by Kate Hardy
‘Got you,’ the man said.
‘You might find your back feels more painful over the next couple of days. If it feels worse in a week’s time, come back or see your GP to get checked over—and none of the stiff upper lip stuff, OK? Because all that’ll do is mean your recovery will be longer.’
‘OK,’ the patient said.
Rob gave his patient a prescription for painkillers—stronger ones than were available to buy over the counter at a pharmacy or supermarket. ‘There’s a week’s worth. Take two with food, maximum eight in twenty-four hours, and if they’re not touching the pain then come back.’
* * *
When it was time for his break, he headed for the staff kitchen. Florence was there, and his heart did a weird little flip. Rob had to remind himself that it wasn’t a good idea to act on the attraction he felt towards her.
‘Kettle’s hot,’ she said.
‘Cheers.’ He put a couple of spoons of instant coffee into a mug and added boiling water to dissolve it, then enough cold water so he could start drinking it. ‘How was your morning?’
‘I had a whole run of Colles’ fractures—and it’s not even icy this morning,’ she said.
‘Yeah, it goes like that sometimes.’
She paused. ‘So you had a burst appendix at the beginning of the year?’
He looked at her, surprised. ‘Hospital gossip travels fast here.’
‘No. I was in the cubicle next door to your patient who’d been rear-ended, so I heard what you said. Though I haven’t repeated it to anyone else.’
‘Thank you.’ He gave her what he hoped was a casual smile. ‘It wasn’t my finest moment. Helping with the aftermath of an earthquake and ending up needing treatment myself.’ He wasn’t quite ready to admit how serious it had got after the burst appendix. The blood poisoning. The dialysis. The horror of being stuck when he was desperate to be on the move again.
‘Good advice you gave your patient, though.’
‘It’s not so easy to follow advice if you have a Y chromosome,’ he deadpanned.
She laughed. ‘At least you’re honest about it.’ She smiled at him, and again his heart did that little flip. Her mouth was beautiful. He had difficulty stopping himself reaching out to trace the lower curve with his forefinger. Which was crazy. He hadn’t felt this kind of unstoppable attraction towards someone in years—not since he was twenty-four, in his first job after graduating, and fallen for a fellow medic.
Except Janine had had a five-year plan that included marriage, a mortgage and children; and that was completely incompatible with Rob’s own plans to travel the world. It had ended in tears, and Rob had never really forgiven himself for not being what she needed and for hurting her. It was why he made sure all his girlfriends knew he didn’t do serious: so he’d never hurt anyone again.
This pull he felt towards Florence unnerved him. Why now? Why her? What the hell was going on in his head? Equally pretty women had crossed his path in the last few months, so it wasn’t that he’d been starved of female company—even though he hadn’t been well enough to take things further.
What was so special about Florence Jacobs?
Before he could analyse it further, she said, ‘Has anyone mentioned the department Christmas dinner to you? It’s Friday next week, but we’ve still got a day or two to finalise numbers, so I’m pretty sure we can squeeze you in if you want.’
‘Christmas dinner?’ Right now it was the last week of September. He stared at her in surprise. ‘In October?’
‘Which is the closest to Christmas we’d dare to organise it. You know what it’s like in November and December. The department’s so busy that nobody would be actually able to go,’ she pointed out.
‘True,’ he said. And he knew Ollie would nag him to accept the invitation. Going for the meal would be a good way of getting to know his new team, even though he was only going to be here for three months. Gone just after Christmas. ‘Thanks. I’m not on duty next Friday, so I’d like to go. Do you need a deposit or the full payment?’
‘I’m guessing that it’s the whole lot, as Shobu collected the rest of the money and the menu choices from everyone last week,’ she said. ‘Oh—and partners are welcome, too.’
‘No partner. Just me,’ he said.
* * *
He was single?
There was absolutely no reason for her pulse to kick up a notch.
Robert Langley was simply her new colleague, and anyway Florence wasn’t interested in another relationship—not after the way her marriage had collapsed. She wasn’t risking her heart again. And there was no reason to think that Rob was attracted to her, either. ‘OK. Have a word with Shobu,’ she said.
‘I will. Oh, and I meant to tell you—your chickenpox pneumonia lady is doing just fine.’ He smiled. ‘I asked my brother when I spoke to him, the other night.’
‘That’s good to know.’ And it warmed her that he’d bothered to ask. That he’d remembered.
* * *
Florence spent the next week and a half telling herself that Robert Langley was just one of her colleagues and kept him at a friendly but professional distance...until she walked into the hotel where the department’s Christmas meal was being held.
Shobu had obviously told him that they all dressed up: the dress code for their Christmas party was dinner jackets and cocktail dresses. Florence hadn’t been prepared for just how amazing Rob looked in a tuxedo and bow tie instead of his white coat. Not a black tie, though; when she got closer, she discovered it was black with a dark grey paisley pattern. Incredibly stylish. Incredibly sexy. He still had that designer stubble that made her want to touch him.
And she needed to get a grip.
‘Didn’t fancy a polka dot red tie, then?’ she said, aiming for teasing and hoping he wouldn’t guess how attractive she found him.
