Evie's Bombshell - By Amy Andrews Page 0,24

was always so intense—to see him amused was breathtaking.

Suddenly Evie felt back on an even keel. Enough to begin a dialogue about the subject she’d been avoiding. ‘Do you think we can find some time this week to talk?’ she asked tentatively.

Finn felt the bubble of happiness that had percolated from nowhere burst with a resounding pop. A talk sounded as inviting as root-canal treatment.

He eyed her warily. ‘I don’t like to talk.’

Evie nodded. ‘I’ve noticed.’

‘Nothing’s changed just because I’m back, Evie.’

She steeled herself against the ominous warning. It would do her well to take heed.

Finn Kennedy was one hard nut to crack.

‘I know,’ she rushed to assure him. ‘It’s not about that. About us.’

Not strictly speaking anyway.

She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘It’s … something else.’ She stopped and wondered if it sounded like the complete hash it was. ‘It’s to do with work …’

It was. Sort of. Her career was going to have to take a back seat for a while. His would be affected too if he wanted to be involved with the baby.

She watched his frown deepen. Why did she have to fall for a man who was always so suspicious? ‘Look, it’s complicated, okay? Can you just say yes? Then I’ll promise not to bother you again.’

Finn wasn’t keen on a talk. In his experience women’s talks involved rings and dresses and happily ever afters. But it was work related … and the payoff sounded pretty damn good to him.

Never being bothered by her again was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

It was a futile hope, of course, because he dreamed about her too bloody much to ever fully realise that blissful state of Evie-lessness and every time he saw her a very distinct, very unevolved, caveman urge seemed to overcome him.

But if she could do her bit then he could master the rest. He was used to it.

‘After Khalid’s discharge?’ he suggested. ‘A few days? At Pete’s?’

Evie slowly exhaled her pent-up breath. ‘Thank you.’

Finn nodded. ‘I’ll let you know.’

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Just turned away, his mind already shifting gears.

After some rhythm complications, it was Friday afternoon before Khalid was discharged to a penthouse suite at one of the city’s most luxurious hotels. It was top secret but Finn knew and Khalid had his number. Along with round-the-clock private nurses, Finn was confident the prince would have a very nice convalescence with a world-class view.

He’d seen Evie around over the intervening days—with just one VIP patient on his books, he wasn’t exactly flush with things to do. In fact, glimpses of her here, there and everywhere were driving him more than a little nutty. And always, it seemed, she was deep in conversation with Marco. By the end of the week he was starting to wonder if perhaps there was something going on with them after all.

His idleness was driving him spare—giving him too much time to think. At Beach Haven it had been what he’d needed—but back in amongst the rush and hurry of the Harbour he needed to be busy. Eric, the CEO, had been the superior jerk he’d predicted and had refused to put Finn back on the surgical roster until after their VIP had been discharged.

But, as of Monday, he was back. Which would give him a lot less time to wonder about what Evie and Marco were up to.

To wonder about Evie full stop.

The prospect of the talk had kept her front and centre all week—with no surgery to do and just Khalid to see, there’d been nothing else to occupy his brain. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket as he made his way to his outpatient rooms. It was time to get it out of the way.

Check it off his list.

Start the new week with a clean slate.

And it was an opportunity to lay down some ground rules with Evie. They couldn’t go on the way they had been prior to him leaving. He was different now—his injury was healed. He didn’t need anyone’s sympathy or pity or to cover for his lapses.

If they were going to co-exist peacefully in this hospital he had to start as he meant to go on.

Without Evie.

Evie breathed a sigh of relief as the electronic noise of the monitor grew fainter as the last patient from the pile-up on the motorway was whisked off to Theatre. They’d been frantic for hours and between the adrenaline buzz, the noise pollution and the baby dancing the rumba