'Of course. Where else?' He reached into the jar and pulled out a bundle of cutlery. 'Hey pasto!' he said with a grin, and whether because of the champagne or the silliness of the joke or just sheer enjoyment of each other's company, they started to laugh, and once they'd started, they couldn't stop.
It was one of those crazy sessions that left them leaning against the worktop wheezing and sighing, wiping their eyes and still chuckling minutes later, but then he reached out a hand and touched her cheek, and the laughter faded, replaced by a breathless tension.
'You're still beautiful, do you know that?' he murmured, and she felt the heat of his touch right down to her toes.
Oh, Lord, he's going to kiss me, she thought. Really kiss me, and then what will happen, because I can't deny him anything—?
The doorbell rang, and his mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. 'Supper,' he murmured, and went out to the hall, giving her a moment to collect herself.
Her heart thumped against her ribs, and she busied herself clearing a space on the worktop for the takeaway so she didn't have to meet his eyes. Had she totally misread his intentions? Maybe she'd imagined the tension between them—
'Here we go.' Nick dumped the bag on the space she'd cleared, pulled out the little cartons and they dished up and took their plates and glasses through to the sitting room.
'It's not exactly tidy, I'm afraid, but the dining room's even worse,' he told her, clearing a space on one of the two-seater sofas. To her relief he sat on the other one at right angles to her, still close but with that little bit of space so she could breathe without touching him.
Silly, really, when all she wanted to do was touch him, but that would be so foolish and, destiny or not, she had to work with him. Anyway, she wasn't even sure it was what he wanted. He'd said something only last night about being friends. Maybe he really meant it. He'd also said he was all hers, when he'd been changing, so what he really meant was anybody's guess.
'OK?' he asked, and she nodded. Sally didn't know what he was talking about—the food? Probably. She couldn't really taste it. She was too busy wondering what would have happened if the delivery man hadn't chosen that exact moment to ring the bell, and if she'd really misread him when once she'd known his every thought.
He topped up her glass, and she sipped the champagne arid thought about driving home, and put it down again. 'I don't suppose I could be boring and have a glass of water, could I?' she said, and he shot her a crooked grin and went out to the kitchen to fetch it.
'I don't know, some people just won't be led astray,' he murmured, putting it down beside her on a box, and she arched a brow.
'Led astray?' she said, her heart thumping. She tried for a light-hearted, teasing tone. 'Are you trying to get me drunk and seduce me?'
'As if I would do a thing like that,' he said innocently.
She gave a rude snort, and his mouth lifted into a wry smile.
'I suppose I was hoping you might stay a little longer.'
'Might have to, you mean,' she said drily. 'The choice would be nice.'
His smile faded. He sighed and rammed a hand through his short, spiky hair, rumpling it even more, and met her eyes, his own resigned. 'It's your choice, Sally. If I can find the coffee-maker, I'll put some coffee on in a minute. It's up to you if you stay long enough to have it, or go now. Hell, you can stay the night if you like. There are plenty of places to sleep. I'm not going to force you to do anything.'
Since when did force come into it? He only had to look at her and she was lost!
'I don't think I'll be staying the night,' she said softly, and he laughed, a short, humourless huff of sound that was curiously painful.
'I didn't think for a moment that you would. I'll make the coffee.'
Nick stood up and went out, leaving his meal unfinished, and she picked around in her rice and ate the chicken and felt guilty. She shouldn't have come, really. She should have left him alone, instead of coming round here and throwing herself at him and then playing the affronted virgin.
He had said he wanted to be friends, and maybe he'd really meant it. Perhaps the crack about being all hers had been exactly that. Besides, absolutely the last thing she wanted was to get involved with him again in a physical relationship that was destined to go nowhere.
And a relationship with a man who didn't do commitment was a recipe for disaster as far as she was concerned. Sally put her plate down and stood up, just as he came back into the room.
'I think I'll go,' she said quietly. 'It wasn't a good idea, coming here, for either of us, and I'm just keeping you up. You need some sleep.'
