Reunited With Her Brooding Surgeon. Emily Forbes

Was she flirting with him?

      ‘If everything goes according to plan, pregnancy shouldn’t be an issue after a transplant but it is recommended, and I certainly encourage my patients to follow this advice, to wait one year to ensure the transplant is functioning as we’d like and that your medications are stable.’

      ‘That’s okay. That will give me time to find a boyfriend.’

      Yep, she was definitely flirting. She was all fluttering eyelashes and rosy cheeks. She certainly didn’t look like a person who was critically ill and about to undergo major surgery. Not that Grace could blame her. Marcus was gorgeous, but if he noticed Connie’s attempts to entice him, he didn’t take the bait.

      ‘You will need close monitoring during a pregnancy,’ he replied, leaving Connie’s comment well alone, ‘but you would be closely monitored anyway and we can discuss any other issues post-surgery.’

      ‘Great. If that’s all, we’ll leave you to get some rest now,’ Grace said, keen to usher Marcus out of the room before Connie could actually proposition him.

      As Marcus stood and started to leave, Grace shot Connie a warning glance behind his back, but Connie just grinned and then laughed it off, making Grace smile back. At least she was in good spirits.

      Grace followed Marcus out of the room. His strides were long and Grace found her gaze drawn to his hips. He’d removed his suit jacket, leaving the shape of his buttocks under his pants clearly defined as his legs ate up the length of the corridor. Grace forced herself to keep her eyes lifted. She didn’t want to be caught ogling him or running into something because her attention was elsewhere.

      She got the feeling he was trying to put as much distance between them as possible. But she had no idea why. Her curiosity got the better of her and she hurried after him. She wanted to know what his issue was. Why he was so abrupt with her. She didn’t think she’d done anything to put him off, yet his aloofness was definitely directed at her. She had to admit he was an empathetic doctor with a good bedside manner and maybe she’d just have to be satisfied with that. But she still wanted some answers.

      ‘Dr Washington!’

      He stopped and turned towards her.

      ‘Have I done something to upset you?’ she asked as she caught up to him.

      ‘No.’

      Grace waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t say another word. Man, he could totally be the poster boy for the strong, silent type.

      Oh, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she thought as she asked, ‘Do you remember me?’

      Marcus looked down at the petite redhead standing in front of him. She had her hands on her hips and looked as if she’d like to tear him to shreds. ‘What do you mean? Of course I do,’ he replied, attempting to use his most reasonable tone in an attempt to calm her down. ‘We were just in Connie’s room and I only met you a few hours ago.’

      ‘I meant from before.’

      He watched her with his steady gaze but said nothing. He wasn’t going to admit to anything. Not until he knew what she wanted. She reminded him of a firecracker about to explode.

      ‘You grew up in Toowoomba,’ she said. It was apparent she wasn’t going to be intimidated and she certainly wasn’t asking him a question. She looked small and easy to handle but, just like a firecracker, he got the impression that once something set her off, you’d know all about it and there’d be nowhere to hide. ‘I lived around the corner from you. You were at school with my brothers, Lachlan and Hamish Gibson.’

      It was obvious she knew who he was. He’d suspected as much. He had recognised her too. Well, not her face as such, but her hair matched with her name was a dead giveaway. Her striking copper locks were so distinctive. He hadn’t wanted to think she was the same person even though it was blatantly clear she was, just as it was clear she remembered him.

      He cursed his luck. ‘Was I?’

      He knew he was being bullish but he couldn’t help it. He’d spent twenty years trying to get away from his past. Twenty years spent reinventing himself and wiping away all traces of his childhood. He hadn’t been back to Toowoomba in all that time and he’d even debated the wisdom of returning to the east coast for this three-month stint but the opportunity of this experience at the Kirribilli General Hospital had been too good to refuse. Guilt and opportunity had brought him back. And now it seemed it was about to make him pay.

      He hadn’t expected to run into anyone from his past and he certainly wouldn’t have expected to be remembered. He didn’t want to remember who he had been and the life he’d lived then. He didn’t want to think about it and he definitely didn’t want to talk about it. So he stayed silent, refusing to incriminate himself by admitting any recollection. He couldn’t admit to Grace that he had lied. That he had recognised her.

      ‘I guess I look a bit different,’ Grace admitted when he stayed mute. ‘I must only have been about seven the last time I would have seen you.’

      Was there a question in there? Was she wondering why he’d never come back? Had she even noticed?

      He wasn’t going to respond to vague insinuations but she was right. She looked nothing like he remembered. He remembered her brothers and he remembered their little sister with skinned knees and missing teeth. The only thing that remained of the seven-year-old she’d once been was her hair. Her fiery copper locks hung in loose waves over her shoulders, its rich colour bright and vibrant against the contrast of her navy uniform. He’d hadn’t seen a colour like it since leaving Toowoomba.

      But everything else about her was different. She no longer looked like anyone’s kid sister. She had filled out in all the right places. She was tiny, a good foot shorter than his six feet two inches, but her proportions were perfect. Her shirt was tucked into navy trousers, pants which would have been unflattering on most figures, yet his eye was drawn to her small waist, the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. He felt an unexpected surge of lust. Bloody hell, that was inappropriate. He lifted his head and met her amber eyes. They blazed at him. She appeared to have the fiery temper to match her hair but what was getting her so riled up? Had she noticed his inappropriate once-over? He needed to douse the flames of her temper and make sure he didn’t set her off completely. Something told him there would be no stopping her if he did that.

      Or maybe he should take up the challenge he could see in her eyes. She gave off an air of not being one to back down. Of having the courage of her convictions. That didn’t appear to have changed. He remembered more about her than he cared to admit. She’d been loud and boisterous, full of energy; he’d always known when she was around and he suspected that hadn’t changed in twenty years. He wondered what had.

      The idea of putting a flame to her wick just to see what would happen was strangely exciting but he resisted the temptation. He didn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to the two of them. He didn’t want anyone asking awkward questions. Going under the radar was always best. He’d learnt that from experience.

      But what did she want? What was she after? What did she remember of him? What secrets could she spill?

      He hoped not many.

      As a child he’d been quiet, shy and nervous. The complete antithesis to Grace. He’d been nervous around the kids at school and nervous around his father. His life had been unpredictable and devoid of routine but it hadn’t been until he’d been at boarding school as a teenager that he’d realised that not everyone’s lives were like that. He’d never experienced anything different. Most of the time he’d just tried to get from morning to evening without being noticed. It had seemed his presence had irritated people—his classmates and his father—and he had never been sure about what was going to happen, how people were going to react to him, although more often than not it had been unfavourably. He’d learnt to keep his head down, to try to be inconspicuous, but that had never been easy when he’d looked so different.

      Thanks to his Caribbean mother he wasn’t white but he