The Pregnant Registrar. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Corey traced a finger along her cheek and, despite the warm night air, Lydia shivered with expectancy at his mere touch
She was struggling to breathe now, terribly so, her body burning with awareness. It was only a kiss, but it held so much promise, such a teasing, tempting glimpse of the man she was starting to adore, that it took all her strength to finally pull her lips away.
“You have to go,” she whispered, reluctance in every word.
“I know,” Corey said, equally reluctantly.” But you know I’d give anything to stay?” His arms were still wrapped around her, the swell of her stomach pressing into him, and Lydia nodded—because she did know. he knew exactly how he felt.
Career versus Children.
It’s a tough choice that many women have to face and one my heroine never intended to make—as a busy doctor, Lydia’s career was aways going to come first, last and always. But fate steps in sometimes when you least expect it and always has a surprise up her sleeve.
I enjoyed following Lydia’s journey; the mental struggle to envisage life with a baby on board, and barely a maternal instinct to her name! But that’s only half her problem.…
Happy reading,
Carol Marinelli
The Pregnant Registrar
Carol Marinelli
MILLS & BOON
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CONTENTS
TAKING a steadying breath, Lydia would have loved to press her face against the cool bathroom tiles, to rinse out her mouth and splash her face with some icy cool water, but the shrill bleeps from her pager merited no such luxury.
She was sure morning sickness should now be horrible distant memory, sure that by five months she should be able to walk into a hospital without diving for the nearest rest room.
Why did the books always get it wrong?
Catching sight of herself as she darted out of the cubicle, Lydia gave a grimace. She’d assumed by the time she hit registrar status that she’d sweep into the ward in chic, well-cut suits and impossibly beautiful shoes attached to thin silk stockinged legs. Not dashing in like some overgrown heifer with baggy theatre blues covering swollen ankles. But the tailored suits she’d envisaged for this stage of her career didn’t equate with the subtropical temperatures of the special care unit and high heels didn’t make for a speedy dash along the corridor. The chocolate curls she’d so neatly tied back this morning were escaping rather alarmingly and she’d have loved to have fiddled with a bit of lipstick, would have loved to have put some blusher on her way too pale cheeks, but there really wasn’t time. As a very new junior registrar on Special Care, the shrieks from her pager could only mean one thing…she was needed, and quickly.
Consoling herself that the last thing a tiny baby would care about was whether the doctor had lipstick on, Lydia wrenched open the bathroom door and practically flew along the highly polished tiles, popping a mint into her mouth as she did so and praying her unfortunate delay would go unnoticed or, more pointedly, wouldn’t have done any damage to the fragile lives that were now in her charge.
Racing through the black swing doors, even though she’d just washed her hands, even though time was of the essence, protocol still had to be adhered to and Lydia squeezed a hefty dose of alcohol rub into her palms as she scanned the special care nursery, watching the crowd huddled around a crib as she deftly made her way over.
She’d so wanted to look cool for this, had wanted to breeze in on her first day supremely in control, to dispel in an instant the questionable merits of filling a three-month maternity leave position with a rather pregnant doctor. But instead of arriving cool and unflappable, it was a rather pale, shaky Lydia that made her way over to the gathered crowd. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘No