But he could tell from the hunger in those startling green pupils that she liked what she saw. ‘Steady, now. This jacket saved me from a skin-to-tarmac pebble-dashing after a collision with a drunk driver. It’s my favourite.’
‘Ouch. Lucky escape.’ She ran her hand up the zipper and regarded the scuffed black fabric. ‘By “favourite,” I suppose you mean old?’
‘Some things you should never get rid of. Now...’
A drink, Ethan had ordered. A chat. Guidelines. He could do that.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve time for a quick drink? Coffee? I’d like to have an informal meeting...a chat about our patient list, Safia, the surgery, guidelines...’ And the kiss. And the husband.
Hell, he knew too much about Kara Stephens, and so not enough. And his drama-free night fizzed into nothing under the cynical watchful eye of the sensible part of his brain.
Kara’s teeth bit along her bottom lip as she toyed with his suggestion. ‘Maybe I’m already going out somewhere? Maybe I have plans?’
Why wouldn’t she? A beautiful woman like her was bound to have plans. ‘Okay, well, that’s fine. Another time.’
‘I don’t know...’ She stared up at him through her long blonde fringe. ‘I guess we should have a debrief, at least. Where would we go? Drake’s?’
‘Ah, no, after the day I’ve had I feel like taking a spin. A little farther, maybe? Somewhere I can breathe fresh air, away from the city. Blow out the cobwebs.’
‘Not too far. I have an early morning start tomorrow, with a hell of a grumpy boss.’
Walking back to his bike, he handed her a helmet from the top box and grinned. It wasn’t the early morning he was imagining...it was a late night...
Whoa, his libido was in super-drive. Getting to know you had suddenly got interesting.
Which was a pretty damned stupid idea, given she was already infiltrating his every thought. There were some guidelines he needed to be setting for himself too—e.g. a Kara-free life.
‘Okay, so how about Hammersmith? There’s a little pub there down on the water’s edge, just near Furnival Gardens. Not quite Darling Harbour, I guess, but it’s a decent spot and shouldn’t be too busy.’
She stopped and regarded his bike with a grimace. ‘I don’t do bikes.’
‘You’ve got to be open to new experiences, Kara. It’s how we grow as people. It’s just a bit of fun. What have you got to lose?’
‘Skin? I know enough about plastic surgery to never go on a motorbike. Ever.’ Weighing the helmet in her hand, she eyed him suspiciously. ‘Do you always carry a spare helmet?’
‘Not always. Just so happens the luck fairies have been busy sprinkling again. I’ll be careful—and besides, London traffic is so slow we won’t get above twelve miles an hour. Come on. Live a little.’ Climbing on, he gestured to the back of the bike. ‘I promise not to bite...unless you want me to.’
‘Oh, no...biting is way off-limits.’
But she held his gaze and he caught that flicker of desire, those green eyes probing deeper into his soul. And he didn’t miss the catch in her voice, the breathy sigh. He wondered, briefly, what was within her limits...
‘So, are you getting on or not?’
‘Seeing as you asked so nicely. Good to see that chivalry’s not dead.’
‘Wait. Wear this.’
Shrugging out of his jacket gave him a second to rethink this whole scenario. Man, he needed his head looked at—inviting her out when he should have been going through the Hunter Clinic’s quarterly accounts instead of pandering to Ethan’s demands. But his friend had been right. The least Declan could do was to lay down some ground rules. A quick drink. A work chat. Then make sure she got home safely. That was chivalry. Not giving in to feral instincts.
Unlike his father, who had given in to too many of his own needs, leaving everyone else to deal with the fall-out of his selfishness.
And Declan was nothing like his father.
‘It can get cold on the bike and wearing this is safer. Like I said—my lucky jacket.’
He wrapped the jacket round her shoulders, held it while she slid her arms into the sleeves. It dwarfed her willowy frame and she looked like a hot rock chick, not a surgeon. An image that zinged straight to his groin, sending ripples of heat shimmying through him. He flicked her hair out from the jacket collar and slipped the helmet over her head, tightening the strap under her chin, drawing on every reserve not to kiss that pouty mouth.
