âOH, NO⦠itâs you, isnât it?â
Was that appalled-sounding male voice referring to her? Annabelle Graham turned her head just far enough to see the speaker and her heart sank like a stone. Later, she would realise sheâd known who it was even before she turned her head. Those clipped private school kind of vowels that, for her at least, totally obliterated the sexiness such a deep voice should automatically have.
She would also realise that such an outburst was completely out of character so he must have been even more appalled to see her than his tone had suggested. Bella sucked in a long breath that she knew would get expelled in a resigned sigh as she turned her head far enough to be polite.
Oliver Dawson, eminent neurosurgeon here at St Patrickâs hospital, looked like heâd frozen in mid-step as heâd been passing by the dayroom of this ward. He almost looked as if heâd been hit by a bolt of lightning. Her breath came out in the anticipated sigh.
One of the only immediately discernible perks of finishing her run in Theatre and starting her new nursing rotation in the geriatric wards had been the thought of not looking like an idiot in front of this man again. Bumping into things. Not wearing her mask properly. Not being in the right place at the right time.
Just not being ⦠good enough. At anything.
It should have occurred to her that he might have patients in this area of the hospital. Old people had strokes. They got brain tumours. They fell over and suffered head injuries. Bellaâs heart sank even further. This was probably one of Mr Dawsonâs most frequent ports of call now that she came to think about it.
And, yep, she was the âyouâ he had to be referring to because he had her pinned with a glare that was in no way softened by the rich chocolate shade of his eyes. And heaven help her, he was even more intimidating in a three-piece pinstriped suit than he had been in loose-fitting theatre scrubs.
The appalled tone was distressingly familiar. Being bailed up to get told off was not a new experience by any means. Bella sighed again.
âYes,â she confessed. âItâs me.â She tried a bright smile. âHow are you, Mr Dawson?â
The glare took on an incredulous tinge but Bella was distracted by realising that this was the first time she had seen the surgeon without his hair being covered by a theatre cap. It was even darker than his eyes and as immaculately cut as his suit. There was an air of precision and control about Oliver Dawson that was undoubtedly a huge asset as a surgeon but he was on another planet as far as the men Bella had ever tried to placate. The smile seemed to hit some kind of force-field and bounce straight back at her. Oliver not only ignored her polite enquiry about his wellbeing, he was looking past her now.
âWhat are you doing here?â
âIâve just started my rotation on Geriatrics.â Bellaâs first run in St Patrickâs had been in Theatre. After her three-month stint in the dreaded area of the elderly and infirm, she had Paediatrics to look forward toâher all-time favourite. It was going to be a few years until she could start a family of her own so Bella had every intention of making the most of being with other peopleâs children until then. Her next run couldnât come soon enough. Especially now. But neurosurgical cases were fairly common with children, too, werenât they? Where would she be safe from failing to make the grade in Oliver Dawsonâs eyes? Did they need a nurse in Dermatology Outpatients, perhaps? Obs and Gynae?
A single, curt shake of the manâs head told her that her response to his question had been incorrect. Well, no surprises there.
âI wasnât referring to the details of your employment roster,â he snapped. âI would like to know what you are doing right now. With these patients.â
âOh â¦â Bella turned back to find herself being watched with some sympathy by five pairs of eyes, most of which were behind fairly thick spectacle lenses. It was only then that Bella became aware again of the music coming from the cute little speaker sheâd attached to her iPod. Good olâ foot-stomping country music. She could understand that it would seem a little inappropriate. And loud.
âIâll turn it down,â she offered hurriedly, following the words with action. âI had to turn it up because Wallyâs pretty deaf and he couldnât hear the beat.â
âAye.â The rotund, elderly man standing closest to Bella nodded vigorously. âDeaf as a doorknob, I am.â