200 Harley Street: Surgeon in a Tux. Carol Marinelli
to learn from a news article that his brother was recovering in hospital.
So much for being next of kin.
Ethan’s time in Afghanistan was something Ethan chose not to discuss but his pain was evident and, yes, Leo wished his brother would share, open up, but why would he? Leo thought.
They’d never been close.
Their father had seen to that long ago.
‘You’re not proving anything by refusing to use a walking stick.’ Leo watched as Ethan’s shoulders stiffened but, hell, if his older brother couldn’t say it then who could?
‘If I want a further opinion I’ll go to someone who …’ Ethan didn’t finish, he didn’t have to—that was the dark beauty of being brothers, there was enough history to know exactly what the other meant without having to spell things out. As Ethan’s disdain for Leo’s work briefly broke through the tense, simmering surface, exposing the rivalry beneath, Leo merely shrugged.
‘Mock it all you like,’ he said, as Ethan turned to face him. ‘But I’ll tell you this much—my patients walk out of here feeling one hell of a lot better than they did when they first walked in, and,’ he added, ‘might I remind you that it’s my work and subsequently my patients’ word of mouth that have pulled the Hunter name out of the gutter. While you were busy playing soldiers …’ Leo broke off, wishing he could retrieve his own words, because Ethan hadn’t been playing at anything. Ethan’s injuries were a product of war. He was a hero by anyone’s standards—especially Leo’s. ‘That was below the belt,’ he admitted.
‘Yes, and so is the shrapnel.’
Leo just stood there silent for a moment. His appalling playboy reputation combined with a passion for fast living meant that having a wounded soldier for a younger brother needled on so many levels. ‘While you’re peering down your nose at your celebrity surgeon brother, just remember that my work allows the charity side of things to happen,’ Leo pointed out. ‘Without the money coming into the Hunter Clinic those charity beds at the Lighthouse Hospital and Kate’s wouldn’t be funded and you wouldn’t be working here.’
‘I get it,’ Ethan growled.
‘You abhor it, though …’ Leo said, as his eyes drifted to the crystal decanter that sat on the walnut table in his office. ‘But you don’t seem to mind extravagance when you’re knocking back the hundred-year-old malt …’ He walked over and lifted the decanter. ‘I must remember to replace the stopper more carefully in future.’ His voice was dripping with sarcasm. ‘It seems to be evaporating at a rate of knots.’
Ethan said nothing. It was Leo who chose not to leave it. ‘Don’t you have a home to go to, Ethan? I’m assuming that you crashed here again last night …’
It was an obvious assumption. Ethan was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and was the antitheses of the impeccably groomed Leo who, despite a late night at an A-list function and an energetic romp with yet another blonde beauty in his bed, had been out for a run at dawn, before showering and heading to work.
Ethan, it would seem, had crashed again on Leo’s leather sofa.
‘I was working late.’ Ethan offered the same excuse as he had on several occasions since coming to work at the Hunter Clinic.
Leo could feel the tension in his jaw, heard his own hiss of breath as he felt the pages of history turning. Yes, Ethan may be a hero but he was very much a wounded one and it wasn’t just his legs that were injured, Leo was sure of it. But even if Ethan’s mental scars ran deep there was no way that Leo was about to let history repeat itself. He could still remember, as if it had happened yesterday, the time when everything had finally come to a head—their father, James, turning up for work drunk and causing a scene in front of the clients.
Of course he had been sent home, disgraced, but instead of sleeping it off James had carried on with his bender, eventually collapsing and dying. The Hunter reputation had fallen like a house of cards and it had been Leo who had painstakingly rebuilt it brick by brick, client by client, personal recommendation by personal recommendation.
He’d sacrificed way too much to see it fall again.
Leo felt the heavy weight of the stopper in his palm for a moment before he replaced it in the decanter. ‘If you ever—’ Leo started, but Ethan broke in.
‘It’s not going to happen.’
‘You’re quite sure about that?’ Leo’s eyes were as blue as the ocean and, despite the seemingly decadent lifestyle, just as clear. Unlike Ethan’s—his hazel eyes were bloodshot and although Leo appeared unshaven it was designer stubble on his chin, whereas Ethan looked like a man who had spent the night on a sofa—albeit an expensive one.
‘I shan’t be making excuses for you, Ethan.’
‘Learned your lesson, have you?’ Ethan asked. Yes, there was a dark beauty to being brothers, because in that short question Ethan had demanded answers to the impossible. Why had Leo kept such a lid on things with their father? Why had Leo constantly smoothed over the gaping cracks? Why, when Ethan had wanted to confront their father, had Leo insisted otherwise as their father had spiralled further out of control?
Even as children, Leo had been the same, defusing situations with wit and humour—even pouring his father a drink at times just to knock him out.
Ethan would have preferred different methods to produce the same result.
His fists.
‘I don’t think now is the time or the place,’ Leo said.
‘There never has been a right time and place,’ Ethan responded, then turned the conversation from the impossible to the practical. ‘Just make sure that you’re nice to Lizzie.’
‘I can’t wait to meet her,’ Leo clipped. Despite wanting the conversation over, Leo just couldn’t help himself, he simply could not resist a dig. Oh, there was history, so much history that threaded every word of his taunt. ‘She must be pretty amazing if she’s got into that cold black heart of yours.’
‘I’m just asking you to go easy on her,’ Ethan said. ‘Lizzie isn’t one of your usual tarts.’
‘You really do have a thing for her …’ Leo drawled. ‘Good in bed, is she?’
Had Ethan thumped Leo it wouldn’t have been in defence of Lizzie. Both men’s minds had turned now to the woman who had ultimately divided them—so much so that Olivia might just as well be standing in the room watching them, listening to them fight, just as they had ten years ago, almost to the very day.
‘How sad that that is your measure of a good woman,’ Ethan responded.
‘Do I look sad?’ Leo’s lips sneered into a smile. ‘I’m not the one who’s turning into a recluse. I’m out every night, I’m living …’
‘Really?’ Ethan had heard enough. It had been a stupid idea to come back and an even more stupid idea to expose Lizzie to the toxicity. There was a fight waiting to be had, an explosion about to come sometime soon and, were his legs not about to give way, Ethan might have dealt with it then. He looked at Leo—so arrogant, so assured, so, despite his insistence otherwise, messed up.
What had he been thinking, coming to work here?
‘It’s not living, Leo, it’s existing—I should know!’ Ethan walked out then, calling over his shoulder as he left, ‘Just keep it in your pants for once. Lizzie deserves better than that.’
Leo stood there as the door slammed.
Their voices hadn’t been particularly raised and the walls were thick but the tension in the clinic was almost palpable and the staff must surely be noticing it by now. Had it been a mistake to ask Ethan to come and head up the charitable side of the business? Leo truly didn’t know. There was no doubt that his brother was a brilliant surgeon and that his skills could be well utilised, but there was just