‘Okay, you’re good to go. Hold tight.’
He held her hand as she lifted one red shoe and straddled the back seat. Held his breath as she slid her hands around his waist.
And he prayed to the luck fairies that she wouldn’t hold on too tight. That his body wouldn’t betray him again by reacting to her touch. That he could keep control of his libido long enough to get her safely home. Alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
SO MUCH FOR professional distance. Kara climbed up behind Declan and placed her hands tentatively on his waist. Then, too close for any kind of sensibility, she let go and held on to the back of the bike.
‘Okay,’ she shouted as her helmet tapped the back of his. ‘Hammersmith!’
‘I’ll take the scenic route—give you a bit of a tour.’
He grinned, giving her the thumbs-up and gunning the engine. A quick jolt as he accelerated made her inhale sharply and instinctively grasp round his waist again.
Right round.
Now her sharp intake of breath wasn’t purely surprise, but was infused with a good dose of fire as her hands slid over cotton that slid over muscle. Beneath her fingers she felt the outline of his abs, lean and taut. Her mouth watered. If she’d been crazy blurting out her stupid answers in Theatre, it was nothing to the foolhardiness of hugging against him as they whizzed through the streets of west London.
At the touch of her breasts against his back awareness flowed through her. Famous city landmarks passed her by in a blur. She thought she might have seen Kensington Gardens ablaze with flowers, the Royal Albert Hall and queues of people waiting outside, the dazzling array of trendy shops in Kensington High Street, but she definitely saw the musculature of Declan’s arms as he steered, the tightening of his thigh as they waited at lights, the dips and lines of his shoulderblades.
The traffic flowed remarkably well for rush hour, and he wove the motorbike expertly in and out of the lanes. The warm breeze rushed into her face. The powerful throb and roar of the engine as they sped along gave a power-punch to her chest. Declan was right—this was definitely the way to blow out cobwebs. Her heart thumped and her body ached, but the only thing she knew for sure was that once this ride had ended it would take a lot of convincing for her to get off.
Although not once had she felt any shift in Declan’s focus, any kind of reaction to her hands on his body. Maybe she was dreaming that there was a connection between them? Maybe he truly did just want a conversation about their caseload?
In which case she would be fine. She could do professional. She could definitely do hands-off—just as soon as they stopped. For now, though, she was content to hold on tight.
Then, in too few wonderful minutes, they were pulling up outside a beautiful but tiny Tudor-style pub on the banks of the River Thames. Hanging baskets dripped pink and scarlet flowers over mahogany balconies; a smattering of people sat at round tables outside.
He helped her off the bike and unclipped her helmet. ‘There we go. Fun, yes?’
‘Wow, yes.’
Although not necessarily in the way he was thinking. Her legs felt a little unsteady as she stood, and she didn’t think it was all due to the bike.
‘I love it. Nothing can beat it. Oh, wait—maybe riding back in the dark, seeing London all lit up.’ He secured their helmets in the top boxes, then pointed right along the paved
riverfront. ‘Should we take a walk first? There’s a little pier farther down I like to explore.’
‘Oh? Okay.’
She turned to take in the rest of the sights. To their left the green iron latticework of the Hammersmith Bridge dominated the view back towards the city. On the slow-running water members of a rowboat team practised strokes under the watchful eye of their cox. They paused briefly and waved.
Kara waved back. ‘Seems like a lot of hard work to me.’
He laughed. ‘I prefer rugby myself, but there’s a rowing club just down the way. This place gets busy at the weekends, with people hanging out watching boat races and the like.’
‘Do you play? Rugby?’
‘When I have the time. I play for an Irish club based in Kilburn.’
That explained the toned body she’d run her fingers over. She forced words through a suddenly dry throat. ‘What position?’
‘You know about rugby?’
