by Annie O'Neil
Deena flicked her pen in the direction of Dr. Menzies’s office. “He’s just finishing up with an appointment. If you’d like to take a seat, he shouldn’t be long.”
“The other candidate?”
The PA gave a shrug, but with enough leeway for interpretation that Amanda knew that was precisely who was inside.
Amanda watched as Deena’s eyes traveled from the door to some mistletoe hanging above her desk.
Hmm...
From what she’d heard, Dr. Menzies was old enough to be Deena’s father, so... Her job share partner must be good-looking. She cleared her throat and sniffed. Didn’t matter. She was immune to romance. Whoever was in that office was the competition, and nothing was going to stand in the way of providing for her son.
Amanda’s gaze shifted toward the door. She tipped her head to the side, wishing she possessed some sort of lopsided superhero power to see through hard wood. There was the muffled flow of voices. Both male.
Most likely the old boys’ club. She could picture it perfectly. A promise of the top job made over cigars and tumblers of whiskey in an exclusive members’ club, no doubt. She could almost hear the tinkle of ice cubes against heavy crystal as they toasted the new Divisional Medical Director in front of a roaring fire.
She shuddered at the thought. It was how her father always did business...
So much for stuffing herself into this stupid form-fitting suit and tippy-toeing across the square in these ridiculous high heels. She should have just worn scrubs and her favorite running shoes, because from the looks of things she was going back to locum shifts at whatever trauma center would take her. The regular hours of this job would have been a godsend, but...
As per usual, it seemed that heaven was putting a hold on doling out any brownie points she might have earned up to this point.
Both women started at the eruption of a huge chorus of laughter coming from Dr. Menzies’ office.
Just as she’d suspected: Old Boys’ Club.
Her fingers tightened round the straps of her handbag. If she was going to go down she was going to go down fighting.
Having Tristan had necessitated dropping out of “the game” for a while. For the first three months Amanda’s entire life had revolved around diapers, breastfeeding and laundry. Once Tristan had got the knack of sleeping through the night she’d started picking up shifts here and there, without bothering to take part in the “let’s meet for a drink” charade. Why should she when her number one priority was her son?
Work. Parenting. That was all she had time for. Before that it had just been work. And before that...
She screwed her eyes tight and pressed her fingers to them, as if it would squish the memories away. Before that nothing.
She gave herself a quick shake and pasted on her smile. Another laugh sounded from the room, chased up with more rapid-fire male conversation she couldn’t make out through the thick door.
Suddenly exhausted at the idea of going through the mockery of this “interview,” Amanda was sorely tempted to lean in, scratch her name out in Deena’s appointment book and scarper when the door handle turned and the door opened. Two men emerged, shaking hands, clapping each other on the shoulder as if in congratulations of some sort of excellent deal made.
She didn’t stand a chance in—
“Hell.”
Amanda’s fingers flew to her mouth. She was shocked the word had escaped her lips. Her lungs ached for air as an atom bomb of emotion detonated in her chest. And just as abruptly everything stopped. The roar of blood between her ears. The blurred vision. Her heartbeat.
Nature’s way of allowing the rest of her body to process seeing the one man who had proved to her that life was still worth living. The one man who had changed everything.
Matthew Chase.
Her tongue instinctively swiped at her lips. Even from a distance she could taste him as if it was yesterday.
One part sweet to one part salty. Vintage champagne and top-of-the-line caviar, if she remembered correctly. And she had an excellent memory. Besides, her parents never threw a party that swung anywhere close to below the top line.
The third part of his taste...the spice...that had been pure, unchecked desire.
Dark hair and bright blue eyes were a personal weakness for her, and on that early spring night she had wanted more than anything to succumb. To slide her fingers into the dark silky hair just threatening to turn into curls around his shirt collar. To spend unchecked minutes gazing into his sapphire-bright eyes, trying to divine what stories might lie in the kaleidoscope of blue that lay within them.
To feel anything. She’d been numb for so long she’d hardly known what to do with herself.
Matthew Chase had been the first person to remind her of the spark buried so deep in her heart she’d all but forgotten it had ever existed.
Amanda could feel Deena’s curious gaze on her now. And Dr. Menzies’s. But she still couldn’t move. She was a deer caught in the headlights of the one powerhouse of energy and seduction she had never expected to lay eyes on again.
Matthew’s scent—aura, more like—was another thing altogether. And when he took a step toward her there was a swirl of... How on earth did he smell like a Nordic woodsman peeling a blood orange in the center of London? In a hospital, no less?
It was all she could do to keep her knees doing their job.
The heat blazing from his bright blue eyes struck her like bolts of lightning. This meeting was obviously as unexpected to him as it was to her.
A one-night stand.
That was all it was ever meant to have been.
It was all it had been for him.
But...
If she closed her eyes Amanda knew flashes of that night would come back to her so vividly it would be like living it all over again.
He’d seen her first. She’d known that because she’d felt his gaze on her from across the room as intensely as she was feeling it now. He hadn’t just looked. His gaze had felt...tactile. As if he had already been undressing her. And when their eyes had met...
