Read the book: «Dr Drop-Dead Gorgeous»

Chapter One

‘JULIET! Can you hear me? Stay with us, Juliet.’

Maggie woke with a start. She was in strange surroundings, curled up and cramped in an armchair. She rubbed her neck with one hand as she tried to work out where she was. The room came into focus. A drip stand, an overway table, white sheets on a single bed—a hospital room.

She remembered where she was. She was waiting for her sister to come out of Theatre.

She looked around, searching for the person whose voice had woken her. A man’s voice, she was sure of it. He’d been talking loudly but the room was quiet now; she was alone.

Had she been dreaming?

Her heart was thumping in her chest—she put her hand over it, as if she could slow it down. She had been dreaming; she could recall it now. She’d been dreaming about Juliet’s operation. Juliet’s heart had stopped and the doctors had been using cardiac paddles to get it going again. That was what had woken her so abruptly. That was why her heart was racing—it was as though she’d felt the shock of the charge going through her own chest.

Something had gone wrong and she needed to find out what it was.

She jumped out of the chair.

How long had she been sleeping? She checked her watch, quarter past two. Juliet should have been out of Theatre by now. Someone must know something.

Maggie needed information; she needed to know what had happened and she needed to know if Juliet was OK.

She made her way to the nurses’ station. The nurse sitting at the desk was the one who’d come to take Juliet to Theatre. Maggie was relieved there hadn’t been a change of shift yet. She had no time for pleasantries or to explain who she was.

‘Carol, do you know if Juliet is out of Theatre yet?’

The nurse looked up and must have recognised her. ‘I haven’t heard anything. Would you like me to check?’

‘Please. I thought she’d be finished by now.’ Maggie tapped her foot impatiently.

Carol picked up the phone and punched in the extension number, frowning as the call went unanswered. ‘There’s no answer but if they’re busy they don’t always pick up.’

Maggie knew that was true but she immediately wondered what was happening in Theatre or Recovery that would make the phone go unanswered. Was Juliet all right?

‘I’ll try again in a minute and come and find you. Will you wait in Juliet’s room?’ Carol waited for Maggie to nod before returning her attention to her paperwork.

Maggie made a pretence of returning to her sister’s room but there was no way she’d be able to sit and wait. She walked past the door and headed for the lift to take her up to Theatres and Recovery.

She paced around the confines of the lift as it carried her to the top floor. She exited the lift and followed the signs, hurrying along the corridor to the recovery suites and pressing the call button by the door. She pressed it twice before a nurse responded.

Maggie barely waited for the nurse to ask what she wanted before she spoke. ‘I’m Juliet Taylor’s sister. Can you tell me how she is?’

The nurse’s eyes widened and Maggie’s eyes narrowed in response as she tried to work out what was bothering the girl. Was she surprised to find a stranger hovering by the door or was she trying to formulate an answer? Maggie suspected that something had happened and that this nurse didn’t want to be the one to tell her about it.

‘What happened? Is she OK?’

The nurse continued to stand there, mute.

Maggie recognised the nurse’s expression now. Something unexpected had happened in Theatre and Maggie had been right to come barging up here to find out what. Something had happened to Juliet.

There was a flurry of movement behind the nurse. Maggie peered over her shoulder and saw a patient being wheeled into Recovery. She shoved her foot in the doorway to prevent the nurse from closing her out and waited, trying to catch a glimpse of the patient on the barouche. Was it Juliet? She couldn’t relax until she saw her sister with her own eyes.

There was quite a crowd surrounding the bed, fussing about as they connected the patient to various monitors. It was difficult to see who was lying there but as the nurse backed away Maggie had a strong suspicion the patient was Juliet. She wasn’t waiting any longer—somebody must be able to tell her something. She looked around for someone, anyone, who didn’t appear to be busy.

She saw the nurse she’d spoken to approach one of the other theatre staff—a man—and saw her point at the doorway, at Maggie. Maggie focused on her as she directed her comment to the room in general.

‘Excuse me, I’m Juliet Taylor’s sister. Could someone please tell me what’s going on?’

