200 Harley Street: The Tortured Hero Page 10

  ‘Let me look,’ he said, striding over to where Olivia stood. ‘Pull the bed out.’

  One of the nurses released the brakes on the bed and moved the bed down so Ethan could slip in at the head of the bed. He angled an unresponsive Ama’s jaw open and could see nothing for the blood.

  The alarm behind him trilled again as Ama’s heart-rate started to fall.

  ‘Get the resus trolley,’ Olivia told one of the nurses as she watched the alarming drop of Ama’s heart-rate on the monitor.

  ‘I need a laryngoscope,’ Ethan said.

  Within seconds they had both. Ethan tried to look down her throat using the laryngoscope but his view was totally obscured by congealed blood. He pulled out.

  ‘Get me a trache kit,’ he said.

  One of the nurses scurried off to get one as the other two busied themselves drawing up resus drugs. When Ama’s heart-rate hit fifty Olivia started external compressions and asked for atropine to be administered.

  The nurse who had fetched the sterile trache pack opened it for Ethan and opened a sterile pair of gloves for him.

  ‘Page Jock,’ Ethan said as he plunged his left hand into the left glove, preparing to do a down-and-dirty emergency tracheostomy. Securing Ama’s airway was vital. ‘Tell him to get his butt back in here. As soon as this trache is done we’re going back to Theatre to get the bleeder.’

  The nurse squirted Betadine over Ama’s throat as someone else laid the back of the bed flat, then raised the bed higher to accommodate Ethan’s six-foot-two frame. The atropine had done the trick and Olivia had stopped compressions for the moment. She also asked for a pair of gloves, knowing that Ethan might need a hand, leaving the registrar to monitor everything else.

  Ethan made a quick incision into Ama’s throat, his plan being to secure the airway by the insertion of a tracheostomy tube and get to Theatre ASAP. But when he opened the neck there was so much blood it took him longer than he’d hoped, and he and Olivia literally had to scoop out the congealed blood to identify where he was going to stick the tube, all the while conscious of the screaming alarms and the ticking of the clock.

  He finally placed it after two fraught minutes, and it was a relief when Olivia squeezed in the first breath via the bloodied Laerdel bag and there was immediate chest movement and improvement of the oxygen saturations.

  Ethan glanced at Olivia. She had blood on her clothes but her look of sheer relief was exactly the way he felt—as if they were back in the field and they’d executed a major save together. For a moment he’d never felt closer to her.

  ‘Let’s get her to Theatre,’ Ethan said.

  Olivia nodded. ‘I’ll have a quick chat to Ril and join you.’

  * * *

  By midnight Ama was out of Theatre and had been taken to ICU this time. They’d identified the bleeding—most probably caused by Ama’s initial thrashing around—and she was going to be kept ventilated and sedated overnight and hopefully have the tracheostomy removed in the next few days.

  By the time they’d seen her settled in the unit and spoken to Ril and Dali it was close to one in the morning and Olivia was dead on her feet.

  ‘C’mon,’ Ethan said to her as she hovered around Ama’s bedside. ‘Home for you.’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘I want to stay.’

  ‘You’re exhausted,’ Ethan said, pulling her to one side. ‘You need a break.’

  ‘I’ll catch some sleep in a spare office somewhere later,’ she dismissed.

  ‘Olivia.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she reiterated, looking over his shoulder at the monitor.

  ‘Olivia...’ Ethan said again.

  Olivia dragged her gaze off the monitor to look at him—his tone had brooked no argument. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You are not fine,’ he said. ‘You are running on empty. You need to get out of those clothes, which have blood on them. You need a shower. When did you last eat? You need food. And you need to sleep—a decent sleep on a decent bed, not some awful office examination couch.’

  Olivia looked down at her clothes, realising for the first time that they had a patch of dried blood which looked as if someone had dabbed her with a large paintbrush dipped in red paint. Ethan was still in his Theatre garb.

