With a Little Help

by Valerie Parv

  The thought made her frown. She’d known spending too much time with him was a risk. Their worlds were too different. Getting involved with a high-flying surgeon like Nate was playing with fire, and she had no intention of getting burned.

  Jumping to her feet, she handed him back the water bottle. “I should get moving.”

  “What’s your hurry?”

  “It will be dark soon” was her lame excuse.

  “Don’t you feel safe with me?”

  Physically perhaps, but not where her peace of mind was concerned. “You might be missed,” she said. “I’m surprised your cell phone hasn’t rung by now.”

  He rose in one lithe movement. “My phone’s set to vibrate. My assistant knows how to get hold of me, and then only if there’s a crisis she can’t handle.”

  Emma couldn’t hide her disbelief. To her parents and brother, every call was a crisis only they could handle. Confusion coiled through her, followed by annoyance. He’d seen how irritated she’d been over the constant interruptions to their meeting at his house. Was this a new strategy to get his own way, or was something else going on here?

  She planted her hands on her hips. “This won’t work.”

  “What won’t?”

  “Provided we can agree on the details, I’ll cater your party because it’s in both our interests, but that’s all.”

  He frowned. “What else do you think I want?”

  She dragged in a deep breath. “Isn’t it obvious? Me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WHAT THE HELL? STANDING IN front of him, slim but curved in all the right places and barely reaching up to his chin, Emma looked like a terrier ready to take on a rottweiler. Her workout clothes were rumpled from sitting on the grass, and her skin glowed with recent exertion. Her hair was carelessly twisted at the back and caught up in a tortoiseshell clip, making him want to undo the golden mass and send it tumbling to her shoulders. The red-gold strands curling around her ears and nape teased at him like a promise of things to come.

  He pushed the thought away. Somehow she’d gotten the idea that he wanted more from her than her catering skills. Unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely wrong. He’d felt the attraction between them from first meeting. He’d seen her brother slip the vodka into her drink, but hadn’t known until later that it wasn’t her idea, intrigued to think she needed Dutch courage to approach him.

  Since then he’d relived the memory of her kiss more times than was good for him. Her approach had been naive, fueled by the party mood, but the taste of her had awakened a desire for more. When Cherie had suggested he talk to Emma about his birthday dinner, he’d felt like a nervous teenager.

  Unlike the model types he usually dated, Emma wasn’t beautiful in the runway sense. Her looks were too distinctive, her nose a fraction too sharp, and her mouth a touch wide for perfection. But when she smiled or gave her infectious laugh, she was stunning. A pang of jealousy still gripped him when he thought of her laughing with another man at her parents’ function. She hadn’t ever laughed with Nate like that.

  Her sea-green eyes shone now and she clasped her hands together, her expression daring him not to take her seriously. “You’d better explain what you mean, because I seem to have missed a step or two.”

  “I doubt you’ve missed a step in your life, Dr. Hale,” she said. “Did my mother suggest I might be part of the package if you hired me?”

  His patience was becoming strained. “I can’t deny it’s an attractive thought. But if anyone put that idea in my head, it was you.”

  She looked taken aback. He was almost sorry to see some of the fire fade from her eyes. Anger was a pure, honest emotion, stripping a person of artifice. What you saw was what you got. And in Emma’s case, what he saw was enough to raise his blood pressure several points.

  “Really?” She sounded skeptical. “We’ve had only one business meeting.”

  “And another meeting that was pure pleasure.” For him, anyway. It was hardly his fault if she felt embarrassed by the encounter. He’d go back for seconds anytime.

  Color bloomed in her cheeks. “I might have known you’d bring that up. I made one mistake…”

  “Are you sure it was a mistake?”

  “It—it had to be. I didn’t want…”

  Her stammered denial was enough to convince him that she’d been as affected by their brief kiss as he had. He was tempted to see if the chemistry he recalled was still potent and leaned close enough to feel her breath whispering across his mouth before he caught himself. His shoulders felt stiff as he pulled back, and a growing discomfort told him they weren’t the only part of him hardening. He was going to end up proving her right about scheming to have her as part of the package.

