The Surgeon's One-Night Baby

According to her dad, Kaspar had never been a kid in the strictest sense of the word. His parents’ volatile relationship had caused him to grow up quickly, to distance himself from people, to distrust easily. But her own father had brought him round, treating him exactly as he’d treated Robbie, encouraging when he could, laying down the ground rules at other times. And she’d treated him like a brother while Robbie, of course, had just been Robbie, sweet, funny and easygoing.

Did Kaspar remember all that? If he did, did he care? Enough to answer her?

He hesitated and, for a moment, she thought he was going to sidestep it.

‘The boy’s jaw was shattered. He’d lost a chunk of it along with the teeth on the right side. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t even speak, so I needed to build a new jaw and simultaneously implant teeth. We layered pieces of titanium and then used a laser to harden the material. The lattice structure allowed us to really bend and form it so that it was the right size and shape for the kid, fitting perfectly and looking natural.’

Archie didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath until he stopped speaking. He was looking directly at her, his eyes were dark, intense, like a moment of understanding. Of connection.

She didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad thing that at that moment the music cranked up a notch and whatever else he was saying was lost, swallowed up by the thumping bass line.

‘Say that again?’ she shouted, but he shook his head.

The moment of opening up to her about his career was clearly over. She leaned in to speak into his ear, swaying slightly on her friend’s heels, her body lurching against his as he put his arm around her to steady her. Her lips grazed his skin and she smelled the tantalising citrus scent.

It hit her again, that wall of primal need, stealing her breath away as his touch seared every inch of her flesh. It was almost a relief when the music kicked down again and he released her.

‘You want to get out of here?’ she asked instead.

‘Together?’

‘Is that a problem?’

The words were out before she had even thought about them. Seductive, teasing, another flash of the old, adult Archie. Yet the way she could never have dreamed of being as a thirteen-year-old with a crush. It was exhilarating.

‘Not for me,’ he growled. ‘But, then, I’m sure you’ve heard the endless scandals that seem synonymous with my name. This isn’t a high-profile charity event, but it isn’t a small gathering either. If any press spot us, your photo will be on the internet before we even get to my hotel.’

‘Is that your attempt to warn me?’ She deliberately rolled her eyes. ‘Only I make it a point never to believe idle gossip. I don’t think they know the old Kaspar.’

‘The old Kaspar?’ His brow furrowed and as two light indentations peeked out from between his eyebrows a wave of familiarity unexpectedly coursed through Archie, making her clench her fingers into a fist just to keep from reaching out and lightly skimming them even as her stomach executed another downward dive.

So he didn’t know who she was. No wonder he hadn’t reacted to her mention of her father. Sick disappointment welled in her, but instead of backing away, as she might have done, a flash

of the daredevil Archie Katie had been talking about suddenly flared within her.

Maybe, just maybe she could jog his cobwebbed memory. She would rather he piece it together himself than simply hit him over the head with it. She didn’t want to risk anything that might make him back away from her.

‘You know, the pre-“Surgeon Prince of Persia” reputation,’ she prompted. ‘The kid who climbed trees, and built dens, and fought with his best friend.’

Another beat. Imperceptible to perhaps anyone else. She felt rather than saw the shift.

‘There is no pre-“Surgeon Prince of Persia”.’ He winked.

It should have irritated her, being altogether too seductive, suggestive and downright overconfident. It didn’t. She’d seen the façade sliding back into place as though he regretted his moment of perceived weakness. That tell she recognised from long ago. More polished now, but there nonetheless. Kaspar the playboy might be standing in front of her, but she’d seen the Kaspar she’d known, the one she’d wanted, was still in there. She could still unearth him. For a moment back there she had succeeded.

A thrill coursed its way through her, lending her the confidence she’d been lacking.

‘I don’t know whether to admire your confidence or deplore your arrogance.’ She cocked her head to one side as if genuinely giving it serious consideration. ‘I rather fear it’s the latter.’

‘Oh, I seriously doubt that.’

His wolfish smile did little to soothe her jangling nerves. It was as though he was enjoying the banter. Relishing the challenge. Maybe if she dropped the right prompts, he would finally realise who she was. Finally remember.

‘Are you really the blasé Lothario the press paint you as? Bedding a different woman every other night?’ she challenged.

‘Well, if it’s in the press, then it must be true.’

Which wasn’t really, she couldn’t help but notice, an answer at all. It begged the question of why, if he was more like the Kaspar she remembered than the Kaspar the media seemed to describe, he would ever have allowed this unfavourable reputation of his to slide?