Falling for her Mediterranean Boss. Anne Fraser

the grafts wait until he’s recovered?’ she asked Pierre.

      ‘The sooner we start doing the grafts the better, believe me,’ he replied. ‘When so much of the skin has been destroyed, there is nothing left to heal and cover the open tissue. As it is, it will take a number of operations before we replace enough skin.’

      As they were making plans for Tom’s future surgery, a young woman with frantic red eyes underscored with dark circles approached the bedside. She had obviously flung on the first thing that had come to hand—crumpled jogging pants and a T-shirt. She looks out of her mind with worry, Julie thought.

      ‘This is Tom’s girlfriend, Trudi. Trudi, this is Drs Favatier and McKenzie,’ Linda introduced them.

      ‘How is he?’ Trudi whispered. ‘Please, tell me he’s going to be all right.’ She blinked, struggling to hold back the tears.

      ‘Trudi has been here for most of the night,’ Linda explained. ‘I’ve tried to persuade her to go and get some rest, but she won’t hear of it.’

      ‘I don’t want to leave him,’ Trudi said. ‘I only went to get some coffee to help me stay awake. I’m petrified something will happen to him while I’m not here.’

      ‘We’re not going to let anything happen to him,’ Pierre said firmly. ‘Not after he’s made it this far.’

      ‘You’re the doctor who saved his life!’ Trudi said. ‘They told me it was the French doctor that pulled him out.’ She looked up at Pierre, her eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll never forget what you did.’

      Pierre shuffled his feet. ‘Dr McKenzie was there too,’ he said. ‘She spotted him in trouble, and she would have risked her own life to save him. It’s her you should be thanking, not me.’

      Linda’s gaze swung from Pierre to Julie. Julie sensed that this was the first time she had heard about their involvement in the fire and guessed it would be all over the hospital by lunchtime. Inwardly she cringed. She hated drawing attention to herself.

      Trudi turned to Julie and grasped her hands. ‘I’ll never forget either of you,’ she said fiercely. ‘Never.’

      ‘Please,’ Julie said, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t do very much.’ She looked at Pierre in desperation, and was grateful when he seemed to pick up on her extreme discomfort.

      ‘We will talk again later. After the operation,’ he said gently. ‘In the meantime, Dr McKenzie and I are due in Theatre.’

      ‘So that’s four patients we have in Theatre altogether,’ he said as they headed out of ITU. ‘Although Shona’s operation will be quick, the other two will take up the rest of the session. Then lastly we have Tom.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Theatre starts in an hour, so I suggest if you haven’t had something to eat, you get something now. We could be in Theatre for the rest of the day.’ He hesitated. ‘You know, if you wish, I could operate on that scar for you. I do a lot of cosmetic surgery back in France.’

      Julie raised her hand to cover the scar. ‘I am happy with my face the way it is,’ she said stiffly.

      Pierre reached out and, taking her hand, gently pulled it away. ‘It is a beautiful face,’ he said, looking her directly in her eyes. He was so close she could almost distinguish the individual eyelashes framing his deep blue eyes. Eyelashes like that were wasted on a man, she thought, trying to ignore the way her heart had started galloping. Then what he had said sank in. He had called her beautiful. Her heart beat even faster. Did he really believe that? She gave herself a mental shake. No, of course he didn’t, he was just being kind. It was far more likely that he just couldn’t stop himself from complimenting every woman who crossed his path.

      ‘Your bone structure is perfect,’ he continued, scrutinising her face with a professional eye. ‘You are lucky. No amount of plastic surgery can ever improve on that.’

      So it wasn’t really her he was seeing after all! To him she was just another surgical problem he could solve. ‘I’ll see you in Theatre,’ she said abruptly, wanting nothing more than to get away from him so she could still her pounding heart. Without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heel and left him standing in the corridor looking bemused.

      * * *

      In Theatre Pierre appeared even more assured and confident than ever. Despite herself Julie was very conscious of the dark hairs on his bronze chest that she could see from the V in his scrub top. Only his eyes were visible as they glittered above his mask, and Julie was beginning to develop the uncomfortable feeling, as they drilled into hers, that he could read her thoughts. The thought made her cringe. The last thing she wanted her boss to know was that she, like every other woman, was not immune to his stunning looks and the charisma enveloped him like a cloak. Kim was right. She needed to get a life, she thought with exasperation, before forcing her attention back to the operation. And she needed to concentrate. Regardless of how Pierre viewed her as a woman, above all else she wanted him to think highly of her as a clinician.

      The operations went well and Julie was surprised when she looked up at the clock on the theatre wall to find it was long past five o’clock. She had to admit that, despite his film-star good looks, Pierre was a highly skilled surgeon. Every stroke of the scalpel was sure and confident and, unlike some of the surgeons Julie had worked with, he never seemed impatient when staff were slow to respond to his instructions.

      Before they’d started, Pierre had asked for a CD of Rachmaninov’s third piano concerto to be played. Of course he wasn’t to know the twentieth-century Russian composer was one of Julie’s favourites. As he’d operated, he’d patiently explained to Julie every step of what he was doing. Even when she had fumbled a little with the retractors, he had smiled and simply corrected the movement of her hands. As Theatre progressed, Julie found herself anticipating what he wanted her to do before he asked her. It Theatre at least it seemed as if they were in synch.

      When it was Shona’s turn to be wheeled into Theatre, Pierre replaced the Rachmaninov CD with a favourite of the little girl’s. Shona recognised the music straight away and immediately relaxed, chatting with the theatre staff about her favourite bands. Even when the young girl succumbed to the anaesthetic, Pierre insisted that they leave Shona’s music playing. His thoughtfulness impressed her. Maybe there was more to Pierre Favatier than met the eye.