The Rebel Doc: Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon / The Doctor's Redemption / Resisting Her Rebel Doc

It was the first time they’d ever been so open with each other, that they’d acknowledged out loud that there had been problems. It felt scary. Strange, kind of wobbly, but hopeful. Angela looped her arm into Ivy’s as they made their way slowly out of the bathroom, dragging the IV stand with them. ‘Your man seems nice.’

‘He’s not my man.’ Ivy lowered her voice—even though he was metres away. Healing the rift with her mother was one thing, but she hadn’t envisaged diving straight into confidences about her personal life. ‘He’s just a friend.’

Angela threw her a sideways look. ‘Yes, I hold hands with my male friends too. All the time. And the way you look at him—that’s not the way a friend looks at another friend.’

‘Oh, no. Really? Eurgh. Really?’ Was it obvious to everyone? Somewhere along the line he’d wriggled his way under her skin. She cared for him. A fierce panic gripped her chest. ‘Great. Brilliant. It’s so not the right thing to do.’

Her mum looked at her as if she’d gone mad. ‘Calm down. It’s not a crime to have a bit of fun.’

‘That’s just it, Mum. I haven’t really done this before and I don’t know what to do.’ Was she really asking relationship advice from the serial divorcee? Apparently so. ‘I don’t want anything from him, I don’t want a relationship. I just want to do my job and to be left in peace.’

But I do want him. That’s the damned problem.

‘Hey, don’t overthink it like I do—that’s the kiss of death to any relationship. Just enjoy it. That’s what I’m going to do with Richard, anyway.’

‘Richard? Really? You’ve only just met him.’ Ivy came to a halt so the men couldn’t hear her. What was her mum saying? She was unbelievable. She hadn’t changed a bit, she was the same old lady saying the same old things, doing the same old routine. She’d spent the best part of her working life as a doctor fixing people, but in the end the only person she’d failed to fix was herself.

She’s fragile, Ivy reminded herself. She’s had a scare and is reaching out for comfort.

Or was she just up to her old tricks again? Her mum needed people around her, she couldn’t function on her own, and regardless of anything Ivy did or said, she couldn’t change that. Happiness was fleeting, she’d learnt. And if Richard made Angela happy, even for a short while, who was she to interfere?

But she needed to say how she felt, just to know that she’d tried to protect her mum from yet another relationship disaster. ‘You’re in hospital. You had a heart scare. A serious medical problem. You can’t start flirting with someone’s visitor.’

‘Ah, there you go again, overthinking. To tell you the truth, Ivy, I’m lonely, I need a little companionship. It’s not as if you’re living next door, popping round for sugar every other day. You’re miles away and I never get to see you.’ Angela gave Ivy’s hand a pat. ‘And that’s you through and through, always so independent, doing your own thing, forging your way in the world. You never accepted any help from being about four years old. I have no idea where you got that from.’

Necessity. ‘My dream job is in London, Mum, I have to go where the work is. I’m sorry I can’t be here all the time, but that doesn’t mean you have to jump into a … friendship … with the first person you meet. You need to be careful. Remember what happened with the others …’ The tears, the drama.

‘Of course I’ll be careful, dear. But I need to do what I need to do, too. I just want some company. It’s not a lot to ask for after everything I’ve been through. Really, darling, I know we’ve never done the heart-to-heart thing, but when you’re ready I can listen. Mind you, don’t ask my advice. I’m useless with men.’

‘Oh?’ Ivy threw her a smile. There was only so much she could say or do to stop her mum following her well-trodden path. Angela seemed undeterred. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

When they arrived back at the bed Matteo and Richard were discussing something to do with an article in an open newspaper on the table. Matteo looked up as she arrived, helped her settle her mum back in bed, all concern and interest and polite nodding.

He’d been so nice Ivy wanted to give something back, even if it meant sacrificing something for herself. Drawing him to one side, she whispered, ‘Matteo, I know you’re probably thinking about heading off back to London soon, but I wondered—when we’ve done here, could we go to the pub? Watch the game on TV? What do you think?’

Those dark stubborn eyes glinted. ‘I was going to listen to it on the sports radio on the drive back.’

‘Oh. Well, that’s okay, then.’ Disappointment rattled through her. She had an insane desire to spend just a few more minutes with him. ‘I feel as if the last two days have been all about me. You’ve sacrificed your days off to be here, I just thought it would be a way of saying thank you. It’s not … I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. It’s just a pub, maybe some food. The game. I’m not offering any more than that.’

Was it her imagination, or did he look just a little relieved? ‘Well, I would prefer to watch it than listen to it. But what about your work? I thought you had too much to do already?’

She shrugged. ‘So maybe I can take a little time off? Just a couple of hours.’

His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Whoa. Watch out, Ivy Leigh, you might get into the habit of relaxing. Then what would happen?’

Staring into his eyes, his heated gaze focused on her, she felt relaxed and excited and scared and comfortable all at the same time. This man was too easy to fall for and she was tumbling deeper and deeper. But she could handle it. She’d laid out the parameters. ‘I can’t imagine, Matteo. I just can’t imagine.’

CHAPTER NINE (#u0400c727-bc8d-5c8b-a0d8-a279d8c5b44d)

‘COME ON, ENGLAND! Yes! Yes! Yes! Go!’

So this was the unleashed version of Ivy Leigh? Matteo laughed as she stood, eyes glued to the huge wall-hung TV in the sports pub, body tensed and fists punching the air. ‘God,’ he groaned into his pint. ‘This is terrible. Less than an hour ago you did not know a thing about rugby. Now look at you—England’s most fervent fan.’

High-fiving the two open-mouthed English supporters at the next table, she beamed. ‘This is fun. We’re beating you, Matteo, that’s all that matters.’

‘There’s time yet.’ He shrugged, far more entertained by her reactions than the game.

‘You think? In the history of the Six Nations championship there have been over twenty games between England and Italy, and England have won them all. Your chances are zero, Mr Hero.’

‘Twenty games—how the hell …? Since when did you know that?’

‘The wonders of the internet. You just have to know where to look.’ She winked at him. ‘I did my research. You didn’t think I’d invite you to watch a game we had the remotest chance of losing, did you?’ On-field action caught her attention again, she paused, breathing heavily as her eyes glued themselves to the game. ‘Come on, mate. Pass it. Yes. Yes!’

Thank God for half-time. She sat down, all flushed and hot-cheeked, her chest heaving with excitement. ‘This is brilliant. Why did no one ever tell me that watching sport was such fun?’

He drained his glass and put it back on the table. The fun was in watching her watching the game. ‘It is when you’re winning. And I have to say you are very entertaining.’

She patted his arm condescendingly. ‘Poor pet, you’re a very sore loser. But still glad you came?’