Rosie allowed him to escort her into the function room. Philip kept her close and Rosie knew why. He liked to make an entrance and they made a striking couple: she was five foot ten in bare feet and Philip was several inches taller, so their height alone made people notice them. In politics, being noticed was part of the game if you wanted to climb to the top.
Rosie knew she was an asset in this regard. She’d never minded, it was the way the world worked, but now she questioned that assumption—had she just begun thinking like that because she’d been so fully immersed in that world? Maybe the rest of the world didn’t function so superficially?
She scanned the already crowded room and realised it wasn’t fair, not entirely. There were plenty of familiar faces and among them were some people she’d always enjoyed seeing, it wasn’t all rubbing shoulders for the sake of it. Tonight, though, pleasant people or not, it wasn’t where she wanted to be. She’d promised Philip she’d mingle cheerfully, but for the life of her she couldn’t imagine having anything of interest to contribute. When had she last managed to read the weekend papers when the news wasn’t already three days old?
For now, though, she waited dutifully next to Philip in the line to meet the Australian Prime Minister and his New Zealand counterpart. Rosie towered over the Australian PM but, then, so did most people. He remembered meeting her before, a fact which clearly pleased Philip. Maybe this would give her some bonus points and allow her to sneak off from her ‘official’ duties a bit earlier.
Philip introduced her to the minister for education and his wife before excusing himself. The minister was a rather dull man, his wife even more so, and she knew she’d been delivered to them to pay Philip’s dues without him having to endure them. After a few minutes she made her own excuses and made her way to the minister for health, collecting a glass of white wine along the way. The health minister was also someone Philip wanted her to talk to but at least he was interesting. He’d been a doctor in his pre-government life so they’d be able to find some common ground.
She was here.
Nick had noticed her the moment she’d entered the room. In a room filled wall to wall with ageing men in black suits and women wearing predominantly safe little black dresses, Rosie shone like a star in her canary-yellow dress.
Her shoulder-length sandy-blonde hair had been pinned back from her face and with her summer tan she looked beautiful, but he was sure he could still see the traces of shadows around her eyes, the faint tinge of tiredness he’d seen at the beach and his office. Even so, and even competing with the stunning backdrop of the lights of Sydney Harbour, she had no trouble capturing his attention.
He mingled, all the time aware of where she was. She’d made an entrance on the arm of a similarly noticeable man—taller, younger and better-looking than many of the other men in the room. The guy didn’t fit the picture he realised he’d built up around Rosie, of a young woman on her own, managing a difficult set of circumstances. Had he got her wrong?
Right now Rosie was talking to the minister for health. Nick couldn’t see the guy who had accompanied Rosie into the function but he didn’t waste time trying to find him either. One man’s loss. Was what? His ticket to making this evening the celebration he’d been planning?
The instant attraction he’d felt for her, stirred by her combination of vitality and vulnerability, was showing no signs of lessening tonight. Not a chance of it with her wearing a dress that looked like it was poured over her skin. He’d given himself permission to relax and enjoy the evening. He didn’t have to get involved, he was allowed to have fun and if he could have fun with Rosie—well, that was even better.
He ignored the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that he was flirting with danger by spending time with her. She didn’t strike him as the type who went for brief dalliances—neither was he, for that matter—but this pull between them was there and the question had to be asked. If Rosie needed a night off from her responsibilities this could work out perfectly for both of them.
He cut across the room as she left the minister’s side, walking swiftly so he could catch her before she began another conversation.
Rosie excused herself from the health minister as another couple approached him, congratulating herself for getting off to a good start. ‘That’s two prime ministers and two ministers down in the first half-hour,’ she muttered as she weaved through the crowded room, ‘and I think I can count the minister for education as two ministers since he was hard enough work. Time for a break before dinner.’ She’d walk the room, nodding and smiling and looking like she had somewhere to go so no one stopped her to chat.
Not more than half a dozen steps later someone said her name behind her. So much for her plan.