  ‘I’ll get some scrubs,’ she murmured.

  ‘Liv...’ Ethan shut his eyes, cursing to himself as the word he shouldn’t use slipped out. Damn it. He was too tired to care. ‘She’s stable now, and sedated. At least go home, have a shower, change your clothes, have something to eat.’

  Olivia didn’t even register that he’d called her Liv. At least not on a conscious level. Having a shower and something to eat sounded like bliss—she was starving. All she’d had to eat since breakfast was a packet of crisps from the vending machine. But she was staying a twenty-minute cab-ride away from the hospital and she wanted to be close while Ama was still in ICU.

  Olivia shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  Now the drama was over she was starting to feel a little shaky. She’d been so terrified they were going to lose Ama at one stage.

  ‘I talked them into this. I told them we could fix her. I promised Ril she would be okay...’

  ‘Olivia, she is okay.’ Ethan put his hands on her shoulders and waited until she was looking at him. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘This isn’t your fault. This isn’t my fault. Bad things happen sometimes and post-op haemorrhage is always a risk—you know that. And there was a combination of factors here. But she’s fine. You did good.’

  Olivia saw the flecks in his eyes flare to life with the conviction of his words. She knew he was right, but a combination of adrenaline overload and low blood sugar were clouding her judgement. ‘We did good,’ she said.

  Ethan smiled. ‘Yes. We did. Now...’ He squeezed her shoulders gently before dropping his hands. ‘Go home.’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘I’ll just go to the Theatre change-rooms and have a shower. I’ll get something from a vending machine.’

  ‘No, Olivia. You need to get out of here for a while. Clear your head. Get some distance. This case has taken up your whole life for weeks and weeks now.’

  ‘I’ll be too far away,’ Olivia said, starting to get a little fed up with his persistence now. ‘I don’t want to go too far.’

  Ethan stared in exasperation at her. ‘Fine—come to my place, then. I’m heading there and it’s only a five-minute walk. You can shower, change, eat and then if you really insist on coming back I’ll walk you.’

  Olivia chewed her lip, undecided. She desperately wanted a shower and something to eat. Sleep she could live without. It was tempting. ‘You’re still in the same place?’

  Ethan nodded. ‘Yep. And Il Conte is still just down the road, and I have a takeaway container of their best spaghetti in my fridge.’

  Olivia felt the flutter of her belly as a hundred great memories rushed out at her. How many more would be waiting for her at Ethan’s place? She doubted there was a square inch, certainly not a single horizontal surface, they hadn’t made love on.

  But it was the perfect solution—a place close by for a quick pit stop and then off again.

  In and out—no time for the memories to cling and hold.

  And there was a time she would have killed for Il Conte’s spaghetti.

  ‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘But I’m coming straight back.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Let me just check on her one last time.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get out of these and grab some fresh scrubs for you and meet you at the entrance in ten?’

  Olivia nodded. And hoped to God she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT TOOK OLIVIA ten seconds to realise she had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Ste
pping into Ethan’s apartment was like entering a time warp where nothing had changed. The upstairs apartment of the old Victorian terrace was exactly the same and it was as if they were coming home from work together as they so often had, chatting about their day, anticipating a long session of lovemaking.

  Even just standing inside the entranceway old memories floated around her, dizzying her with their potency.

  She really needed to eat something.

  Hell, she could recall a time when they’d fallen to the floor right where she was standing, so eager to get their hands on each other they hadn’t been able to wait. The door had barely clicked shut, for crying out loud.

  And...oh, God...the door—Ethan had pressed her against that once and brought her to a screaming orgasm in under a minute.

  ‘Go have a shower,’ Ethan said, brushing past her. ‘I’ll heat up the spaghetti.’

  Olivia doubted her legs would carry her that far, afflicted as they were suddenly by a bad case of the shakes. Her head spun a little. ‘Actually, do you mind if I eat first?’ she asked. ‘I think my blood sugar is bottoming out.’

