Italian Doctor, Sleigh-Bell Bride. Sarah Morgan

no babysitter and no inclination to go to the ball. Nor do I have stepsisters, ugly or otherwise.’

      ‘Invite Stefano Lucarelli.’

      ‘Oh please! If I want public humiliation, I’ll just strip naked. I have no intention of embarrassing both of us by issuing an invitation he will certainly reject.’

      ‘He might not. He was looking at you.’

      ‘He was probably wondering why someone with hips like mine hasn’t gone on a diet.’

      ‘You don’t need to diet!’ Anna looked at her thoughtfully. ‘He noticed you, Liv.’

      ‘Anna, he walked in while we were hugging and talking about sex,’ Liv reminded her wearily. ‘Of course he noticed me. It probably classes as one of the most embarrassing moments of my career.’

      Anna ignored her. ‘He’s single at the moment, can you believe that? I don’t get it. I mean, he’s super-wealthy. His family owns some enormous construction business in Italy. There’s no justice in the world, is there? Rich and good-looking is very unfair.’

      ‘Anna, you’re a married woman with two children.’

      Anna ignored that, too. ‘Apparently he was dating some glossy Italian actress but rumour has it that he ditched her because she was insisting on moving in with him. He’s only been in the country for a month. He might be glad of a night out before Christmas.’

      ‘He certainly strikes me as a man who needs help finding women.’ Her tone sarcastic, Liv lifted a hand. ‘Enough. End of subject. Do you and Dave want the tickets, or do I sell them?’

      Rachel appeared in the doorway, her face pale. ‘Ambulance Control just called and they’re bringing in a man who was kicked on the rugby field. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not work in Resus again today.’ Her voice was high-pitched and decidedly wobbly. ‘Dr Lucarelli was a bit…sharp.’

      Anna straightened. ‘Injuries?’

      Rachel looked at her blankly. ‘None. Except my pride, I suppose. I mean he was really—’

      ‘The patient,’ Anna interrupted her wearily. ‘What are the patient’s injuries, Rachel? And it’s Mr Lucarelli, not “Dr”. He’s a trained surgeon. Surgeons are “Mr”, remember?’

      ‘Oh. Right.’ Rachel cleared her throat. ‘That patient was kicked.’

      ‘Yes, but where?’

      ‘He has breathing problems,’ Rachel said vaguely and Liv gritted her teeth and handed Anna the keys to the drug cupboard.

      ‘I’ll take this one. Call the trauma team and ask Mr Lucarelli to come to Resus.’

      ‘I’ll send Sue to help you,’ Anna muttered. ‘Rachel, you and I need to have a chat.’

      Leaving Anna to deal with the hapless Rachel, Liv pushed open the doors that led to the high-tech resuscitation room.

      Always prepared for an emergency, the room was kept stocked and ready for patients and Liv was pulling on an apron and a pair of gloves when Stefano Lucarelli strode into the room.

      He looked straight at her and for one brief, disturbing moment, neither of them spoke.

      For sheer raw impact, she’d never met a man like him. Neither had she ever experienced the blaze of sexual awareness that suddenly flooded her body.

      Mortified, she turned away quickly, her heart pounding and her face scarlet, just furious with herself for being so predictable. The man must be so tired of women staring at him. It was just that stupid conversation with Anna, she told herself crossly, pulling open a cupboard and removing the sterile pack she thought they might need.

      Talking about sex had made her think about sex, and thinking about sex had made her—

       Oh for crying out loud!

      ‘Apparently the paramedics reported that the patient has some respiratory problems,’ she said crisply, keeping her head in the cupboard for slightly longer than was necessary to give the colour in her cheeks time to fade, ‘so I thought it might be wise to have a thoracotomy pack ready.’

      ‘Good.’ But there was a sharp edge to his voice that made her wonder whether she was about to become another casualty of his legendary high standards.

      The doors to Resus flew open and the patient arrived along with the rest of the trauma team.

      Swiftly and smoothly they transferred the patient onto the trolley and Stefano Lucarelli took charge, demanding silence from the entire team with a single sweeping glance.

      He had presence, Liv admitted to herself, as each person around the trolley quietly busied themselves with their allotted tasks, while listening to the paramedic’s handover. He was confident, but he didn’t swagger like Greg Hampton, one of the more junior doctors. But neither was he as approachable like Phil, the other casualty officer who was currently looking for a vein in the patient’s arm.

      Working on automatic, Liv attached BP, cardiac and oximetry monitors to the patient and the paramedic collected his own equipment and left the room.

      Stefano glanced at the monitor, a frown on his handsome face as he swiftly assessed the readings. ‘Phil, put in two lines and send blood for immediate cross-matching. I want all clothes covering the front and sides of the chest removed.’ He had an unmistakable air of authority that communicated itself to all the staff in the room and Liv cut through the man’s clothing and reached for warm blankets to prevent him developing hypothermia.

      ‘His respiratory rate is thirty-eight and it’s very shallow.’

      ‘He’s in respiratory distress.’ Stefano examined the man’s chest and Liv noticed that Phil was watching out of the corner of his eye. Although he’d only been working in the emergency department for a few months, Phil soaked up information and never missed an opportunity to learn.

      And there would be plenty to learn from Stefano, Liv thought, watching the way he examined the patient.

      ‘There’s a great deal of bruising,’ she murmured, looking at the purplish marks on the man’s ribs and Stefano looped the stethoscope round his neck.

      ‘He has diminished breath sounds and decreased chest expansion.’ Working with a cool, calm sense of purpose, he finished examining the man’s chest. ‘He has a clinically significant haemothorax. Call the trauma surgeon and ring the operating theatre co-ordinator and warn them. He might need a thoracotomy to drain it. Let’s do a chest X-ray.’

      The radiographer responded immediately. Like a carefully choreographed ballet, everyone worked simultaneously, carrying out his or her own clearly delineated roles.

      ‘I need a hand here, Liv.’ Phil was struggling to find a vein and Liv stepped forward to help. The more junior doctor slid the cannula into the vein and breathed an audible sigh of relief. ‘OK, I’m in. Let’s tape this, before we lose it.’ Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and his gaze flickered to Stefano. ‘Wouldn’t he have distension of the neck veins or raised jugular venous pressure if he had a haemothorax?’

      ‘He’s hypovolaemic.’ Stefano’s eyes stayed on the monitor. ‘If you look closely at the patient, you’ll see that there is a degree of tracheal deviation. Do we have two lines in, yet?’

      ‘One. I’m just sending blood for cross-matching.’

      ‘Get that second line in now. I need two lines before I put in a chest drain.’

      Phil handed the bottle to Liv and then turned back to the patient to deal with the second IV.

      ‘His veins are terrible,’ he muttered after a few minutes. ‘The first one was fine, but I’ve failed twice so far on this side. Do you want to have a go?’

      Stefano stepped towards him. ‘Turn his arm over. Bene. Cannula.’