‘I thought red might be a tiny bit too showy-offy,’ he said. ‘You look amazing, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’ She’d borrowed a dress from Lexy: a simple black shift dress that came down to just above her knee and had a boat neck. She wore a single strand of pearls and matching earrings—also Lexy’s—and her sister had insisted on doing her make-up, while her nieces all told her she looked like a princess. ‘Though it’s borrowed finery. I’m more one for scrubs or a white coat.’
‘Still lovely,’ he said.
He was being polite, she told herself. There was no reason to feel that flush of pleasure. No reason to feel a little tingle at the ends of her fingers. No reason for her breath to catch.
The breath-catching feeling got worse during the meal, because she was sitting next to Rob. And somehow they ended up brushing hands; every time it happened, her pulse rate went up another notch.
She needed to get things back on an even keel. Find a safe subject.
But, as she turned to him to say something innocuous about how lovely the food was, she caught his eye.
Oh, help.
Up this close, she could see how gorgeous his eyes were. How long his lashes were. How beautiful the shape of his mouth was.
Thinking about his mouth was a bad idea. Because the next step from that was thinking about how that beautiful mouth might feel against her skin. And her kissing days were over. She wasn’t going to let herself be vulnerable again.
‘Lovely food, isn’t it?’ she asked brightly, hoping nobody could hear the note of panic in her voice—and hoping even more that nobody would guess what was behind it. Especially Rob.
‘Very nice,’ he agreed.
He shuffled slightly in his seat, and the chairs were close enough together that his leg pressed briefly against hers. Even through the material of his trousers, she could feel the warmth of his skin, and it made her want to press against him.
‘So there’s dancing after this?’ he asked.
Dancing. Up close and pe
rsonal...
No.
Her scrambled brain needed to find an answer before he wondered why she wasn’t saying a word.
‘They’ll play all the Christmas hits, and everyone will be jumping about and singing their heads off,’ she said. Which was safe dancing. Enjoying yourself with your friends and colleagues. Not dangerous dancing, one on one.
‘With your sister being a ballerina, does that mean you like dancing?’
She’d loved it. And Dan had been an excellent dancer. It was one of the reasons she’d fallen for him in the first place: dancing with Dan had been like floating on air.
They hadn’t danced together for a good year before he’d left her. And she hadn’t had a clue that he’d been dancing with someone else.
Not wanting to let the old hurts spoil tonight—or let herself wonder what it would be like to dance with Rob—she deliberately misinterpreted his question so he wouldn’t take it as an invitation to ask her to dance. ‘Follow in her footsteps? No. I went to ballet lessons when I was five, for about a term, but it wasn’t for me. I loved the music, I loved watching Lexy dance at home—and dancing with her—but I wasn’t like her. I didn’t want to put in the hours and hours of practice, the way she did.’
For a second, there was a glint in his eyes, as if he recognised the subterfuge: stick to a safe, neutral topic.
And then how ridiculous was it that she felt almost disappointed when he did precisely that and asked, ‘What made you decide to be a doctor?’
‘I wanted to do something where I’d help people,’ she said, ‘and when I did my rotation in the Emergency Department it made me realise that was where I wanted to be.’ Since he’d opted for the safe topic, it would only be polite to ask him the same. ‘What about you?’
He grinned. ‘Ah, now. When I was thirteen, I flirted with the idea of being a rock star.’
Florence could just imagine it; and she could all too clearly imagine Rob on stage. Whatever role he’d taken in the band, even if he’d been stuck at the back behind a drum kit, he would’ve drawn all the attention. Just as he was holding her attention now. Her mouth felt as if it was glued to the roof of her mouth. Rob as a rock star... She shook herself mentally and strove for a note of friendly teasing. ‘So how much of a flirtation was it? You thought about doing it and mimed a bit, or do you actually play something?’
‘Oh, I had a proper band—me, my brother and a friend.’ He laughed. ‘I was going to be the lead guitarist and singer, Ollie did the bass and harmonies, and our mate Micky was the drummer. We used to practise in our garage.’ He laughed even more. ‘Weirdly, the whole street seemed to go out within five minutes of us turning our amps on.’
‘You were that good?’ she teased.
‘We were terrible. And I mean really terrible. I’m not sure who was most relieved when we stopped, our parents or our neighbours.’
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. That gorgeous, gorgeous blue. It made her stomach swoop just to look at him.
He must know the effect he had on women. Yet he hadn’t claimed that his band was brilliant and he could’ve been a pop star if he’d wanted to. He’d laughed about his own hopelessness. There was no posturing, no side to him. She liked that. She liked him. And that was enough to tip her into confessing, ‘I never wanted to be in a band, but Lexy and I used to sing into hairbrushes in the kitchen on a Sunday morning.’
‘So you can sing?’ He looked interested.
‘I can just about hold a tune,’ she said, ‘but it’s more the sort of thing I do in the car with Mum, or with Lexy and the girls. There’s no way you’d ever get me up at the mic at a karaoke night.’
‘Got you.’
