One Night She Would Never Forget

by Amy Andrews

  Patrick latched onto the change in topic like a lifeline. ‘He didn’t want anything to do with Lola?’

  ‘By the time I knew I was pregnant he’d moved on.’

  Patrick felt a prickle of unease. ‘So he doesn’t know?’ How would he feel if Katie hadn’t told him about Ruby?

  ‘No. He knows. I rang and told him. But he freaked out and let me know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to be framed as the baby daddy by some groupie chick who probably banged every surfer she met.’

  Patrick winced. ‘Nice.’

  Miranda shrugged. ‘Yes. It was a bit of a shock. But...what can you do? I just picked myself up and got on with it.’

  Patrick was struck by Miranda’s poise. And her maturity. She seemed wise beyond her years.

  Her paltry twenty-two years.

  He realised he liked her. A lot. And it had nothing to do with the hours he’d spent in her bed—because that he really, really had to delete from his memory banks—and everything to do with her serenity. Her composure. He was drawn to her as a human being, not just as a woman. He’d had the same feeling that night in the bar when they’d been chatting about their daughters, and it was nice to feel it again.

  Suddenly it was just as important that she felt the same way about him. That she liked him. That she knew what had happened at the hotel that night wasn’t his usual modus operandi. He grew more sober as he sought and held her gaze.

  ‘I didn’t lie to you that night,’ he said. ‘I don’t often pick up women in hotel bars.’

  Miranda laughed at his phrasing. ‘Often?’ she teased. ‘That’s not very convincing.’

  He laughed along with her at his dubious word choice. ‘The occasional one-night stand on my infrequent sojourns from home is about all I can manage these days so saying I never do it would be a lie. But I didn’t go to the bar looking for it.’

  Miranda nodded. She believed him. She remembered the genuine surprise and delight on his face when he’d spotted her. She looked at his hand still cradling his mug.

  ‘So why the wedding ring?’

  Patrick removed his hand from the mug and looked down at the band Katie had bought him about a million years ago now and which he hadn’t worn since the last time he’d changed hospitals a few years ago. He studied it quietly for a moment or two.

  He looked at her. ‘It’s a quick and easy way to send a signal about my lack of availability in a new working environment without having any awkward conversations. Sooner or later someone’s going to realise that I’m that Dr Costello and everything will come out as the gossip takes off.’

  Miranda nodded. It was sound reasoning, she supposed, but listening to his tale today and watching him finger the ring almost constantly, she had to wonder if there wasn’t a little part of him that was still holding out hope that Katie would come home and they could pick up where they’d left off.

  Had she been some kind of Katie substitute that night six months ago?

  She must have some doubts on her face because he quirked an eyebrow at her and said, ‘What?’

  Miranda shrugged. ‘I guess I’m just wondering if maybe you’re...not quite over her.’

  Patrick stilled at the suggestion even as the rejection formed on his lips. ‘Yes. I am,’ he said, his voice quiet but vehement, his gaze seeking and locking with hers. ‘And she needn’t think she can walk back into our lives at some stage in the future, after turning her back on not just me but on her child, and all will be forgiven. I understand that she probably wasn’t in her right mind and hadn’t been for a while but what she did was unforgiveable and there’s no going back from that.’

  Miranda flinched at the steely edge to his voice. She was left in no doubt that, no matter how much it had broken him, Patrick had well and truly moved on. Any feelings he may have had for her had well and truly been killed off by Katie’s disappearing act.

  ‘Mummy, can Ruby and I play on the swings?’

  ‘And the thee-thaw,’ Ruby added.

  Miranda dragged her gaze from Patrick’s, grateful for the interruption, and she smiled at the adorable lisp that somehow seemed to make Ruby even cuter. ‘It’s fine by me. Depends on your daddy.’

  ‘Pleath, Daddy?’ Ruby fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Pleeeeath?’

  ‘They’re just down the stairs in the back yard near the garage,’ Miranda supplied. ‘It’s all securely fenced off from the street.’

  Patrick nodded his assent. ‘But we do need to be going soon,’ he added over the din of excitement as the girls squealed in delight then headed for the door.

  Quiet descended as the girls tore down the stairs and Miranda was aware that they were now totally alone. And sitting quite close as the intimacy they’d shared settled around them. She could smell the spicy sweetness of his cologne and memories of how it had filled her senses as he’d rocked into her that fateful night washed over her. The urge to lean in closer, to bury her face into his neck, to lift her mouth to his, beat like a jungle drum through her head and she stood abruptly to pick up the dishes.

  This was not the bar of some swanky hotel.

  ‘You can join them if you like,’ she said as she moved away and headed to the sink. ‘I’ll just do these then come down too.’

  Patrick’s heart banged in his chest as he started to breathe again. For a crazy moment he’d been sure she’d been going to kiss him. Which probably made him clinically insane.

  Twenty-two. Twenty-two. Twenty-two.

  He stood and gathered the rest of the dishes. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

  ‘No, really,’ she said as she flicked on the hot tap, squirting too much liquid detergent in as her brain frantically tried to reel in the call of the wild. ‘I’m fine.’