‘Rosie Jefferson, what a happy coincidence.’
She turned, her smile immediate when she saw who it was. ‘Nick!’ And just like that, the head-spinning tingles were back, along with the desire to step into his arms and go with him. Madness! With an effort, she said, ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘You don’t think a simple doctor is worthy of such highflying company?’ His grin was magic as he gestured to take in the room full of politicians and other movers and shakers. Philip looked good in his dinner suit but on Nick it was elevated to a whole new level of deliciousness. His broad, straight shoulders perfectly suited to jackets, he could have stepped off a catwalk. And she knew in an instant Nick hadn’t spent nearly the same sum on his suit—another end-of-summer remnant?
‘Maybe not a question of being worthy, but is this really your usual Saturday night entertainment?’ She was fishing, shamelessly so, and she didn’t care. She needed to know whatever she could about him. How he cut his toast, where his favourite beach was, whether he had struggled to tie his bow-tie tonight…how he’d react if she reached out now and tugged on it, loosened it…She widened her eyes at the thought and swallowed. Hard. Stuttering, she tried to cover the fact her mind had wandered off into fantasy territory. Again. ‘I wouldn’t have pictured you here.’
‘It shows?’ He looked crestfallen but was clearly anything but. ‘You’re right, I’m an impostor. I only scored an invite as a token Kiwi since the PM’s in town. I was one of the best they could scrounge up, the rest are working in bars and chasing the surf. But, still, what gave me away?’
‘Your dinner suit looks as new as my dress.’
He made a great show of slowly examining her dress, managing not to focus on her cleavage. Full points there, but she was left tingling under his scrutiny, feeling all too revealed. She hadn’t enjoyed anything as much in a long, long time. She really had to get out more.
‘The suit’s brand-new, the old one’s in New Zealand and hasn’t been worn for the best part of a decade. As for your dress, you didn’t need to tell me it was new.’ He glanced over her shoulder. ‘You left the tag on.’
Horrified, she tried to both look and feel over her shoulder, while he stood chuckling with what appeared to be great amusement. After some indiscreet attempts to feel the back of her dress for the price tag, the realisation dawned. ‘There’s no tag, right?’
‘Right. I just wanted to check my hunch. But why the new dress? Is there someone you need to impress or do you crave new dresses like I crave Perky Nanas?’
‘You crave happy grandmas?’
‘Ah, that qualifies as yet another of my cross-cultural faux pas. Of course you don’t have Perky Nanas in Australia.’
She shook her head. She really hoped he had a good explanation.
‘They’re a chocolate bar, chewy banana flavour.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and laughed out loud. ‘Your expression just then was priceless. Horror to relief in one second flat. So, translation over, which is it? Out to impress or you have a fashion addiction?’
‘Neither. All my gear’s in Canberra.’
He looked blank. Her turn to tease, knowing full well he was drawing a blank on why her gear would be in Canberra, not what Canberra actually was. ‘You
know, the city purpose built for the politicians, the capital of Australia?’
‘Sure, and also the logical place to keep your wardrobe when you live in Sydney.’
‘There aren’t so many moths down there.’ She looked him dead in the eye. ‘They don’t like the cold.’
He raised an eyebrow, looked her dead in the eye back, his face serious, and said, ‘I suspect you are playing with me now. Not nice when I’m a hapless immigrant. Isn’t the new Government’s immigration policy meant to be, shall we say, based on more tolerant ideals? Be nice to strangers, no teasing?’
She didn’t miss a beat. ‘There’s an exemption clause for New Zealanders.’
His laughter rang clear and true. ‘Touché. And as for Canberra, what’s the story there?’
‘I moved here for the twins.’ She’d recovered her equilibrium and was discovering their verbal exchange was as exhilarating as her earlier fantasies about Nick and bow-ties. ‘I haven’t had a chance to go back and sort my things out yet.’
‘Charlie’s GP didn’t mention that.’
‘He probably didn’t see it as relevant to Charlie’s medical care.’