  “You have some rigid ideas about doctors’ lives,” he said. “I invited you along on this walk to show you we aren’t all the same. If you and I are going to work together, it will be easier if you stop treating me as the enemy. You can’t deny that’s what you’ve been doing.”

  She let her hands drop to her sides. “Any ideas I have are based on long experience.”

  “Not with me.”

  “No.”

  But her tone said she reserved the right to toss him in with all the other medical people she knew. What had they done to her to prejudice her so thoroughly against an entire profession? Most people thought of doctors as valuable members of a community. Emma treated them as arrogant bastards who were out to make her life unpleasant. Maybe while she worked for him, he could ferret out the reasons for her hostility. He realized he wanted to do that very much. Did he think that once he overcame the hurdle, whatever it was, he’d have a chance to get to first base with her? That seemed selfish. Yet the more he tried to convince himself he wanted to help for Emma’s sake only, the hollower it sounded.

  His own psychoanalysis could wait, he decided. There was still that blasted party he didn’t want, but which his friends clearly expected him to make happen. He found he also didn’t want to do it without Emma. Afterward, he could worry about where they went next.

  EMMA’S THOUGHTS WERE IN turmoil as they set off again down the wide path past Timbrell Park, where a family group was enjoying a ball game. Seeing a father chase after his toddler, she felt an unexpected pang. What would it be like to have a man give you children, then cherish you both the way this man obviously did?

  The child giggled as he was scooped up and carried shoulder-high back to his mother. The sight made Emma smile. What a contrast to her own father, rigid with anger, returning his four-year-old Emma to her mother in Gramma Jessie’s kitchen.

  Emma’s smile faded. No loving warmth for her, only disapproval over the worry she’d caused. Emma’s cuts and scrapes had been treated with clinical care, but her emotional distress had been completely ignored. As an adult, she still suffered occasional nightmares about being lost in a dark, forbidding place as a result of that experience, but apart from Jessie’s interest, her family had never mentioned the incident again.

  She dismissed the memory and focused on Nate’s assertion that she was the one putting ideas into his head. One impetuous kiss at a party didn’t amount to an open invitation. Had she sent subtle signals of her interest to him in other ways she hadn’t been aware of, or was he simply confirming her belief that doctors made their own rules?

  The solution was to be as clinical as her parents in her dealings with Nate. From now on there would be no casual meetings in gardens, on walking trails or anywhere outside their respective offices. He would soon get the message that their dealings were to be strictly business.

  Nate looked equally deep in thought as they paced out the remaining distance back to the Iron Cove Bridge. She’d read that the bridge had replaced an earlier one from the eighteen-eighties that had once carried trams, and tried to imagine the now busy suburbs when horses and carts had ruled the roads.

  She wouldn’t have minded living in those times, when the pace of life was slower, although she knew she’d miss her work. Cook
ing had been less of a leisure activity then and done for simple sustenance, with less varied ingredients than she was used to. A party like Nate’s would have been a rowdy affair rather than the nostalgia trip she had in mind.

  Realizing she was making a bad habit of picturing him in domestic scenes, she forced her mind back to the plans she wanted to discuss with him. The written proposal with detailed costings had been sent by cab, but he wouldn’t have had time to go over them yet. They were nearly at the end of the walk and she wondered if he intended to have a business meeting at the rowing club overlooking Iron Cove Bay. With the sun splashing golden light across the darkening sky, she would have to work to keep her mind on the job.

  But he walked past the club, stopping in front of a small café she hadn’t noticed when they set off. The Flying Fox Café was lettered across the front of what had been a worker’s cottage in the time of the old bridge and the trams. Now the charmingly restored building opened onto a deck with a view of the bay. A rustling sound in the thick greenery beside the cottage drew her eye upward to a group of flying foxes preparing to set off in search of their night’s meal, making it obvious where the café got its name. She smiled, enjoying the presence of wildlife so close to the city.