  Patrick placed his load on the bench beside the sink and picked up a towel that was hanging over the oven door handle. ‘A job shared is a job halved.’

  He winced at the trite phrase, grateful when she didn’t acknowledge it. ‘Besides,’ he said, reaching for more sane conversation, ‘it looks like we can see them quite well from here.’

  Miranda plunged her hands into the hot water, trying to ignore the view of his broad chest in her peripheral vision. She looked straight ahead instead through the large window that looked down on the back yard. The girls were on the see-saw, having a grand old time.

  ‘So this is your grandmother’s house?’ Patrick asked, desperate to stall the growing awareness of her as their arms occasionally brushed.

  Miranda nodded. ‘Yes, my grandfather built a granny flat over the garage before I was born. They’re both from big families in the UK and would often get visitors for extended periods of time. He died years ago but when my mother kicked me out my grandmother took me in.’

  Patrick stopped drying. ‘Your mother kicked you out? Because of Lola?’

  Miranda glanced at him. ‘Yes. But it’s a long, complicated story.’

  Patrick locked his gaze with hers. ‘Complicated I get.’

  She grimaced at the empathy she saw in his eyes. He most certainly did. But she really didn’t want to get into the still fraught relationship she had with her mother. ‘Unfortunately my headache has had all the complications it can take today.’

  Patrick frowned as she rolled her shoulders. ‘Have you taken something for it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a little better but I don’t want to tempt fate.’

  ‘Well, maybe I can help with that,’ he murmured. ‘Here, let me.’ He dropped the towel on the bench and moved to stand behind her, gliding his palms along her neck muscles.

  Miranda felt every cell in her body snap to attention as her hands stilled in the sudsy water. His aroma enveloped her again as the warmth from his body surrounded her.

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,’ she said huskily, her eyes shutting as his
thumbs brushed her nape.

  Patrick had a feeling she was right but pressure points had been a bit of specialty of his during his training. ‘Strictly professional, I promise.’

  Except it didn’t feel professional to Miranda as his thumbs sought and found the place where skull met nape and pushed. In fact, it felt so good she almost arched her back and purred as her head flopped into the pressure.

  Patrick felt her body go limp and settle against him. ‘How’s that?’ he asked.

  Miranda moaned. ‘Stupendous,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t stop.’

  Patrick would have smiled had not her moan gone straight to his groin and her husky plea not to stop taken on an entirely different connotation as his body reacted with complete disregard for professional boundaries.

  His thumbs gently undulated against the pressure points as he tried to master his physical reaction but even the feather of her dark hair against his fingers was a turn-on. She seemed to lean into him more as he kept the pressure up and he swallowed hard, desperately reminding himself she was twenty-two.

  ‘God,’ she groaned. ‘That feels so good.’

  Twenty-two.

  ‘Your fingers are magic,’ she muttered a few seconds later.

  Twenty-two.

  ‘Mmm,’ she sighed in her next breath. ‘You should do this for a living.’

  Patrick swallowed. Hard. And hoped she couldn’t feel the pounding of his heart against her back or, worse, his inappropriate erection rubbing against her jeans. He should stop. He really, really should. But she was so warm and soft and smelled so amazing. Her aroma was weaving around his good sense like the call of a snake charmer and he was enthralled.

  She’s a woman.

  She’s attractive.

  You want her.

  She angled her neck a little, exposing the beautiful curve of it to his line of sight, and the urge to taste her there beat insistently at his short-circuiting impulse control. He’d probably have managed to ignore it had she not squirmed against him a little and sighed his name under her breath.

  And then, before he even knew what he was doing, he dropped his head with a soft groan and brushed his lips across the curve where nape met shoulder.

  Miranda’s eyes opened as the pressure of his mouth registered. Her pulse tripped madly, her breath felt thick and heavy in her throat. She should pull away. Tell him not to do that. Ask him to stop. But her nipples were hard and her breasts ached and heat pooled deep and low and tingled between her legs.

  Was it so bad to want to feel this low steady thrum of arousal every now and then? To feel like a woman?

  So she didn’t tell him to stop. She did the exact opposite, taking her hands out of the water and slipping them behind her, between their bodies, where she could feel the hardness of him pressing into her and she filled her palms with him and squeezed.

  Patrick shut his eyes on a hiss as a lightning bolt scorched his groin. ‘Miranda,’ he moaned against the shell of her ear, the massage forgotten as he smoothed his hands onto her shoulders and urged her round to face him.

  Miranda met his lips with the desperation and passion born from six months of hot dreams and heated fantasies. His palm cupped her jaw and she opened her mouth to him with unashamed need. She clung to his shoulders, whimpered his name, ground herself against him. Needing to get closer. Wanting to reacquaint herself with all of him.

  And then his phone rang, loud and insistent, and they broke apart like Ruby and Lola had thrown a bucket of cold water over them.

  Hell.

  Miranda shook her head. What on earth was she thinking?

  She turned away, staring blindly out the window as her pulse pounded through her ears and her breath came hard. She vaguely heard him speaking to the caller as Lola and Ruby played and laughed before her, completely oblivious to what had just happened between their parents.