'I have to find sheets first,' he said, his eyes scanning her face. 'Sally, stay for a while. I'm sorry I gave you the champagne, I really didn't have an ulterior motive. I wasn't really thinking.'
She believed him. He'd never lied to her.
'Anyway,' he went on, that coaxing, wheedling tone back in his voice, 'you did say you were going to help me with the unpacking, and I really do have to find sheets and towels and things like that before I can sleep. You couldn't leave me here exhausted and in such a muddle, could you?'
She laughed despite herself. 'Now you really are piling it on too thick,' she said drily. 'The day you're that helpless will be a cold day in hell.'
A flash of humour lit his eyes. 'You know me too well,' he said ruefully, and sat down on the sofa again and picked up his plate. 'You haven't finished,' he pointed out, and her motives for leaving suddenly seemed very blurred and uncertain.
'So I haven't,' she murmured, and she sat down again. There was no point in wasting it when she really was hungry.
'So, tell me where you've been until now,' she said when they'd finished and were settled down again with a cup of coffee.
'Oh, just about everywhere in the area,' he told her, and detailed all the posts he'd had and who he'd worked with. Some of the names were familiar from their own department, not necessarily people she'd worked with but others who'd been there in the past and moved on. It seemed odd that it hadn't worked the other way, and that none of the people coming to them might have known of him or mentioned him, but they hadn't, or she would have known he was about. Still, people didn't tend to talk about past colleagues very much.
'So why East Anglia?' she asked.
After a moment he shrugged, studying his coffee-mug in minute detail. 'I had to work somewhere. It's got some fine hospitals and some lovely countryside, it's near London in case I need a cultural fix—why not?'
Nick met her eyes, his own bland and unreadable. He was hiding something, but she'd only get herself in trouble if she tried to work out what. Something to do with his ex, or another woman? Sally let it go for now and put her mug down.
'Right, unpacking. We need to find you sheets so you can get to bed,' she said briskly, standing up, and with a mild grumble about being harassed, he got to his feet and followed her out to the kitchen, dumping their dishes in the sink.
'It's a mess,' he warned her as they went upstairs. 'There's no way we can find the bed tonight.'
That might be just as well, she thought wryly to herself, if her body was going to continue to react to his like this! They went into the main bedroom and she stopped dead and stared at it in dismay. A mess? That didn't even begin to touch it!
'If it's not a rude question, just where did you intend to sleep?' she asked mildly, and he laughed.
'I'll find a square inch. I need to get the mattress down flat—if you can help me shift things enough to do that, and find some sheets and my quilt and pillows, I'll be a happy man.'
'Why on earth didn't you stay where you were for one more night?' she asked, randomly grabbing a box and stacking it out of the way.
His derisive snort said it all. 'I'd had enough of other people's televisions and doors banging and footsteps overhead and general coming and going all night—it was hell, and to cap it all there was a gap under the door that let the light in from the corridor. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.'
She could imagine. Nick had always hated noise at night, and the slightest chink of light would keep him awake. Most doctors had trained themselves to sleep standing up in the middle of a party, but Nick was obviously not one of them.
'Any idea where the sheets and stuff might be, before we bury them with a load of other boxes?'
'Not really. Everything's labelled,' he told her. 'Just look at the boxes.'
'Would "airing cupboard" cover it?' she asked after a moment's searching.
'Sounds about right.'
'Here's a possible, then.' Sally dragged the box away from the wall, but the corner of another box was resting on it and the pile teetered wildly.
'Careful!' he warned, leaning across her to stop them falling, and his chest brushed her arm. Heat shot up it, and she had to stifle the urge to lean against him.
Friends, she reminded herself, just friends, and ducked out from under his arm while he straightened the stack. Five minutes later the floor was clear and the mattress was down.
Nick put his hands on his hips and grinned tiredly. 'Right, all we need is a bottom sheet, the quilt and my pillow on there and I can lie down. Bliss.'