The man looked in her direction, issued what seemed to be instructions to the other staff and started towards her.

There was no hesitation on his part. He walked confidently. He looked as if he was used to being in control; he looked like a man who could avert a disaster.

Something in his walk told Maggie that even if there had been a problem, he’d solved it. He didn’t walk like a man who was about to deliver bad news. Maggie felt herself relax; she could breathe normally again.

‘You’re Juliet’s sister?’

Maggie nodded. ‘I’m Maggie Petersen.’

‘Ben McMahon, Juliet’s plastic surgeon.’ He held out his hand, offering to shake hers. His grip was warm and strong. Comforting, Maggie thought as she put her hand in his and felt her heart stop its crazy hammering and return to its normal rhythm, calmed by this man’s touch.

‘Is she OK?’

‘Yes, she’s going to be fine but there were some complications.’

‘What sort of complications?’ Maggie’s heart skipped a beat and she took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm, willing her heart to beat normally. Juliet had cheated death once before—could she be lucky a second time?

‘Let’s find somewhere to sit down.’ He led her around a corner to a room with several recliner chairs lining the walls. It was obviously used for day-surgery patients but at the moment it was vacant.

Ben waited for her to sit in one recliner, then he sat on the edge of the next one facing her. It looked as though he was trying to work out how to phrase his words gently and Maggie didn’t have the patience for that. ‘I’m a nurse—just tell me what happened.’

He jerked back a little, perhaps surprised by her abruptness, but he recovered quickly and answered Maggie’s question without hesitating. ‘Juliet’s reconstructive surgery went well—I was pleased with that aspect—but as the anaesthetist was about to reverse the anaesthetic Juliet’s blood pressure plummeted. You saw her in recovery—’ he waited for Maggie to nod in assent ‘—so you know she’s pulled through but her heart did stop and we had to resuscitate her.’

Maggie recalled her dream—maybe it hadn’t been as strange as it seemed. Her voice was tight as she forced her next question out. ‘She’s fine now?’

‘We’ll keep a close eye on her, of course, but so far she’s fine.’

‘How long did it take to revive her?’ Maggie needed facts.

‘About ninety seconds.’

Within safe time limits, Maggie knew. ‘What triggered the drop in BP?’ she asked.

‘The anaesthetist suspects it might have been a reaction to the antinausea drug. That’s not uncommon but it’s reassuring to know that in patients who’ve experienced this reaction there have been no long-term after-effects.’

Maggie could hear what Dr McMahon was telling her—Juliet would be fine—but she’d had a sense of unease about this surgery from the beginning and now she wondered what else could go wrong. She hadn’t been convinced that Juliet had needed this surgery but it hadn’t been her decision and there’d been no way of stopping Juliet once she’d made up her mind. That had been the case their whole lives. Juliet didn’t wait for other people to make her decisions. She didn’t leave it up to fate either. Juliet did what Juliet wanted and when.

This operation was a perfect example, Maggie thought. Juliet had been diagnosed with breast cancer twelve months ago. She’d undergone a bilateral mastectomy even though the cancer had been in one breast only. When she found out that, due to a faulty gene, she had a high chance of getting cancer in her other breast she’d very quickly decided to have both removed. Now she had just completed the first step of breast reconstruction. Maggie hadn’t seen the point of a reconstruction but, as Juliet had pointed out, it wasn’t her body, and Juliet had been adamant that was what she was going to do. And now it had nearly killed her.

Maggie had always thought the surgery unnecessary and now it had almost cost Juliet her life. A life she’d fought so desperately to save just twelve months earlier. Maggie sighed, knowing that even this latest drama wouldn’t stop Juliet from going after what she wanted.

‘Are you OK?’

Dr McMahon’s hand on her arm startled Maggie out of her reverie. She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. She lifted her head. He was looking at her with concern. Worried she was about to collapse too? She was quite OK. The only thing upsetting her equilibrium was Dr McMahon—he was seriously gorgeous and sitting far too close. She just remembered to nod in reply to his question even as she registered that his eyes were the exact same blue as his theatre scrubs.