Fireworks.
One of those hits of recognition some people waited a lifetime for and never had. She had known that having it that night was a lifeline. A sign from above—or wherever signs come from—that she shouldn’t give up. Not just yet.
She cleared her throat as Matthew closed the distance between them with another long-legged step. The whorls of heat in her chest turned into protective bars of steel. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—know about what had also happened that night.
She’d overheard enough of his cocktail party chitchat to know he was a tried and true bachelor. A determined playboy, if his one-liners were anything to go by. A committed army doctor if the newspaper headlines were to be believed. Or had he recently been decommissioned? Given himself over to the finer things in life?
She gave herself a sharp shake. Playboy or not, if he was the one threatening to take the job she rightfully deserved she was going to have play her A-game.
This was her job. She hadn’t sat through countless interviews and buttoned herself into this ridiculous suit heaven knew how many times just to let it go without a fight.
“You two have met?” Dr. Menzies stepped between the pair of them, throwing anxious looks first at Amanda and then at Matthew.
Amanda realized that both she and Matthew had slowly been advancing on each other—as natural predators would. Cheetah vs panther? Or tiger vs lion? She’d like to think of herself as the lioness in this scenario. Ready with a killer hairdo and a roar that would knock anyone for six if they were brave enough to stick around and listen.
“Not formally,” Amanda answered, quirking an eyebrow in Matthew’s direction but turning on a hundred-watt smile and reaching out a hand to Dr. Menzies. “You must be Donald Menzie
s?”
CHAPTER TWO
IT TOOK ALL of the power in Matthew’s charm arsenal to hold back a full-bodied guffaw at the Ice Queen’s response.
Not formally?
True, he’d never learnt her name. Nor had he bothered to give her his.
But the night had been formal, all right. One of a score of similar black tie affairs he’d attended two years ago, nearly three, all aimed at making the Support our Soldiers House in Sussex a reality.
After his father had died, and his mother had high-tailed it to Australia, turning the place into a rehab facility had meant the faux-Georgian mansion would be good for something. Living in it certainly wasn’t.
“We met at...” He paused, drumming his fingers along his chin, feigning having to think about it.
He knew damn well where he’d met her, and how long it had taken before he had been holding her in his arms without a stitch of clothing between them. He also knew that every woman since hadn’t so much as shone a light on her. Not that there had been many. One night with the Ice Queen had changed his standards.
“A charity event, wasn’t it?” she prompted drily, tucking a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear before switching that diamond-bright smile back to Dr. Menzies. “Excellent places to meet like-minded people.”
“For Support our Soldiers?” Dr. Menzies asked, then continued apologetically, “Of course you would already know that Matthew founded the charity if you were at one of his events.”
Matthew was certain he was the only one reading the flutter of blinks masking Amanda’s hazel eyes as the reaction of a woman caught off guard and quickly rebuilding her house of cards.
“It’s an excellent charity,” she answered smoothly. “And I have quite a few ideas about how the SoS wing here and the A&E team could really benefit by being in the same facility.”
Matthew stifled another chuckle before a stark blaze of understanding wiped the smile from his face. Amanda was the other candidate for the Medical Directorship.
He’d been primed for gloves off and no holds barred—but, seeing as it was the mystery woman who’d all but set him on fire that night, this month of enforced co-working could be...fun.
His mind raced to remember if the doctors’ sleeping quarters had locks on the doors.
“When was the event?” Dr. Menzies asked. “Something recent? I’m surprised neither of you made the Bankside Hospital connection.”
She looked to him as if she couldn’t quite remember, but Matthew could tell by the accelerated pulse thrumming at the base of her throat that she could bullseye the date as easily as he could.
“Hmm... No. It wasn’t recent.”
Matthew directed his gaze directly toward Amanda. He took some “thinking” time to rake his gaze along the snug fit of her suit. She was a bit curvier than the last time he’d seen her. The extra swish of hip and the ripe flush of her décolletage were...distracting.
“I’d say it was about two...maybe three years ago?”
The smallest flash of darkness crossed Amanda’s composed, almost aristocratic expression. Only someone looking for a chink in her china doll veneer would have noticed.
“Yes. Something like that,” she acquiesced coolly.
“Weren’t you still in the military then?” Dr. Menzies directed his question to Matthew, either completely unaware of or intentionally ignoring the growing tension in the room.
“I’d recently hung up my boots.”
It had actually been a year since he’d come back. His father’s liver failure had yanked him back to the life he’d been trying to forget. At least he’d been there as his father had ultimately lost his halfhearted battle to survive. More than he could say for his mother, who hadn’t even bothered to send a card.
The sheer bleakness of it all had forced him to make a choice. Not that the empty mansion and multi-million-pound business his father had left behind had filled the emptiness in his heart. Not by a long shot. But seeing all that misspent energy had turned Matthew’s grief into a white-hot drive to have at least one good thing come from Charlie’s death.