How many hours had she stood on the touchline and watched Rob get battered and bruised? How many years of bolstering his flailing ego when they were beaten? Too many to count. It wasn’t a memory she wanted to conjure up—or relive.
‘Not really.’ She changed tack. ‘Being a consultant, I thought you’d be more of a wine bar, white tablecloth and fancy grog kind of guy.’
‘Grog?’
‘Remind me to bring a phrasebook next time. Grog is what we Aussies call beer.’
‘I see. It sounded like you had something stuck in your throat.’ He laughed. ‘I enjoy bars like Drake’s, for sure. There’s a good crowd in there and it’s friendly enough. But sometimes I like a little anonymity—being where everyone knows all your business is like being back home.’
‘Or on an army base. Or at boarding school. Both of which I’ve done.’
‘And didn’t enjoy, by the look on your face.’ He started to wander down the shrub-lined path. Thyme and lavender scented the air. ‘I also like to go to places I can pop into wearing my leathers if I see fit. Drake’s doesn’t really fit that bill.’
‘I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.’ I wouldn’t.
She sniffed the leather jacket. Got another lungful of Declan. Steadied her heart-rate.
Across the river Kara saw large oak trees, a sports field, people jogging. Next to her Furnival Gardens was in full late-summer bloom, the flowers a little faded now, but bright still, very pretty and so typically English. It was a long way from Sydney’s exotic botanical gardens. With no large bats eyeing her suspiciously or flapping their great grey wings over her head. Now, there was a bonus.
Ah, Sydney... Her heart stuttered just a little. But she calmed it down again. This new life, so many miles away from the place she’d tried desperately to call home, was going to be stress-free. So long as she kept her heart out of her decision-making.
They walked on towards a cluster of brightly coloured houseboats adorned with a variety of quirky ornaments: gnomes, Buddha statues and pots and pots of flowers. A family of ducks waddled past and slipped into the water.
She breathed the scented air deeply and relaxed her shoulders. ‘I can’t believe we’re still in the middle of London. The air seems fresher here—better than the confines of the city and the hospital’s disinfectant smell.’
‘It’s a good place to clear your head. Sometimes I sneak down here at lunchtime for a run, just to get perspective. It’s my guilty secret.’ He stopped and turned to face her, looked straight into her eyes. ‘What’s yours, Kara?’
Oh, God. She forced the still air into her lungs and swallowed deeply. He was looking at her the way he had at the ball. As if he wanted to kiss her. Right now. Suddenly she realised she wanted to be his guilty secret, and him to be hers. To kiss those lips. To curl into his arms.
Dragging her eyes away from his, she glanced downwards. ‘Shoes. They’re my guilty secret.’
‘Ah, yes. Of course. Although there’s not a lot secret about that pair. They scream for attention.’ He grinned, clearly liking what he saw. ‘You sure you can manage a walk in them?’
‘Definitely.’
At that moment a jogger ran past and Kara stepped sideways to let him through. Her feet sank into damp grass, ruby-red heels and all. Unless she wanted to hobble across the lawn as if she had some kind of terrible affliction she needed to admit defeat.
‘But I think I’ll just take them off to save the heels from being ruined.’
He waited as she sat on a bench and unfastened one shoe, then twisted to do the other one. Her hands shook a little as she tried to undo it.
‘Damn thing—the strap’s caught...’
‘Do you need help?’
And there he was, in front of her again, bending down and peeling the second shoe off, oh, so slowly, his hand on her foot, her ankle, her calf. Her abdomen squeezed at the briefest touch of his fingers on her skin, at the tender way he slid the shoe over her toes, his head dipped in concentration. She almost reached out to run her fingers through that mess of hair. To pull him to her and breathe him in fully. She wondered how the hell someone she barely knew could fire such sensations within her.
Then, as if he’d only just realised the intimacy of such an act, he jumped back and stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘Better now?’
So she’d just discovered that ankles were a definite erogenous zone. Wriggling her toes into the soft lush grass, she smiled. ‘Yes. Thank you. Beautiful they may be—but, boy, they feel even better off.’
