Her Brooding Italian Surgeon. Fiona Lowe

his foot on the polished linoleum floor of Melbourne City Hospital. He’d had scant sleep last night, having operated on a road trauma case, and it hardly seemed any time at all since he’d left the hospital, and now he was back again. There’d only been enough time to catch a three-hour nap before a quick shower and shave and a much needed shot of espresso before arriving back at work.

      As the light above the lift glowed red and the heralding ‘ping’ sounded, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Hopefully, it was good news about the theatre mess. He flicked his phone open. ‘Leo Costa.’

      ‘Oh, thank God, you’re not scrubbed.’ The unexpected but familiar voice of one of his many sisters came down the line.

      ‘Anna?’ He rubbed his hand through his hair. Usually at this time of morning she was knee-deep in children, the school run and juggling calls from restaurant suppliers. ‘What’s up?’

      A half sigh, half cry came down the line. ‘It’s Nonna, Leo. This time you have to come back to Bandarra.’

      Abbie stifled a yawn as she swung her red dust-covered boots from her four-by-four onto the hospital car park’s sticky asphalt. The hot summer sun had finally fallen below the horizon and Venus twinkled at her as if to say, Isn’t life wonderful. But she didn’t feel twinkly today. The day had thrown everything at her, including an emergency evacuation from the Aboriginal settlement a hundred kilometres away. Now she longed to crawl out of the clothes she’d been wearing for seventeen hours, ached for a shower to wash the ingrained grit of the outback dust from her skin, and wanted nothing more than to snuggle into soft cotton sheets.

      The automatic hospital doors opened and she walked into air-conditioned cool, a blissful respite from the outside summer heat that not even nightfall could cool. She paused, her ears and eyes alert, and then she smiled, letting out a long, slow breath. Calm.

      Tonight, the small hospital had the air of quiet, drama-free purpose which, given her day, was exactly what she needed. She’d do a quick check on Maria, consult with the nursing staff about her other two inpatients and then head home and somehow convince Murphy, her Border collie, that he didn’t want a walk tonight.

      The nursing station was empty, but the charts had been gathered for the ease of the night shift and sorted into alphabetical order. She quickly rifled through them until she found the group labelled ‘Rossi’.

      ‘Page her doctor again.’ A rich baritone voice, threaded with startling steel, travelled down the corridor, followed a beat later by, ‘I’d really appreciate it, Erin.’ The steel in the voice had vanished, replaced by a deep mellow sound reminiscent of a luxurious velvet cloak that wrapped enticingly around a person and caressed with beguiling softness.

      Abbie knew all about velvet hiding steel. She’d grown up with it in many guises and it had chased her through a disastrous relationship. Charm so often hid threatening control.

      ‘Of course, Mr Costa, I’ll try again for you.’ Erin Bryant, the immensely capable no-nonsense night-duty nurse who always did things her way, had just been vanquished with Charm 101. The fact that a relative was even in the hospital at this time of night was testament to that.

      Holding the multicoloured charts, Abbie grinned, knowing that for the first time today the fates had actually come down on her side. She didn’t have a Costa in hospital and Justin, her most recent locum who’d been gleefully counting down the days until he left for his cross-Asia trek back to his home town of London, would have to deal with this determined relative as one of his last obligations. Being British, he did polite much better than she did. Humming to herself, she walked down the corridor to Maria’s room, turned into the doorway and stopped dead.

      A man stood just inside the door, his presence filling the room with vibrating energy that swirled and eddied like a tornado, pulling at everything and everyone in its path.

      An involuntary shiver shot through Abbie, immediately chased by a foreign flicker of heat. Heat that hadn’t glowed in a very long time.

      No way, not possible. But her hand instinctively tightened around the charts.

      Erin’s face beamed with a high-wattage smile. ‘This is Dr McFarlane, Mr Costa, and I’ll go and get you that coffee I promised.’ Still smiling, she backed towards the door.

      ‘Grazie, Erin.’ His head tilted and his lips curved into a smile that travelled along black-stubble cheeks, and for a fraction of a second it lit up his eyes like the bright-white light of Venus.

      Abbie took in a deep breath just as Maria’s unknown visitor turned his unrelenting gaze to her. A gaze that shot from eyes as black as the night sky but was now minus the twinkle. One bold dark brow lifted as he took in her dust-streaked shorts, her crumpled and stained polo shirt and her uncontrollable mass of chaotic curls. Judging by the expression in the depths of his onyx eyes, he found everything about her eminently lacking.

      Abbie needed to lift her chin to meet his scrutiny and if he, a patient’s relative, had the temerity to openly give her the once-over, then right back at you, pal. But that was when irony socked her hard like a sucker-punch to the gut.

      A strong, straight nose centred his Roman face and high cheekbones defined it as striking, but it was his well-shaped lips that told the truth – gorgeous and well aware of it. Despite the fatigue that played around his eyes and hovered near a jagged white scar on his square jaw, the man could have modelled for fashion week, although she sensed he’d have taken no nonsense and would have probably given the organisers a very hard time.

      He was urban chic from his glossy indigo hair down to his Italian leather loafers. A black V-necked light cotton sweater clung to, and curved around, broad square shoulders, toned pecs and a flat stomach, boldly advertising the buff goods that nestled below. Soft and cool dune-coloured linen trousers caressed long, long legs unsullied by any hint of outback red earth or heat-induced perspiration. If she wasn’t standing in front of him breathing in his scent of mint mixed with orange, she would have dismissed him as a mythical being that no mere mortal could ever hope to emulate.

      She dropped her gaze and frantically gathered her scattered thoughts, focusing on the fact that she was the doctor and he was her patient’s relative. She was therefore the one in charge. Dealing with relatives was something she prided herself on. She understood their occasional outbursts as a projection of fear and feelings of powerlessness in a foreign environment and, after all, hospitals were strange and frightening places for the general public. But absolutely nothing about this man looked uncertain or unsure, or powerless.

      His firm stance of controlled casualness rippled with panther-like readiness and he spoke before Abbie could introduce herself. ‘You’re Nonna’s doctor?’ Incredulity mixed with a hint of censure rode on the words.

      A shaft of determination straightened her spine. So what that she was dirty and grimy and he was ‘Mr Ultra-Clean and well-kempt from the city’; he hadn’t just spent the afternoon in the middle of nowhere keeping a young boy alive until the Flying Doctors had arrived. Given those neatly trimmed, dirtfree nails, he was probably an accountant and the closest he got to life and death was a wobbly row of figures.

      It was hard to peer imperiously down her nose when he towered over her five foot two inches, so instead she extended her hand with crisp efficiency. ‘Abbie McFarlane, GP, and you would be?’

      He suddenly smiled, dimples spiralling into the inky stubble as his hand gripped hers. ‘Leo Costa, Maria’s grandson.’

      Unambiguous sexual electricity zapped her so hard she saw stars. She pulled her hand back fast and somehow managed a garbled, ‘Oh, right, yes, she mentioned you when I saw her yesterday’, while trying to rein her wanton body back under the tight control she’d held it in for three years. Not an easy task after being broadsided by the explosive combination of his touch and smile. A smile that should come complete with a classification warning.

      She caught a glance of the sleeping Maria, which immediately centred her, and she instinctively stepped back out into the corridor. ‘Let’s not wake your grandmother.’

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