When he’d set out to create SoS he’d foolishly believed it would be the gesture he needed to pay his penance for not having been there for Charlie when he’d hung that damn rope over the beam in the attic.
The night he’d met Amanda he’d been about to close the whole SoS rehab unit down. Nothing, it seemed, could fill the void his brother had left behind. But she’d exploded his vision of the world into smithereens and he’d been trying to put it back together ever since.
Being with her had been the medicine he’d needed. It had given him hope. Proved he still had the ability to make a human connection. It had been a vital reminder that if it was possible for him to feel passion and loss and the sweet magic of meeting a kindred spirit, there was hope for the soldiers the new unit would help.
Not that he’d tell her she’d been nothing less than an angel that night. Not in a million years.
Turning to Dr. Menzies, Matthew went on to explain, “As you know, R&R didn’t suit me so well, and my father’s company needed a new direction. That’s when I decided to see if we could bring SoS to London. That whole night was a bit of a blur, actually. So many new faces...”
He took his time raking the length of her again, with a look in his eye he knew wasn’t altogether innocent.
High heels. Killer set of legs. Waist trim and belted, blossoming up into that inviting décolletage his fingers were itching to trace. She shifted under his gaze. Good. The ol’ Chase charm was still working, then.
The glint in her hazel eyes was all but daring him to betray her confidence. What was it she’d said when he’d murmured into her ear that he had to know her name?
Cinderella!
That was what she’d told him her name was as she kicked off first one then her second kitten heel.
“I disappear at midnight if the Prince isn’t charming.”
Again, a smile teased at the corners of his lips, but holding her in suspense was far more fun than confessing that she’d all but branded herself into his mind’s eye and ruined casual flings for him forever.
“So you two know each other from that event? Were you one of the donor angels, Amanda?” Dr. Menzies prompted.
Amanda. So that was her name.
She was angelic, all right... But he didn’t want her on top of a Christmas tree to be admired from afar... If she were his woman he’d keep her close and warm.
“No. No...” Matthew shook his head, watching the fury build in her eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t quite place you.”
He dragged his top teeth across his lower lip, pleased to see twin streaks of red bloom on her cheeks.
Of course it was a total lie.
The image came to him as vividly as if she’d been taking a luxurious postcoital stretch on the massive bed they’d shared only an hour ago. Peaches and cream skin. The softest he’d ever touched. Blond hair fanned out like a halo on the pillow.
What they’d done that night hadn’t been anything close to angelic. Heavenly, perhaps. But no angel would have sanctioned the charged sexual atmosphere that had lasted until well after the party had ended down in the hotel ballroom.
“Well, if it was an SoS event you definitely would have been there. And if Amanda says she was there too...”
Matthew looked across at the perplexed Dr. Menzies, almost startled to see him there.
Of course he’d been there. He wasn’t just the founder of SoS—he was its reluctant poster boy. If he didn’t turn up at the ten-grand-a-head soirées, pockets didn’t open. Tickets didn’t sell. And if stuffing himself into a penguin suit and making chitchat all night made sure soldiers got the help they needed—it was the least he could do.
When a person was willing to give up their life for t
heir country the payback needed to be genuine. Especially if they felt there wasn’t anything for them when they came back home.
“I’m surprised you’re a contender for this job,” Amanda said.
Matthew shrugged and offered her a half smile. “And why would you think that?”
“Wouldn’t your energies be better placed on the new wing?”
“On the contrary.” He heard his smooth tones, but knew that heat singed every word coming out of his mouth. “I think you’ll find there are medical professionals far better suited to that sort of work than myself. Like at the Sussex facility—we make sure we put in proper staff so that it ticks along quite happily without me.”
Amanda’s lips parted as if she were about to say something else, then she clearly thought better of it. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t about SoS. It looked personal.
“Well, goodness me. I didn’t realize you were attached to the cause, Amanda?”
Dr. Menzies was beginning to look a bit desperate in his efforts to keep the conversation rolling as neither Amanda nor Matthew seemed willing participants.
“I’m not. My parents were hosting the event. I’m afraid I didn’t add much to the evening’s luster.”
Matthew suppressed a wicked smile. Of course she had.
Twenty minutes in, one glass of champagne down, and all he’d had eyes for was the blond in the periwinkle-blue gown who looked as if a blowtorch wouldn’t melt her. She hadn’t just been cool, she’d been entirely uninterested. As if she’d handed her heart in at the coat check along with her handbag.
No. That wasn’t it, exactly.
She’d looked as if she was hoping against all hope to forget about something. A longing he’d all but put a patent on since Charlie had died. Nine years and about three days before, to be exact. Not that he’d been chalking up each day since then on the walls of a memory that refused to release its stranglehold on him.
As Dr. Menzies began another halfhearted icebreaker about the weather Matthew allowed himself another slow head-to-toe scan of the Ice Queen’s petite form. Her curves were shown off to maximum effect in the body-hugging power suit, forcing him to relive that night once more.