‘So, when you gave up the idea of being a rock star, what made you decide on medicine?’ she asked.
‘I fell in love with climbing,’ he said, ‘and I joined the local mountain rescue team. And it was a fairly easy step from learning first aid for mountain rescue to wanting to do full-on emergency medicine.’ He smiled. ‘I always found it a bit hard to sit still, as a kid, so I like the pace in the department. It suits me.’
And she found herself wondering what else would suit him. What else he liked. What made him tick.
Which was crazy. She didn’t want to get involved with anyone, outside friendship. So why did Robert Langley snag her attention like this? Why couldn’t she take her eyes off him? Why was she aware of every tiny shift in his body and every time his hand accidentally brushed against hers?
Thankfully the Head of Department saved her from blurting out something stupid by tapping a spoon against his glass and then doing the usual speech before giving out the ‘secret Santa’ presents. She wondered whose name Rob been given; this late on, she guessed that Shobu had probably swapped names with him.
The gifts were the usual mix of novelty socks, Christmas tree decorations for beards, good chocolate, mugs with rude slogans and silly games. Florence ended up with a gorgeous scented candle; Rob was given socks sporting polar bears wearing Santa hats.
And then the dancing started.
* * *
Rob had been very aware of Florence all through dinner. Every time his hand had brushed against hers, every time one of them had shifted in their chairs and accidentally pressed a leg against the other’s, it had increased his awareness of her. The dress she was wearing made him think even more of Audrey Hepburn. And he really wanted to dance with her. Hold her close. Sway with her to sweet, soft music.
The sensible side of him knew that he should jam a lid on that attraction before it spilled over. Even though he knew from general chat in the staff kitchen that Florence was single, it didn’t mean that she was looking for a relationship; though, from the way her gorgeous brown eyes had widened at him, he was pretty sure that she’d felt that same simmering awareness of him during dinner.
He ought to keep his distance. Dance with her in a group. Keep it all light and friendly and totally above board.
Except he was finding her irresistible.
He danced with two of the nurses, one of the other doctors and two of the support staff; all the while, he knew exactly where Florence was on the dance floor, even when his back was to her. For pity’s sake. He wasn’t looking for a partner. He wanted to concentrate on getting fully fit again so he could go back to his old life—or, at least, as much of it as possible. Climbing. Things that his past girlfriends had lost patience with—which was another of the reasons why his relationships never lasted. And why was he thinking about relationships now? This was ridiculous.
But he couldn’t take his eyes off Florence. The way she moved.
* * *
Florence had been dancing all evening. Exactly the fun, safe dancing she’d intended to enjoy. But all the while she’d been very aware of exactly where Rob was on the dance floor. He’d admitted to being a terrible singer, but he was a good dancer. He paid attention to the way his partner moved. And she noticed that he danced with every single woman in their group, smiling and charming them: though in a nice way, not a sleazy way. He was inclusive, making sure that everyone had a good time.
Rob Langley was good with people.
And he was more than easy on the eye.
And he was single...
She shook herself. Not happening. Temporary colleagues only, she reminded herself. No complications, no disappointments, no heartbreak. She was done with having her heart broken and her dreams trampled into dust.
She smiled. Chatted to her colleagues. Danced. Smiled a bit more.
And then, at the end of the song, she felt as if she was tingling all over.
Rob was there.
Right next to her.
‘Dr Jacobs. Would you care to dance?’ he asked.
How could she possible resist? Though she made an attempt at a casual, ‘Sure.’
Except this would have to be the song wh
ere the lights dimmed and everything slowed right down. The song where they ended up swaying close.
Before, she’d been chatting and laughing during a dance with a group of people.
Now, she was in his arms. Holding him close. Close enough to feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, the warmth of his hand against her back.
Florence could hardly breathe.
Despite her high heels, she wasn’t quite tall enough to dance cheek to cheek with him, but his nearness made her feel almost dizzy. How long had it been since she’d danced with someone like this? Even Dan...they hadn’t danced together for years. They’d been too busy fighting about making babies—or, rather, not making them.
And this time Rob wasn’t chatting about his teenage years and asking her about her family. He was holding her close enough for her to be able to feel the warmth of his body, the beat of his heart.
She pulled back slightly and risked glancing up at him. The intensity of his gaze practically seared her.
So did this mean he felt the same way that she did? As if the whole of the dance floor had just melted away, all the people and the music vanished into space, and there was just the two of them in the room? Did he, too, feel this sweet, crazy longing?
Maybe the questions showed in her eyes, because he drew her closer. Stooped a little more, so they were actually dancing cheek to cheek. And then she felt the touch of his lips at the corner of her mouth. Like gossamer. No pressure, no demands: just light and sweet and so very tempting.
Only a kiss. One little, tiny kiss.
What would be the harm in following his lead and kissing him back?
Not giving her common sense the chance to talk her out of it, she turned her face slightly so her lips brushed against his, and it sent a tingle through her whole body: as if every vein, every nerve-ending, had suddenly lit up. It almost knocked her off balance; except his arms were round her, holding her safely so she didn’t fall, guiding her round the dance floor.