  “Hungry?” Nate asked over his shoulder as he strode toward the cottage.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “You’ll like this place,” he said, leading her through the front door into a modern eatery with polished wood floors and pale wood and chrome furniture. The tables were far enough apart for privacy, and concertina glass doors opened the opposite wall to the view beyond. “You and Angie Fox should be on the same wavelength. She’s an amazing cook.”

  Did Nate think of Emma in that way? Good, it should help her professionally, she thought, pushing away an unwelcome rush of gratification. An attractive blonde woman straightened from behind the counter where she’d been arranging exquisitely decorated cupcakes. “Nate,” she said warmly. “You must have radar. Today’s special is your favorite, gazpacho.”

  “Angie Fox, this is Emma Jarrett. Food is her specialty, too.”

  Emma saw questions in the other woman’s eyes as they exchanged greetings. Either Emma was the latest of many females Nate had brought here and Angie wanted to know more, or the situation was novel enough to make her curious. While Emma suspected it wasn’t the latter, she didn’t want to suggest a personal interest in him, so she avoided saying anything. Instead, she chatted to Angie about her work, leaving a card when the other woman wanted to know if she supplied small businesses. She hadn’t so far, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t.

  Angie waved toward the deck where early diners were already seated. “I’ll bring your food over. Outside or in here?”

  She didn’t ask what Emma wanted to eat and neither did Nate. “In here is fine. We have some business to discuss.”

  She should welcome the reminder of why she was here, Emma told herself. The deck was too romantic for a business meeting, although her whole body vibrated with an energy that had nothing to do with work.

  Emma felt Nate’s probing amber eyes looking at her from under long, silky lashes as she seated herself across from him.

  A squeal and the sound of running feet short-circuited Emma’s thoughts as a little girl of three or four came racing up, a picture book clutched in her hands. “Dr. Nate.” Seeing the stranger with him, the child stopped short, tucking herself close to Nate for reassurance.

  He wrapped an arm around her in a hug. “Natalie, this is my friend, Emma.”

  Emma smiled. “Hello, Natalie. What are you reading?”

  “I can’t read, but I like dinosaurs,” the child said. She shoved the book toward Nate. “Mummy says this is a terry duck tail.”

  The well-worn book was open at a colorful cartoon of a pterodactyl, Emma noticed, suppressing a grin. Terry duck tail was close enough. Nate thought so, too, because he let the child ramble on, seeming in no hurry to be rid of her. The sight of his cropped dark hair close to Natalie’s blond curls as he gave her his full attention made Emma’s stomach knot. She switched her attention to the cell phone he’d placed on the table when they sat down. That was reality. Even the child recognized him as “Dr. Nate.” Emma should do the same.

  Angie came to the table carrying a tray with brimming bowls of chilled soup and side plates of grilled, marinated prawn sticks. The aroma of herbs and garlic excited Emma’s already heightened senses. Glasses were on the table and Angie placed a carafe of water with lemon slices next to them. She turned to the child. “Take your book back to your room and let Dr. Nate have his dinner.” To Nate, she added, “Let me know when you’re ready for coffee.”

  Emma caught the faintest hint of an accent. Swedish? She looked at the woman curiously as she shepherded the child away. “Angie is talented,” she said, casting a professional eye over the skilled presentation of their food.

  He nodded. “One of the best.”

  Emma wanted to ask why he hadn’t invited someone who was evidently a close friend to cater his party, but he anticipated the question. “Angie was a patient. She was pregnant with Natalie when she needed urgent heart surgery.”

  “You managed to save both of them.” Emma was annoyed to feel relieved as his relationship with the other woman became clear. Another thought occurred to her. “Is Natalie…”

  “Named for me,” he said, his voice gruff. “Angie wouldn’t be talked out of it. I tell her she works too hard, but she loves this place and she only opens the hours she can manage and still look after Natalie.”