Again, she had the feeling he wanted to ask her more but he simply nodded before saying, ‘So tell me how you scored an invitation tonight. You’re not the PM’s doctor or someone famous I should know, are you?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m a GP but my ex-partner is in politics and I’d promised to come. So here I am. But how did you really get an invite? You can’t tell me someone trawled the streets to scrounge up some reputable Kiwis.’
‘I’m now considered a respectable, presentable ex-pat Kiwi, who can usually be relied on not to embarrass our small nation when out in public. I think that was the job description for this evening.’ He paused for effect then gave her the real reason. ‘And Tim, one of my best mates, is Harriet Carter’s media advisor—that might have had something to do with it.’
‘The New Zealand Prime Minister’s media advisor? Your circle of friends is impressive.’
‘Thereby making me impressive by association?’
‘I guess it does.’ From where she stood he was impressive all on his own. The way he wore his suit was just the start of a long list entitled ‘Impressive Things About Nick’. The fullness of his lips, the way his hair fell from the cowlick at his forehead, his height, the colours of a changeable sea she now saw were intermingled in his irises, his warmth, his sense of humour, the fact he seemed kind.
The fact he was looking at her like she’d spaced out, which she had. ‘I guess it does,’ she repeated, for lack of something new to say.
‘Good. Since it’s settled I’m impressive, can I steal you away for a few minutes or do you have some more tiresome politicians you need to talk to?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Like I said, I’m a token for the evening. Consider me the equivalent of a designer-clad game-show hostess, here simply for looks. In my book, that means my only responsibility is to enjoy myself and I came prepared to do exactly that. My chances of that, I think, are greatly improved by your being here.’
He smiled at her as he finished talking, banishing Rosie’s thoughts of any other people she was supposed to talk to. His smile was capable of making her forget her own name, let alone everything else going on around her. Besides, what was currently going on around her was easily forgotten.
‘I’m sure politics can do without me, I’m all yours.’
Nick swapped her empty glass for a full one, taking a glass of water for himself before moving across to the expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Sydney Harbour.
The Harbour Bridge spanned the sea as the ferries crisscrossed below it, the old-fashioned green and gold wooden boats adding some character among the modern, high-speed white ferries. The lights of the houses on the north shore provided a glittering backdrop to the darkness of the ocean.
They stood side by side, looking out. ‘Have you settled into Sydney okay?’
‘I’m from here originally but I’m still finding my feet in the parenting department, so I don’t think I’ve really registered where I am.’ She was surprised to find herself being so frank with him; since her brother’s death she’d been playing her cards close to her chest, not admitting much about her real feelings to anyone. She turned towards him, wondering how he’d take her admission she wasn’t totally on top of things.
He held her gaze with his own. ‘I’m not surprised. Your life’s been tipped upside down and inside out. Do you know if you plan on staying here? Your gear is still in Canberra…’ He let the question hang in the air between them, as if there was more riding on it than where her evening gowns happened to be hung.
‘I moved here to look after Charlie and Lucy. I’m their legal guardian and I wasn’t prepared to disrupt them any more than necessary by moving them to Canberra. Philip, my ex, couldn’t leave Canberra so we decided it was easiest to call it quits.’ Had he noticed she had avoided answering his question?
‘Leaving you where, exactly?’
She didn’t answer for a moment. Where did it leave her? ‘If you want the honest truth, I don’t know. I scarcely have time to work out what day it is at the moment let alone think about what I want, or need.’
‘I can only imagine. I’m going to push my luck and ask another personal question I have no business asking. Blame it on my gaucheness as a foreigner.’
‘Hmm,’ she said, noncommittal but not at all put out.
‘Why couldn’t Philip commute if you wanted to be together? It’s not uncommon for politicians.’
‘Maybe not established ones but Philip is still junior and he has big ambitions. He wants a ministerial appointment, another reason why he won’t budge from Canberra, and he knows he needs to impress the right people. Which is why I’m here tonight.’
