The Greek Billionaires Love-Child

‘Not if following protocol means giving up on a child,’ Nikos said coldly. ‘This child has a penetrating chest wound which appears to be confined to the thorax. If I can stop the bleeding within the next few minutes, he stands a chance. Ella—the pack. Now.’

‘Think of your reputation.’ The anaesthetist became a shade paler as Nikos prepped the child’s chest. ‘You could be struck off.’

‘If I’m struck off for doing my best for my patient then I would leave medicine happy. A bit like having a heart attack during sex.’ Nikos spoke in a lazy drawl, nothing in his demeanour suggesting that he was about to perform major surgery. ‘I’ve always thought that if you are going to make an exit, you should at least make it while striving for perfection.’

It must have been the impossible tension of the situation that made Ella want to laugh. Or perhaps it was just the inconceivable idea of someone with Nikos’s physique and stamina dying during sex.

‘Your girlfriend is obviously a lucky woman,’ quipped one of the cheekier nurses, and Ella felt her face grow scarlet.

They’d always kept their relationship secret, but suddenly she had a wild desire to tell everyone that this incredibly talented man was hers. That she was the one he spent his nights with.

He’d chosen her.

His gaze met hers and her heart skipped several beats because she knew he’d read her mind.

A faint gleam of irony lit his dark eyes and then he held out his gloved hand.

‘Scalpel,’ he said softly, and she took a deep breath and handed him the instrument, feeling that the moment was almost symbolic. He had the ability to heal, but he also had the ability to hurt.

Would he hurt her?

The only thing she knew for sure was that if she were the one who was injured, he was the only doctor she would want in the room.

Unfortunately the anaesthetist didn’t share her confidence. ‘If you can make a joke then you have no idea of the seriousness of what you are about to do, Mariakos,’ he said harshly, but Nikos was already operating.

‘For this procedure to have any chance of success, it has to be performed within five minutes of cardiac arrest. I have four minutes remaining, Phil.’ His tone was conversational. ‘Do you want to talk or save a life?’

‘I want you to consider what you’re doing.’

‘Retractor.’

Ella handed Nikos what he needed as sweat beaded on the anaesthetist’s brow.

‘The child will not survive if you do this, Nikos.’

‘He won’t survive if I don’t do it.’ Nikos worked swiftly and with cool precision, not once faltering as he carried out a procedure that would have been beyond the nerve or capability of most doctors. ‘Now I see the problem.’ He made it sound as though he was dealing with something routine. ‘There’s a tear in the atrium—give me a suture.’

Ella detached herself mentally from the emotional side of the case. It was a procedure, not a child. If she thought about the human story behind every injury that came through the doors, she’d be an emotional wreck. So she passed the sterilised instruments, concentrating on what he was doing, trying to anticipate what he was going to need even though she’d never seen this performed before.

The anaesthetist wiped his forearm over his brow. ‘If this child dies, the parents will sue you. Doesn’t that frighten you?’

‘I think you are frightened enough for both of us,’ Nikos murmured, his fingers swift and skilled as he staunched the bleeding and repaired the damage. Cool, unflustered, he lifted his gaze to the monitor. ‘Come on, agori mou. Fight for me. Put a little effort into this. So far I have been doing all the work. I am tired—it is your turn, I think.’

As they continued to resuscitate the child, Ella found that she was holding her breath.

If there was ever the slightest hope, Nikos never gave up.

Every child mattered to him.

And, this time, his efforts were rewarded. The child’s heart responded and the monitor flickered to life just as the cardiothoracic surgeon entered the room.

‘You’ve missed the party.’ Nikos didn’t shift his focus from the child. ‘How’s he doing from your end, Phil?’

‘Surprisingly well.’ The anaesthetist sounded stunned. ‘You’re a cool customer, Mariakos. And you have the luck of the devil.’

‘Is that why you’re looking at me as if I’ve grown horns? I’m done here.’ Nikos’s gaze flickered to the cardiothoracic surgeon, who was watching with a faint smile of admiration. ‘Do you want to close? I have no doubt you’ll do a neater job than me. Sewing has never been my speciality. Do you have a bed on ITU?’