Her Brooding Italian Surgeon

Her Brooding Italian Surgeon
Fiona Lowe

Her Brooding Italian Surgeon

Fiona Lowe

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#ub543399e-4ae6-5ec8-ad9f-671616f4f296)

Title Page (#u28e19b48-b33f-530d-b18a-ab0db5e39bf6)

About the Author (#u85a386ef-3ab9-5789-8071-87b3f77b5325)

Dedication (#ua011b30c-8c75-5236-b6ec-c4c874fda594)

Chapter One (#ue90b6799-faf9-5227-9e50-9114cb3765a8)

Chapter Two (#ucfaa72e5-21bf-5c38-bd94-518b4ec3a37a)

Chapter Three (#udb1c730f-52ef-57f3-839e-d8e53eaba416)

Chapter Four (#u26e79cc9-76ed-51fc-9b9b-313254a3b339)

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)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Always an avid reader, FIONA LOWE decided to combine her love of romance with her interest in all things medical, so writing Medical

Romance was an obvious choice! She lives in a seaside town in southern Australia, where she juggles writing, reading, working and raising two gorgeous sons with the support of her own real-life hero! You can visit Fiona’s website at www.fionalowe.com

In memory of Chris; a caring neighbour who took great pleasure in sponge cakes, Mr. Lincoln Roses and thoroughly enjoyed reading Mills and Boon Romance. She’d always cross the road to tell me, ‘It’s your best one yet, dear.’

Vale, Chris.

Special thanks to Josie and Serena for their advice on all things Italian.

Chapter One

BRIGHT white lights radiated heat and sweat poured down Dr Abbie McFarlane’s forehead as she gritted her teeth in concentration. A stray strand of hair escaped from her cap but she resisted the urge to wipe her forehead on her sleeve, the sterile law of the operating theatre drilled into her long and hard over many years. Her mouth framed the word ‘sponge’ but she quickly swallowed it, stealing it back before it tripped over her lips.

Squinting, she tried again. Her nimble hands, which usually deftly and ably sewed fine stitches, seemed at a loss as they plunged yet again down into the sticky mass and stalled.

‘Dottore, do not stab it. Il pane, he needs you to be more gentle.’

Abbie sighed. ‘Maria, the dough’s just sticking to my fingers and I can’t do anything with it.’

‘You must use plenty of flour.’ Maria’s old, gnarled hands quickly scattered more flour on the workbench and expertly kneaded Abbie’s sticky mess into a stretchy and elastic dough, before pulling it into a ciabatta roll.

Abbie immediately covered it with a fresh white tea towel. ‘I think I’m a lost cause.’

The old woman grinned and shook her scarf-covered head. ‘I do this for seventy years. You come again and try.’

Abbie played her only bargaining card in this unusual doctor-patient scenario. ‘Only if you promise me you’ll rest. Your blood pressure’s a bit high and your family’s worried about you. It’s going to take the new medication a few days to start working, so you have to take it easy.’

‘Pfft. I feel fine.’ She patted her chest with her fist. ‘My heart is strong.’

Abbie frowned and injected a stern tone into her voice. ‘If you don’t rest I’ll put you in hospital.’

Maria sat down fast. ‘You sound like my grandson.’

‘He must be a wise man, then,’ Abbie quipped as she washed her hands in preparation to head back to the clinic.

The eighty-year-old nonna rolled her eyes and jabbed the air with her finger. ‘He is alone like you.’

‘Well, I hope he’s as happy as I am.’ Abbie smiled and quickly laid the hand towel over the rail. Twelve months in Bandarra and she’d quickly learned every diversion tactic in the book to avoid being introduced to all and sundry’s brothers, sons, cousins and grandsons. She’d even let the ‘gay’ rumour run wild until one patient had tried to set her up on a date with her daughter. Ironically, no one had made the connection to one of the reasons why she donated so much of her time to the women’s shelter—it was the one place no one tried to match her up with anyone. If life had taught her anything, it was that she chose the wrong man every time so staying single was the safe choice. Nothing or no one was going to change that. Ever.

Abbie picked up the keys to her four-wheel drive. ‘So, you’re going to lie down for an hour until your daughter’s back from the vineyard?’

Maria unexpectedly capitulated. ‘Yes, dottore, I will do as you say.’

‘Excellent. I’ll call by tomorrow.’

‘And I show you how to make bruschetta.’

Abbie laughed. ‘Give up now, Maria. I can’t cook.’

But the old woman just smiled.

‘Karen, cara, my angel of the operating theatre, you can’t be serious?’ Leo Costa held his overwhelming frustration in check by a bare millimetre, knowing that yelling would work once but flattery worked for ever. Ignoring the pinching of his mobile phone against his ear, he poured on the charm. ‘We organised this last week over lunch. I even filled in the paperwork as a special favour to you, so don’t break my heart and tell me it’s double-booked and I can’t have the slot.’