‘Come with me—I’ll take you in to see for yourself. She’s going to be fine. Trust me.’

And for some reason she couldn’t explain, Maggie did trust this man. This man she’d only just met. Somehow she believed if he said everything would be fine, it would be.

She followed him along the corridor, back to Recovery. His back filled her field of vision. He was more than six foot by a couple of inches, Maggie guessed, solidly built, not fat but fit. He filled out his scrubs nicely—broad shoulders, narrower hips with his trousers tied loosely around them. Maggie was well aware just how unflattering theatre clothes could be but somehow, despite this, he managed to pull off the look. Some people would look good in a sack and Maggie suspected this man was one them. He could be a poster boy for tall, dark and handsome men.

Maggie stayed beside her sister, keeping one eye on the monitors that displayed her blood pressure, heart rate and oxygen levels, and one eye on the gentle rise and fall of the sheets as Juliet breathed in and out. Ben had been telling the truth—Juliet seemed fine. There was nothing for Maggie to do except watch. Watch and think. She thought about the past two years, about what Juliet had been through, but she also thought about Dr Ben McMahon. He’d left Recovery after checking on Juliet’s status but Maggie could very easily recall his turquoise gaze and his calm and confident aura. She was glad he’d been there; she felt reassured.

She stayed until she was sure Juliet was OK, until she was certain she could go home and tell Juliet’s children their mother was fine.

Maggie felt as though she’d barely slept for two nights. She was staying at Juliet’s house to look after the children but they were unsettled and missing their mother and Maggie’s nerves were stretched. She was tired and stressed, worried about her sister’s recovery. Each time she woke during the night she rang the hospital to check on Juliet. Her recovery had been unremarkable and, just as Dr McMahon had predicted, there’d been no more dramas and everything seemed back to normal.

Juliet was expecting to be discharged today. She’d asked Maggie to get to the hospital as early as possible, anticipating going home. She was obviously feeling better—she was certainly pushing to be discharged—but nothing much had ever slowed Juliet down.

Maggie had just managed to get Juliet’s children ready and to school on time before she returned to the hospital. She’d showered but hadn’t had time to wash her hair. She’d pulled it back into a ponytail and thrown on a pair of old jeans and a jumper but no make-up. She thought she probably looked worse than Juliet.

Juliet had been moved out of HDU into a private room after twenty-four hours but she’d spent most of yesterday sleeping and she looked surprisingly good. I do look worse than her, Maggie decided.

She walked over to the bed, leaning over to kiss Juliet’s cheek. ‘Hi. How are you feeling?’

‘A bit tired and sore but otherwise fine, surprisingly enough.’

‘Ready to go home, do you think?’

‘Definitely. I’m just waiting for the surgeon to come and discharge me.’

That would be Ben. Maggie’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. She hadn’t seen him yesterday when she’d visited Juliet, but she didn’t want to admit she’d felt disappointed. ‘Did he explain to you what happened?’

‘They think I had a reaction to the antinausea drug but there don’t seem to be any ongoing problems and they certainly don’t seem to be expecting any,’ Juliet replied.

‘Do you remember anything? Were you scared?’

Juliet shook her head. ‘Not at all. It was the strangest experience though. It was just like I’ve heard people describe it. The light. That floating sensation. How safe you feel. Everything.’ She paused and then continued. ‘Steven was there.’

‘My Steven?’

Juliet nodded.

‘Did you see him?’ Maggie didn’t doubt her sister’s recollection. Maggie was a theatre nurse; she’d heard plenty of these tales before, too many for her to rule them all out as nonsense.

‘No, I couldn’t see anything up there. The light was beautiful but it concealed everything. I could look down, I could see the operating theatre, I could see myself—but I couldn’t see Steven. I just heard him.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He told me it wasn’t my time. He sent me back. Told me my babies needed me.’ Juliet paused. ‘Do I sound crazy?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘I’ve had patients tell me similar things before,’ she answered honestly. ‘Did Steven say anything to me?’