  And they were the stakes, right there.

  Two little girls.

  This was ridiculous. Crazy. Insane.

  A moment of madness.

  It may have been fine in an anonymous hotel room at an anonymous conference. But not here. Not now.

  Neither of them was free to just follow this stupid powerful pull of lust. They both had someone else they had to put first. She’d tried a relationship a few years ago but her divided loyalties had been its death knell.

  Plus she and Patrick worked together.

  Patrick ended the call. Miranda had her back to him again and he wished he had some time to wrap his head around their situation. But he did know they couldn’t do this. He’d resigned himself to passing on relationships years ago and after all that time of guarding his heart he doubted he even knew how to let someone in.

  ‘We can’t do this,’ he said.

  Miranda turned slowly to face him. ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...’

  Miranda waved his statement away. ‘Neither should I.’

  ‘It’s just that...the whole single-dad thing makes it really difficult to...’

  Miranda nodded vigorously. ‘I know. Truly, I do understand. And we also work together...’

  Patrick let his gaze roam over her face. Her smoky green eyes were large in her face, her mouth swollen and ravaged from his kisses. He wanted to take three strides and pick up where they’d left off. ‘I wish things were different,’ he said.

  Miranda nodded. ‘So do I.’ Then she smiled at him and he smiled back. ‘I can cope with being just friends if you can.’

  Patrick nodded too, although it sounded depressingly unexciting. ‘Sure.’ He thrust his hands in his pockets just to be safe. But it wasn’t enough. ‘I think I’d better get going. Thanks for the tea party.’

  Miranda watched as he headed for the door, already hating the strained formality. ‘Can you send Lola up for me?’

  He didn’t look back, just said, ‘Will do,’ and walked out the door.

  Miranda leaned heavily against the kitchen bench, her legs suddenly weak and shaky.

  Being just friends was going to suck.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MUCH TO MIRANDA’S surprise, it didn’t suck as much as she’d anticipated. It was awkward initially, for sure, but Patrick was easy to get along with and keen to make the transition smooth. A few weeks down the track she doubted if anyone could tell from their interactions that they’d seen each other naked.

  And if, from time to time, she caught him looking at her with heat in his gaze or thoughts of him drifted into a swirling carnal abyss as she helped him anaesthetise a patient then she just reached for her big girl pants and got on with it.

  She didn’t have time for a flirtation. She was trying to juggle a job and be a single mother and frankly she was just too tired by seven o’clock at night to be sociable. She couldn’t do dates or sleepovers and there wasn’t room in her brain for feeling sexy when it was crowded with mundane things like the materials she was going to need to make Lola an Easter bonnet for the parade and how she needed to buy sprinkles for the next batch of cupcakes.

  No doubt about it—it was an exciting life she led.

  But feeling two little skinny arms wrapped tightly around her neck or watching those cute little bow lips slack and perfect in slumber made it all worthwhile.

  Later, when Lola wasn’t so dependent on her, she could think about dating. About herself.

  For now she had one amazing night to get her through.

  * * *

  Patrick checked his watch and drummed his fingers on his thigh as the surgeon uttered a low expletive, despite Edna’s disapproving frown. The bowel resection had not been going according to plan, with a lot of bleeding, and everyone was starting to get a little tense.

  He kept an eye on the blood pressure of his fifty-eight-year-old patient, Ron. Th
anks to a large amount of blood products it was currently being maintained at a reasonable level but it was still too unstable for his liking. There was more cross-matched product available and he had an inkling that Ron was going to need it before the surgery was through.

  He looked at his watch again. The operation should have been finished an hour ago. He was going to be late for Ruby. Normally he’d just text Helen to pick up her granddaughter, as she did three afternoons a week anyway, but she was having a rare day off, finally making some new friends after their interstate move, and he didn’t want to yank her away from that.

  The move had been huge for her too. He’d expected resistance initially but Helen had surprised him with her quick compliance. She’d understood his need to move on, to try and start afresh somewhere else, and Patrick had been thrilled when she’d agreed to come with them.

  Some people thought it was strange that he lived with his mother-in-law but they’d always got on well and he couldn’t have coped without her these last years—she’d simply been a godsend. And being close to Ruby had helped temper Helen’s grief over her daughter’s desertion and continuing absence.

  Having Helen as live-in help was win-win for both of them.

  ‘I’m knocking off. Denise is taking over—she’ll be in shortly.’

  Yanked out of his reverie by a voice he thought about a little too much, he looked up into a pair of gorgeous smoky green eyes. The mask hiding the rest of her face only served to emphasise them further.

  She was smiling at him. It was right there in her gaze.

  He liked her smile. He had the strangest urge to rip the mask off so he could see it. But given Edna’s presence and her uncanny knack of knowing when anyone broke the rules, he didn’t want to be chastised for spreading respiratory bacteria all over her theatre.

  ‘Could I beg a favour?’ he murmured, keeping his voice low. He doubted their conversation could be heard above the surgeons talking to each other, trying to troubleshoot as a team, but he wasn’t taking any chances. They’d done a good job of keeping up a professional front and he didn’t want to ruin it now.