Wish Upon a Star

‘There’s a flu bug going around,’ he muttered, dragging his eyes away from the smooth skin of her neck and trying to kill the erotic images dancing around his brain. ‘Half the nurses are off sick.’

‘You’ll be joining them if you carry on pushing yourself like this,’ she said tightly, and he sighed.

‘You know what A and E is like.’

‘Yes.’ She grabbed some plates and slammed them down on the table with more force than was necessary. ‘I should do. I used to work there and I was married to you for long enough.’

‘Was?’ He repeated the word, a jealous, possessive anger springing to life inside him. She must have detected something ominous in his tone because she looked up at him and he saw the misery in her eyes.

His insides twisted and he ran a hand over the back of his neck to relieve the growing tension. In all their years of marriage, he’d never seen Christy cry. He’d seen her helpless with laughter and wild with temper, but he’d never seen her cry and the shimmering mist of tears in her green eyes brought a sick feeling to the pit of his stomach.

‘Christy—’

The phone rang and Christy leaned across to answer it, clearly relieved at the interruption.

Knowing her as he did, he guessed that such a display of weakness would have horrified her.

Alessandro watched as she pulled herself together. He heard her clear her throat and speak, saw a smile touch her wide, generous mouth and watched her glorious hair slide over her shoulder as she tilted her head and listened. He’d always loved her hair. The colour of autumn leaves, it fell past her shoulders in soft, wild curls. He was so absorbed by the soft, feminine curve of her jaw that he didn’t even realise she’d replaced the receiver.

‘That was Sean.’

‘Nicholson?’ Alessandro struggled to concentrate. ‘Did he want to talk to me?’

‘No.’ Her voice was calm as she reached into the oven for the stack of pancakes she was keeping warm. ‘He wanted to talk to me.’

‘What about?’

Christy put the pancakes in the middle of the table. ‘Working in A and E. He wants me to do bank work for the two weeks leading up to Christmas to cover all the nurses you have off sick.’

Alessandro watched while she reached into the fridge for maple syrup. ‘And you said no.’

‘Actually, I said yes.’ She added a plate of lemon slices and a bowl of sugar to the table.

Alessandro stared at her in blatant astonishment. ‘Why would you say yes?’

Her gaze lifted to his, her green eyes cool. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Well, because…’ He dragged a hand through his dark hair and frowned, suspecting that he was about to get himself into hot water. ‘Because it’s a long time since you’ve worked in A and E. You’ve been at home with the children for years now and—’

‘And you think my brain has gone to mush?’ Her tone had an edge to it as she reached into the cutlery drawer and withdrew a knife. ‘Why don’t you just say it, Alessandro? You don’t think I’m up to it, do you?’ She slammed the drawer shut with a decisive flick of her hand and Alessandro closed his eyes briefly and wished he’d stayed at the hospital.

‘I’m just thinking of you. You’ve no idea what A and E is like now.’ He spread lean, strong hands to emphasise his point. ‘Every day there’s a new piece of high-tech equipment to master and the work is full on and relentless. Every single day we’re stretched to the limit. And then there’s the violent drunks—’

She put the knife on the table next to the syrup. ‘You don’t think I can cope with a violent drunk?’

Alessandro eyed the dangerous glint in her eye and felt the hot burn of lust spread through his body. He’d always loved her passion and her strength. The fact that she was afraid of nothing. ‘You’re a strong woman, that’s true, querida,’ he drawled, ‘but—’

‘But nothing! Believe it or not, I still have a brain, Alessandro, and giving birth to your children hasn’t changed that fact.’ Passion and fire burned in her eyes and he was suddenly relieved that she’d put the knife down.

‘You’re overreacting.’

‘Well, excuse me, but when I’m patronised I do have a tendency to overreact,’ she said in a dangerously sweet tone. ‘And let’s be honest here for a moment, shall we? You’re not thinking of me. You’re thinking of yourself. You’re afraid I’ll embarrass you. Or that when you get home, your dinner won’t be cooked. Or that I’ll be too tired for sex—’

‘Enough!’ He said the word sharply, his eyes sliding to the door, but there was no sign of the children.

‘Yes, Alessandro. I’ve had enough.’ She glared at him. ‘But you’re not thinking of me, are you? You just don’t want anything to upset the perfect order of your life.’

He inhaled sharply. ‘A and E is busy and challenging and—’