The question was out before she could wonder why she’d even asked it.

What was she hoping to hear? Did she want a message or not? Would it matter either way?

When Steven first passed away Maggie would have given anything for one more chance just to touch him, one more chance to have him hold her, one more chance to hear him whisper her name. But that had been ten years ago and she’d come to terms with her loss. Even though she hadn’t found anyone to take Steven’s place his absence was no longer a gaping hole in her life—it was just a part of her. A part of her she’d become used to living with.

So why had she asked the question?

Curiosity, she decided. That was the answer.

Juliet shook her head. ‘No, sorry, Mags.’

She shrugged; it didn’t matter. What had she expected him to say? Only what she imagined she’d want to hear. ‘Be happy. I miss you. I love you’?

Did she still love him? She loved him but she couldn’t still be in love with someone who’d been dead for ten years. That wasn’t realistic. It didn’t matter that there’d been no message. A message wouldn’t change the fact that she was a widow and her life had moved on.

She picked up the chart at the end of the bed and flicked through it, looking for a change in topic. The monitors said Juliet was fine and the charts agreed. The medical staff had checked and double-checked everything and there was nothing untoward going on. Nothing that required further discussion.

‘Morning, ladies.’

Maggie looked up from the chart at the sound of Ben’s voice. It was rich and deep and she could feel it reverberate through her body. She hurriedly replaced the chart only to realize he was focused on Juliet and apparently not at all concerned about her activities. She silently reprimanded herself for being so foolish. Just because she felt a spark of attraction didn’t mean anything. He was obviously just a man doing his job.

‘Juliet, how are you?’ he asked.

‘Great. Packed and ready to go home. Ben, this is my sister, Maggie.’

‘Yes, we met.’ He glanced in her direction before returning his attention to Juliet. His focus was definitely on his patient, and Maggie swallowed her pride. ‘How’s your chest?’

‘A bit sore but better than yesterday, and otherwise I’m fine.’

Maggie stepped away from the bed, giving Ben space to examine Juliet. She thought putting some distance between them would give her a chance to recover her nerve but all she did was stand there and study him while his attention was focused elsewhere.

His thick dark hair was cut short but it looked as though it would curl if left to grow longer. His jaw was square and firm, perfectly symmetrical. He smiled at something Juliet said and creases appeared in the corners of his eyes. He was leaning over Juliet now, checking her wounds, and his trousers moulded around his buttocks. Maggie felt herself blush and quickly moved her attention a bit higher, away from temptation. From behind him she couldn’t see his eyes but she remembered the colour—turquoise blue.

She noticed a few flecks of silver in his hair and guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties, about her age. The silver did nothing to detract from his looks—he really was gorgeous. But, she supposed, given that he was a plastic surgeon, he should be gorgeous. She wondered if he’d had any work done.

He’d finished examining Juliet and was standing in profile now; this allowed Maggie to study his nose, which, for the record, was a perfect Roman nose, narrow and straight. He turned to face her. ‘Is something wrong?’

Had he felt her staring at him? Normally she would have blushed and looked away—normally she would be mortified to have someone catch her staring—but she found herself unable, or unwilling, to break his gaze.

‘Your nose.’

Ben reached up, rubbing his nose with one hand as if expecting to find something distasteful there. ‘Is that better?’ he asked.

‘No, no, there wasn’t anything wrong with your nose—that was what I was wondering, whether you’d had it fixed.’

‘Maggie!’ Juliet exclaimed.

‘What?’ Maggie looked at her sister, relieved to find she was actually able to break Ben’s gaze after all.

‘You can’t ask that.’

‘Why not? If I can’t ask a plastic surgeon about plastic surgery, who can I ask? Besides, you know I’ve always hated my nose so if I see a nice nose and I find out it’s been surgically assisted I might consider getting my own done.’

‘Thank you,’ Ben responded. ‘I think that was a compliment, but my nose is one hundred per cent natural, sorry.’