‘You want to impress the right people?’ He was jesting but his smile had tightened.
Her denial was automatic. ‘I’m here to help him impress people. I’ve been his partner for over two years, the change has been hard on him and I promised I’d support him tonight, so he wouldn’t have to come stag or explain where I was.’
‘He’s lucky you’re so understanding.’
‘I feel bad, as I’m the one who left.’
‘Do you do a lot of things because of guilt?’
‘Pardon?’
‘You are very kind, turning your life upside down for the twins and then feeling guilty about your ex when the circumstances were not under your control. I suspect only extreme kindness, selflessness even, would make someone in your current situation brave a night like tonight.’ His words hung in the air between them like a physical caress. Then he winked and said, ‘It was either that or the free drinks.’
She laughed, grateful he’d handed her an easy way out of having to respond to his observation. ‘The free drinks get me every time.’
An announcement asking everyone to take their seats interrupted them but Nick added a quick final sentence as the crowd started moving towards the dining room. ‘And dancing? How does dancing figure in your plans this evening? The music’s free, my dance card is empty and the dance floor is stamped with your name.’
‘Dancing sounds lovely.’ Anything would sound lovely if proposed by Nick.
‘Great.’ Nick placed his hand on her elbow, turning her away from the windows and back towards the tables. The touch of his hand sent a bolt of electricity through her, igniting the warm glow and turning her insides into a liquid pool of desire. For a moment she stood as though bolted to the floor. It made no sense to be shocked by her reaction to him, she should be getting used to his effect on her by now. But each time was like the first time.
Could she really claim he only affected her like this because she’d been so isolated recently? Maybe dancing with him wasn’t such a great idea after all. For him, it would be just a dance. For her, she was in danger of melting on the dance floor if she spent more than a few seconds held in his arms.
Her feet found the power of movement and she headed towards the dining area with him, his hand resting lightly on her back, her insides screaming every step of the way for more. More talking, more touches of his hand. More everything.
And she knew then that with him a dance could never be a dance.
Nothing could be ordinary with Dr Nick Masters.
But that’s exactly where her life was and where she had to keep it: as ordinary as possible, for the sake of two very vulnerable children.
For once, Rosie was thrilled the dinner speeches went on ad nauseam since they made table conversation redundant.
Philip had asked her where she’d been and he’d been unhappy she’d spent a large proportion of the time during pre-dinner drinks talking to her nephew’s specialist, whether or not he knew the New Zealand PM, an exaggeration Rosie had thrown in as a sweetener without intending to. Since when had she told white lies? She’d crossed her fingers hoping Philip never got the chance to ask Nick how that non-existent acquaintance had begun.
Philip had no claims on her but he might fairly ask her why she’d misled him. She didn’t have the answer. Except she wasn’t ready to explain Nick. Or, rather, to explain how she felt around Nick. That she was in the grip of an adolescent fantasy, one-sided, impossible. If she gave voice to it, she just knew it would vanish in a puff of smoke.
As the last speech ended, Rosie glanced over her shoulder and looked straight into Nick’s appreciative eyes. He was seated a couple of tables away and he raised his glass ever so slightly in a discreet toast. He’d have had a good view of her bare back and semi-profile the entire evening. Had he been looking? As he lowered his glass and grinned, she knew he had been and a fantasy sprang immediately to mind that he’d chosen that particular chair deliberately, where he could see her.
She’d last felt that sense of excited anticipation in high school and the adrenalin rush sent happy shivers down her spine. So much for her resolve to keep things ordinary. One locked gaze with Nick Masters and she was putty in his hands. Sending a quick smile his way, she turned back to Philip on her left and her fantasies ground to a halt. Philip was not the sort to inspire fantasies. Philip was the sort of partner to make a girl think about a good, solid, respectable life of pre-dinner canapés and ladies who lunched for charity.
Italian Doctor, Dream Proposal / Wanted: A Father for her Twins Page 22