  Was he this close to all his former patients? Emma wondered as she bit into one of the prawn skewers. A delicious blend of seafood and herbs filled her mouth. When she tried the soup, it turned out to be the white version of gazpacho called ajo blanco. Judging by the silky texture, Angie had soaked the blanched almonds in milk before processing them with bread, seedless green grapes and garlic, olive oil, vinegar and seasonings. Delicious.

  Emma hadn’t been aware of closing her eyes until she opened them to find Nate watching her, an amused expression on his face. “Good, isn’t it?”

  “Blissful. I’d love to get her recipe.”

  “You’re in luck. I have some pull with the owner.”

  She fell silent, relishing the tastes and textures of the simple, well-prepared food. Sometimes she got annoyed when she couldn’t stop herself from deconstructing the taste of a particular dish. This time, so many of her senses were engaged that it was easy to let herself go and simply enjoy the experience. Being with Nate was like that, came the unbidden thought. He swamped her senses until she had trouble working out what was going on.

  The evening was warm but she shivered. Professional, she reminded herself. Businesslike. Amazing how hard she found it to force her thoughts into that mode. Swallowing the last creamy mouthful of ajo blanco, she rested the spoon in the bowl. “We should talk about your event, although I don’t know what I can tell you until you’ve gone over my suggestions.”

  Angie came over and took their coffee orders, flatly refusing to let him pay for the meal. Emma suspected it was a ritual played out whenever Nate came here, and envied the warmth between them as they sparred.

  When Angie left them alone, he leaned forward. “Never mind the details. I can read them when I get home. Talk me through how you see the night unfolding.”

  He meant the party night, she reminded herself, but visions of where they might go after dinner ran riot through her mind.

  NATE WATCHED HER, HIS THOUGHTS racing. Normally he did the bay walk with half his mind still back at the hospital. Tonight, his patients had barely entered his mind. It was true, his assistant was competent. Nate had trained Grace Lockwood himself. And she was backed by a team he’d also handpicked. Still, finding himself totally in the moment, as he’d been with Emma tonight, was unusual enough to make him wonder what was going on.

  “I did some research into your life,” she began.

  Instantly he felt his
hackles rise. “My life story isn’t your concern.”

  “Everything about my client is my concern,” she countered. “I can’t tailor an event to suit someone I don’t know.”

  “Point taken.” All the same, it bothered him. He wasn’t ashamed of his background but it didn’t fill him with pride, either. Warring parents and a rebel half brother were hardly the Brady Bunch. “I can’t imagine you learned anything useful from what’s on record.”

  She stirred her coffee, looking thoughtful. “You’d be surprised. For instance, I suspect you never had much of a family life.”

  Only his training kept the surprise off his face. “My father’s the backbone of his town, and my mother’s been with my stepdad for more than twenty years. Isn’t that stable enough for you?”

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. “In my experience, pillars of the community don’t have a lot of time for their own families.”

  Poker-faced, he swallowed a mouthful of coffee. She’d started this, let her finish it. “Go on.”

  “Busy professional parents often don’t make time to cook and eat with their kids.”

  “True.” He hated the admission, but damn it, she was right. Growing up, he’d spent more time eating with his friends’ families than with his own. Later, medical texts had been his main dinner companions.

  “If you’re used to eating out all the time and exploring exotic foods, where’s the novelty in doing more of the same?”

  “You tell me.”

  Warming to her topic, she went on. “I want to hire a bunch of large old-style tables, dress them as family settings and serve the kind of comfort food we associate with growing up, like sausages and mash.”

  A feeling he recognized as resistance strummed through him. He didn’t want reminders of what he’d never had. He scrubbed his hand down his face, trying to chase away the discomfort. Emma didn’t need to feel sorry for him, or know as much about him as she evidently did. He felt exposed, and lashed out instinctively.