He laughed, sitting down on the grass opposite her. It seemed the man was at ease wherever he was—operating on complex surgeries in Theatre, in front of the media, roaring through town or sitting peacefully catching the dying rays of sunshine.
‘You’re as bad as Niamh. She’s always buying the most ridiculous shoes—even ones that don’t fit properly—just because they’re works of art, as she calls them.’
‘She has good taste, then.’
‘Or more money than sense.’
‘Niamh?’ She knew she was treading on tricky ground here, but she asked anyway. ‘Is she one of your sisters?’
‘Yes. The oldest of the girls.’
‘And then...?’
He shrugged.
She nodded for him to continue.
His smile was hesitant. ‘Then there’s Aoife, Briana and Roisin.’ He counted them off on his fingers.
‘I hope there won’t be a test, because I’m so going to fail at remembering them all.’ Efor? ‘There’s a lovely musical ring to the names. What do they all do?’
‘Apart from get under my feet?’
‘There you go again—saying the words, but your face is all soft and filled with affection.’
‘Ach, no, I was just squinting because the sun’s in my eyes.’ He laughed again.
Laughter came easily to him. She liked that. Liked that he found the fun in things. After the past few years she’d struggled to find the fun in anything much, and when Rob had come home all they’d done was argue. But Declan’s smile was contagious.
She relaxed into the conversation as he chatted about his family.
‘Let me see...you sure you want to hear this?’
‘Of course. Like I say, I always wanted to have brothers and sisters.’
‘Okay...well, don’t say I didn’t warn you... Niamh’s married and has four kids. Aoife’s engaged, for the third time, and has a little one—Declan.’ He winced. ‘Yes, after me, and not after the hapless idiot who got her pregnant. He disappeared into the ether at the mere mention of a baby. That was a big drama, as you can imagine.’
‘Having a baby is always a drama one way or another. And Bri... Bri...?’
‘Briana’s talking about a wedding next year. Hasn’t even met the poor fella yet. And Roisin is causing trouble at Trinity College in Dublin, training
to be a doctor.’
Like her big brother. It was all so very different from Kara’s life. Declan belonged to something bigger than himself—something full and lively—and he clearly adored them all, regardless of what he said.
A big fist of loneliness curled into her gut. She breathed it away. No point in wishing. All her life she’d tried to fit somewhere—and she’d never found her place, or herself. She’d tried the marriage and profession bit—it hadn’t worked because something had had to give and it had ended up being her relationship. Now she just focused on her job, being useful, saving lives, putting people back together again. Taking any further kind of risk with her heart was just not on her horizon.
‘How on earth do you keep track of them all?’
‘Niamh is an excellent communicator, unfortunately. I think she has me on speed dial.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Then there’s texts and social media—it doesn’t matter where you hide, they can always find you somehow.’
She laughed. ‘And your mum and dad? Where are they?’
‘Mam still lives on the farm...or rather... Ah, look, never mind.’ Dark storms clouded his face. ‘My dad...he’s gone.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not dead...just gone.’ He offered her his hand and pulled her from the seat, shaking off whatever ghosts flitted at the back of those brown eyes. ‘Come on.’
There was more to his family life than he was letting on. Something wasn’t quite right. She knew enough about him not to push, but she wanted to ask him about his father. But that would be prying and probably intrusive. She didn’t want that in her life, so she wouldn’t inflict it on someone she hardly knew.
‘Now, are you hungry?’ He picked up her shoes and put his arms out towards her. ‘Shoes or piggyback?’
‘Oh, you’re really getting the hang of the chivalry thing.’
But she shook her head, imagining how easy it would be to allow some fun into their working relationship. Getting physically close to him again would only make her think or feel something she’d regret. She wouldn’t trust her heart to anyone again. So resolutely no piggybacks. The journey home, slammed up against him on the motorbike, would be hard enough.
200 Harley Street: The Shameless Maverick Page 5