  Ethan turned. She looked pale and washed out. She swayed a little as he watched and he took a step towards her.

  ‘Don’t,’ Olivia said as she reached for the nearby wall for stability.

  If he touched her she’d melt right into him, and God alone knew where that would lead in this place where she’d spent about seventy-five per cent of her time in his bed. Or on his couch, or his table, or against his walls or his door...

  ‘You look like you’re about to fall over.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she assured him, waving him back. ‘As long as you feed me pronto.’

  Ethan nodded. ‘On it.’

  Olivia followed him into the gleaming steel and granite kitchen at a slower pace and sat down at the big central black marble counter that hosted four bar stools. Her stomach grumbled and her hands shook as she placed them against the cool surface.

  Somewhere else they’d made love.

  Her brain shut down that memory before it even got out of the starting gate and she concentrated instead on Ethan, clattering around, putting a bowl in the microwave, piling another one with spaghetti, waiting to put it in. She noted the familiar Il Conte container, and how amazing the food smelled even cold, and she almost told him not to bother to heat it up she was that hungry.

  ‘You want a coffee?’ he asked. ‘Probably be handy if you’re going back.’

  Olivia nodded. It was going to be a long night, and she was going to need all the help she could get. He turned to a fancy coffee machine that was new, placed a pod in the top and a cup under the spout and pressed a button. The microwave beeped and he pulled the bowl out, giving the spaghetti a stir with a fork. She watched steam rise off it and her mouth watered.

  He went to return it to the microwave. ‘It’ll be fine like that,’ she assured him.

  Ethan frowned. ‘It’s not heated all the way through. It’s only just warm, really.’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘Don’t care,’ she dismissed, holding her hand out for the bowl. ‘Near enough is good enough.’

  He chuckled as he passed it over. Her belly growled again and she wasn’t entirely sure it was anything to do with food. His sexy stubble was even more so as he stood in his kitchen, serving her spaghetti and coffee as he’d done a hundred times before.

  Olivia demolished the bowl in two minutes flat. She didn’t lift her head, she didn’t converse, she didn’t notice when Ethan placed her coffee on the bench. She just ate, barely registering the aroma of basil and the sweet taste of fresh tomatoes.

  When she was done she looked up, finding Ethan’s amused gaze. ‘Sorry.’ She grimaced.

  Ethan laughed as he cradled his coffee cup in his hand. ‘I always did enjoy watching you eat,’ he murmured.

  Olivia remembered all the other things he’d enjoyed watching her do. Laughing at a joke, slipping on a pair of high heels, shaving her legs.

  Getting undressed.

  Coming as if the world was going to end.

  Her stomach growled again, and for damn sure this time it was nothing to do with food. He was watching her mouth and, nervous, she licked her lips, finding some stray sauce and removing it with her tongue.

  Ethan almost groaned out loud as her nervous licking still managed to miss a bit of sauce. Once upon a time, standing here in his kitchen, with her sitting opposite in that chair, he’d have just leaned across the bench and licked it off. And the desire to do so now thrummed through his veins like a siren call.

  He’d never wanted to taste her this badly.

  Instead, exercising the control he’d perfected in the military, he ground his feet into the marble tiles, reached for a serviette from the counter behind him and passed it to her. ‘You missed some.’

  Olivia took it and dabbed at her mouth, excruciatingly aware of his intent stare. Of the way he’d paused, coffee cup halfway to his mouth, and just looked at her, taking in every movement. She knew that stare. It was stirring memories and stroking along her pelvic floor, causing the muscles there to preen in an utterly Pavlovian response.

  Shower.

  Shower, shower, shower.

  Her brain was doing its best to drag her back from the edge. To remember how he’d used her, hurt her. She’d made love to him a hundred times in this apartment, fallen in love with him, and all the while he’d just been having sex with the woman his brother had wanted.

  ‘I think you’re done,’ he murmured.

  His voice blew over her, soft as feathers. Caressing her skin and tickling a memory of the past out of hiding.

  The time he’d tied her wrists and ankles to his bed and spent hours taunting her, touching her spread-eagled body, tracing his tongue all over her. Backing off every time she built, refusing to let her come, gorging himself instead on his tactile feast and driving her mad with lust until finally he’d relented.

  ‘I think you’re done,’ he’d said.

  And when he’d put his mouth to her she’d had an orgasm that had gone on for an eternity.

  Her blood flowed slow and thick through her veins as the memory played out. It pounded through her head and washed through her ears. Her breath felt like syrup in her lungs. Her abdominals had turned to goo, like flaming marshmallow, melting her to the chair.

  Olivia saw Ethan’s knuckles whiten as his grip on the cup increased. Was he thinking about it too?

  Ethan wasn’t sure which memory Olivia was caught up in, but she needed to stop now if she wanted to leave here unmolested. Today had been intense—very intense. It would be bad to do something neither of them should just because they were reacting to the pressure of the day and a bunch of memories.

  Even if they were really great memories.

  She was looking at him as if she wanted to hurdle the bench and drag him to the ground. But she wouldn’t thank him for it in the morning. He knew her too well.

  ‘Olivia.’

  Olivia blinked at the warning in his voice, the memory receding as awareness of the present filtered back in. A well of loathing rose in her chest and burned hard and high in her throat.

  Ama.

  She had to get back to Ama.

  Olivia reached for her coffee cup and took a fortifying sip, too embarrassed even to look at Ethan. She took another and, as it wasn’t too hot, blew on it and took a bigger swig. Then she placed it on the bench and stood.

  ‘I’ll have a shower and get out of your hair,’ she said, still not looking at him.

  Ethan didn’t want her to go. Actually...he did. He wasn’t sure he could last a night with her here in his apartment again and not just give in to what his body wanted. He’d felt dead inside for a year, but ten days back in her company and certain parts of him were very definitely coming back to l
ife.

  But she needed to sleep and that was more important. Maybe he could convince her after her shower?

  ‘Scrubs on the back of the couch,’ he said.

  She didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge his words, just grabbed the scrubs on her way past and disappeared from his sight.

  * * *

  It was bliss under the hard, hot spray and Olivia wanted nothing more than to slide down the wall, hug her legs to her chest and nod off under the steady cleansing heat, until the tension in her muscles had eased and the squall inside her stomach had settled.

  But she was afraid to shut her eyes. The whole shower smelled like him, smelled so male—soap and shampoo and aftershave—and she was reminded of how often they’d made love in here too.

  A lot.

  And Olivia knew the second she allowed her eyelids to shut she’d be there again, her back to the tiles, Ethan buried inside her, groaning ‘Liv...’ into her ear as he came.

  Or going down on her, looking totally in control despite his position of supplication on his knees in front of her, his hands holding onto the backs of her thighs, holding her up, as her world splintered around her.

  Olivia ruthlessly shut off the taps as steam built in the cubicle, heating the mix of male aromas to a wild liquid cloud, painting her body, marinating her in memories. Drifting her into dangerous territory.

  Ama.

  She had to get back to Ama.

  She towelled off quickly, throwing on her scrubs sans underwear—she’d sling her duffle coat on over the top and no one would ever know she was going commando. The aroma of fresh laundry and Ethan’s spicy soap surrounded her, reminding her of clean sheets and him, and she yawned, her eyes gritty despite the shower.

  She turned off the heating lamps and stepped out of the en-suite bathroom into Ethan’s darkened bedroom. A shaft of light from the hallway penetrated into the gloom, lifting the visibility level a little. Enough to make out objects like his big soft bed—still in the same spot—beckoning her like a fluffy freaking cloud, with its blizzard-white duvet and matching pillows—something that had always seemed so out of place in this overwhelmingly male bachelor pad.