrupted. Everything had been said that needed to be said—or at least most of it. Hashing over it again would make both of them sad or mad or critical or defensive—just like before. None of those emotions would accomplish a thing—especially considering she had to stay at his apartment for a night or two.
Cool and calm was the way to go. Starting now.
Conor led the way to the elevator, which opened on to a floor with only two doors in the hallway. Obviously his new place was way bigger than even his other apartment. He unlocked one of the doors and gestured for her to go inside.
“I’ll keep the dogs out here for a second, so they don’t knock you over on the way in.”
“They’re not that bad. Though it’s true that they seem pretty excited to be checking out a new place.”
It was like stepping into something from a magazine. He’d clearly decided to start over completely, since not a single thing in the entire space looked familiar. Modern furniture in neutral tones sat near floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the twinkling lights of the city, and beyond the curve of the windows was a huge kitchen with an island and bar stools. It was surprisingly as comfortable-looking as it was breathtaking, and she wondered how his designer had accomplished that feat.
A familiar hollow feeling weighed down her stomach. The same weight she’d carried to every highbrow event they’d attended, knowing she’d never fit in to Conor McCarthy’s life.
“It’s...beautiful. Really gorgeous. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I like it.” He unleashed the dogs, who instantly ran around, sniffing the room, then grasped her elbow. “How about sitting down until Alfred brings your things? Then you should take your pain meds and get to bed.”
“Okay. I admit I feel pretty tired.”
“I’d offer you a glass of the wine you like, but it’s not a good idea to mix it with drugs,” he said, a slight smile curving his mouth.
“Are you sure? Because a glass of wine sounds pretty good.”
She was kidding, though at that moment she thought maybe mixing alcohol and painkillers would be a good way for her to completely pass out and not have to deal with how strange this felt.
He shook his head, probably knowing exactly how she was feeling since he doubtless felt the same way. Soon Alfred brought everything up, and Conor placed the dog beds at one end of the room, then filled their water bowls and placed them on the stone-tiled kitchen floor. Enthusiastic slurping by Hudson left puddles all around it.
“Being the neatnik you are, I guess you’re glad to not to have to deal with doggie messes anymore.”
“I got used to the messes. The dogs were always fun to be around.”
But she hadn’t been so fun to be around, which was why he’d been gone all the time.
The words came into her head but she fiercely banished them. This was the baggage she had to unload. These damned insecurities that flew into her head with the least provocation. Making a simple statement about the dogs, making small talk, didn’t mean she should take it personally, the way she had before. That had to stop.
“I...um...guess I’ll go to bed now.”
“Good idea. I’ll show you your room. Mine’s at the end of the hall. If you need me for anything in the middle of the night, just yell.”
“I’ll be okay.” And even if she wasn’t she wouldn’t call for him unless it was a dire emergency.
He carried her small suitcase as he led her down a hallway covered with lush carpeting, then went through the door of yet another beautiful room with a different view of the city. Two chairs and a table formed a small sitting area in one corner, with a large bed in the center, and another door that doubtless led to a bathroom.
He set her suitcase on a folding thing obviously designed for that purpose. “Okay if I get your things out? I want you to take the pain pills right now, so they’re working when the plexus block starts to wear off. Then I’ll help you undress.”
Her eyes lifted to his. They held only a cool detachment. No sign of what the words had made her feel, which was her belly jumping, her breath catching and her heart beating a little harder.
“I’m sure I can get ready by myself.”
“Yeah? With that thing on your arm and it held in a sling? No way.”
“Then I’ll just sleep in what I’m wearing,” she said. “I won’t be the first patient to arrive at the clinic wearing the same clothes they wore for surgery.”
“Suit yourself. But you’re going to be overly warm and uncomfortable in that sweatshirt. And you’ll need something with no sleeve to wear over the cast tomorrow when they take it off.” He shrugged, seeming to not care one way or the other.
She knew he was right—damn it. “Fine. Can you pull the sleeve off over my cast?”
He did as she asked, carefully removing the sling, then pulling the sleeve off her arm before reaching for the bottom of her sweatshirt. He gently slipped it up and over her head, exposing the camisole she wore beneath. He seemed to be concentrating on the sweatshirt, but when his eyes met hers for a long, suspended moment his expression made it hard to breathe, and she was beyond glad when he turned to grab her toiletries bag from her suitcase.
“I’ll get you some water for the pain meds.”
The speed with which he strode from the room told her she hadn’t imagined it. This crazy situation was reminding both of them of things better left forgotten.
He returned with a glass of water and wordlessly handed it to her. “Take a drink, then I’ll hold the glass and you can pop the pills.”
Even taking pills with only one hand required either help or juggling, and she hoped and prayed her hand would be usable sooner than some of her patients experienced.
“Thanks.”
“Think you’ll need help to go to the bathroom?”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”
Her face burned all over again, and she could feel his eyes on her as she went into the chic bathroom and closed the door, leaning back against it. She stared at her toothbrush and toothpaste, sitting on the counter, and wondered how she was going to manage to put paste on the brush with only one hand, or wash her face.
Lord. How had her world gotten so messed up in one split second? No doubt about it—the next few days, and longer, were going to be misery in more ways than one.
And being close to Conor again was definitely at the very top of the misery list.
Thank heavens Conor had insisted she take the pain medicine. At about two a.m., when the nerve-block began to wear off, the intense tingling pins and needles sensation accompanied by pain surging through her whole arm was way worse than she’d expected—even though she’d had plenty of patients complain about it.
Another dose of medicine to get her through the night left her feeling a little woozy in the morning and, as uncomfortable as she was being in his apartment, she had to acknowledge—again—that Conor had been right. If she’d tried to take the subway in to HAOC all by her lonesome to get the cast taken off, or even taken a cab, it would have been hard going, possibly even unsafe.
Except there was one significant problem she had to deal with right now. When Conor had simply and without expression stripped off her oversized sweatshirt so she could sleep comfortably in the camisole and sweats she’d worn yesterday it had been in a fairly low light, and quick enough that she hadn’t had to endure feeling embarrassed, or whatever it was exactly that she’d been feeling, for very long.
This morning. Though... After struggling for a few minutes trying to get a loose short-sleeved shirt on over the giant cast, she huffed out a frustrated breath. Clearly not going to happen. What was it going to be like, trying to get dressed and undressed after the cast was off and a splint had been put on instead? Regardless, she was absolutely not going to ask Conor for help—even if it meant wearing the same clothes for days until her sister came.
Not going to cross that bridge until she came to it. But this bridge had to be crossed right now—because she couldn’t exactly show up at her former workplace with only her thin camisole covering her torso.
“Um... Conor?”
She heard the rattle of cups and walked into the kitchen, ridiculously holding the shirt over her front even though he was facing the sink. As though the man hadn’t seen her half naked last night and totally naked a hundred times in the past.
But they weren’t together anymore, and she just couldn’t feel comfortable walking around with her breasts visible through the thin fabric as if it was no big deal.
“Can you slip this over my head? Can’t quite manage it.”
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Robin Gianna
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 23.04.2024
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О книге: Can healing his ex-wife… …also mend their marriage? When occupational therapist, Jillian Keyser, breaks her wrist the last thing she wants is treatment from her ex-husband Conor McCarthy. But as a leading orthopedic surgeon, she knows she needs his help! Forced to live again with the man who broke her heart, they discover a new understanding. With their connection as strong as ever, will the Christmas lights over New York shine on their relationship for a second time?