Maggie looked back at him. He was smiling at her, and she immediately forgot what she’d been talking about. If he was gorgeous before, he was now twice as gorgeous. His teeth were perfect, straight and white—what she always thought of as American teeth, the sort all sitcom actors had—but when he smiled she could see a streak of mischief in him that you wouldn’t have noticed at first. Not smiling, he was the epitome of a clean-cut, college-educated Aussie male, but when he smiled, she knew he wasn’t as wholesome as he first appeared. There was more to him than met the eye—he had a definite larrikin streak, which by no means diminished his appeal. If anything, it made her wonder even more about him. What was he thinking about that could make him smile like that?

His blue eyes sparkled. ‘Just out of interest, what’s wrong with your nose?’

Maggie touched the bridge of her nose. ‘I hate this bump in the middle.’

‘That’s a hard thing to guarantee to fix, you know. Think of it as giving you individuality.’ Ben delivered his verdict with a wink before turning his attention back to Juliet.

Maggie stood, stuck to the spot as strange sensations flooded through her. This man was disturbing her equilibrium in a major way.

She’d met plenty of attractive, intelligent men in her time but Ben seemed so down-to-earth, with no signs of an overinflated ego. He seemed normal, charming. Or at least he was charming her! But it didn’t seem deliberate on his part. It seemed natural. And Maggie was definitely not immune. Her mouth was dry and her hands were shaking; her pulse was racing. She put a hand to her stomach, trying to settle her nerves. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself.

‘So, can I go home? Maggie’s a nurse—I’ll be in good hands.’

Hearing her name brought her attention back to the matter at hand, getting Juliet home. She realized she’d missed most of Ben and Juliet’s conversation as she’d tried to get her wayward thoughts under control.

Ben addressed her now. ‘That’s right—you told me that the other day, didn’t you? What sort of nurse?’

‘I work in Theatre.’

‘Can you handle patients who are conscious?’ Ben’s accompanying smile made Maggie’s skin tingle. It was the strangest sensation, as if her skin had a life and mind of its own.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, smiling back at him, or at least hoping she was smiling and not grinning like a half-crazed woman.

Ben turned his focus back to Juliet. ‘In that case I’ll discharge you and see you in a fortnight. Have you got your appointment?’ Juliet nodded and Ben continued. ‘Any concerns, ring me. And remember, no heavy lifting or strenuous housework—that includes shopping for groceries and hanging up washing.’

Both sisters watched him leave the room and once he was supposedly out of earshot Juliet spoke up.

‘Told you he was fabulous, didn’t I?’

Had she? Maggie couldn’t remember. She’d be surprised if Juliet hadn’t said something—it wasn’t every day you came across someone as striking as Ben—but she could barely remember right now what her own name was let alone whether Juliet had mentioned her handsome plastic surgeon. Silently she did agree that he seemed fabulous but she wasn’t sure whether her mind was really processing things properly so she chose to keep her own counsel.

‘Pity he’s my specialist,’ Juliet continued talking, apparently unaware that Maggie hadn’t answered her.

‘You wouldn’t!’ Maggie gasped.

‘Wouldn’t what? Jump into bed with him if I got the chance?’ Juliet laughed. ‘’Course I would. I’m divorced, not dead. I’ve survived twice now, first breast cancer and then being brought back from death’s door two days ago, and I intend to make the most of being alive. Just wait until I get my new boobs—there’s more life in this old girl and I intend to enjoy some of it.’

Maggie laughed but also wondered what Juliet would say if she told her that was exactly how she felt!

Her first response hadn’t been wrong—Ben was seriously attractive, and she definitely wasn’t immune to his physical qualities. The small space of Juliet’s hospital room hadn’t been able to contain his energy and charisma, and Maggie was just as aware of his appeal today as she had been two days earlier. But, while she could appreciate Ben’s attributes, unlike Juliet, she couldn’t imagine being with him any more than she was sure he could imagine being with her.

As much as she’d consider the idea in theory she couldn’t imagine it ever eventuating in real life. What would a gorgeous, successful, charming man who, she imagined, could have any woman he wanted see in her—a skinny, forty-two-year-old widow with a flat chest and a bump in her nose!