She shook out the sheet, and together they knelt down on each side of the mattress and tucked it in, then Sally sat back on her heels and looked across at him. There was a curiously intense expression on his face, and if she hadn't known better—
She got hastily to her feet, brushing off the knees of her jeans so she didn't have to meet those strangely expressionless, burning eyes. 'Right, you can manage now, can't you?'
It seemed to break the spell. He stood up, grabbed the pillow and lobbed it at the head of the bed, then shot her a crooked grin. 'Yes, I can manage,' he said drily. 'Thank you.'
'My pleasure. Sleep well. I'm sure you will.'
'I'm sure I will—if the silence doesn't keep me awake!'
He followed her down the stairs, and she paused at the front door and thanked him for the meal, and he looked down at her with that unreadable expression in his eyes and smiled a tiny, twisted little smile.
'Thank you, Sally,' he murmured. 'Thank you for everything.' His hand came up and cupped her cheek, and his lips grazed hers lightly before he released her and opened the door.
'I'll see you on Monday,' he said, 'unless you feel the unaccountable urge to help me unpack over the weekend?'
Sally laughed, a little breathlessly. 'Not a chance, buster. You're on your own for that one,' she retorted. 'There's only one thing I hate more than moving .out, and that's moving in. If you don't unpack your stuff, you'll never find anything.'
'It might be worth the risk,' he murmured with a slight smile, and she had the sudden distinct feeling that he was lonely.
Nick Baker, lonely?
Not a chance.
But he was still watching her, his hand raised in farewell, as she turned the corner in her car...
CHAPTER SIX
Sally's conscience prickled her all through Saturday, while she cleaned her house and waged war on the garden and hung out her washing. Not that it needed to, because she was hardly lolling about sunbathing or anything while Nick was working his fingers to the bone, but she couldn't get rid of the nagging thought that he was lonely and unhappy.
She tried to tell herself that he deserved it, but her heart wasn't listening to her -head, and first thing Sunday morning she got up, made a lemon drizzle cake and drove round to his house.
He was in the garden, and he saw her over the fence as she parked on the other side of it. 'Hi,' he said, smiling and folding his arms along the top. 'Couldn't stay away, I see.'
She stifled the urge to throw the cake at him. It would be such a waste. 'I've brought you a present.'
'Another one!' he said, surprised.
'Only a cake,' she told him crushingly. 'Have you watered my tiny tree yet, by the way, or have you killed it already?'
'Of course I've watered it. Poor little thing, it hasn't got any roots. It needs regular drinks.'
'Just don't feel sorry for it and plant it out in the garden,' she advised, and he chuckled.
'Don't worry, I won't. Are you coming in, or would that involve an unconscionable loss of face?'
'I'm coming in,' she said drily. 'If that's all right?'
'Sure. Here, come through the gate.'
She squeezed past his car and went through the gate he was holding open, and handed him the cake— or tried to. His fingers were dirty, and he held them up in protest.
'Are you weeding?' she asked, looking around.
'Just planted a house-warming present.'
How absurd, to feel a pang of jealousy! Other people were allowed to give him presents.
'It's from me,' he said, as if he could read her mind. 'It's a Japanese maple—Acer palmatum dissectum atropurpureum.'
'Are you trying to impress me?' she said drily, and he laughed.
'Does it work?'
She shook her head, and he laughed again. 'It's an old friend, actually. It was in my last garden. I've had it in a pot since the spring, because I knew I was moving. I thought it ought to go back out into the garden, so I'm watering it copiously. It's over here— come and say hello.'
'Tree-hugger,' she muttered, hiding her smile, and followed him over to a little arching plant, more shrub than tree in size, its leaves deeply cut and a wonderful dark purplish bronze.
'Isn't she lovely?'
'She? It'll have a name next.'
'Don't get picky,' he told her with a grin. 'Come in, I've just put a pot of coffee on. I must have known you were coming.'
'You'll OD on the stuff one day,' she warned, following him inside, then she stopped in her tracks. 'Oh, wow! You've put everything away.'
'There wasn't that much, and I've got plenty of cupboards.'
