minimal periods of time only. Six hours on bypass were getting to the limits of what a baby could tolerate well and Luke intended finishing before then.
The session finished, as it had begun, with another complication. An abnormal rhythm persisted after the heart was restarted and did not respond well enough to the cocktail of drugs Luke ordered.
‘We’ll keep him ventilated and on sequential atrioventricular pacing,’ he decided eventually. ‘Let’s get up to ICU.’
Had he bothered to think about it, Luke would have decided he was entirely grounded in reality again by the time he accompanied his patient to the highly specialised unit. The fact that nothing remotely unprofessional crossed his mind made it a non-issue.
So it was a huge shock to walk into the unit and see Amy sitting beside Summer’s bed, holding the little girl’s hand. Leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
To instantly remember his own experience of the touch of Amy’s lips.
And—ever so slightly—to feel the ground shift beneath his feet once more.
‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow,’ Amy was telling Summer. ‘When all the boys and girls are asleep, Father Christmas will come and leave presents under the tree.’
‘For…me?’
‘Of course for you, darling.’ Amy kissed Summer’s forehead. ‘I’ll bring it in when I come to visit.’
She looked up, aware of the activity beyond the glass windows of Summer’s cubicle, in time to see the surgical team come past with a tiny, post-operative patient that had to be baby Liam. It was no surprise that the baby’s surgeon was still close by.
What was surprising enough to take Amy’s breath away was the way her heart seemed to stop and her skin come alive so that every cell tingled. The way she felt a connection to this man that went far deeper than any she had the right to feel.
They had shared a kiss, that was all.
One kiss.
It was nonsense to feel as though so much more than their lips had touched. As though their souls had made contact. Maybe it was the result of over-thinking, which was a trait Amy was sure she had inherited or learned from her mother. The ability to endlessly replay and examine tiny snatches of life. To experience them again and again. To analyse them and consider every possible repercussion.
The way Amy had done only last night after Luke had gone. As she’d lain, wakeful, in Uncle Vanni’s bed.
For a while she’d simply remembered—and missed—the person who’d been the most important man in her life for so many years. It had been a natural progression of her thoughts to realise that Uncle Vanni had, indirectly, been responsible for bringing a new man into her life.
Her mother would have probably proclaimed that it was meant to be and given thanks to some obscure saint.
Amy was fighting the same tiny voice in her own head that was saying the same thing. The one that was noting every reaction she had to Luke Harrington.
The one that was taunting her with the accusation that she was falling in love.
Amy had done her best to argue back.
Don’t be ridiculous. He’s from another planet.
He’s a man , the voice whispered back. You’re a woman.
He’s rich. Incredibly rich. I wouldn’t even know what spoon to use if he took me out to dinner.
But you want him to take you out to dinner.
No! It could never work.
Why not?
He’s important. I’m…nobody.
Really?
Not according to the way he judges people. I’m nothing. Just a nurse. He couldn’t even remember my name.
I’ll bet he remembers it now. After that kiss.
Ah, yes…That kiss.
And the voice had an argument compelling enough to almost obliterate any arguments Amy’s rational side could muster.
Remember what Margaret said? He’s lonely.
It struck something nameless and deep and Amy suspected that’s what the connection was all about. Yes, she and Luke came from totally different worlds and it might be far too great a challenge to understand and
The session finished, as it had begun, with another complication. An abnormal rhythm persisted after the heart was restarted and did not respond well enough to the cocktail of drugs Luke ordered.
‘We’ll keep him ventilated and on sequential atrioventricular pacing,’ he decided eventually. ‘Let’s get up to ICU.’
Had he bothered to think about it, Luke would have decided he was entirely grounded in reality again by the time he accompanied his patient to the highly specialised unit. The fact that nothing remotely unprofessional crossed his mind made it a non-issue.
So it was a huge shock to walk into the unit and see Amy sitting beside Summer’s bed, holding the little girl’s hand. Leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
To instantly remember his own experience of the touch of Amy’s lips.
And—ever so slightly—to feel the ground shift beneath his feet once more.
‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow,’ Amy was telling Summer. ‘When all the boys and girls are asleep, Father Christmas will come and leave presents under the tree.’
‘For…me?’
‘Of course for you, darling.’ Amy kissed Summer’s forehead. ‘I’ll bring it in when I come to visit.’
She looked up, aware of the activity beyond the glass windows of Summer’s cubicle, in time to see the surgical team come past with a tiny, post-operative patient that had to be baby Liam. It was no surprise that the baby’s surgeon was still close by.
What was surprising enough to take Amy’s breath away was the way her heart seemed to stop and her skin come alive so that every cell tingled. The way she felt a connection to this man that went far deeper than any she had the right to feel.
They had shared a kiss, that was all.
One kiss.
It was nonsense to feel as though so much more than their lips had touched. As though their souls had made contact. Maybe it was the result of over-thinking, which was a trait Amy was sure she had inherited or learned from her mother. The ability to endlessly replay and examine tiny snatches of life. To experience them again and again. To analyse them and consider every possible repercussion.
The way Amy had done only last night after Luke had gone. As she’d lain, wakeful, in Uncle Vanni’s bed.
For a while she’d simply remembered—and missed—the person who’d been the most important man in her life for so many years. It had been a natural progression of her thoughts to realise that Uncle Vanni had, indirectly, been responsible for bringing a new man into her life.
Her mother would have probably proclaimed that it was meant to be and given thanks to some obscure saint.
Amy was fighting the same tiny voice in her own head that was saying the same thing. The one that was noting every reaction she had to Luke Harrington.
The one that was taunting her with the accusation that she was falling in love.
Amy had done her best to argue back.
Don’t be ridiculous. He’s from another planet.
He’s a man , the voice whispered back. You’re a woman.
He’s rich. Incredibly rich. I wouldn’t even know what spoon to use if he took me out to dinner.
But you want him to take you out to dinner.
No! It could never work.
Why not?
He’s important. I’m…nobody.
Really?
Not according to the way he judges people. I’m nothing. Just a nurse. He couldn’t even remember my name.
I’ll bet he remembers it now. After that kiss.
Ah, yes…That kiss.
And the voice had an argument compelling enough to almost obliterate any arguments Amy’s rational side could muster.
Remember what Margaret said? He’s lonely.
It struck something nameless and deep and Amy suspected that’s what the connection was all about. Yes, she and Luke came from totally different worlds and it might be far too great a challenge to understand and
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