'So you didn't need my help at all,' she said accusingly, and he grinned.
'This is just the kitchen,' he reminded her. 'I'm sure I can find something useful for you to do elsewhere—if you've had a change of heart.'
She humphed and looked in the cupboards for plates and mugs.
'This what you're looking for?' he asked, taking a couple of plates from what seemed like a totally arbitrary cupboard.
She glanced over her shoulder and straightened, frowning. 'Yes—what an odd place to put them!'
'You had your chance for a say,' he pointed out fairly, and she coloured and shut up. She didn't need to be familiar with his kitchen. It was up to him where he put his blasted plates.
'Milk or cream?'
'Cream? Good grief,' she said weakly. 'Are we being a little self-indulgent?'
He gave one of his sassy, little-boy grins that flipped her heart. 'Yes, we darned well are! So, which is it to be?'
'Oh, cream, every time,' she said with a laugh. 'The cake should still be warm, by the way.'
'I know, I felt it. I have designs on it, don't worry. Let's go in the garden.'
They carried their mugs and plates outside, and sat down near the little Japanese tree and listened to the dribbling of water and the whisper of leaves and the playing of children in the distance.
'It's so peaceful,' she said enviously. 'My garden's surrounded by noisy teenagers.'
He shuddered eloquently and bit into his cake. 'Revolting',' he muttered.
'The cake?'
'The teenagers.' His grin was infectious, and she found herself relaxing. He was good company. He always had been. That was what had drawn them to each other—that and the amazing sensuality that seemed to sizzle between them.
It was sizzling now, in a very low-key way, just a companionable attraction reflected in the way their eyes met and held. 'I've missed you,' he said quietly after a moment. 'Missed your friendship. Missed your sense of humour.'
'Missed my temper?'
He pulled a doubtful face. 'Not much evidence of it in the last week. Everyone talks about it, but I haven't seen more than the odd trace.'
'That's because you haven't annoyed me enough yet.'<
br />
'Good grief. It never used to take me so long, I must be losing my touch.' He smiled, and she felt herself soften.
Oh, Nick, she thought. We lost so much...
He looked down into his mug, his face thoughtful. He was debating something, she could tell, but she had no idea what.
'Penny for them.'
He shook his head. 'No. It doesn't matter.'
'What? Come on, you always used to be able to ask me or tell me anything.'
After a moment he met her eyes, and his were troubled. 'It's about Amy.'
Sally's heart thumped, and as casually as she could manage she leant back against the chair for support. 'What about her?'
His shoulders lifted a fraction in a tiny shrug. 'I hate bringing it up, because I don't want to hurt you and I don't know if I have the right to ask, but—there are things I want to know.'
'It's OK,' she told him, and realised that it was. There were things she wanted him to know—things she wanted to show him. She leant forwards. 'Ask away.'
He paused, then said carefully, 'I just wondered— what happened to her? After she died? Was there a funeral? I suppose there must have been. Was she christened?'
'Yes, she was christened, by the hospital chaplain. She's buried in the churchyard of the village where I grew up,' she told him gently. 'My parents were still living there then, but my grandmother's had a stroke so they've moved to Devon now. It's only a few miles away. I'll show you, if you like.'
His face looked strained. 'Would you? It would help to make it real.'
'Sure. When do you want to go? We could go now, if you like. It only takes half an hour to get there.'
'Not now,' he said, glancing at his watch. 'It's Sunday morning, the church will be heaving.'
She shook her head. 'No. It's a united benefice. The services rotate between the local churches—and anyway, it won't be heaving, exactly, even in full swing. It's only a tiny village.'
He nodded. 'OK, then. If it's quiet. I just want a little privacy.'
She gave him a reassuring smile. 'It's OK, I understand. Shall we go?'
'Do you mind?'
'No. Of course I don't. I often go to see her.'
A fleeting pain crossed his face, and she wondered if she'd done him a huge disservice by not contacting him about her. She really hadn't thought he'd care, and yet he obviously did.
Accidental Rendezvous Page 8
