Praise for Annie O’Neil

‘A heartwarming tale of two opposites falling for each other. Annie O’Neil has done a fabulous job with her first offering. Highly recommended for readers of medical romance.’

—Goodreads on The Surgeon’s Christmas Wish

‘A poignant and enjoyable romance that held me spellbound from start to finish. Annie O’Neil writes with plenty of humour, sensitivity and heart, and she has penned a compelling tale that will touch your heart and make you smile as well as shed a tear or two.’

—CataRomance on The Surgeon’s Christmas Wish

‘A terrific debut novel, and I am counting down the days until the release of Annie O’Neil’s next medical romance!’

—CataRomance on The Surgeon’s Christmas Wish

Cole automatically reached for her coat and helped her slip into it.

‘You’re too kind.’

If only she knew. Cruel to be kind was more like it.

As Lina slipped her arms into the sleeves and shrugged the coat over her shoulders Cole was struck by how fragile her neck looked. Before they’d gone out she’d swept her hair up into some sort of semi-tamed twist. A few tendrils had come loose and were brushing along the length of her neck, her shoulders. It was taking some serious self-control to stop himself from reaching forward and letting the pad of his thumb or the length of his finger draw down the length of her neck. He could just as easily imagine dipping his lips to kiss the bare, pale swoop of skin between her neck and shoulder …

Lina abruptly turned around, their noses nearly colliding. Cole instinctively grabbed hold of her so she could steady herself, but in that moment—and it was just a moment—with her face within kissing distance, her eyes catching his, Cole knew he’d have to channel his deepest powers of control or risk everything.

Dear Reader,

I’m so glad you’re here! And ‘here’, this time, is in my semi-adopted town of London. Both Lina and Cole—my hero and heroine—come from other countries and fall in love in London! I can say from experience it is a delight! Then again, falling in love just about anywhere is lovely, isn’t it?

Sometimes I struggle with getting the names of my characters just right—but this time I had a double dose of inspiration.

There is a great physiotherapist character who is named after our WHSmith Competition Winner #WHSBookmarks Gemma Holland! It’s such a great name, and it was easy to make her character just as fabulous. Gemma, I hope you enjoy your literary incarnation! I have my fingers crossed that this book will delight you.

My second splash of inspiration came from a most excellent friend—Michelle. All I had to do was turn her into a Polish ballerina and voilà! Lina Keminsky was born.

I hope you enjoy this journey of healing and new beginnings. Please do feel free to let me know what you think. I love to hear from readers. I can be reached on my website, annieoneilbooks.com, or via Twitter @AnnieONeilBooks.

Annie O’ Xx

ANNIE O’NEIL spent most of her childhood with her leg draped over the family rocking chair and a book in her hand. Novels, baking and writing too much teenage angst poetry ate up most of her youth. Now Annie splits her time between corralling her husband into helping her with their cows, baking, reading, barrel racing (not really) and spending some very happy hours at her computer, writing.

London’s Most Eligible Doctor
Annie O’Neil

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is a delight to dedicate!

The heroine—Lina Keminsky—is inspired by one of my favourite people in the world. She is kind, passionate, and a most excellent maker of strawberry daiquiris! Thank you, Michelle Kem, for being the flame of creativity behind this flame-haired heroine.

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Annie O’Neil

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS OFFICIAL. This was Lina’s worst ever nightmare in the history of nightmares. Who knew it would have such well-appointed surroundings? En Pointe’s reception area was about as Zen and soothing as it got. Creams and sages and tactically placed throw pillows in accent colors just the right side of understated chic. The polar opposite of the way she felt.

Auditioning—no, scratch that—interviewing for a job where she’d have to face her demons every day from nine to five? Someone up there was really testing her. Or having a mighty fine belly laugh. If this was her ultimate low, she was well and truly looking forward to the high.

A dark twist of pain tightened in her stomach. She’d had her highs—as a prima ballerina for three glorious, unbelievably wonderful years. Yes, she’d had her highs.

When she’d received the call from her former dance captain that there was a job going here, her first instinct had been to refuse it. It didn’t even sound real to her. Something officey at London’s premier dance clinic? That was the one job going in the whole of the city? Not that anyone in the ballet owed her anything. Not now.

She scanned the room. Okay. Fair enough. From the lack of a human on Reception she could see it was not a pretend job they’d made up just to get her out of her flat, but really? The path from prima ballerina to phone answerer was a bitter pill to swallow and already it felt like she was choking.

“What do you want to rely on? Your good looks?”

The words of her former ballet director—the notorious Madame Tibold—rang in her head. Over and over and over. So, here she was, feeling the opposite of pretty and down-to-the-bottom-of-her-piggy-bank broke. In the interest of keeping her landlord—and the ballet director’s haunting words—off her back, she was here. Seeing as she was out of the house she might even see what change she could rustle up for a visit to the Polish deli. A taste of home would be nice. Even if she could only afford a small one.

She looked around the waiting room and felt her face going into scrunched-up don’t want to be here formation. She fought it and forced her expression to return to rehearsal hall neutral. The one that didn’t show the pain.

When Lina was really being honest with herself, this job was a lifeline she needed to grab. There wasn’t a chance in the world she would call her parents for money after the sacrifices they’d made in her quest to become a ballerina. A small-town teacher shelling out again and again for shoes, tutus, training, trainers, foot stretchers, arch blocks … the list was endless. She owed them her very soul and would never ever ask them for anything again.

The most precious thing she “owned” was her shiny new titanium hip joint, which would have been difficult to hawk, and—more to the point—there would be no more income from the pirouette and plié department from here on out so it was time to look elsewhere. Which turned out to be here—En Pointe—where London’s hottest ballerinas came to be fixed. She might as well have left her pride on the coat hook when she’d come in.

But, hey! She was Eastern European. She could take it. Her hand automatically slipped down to massage her bionic hip as yet another nonlimping dancer swept past her out into the hubbub of early evening London. She could always tell dancers apart from … civilians … by their posture and physique. Lucky minx. If she was smart, she’d cherish every single moment she had as a ballerina. She certainly had.

All the doctors said she was supposed to have healed from the surgery by now, but she still wasn’t a hundred percent. She shook her head, a wry smile playing across her lips as her fingers toyed with her cane. Who was she kidding? She’d never be a hundred percent again and the fear that came with embracing that fact was threatening to destroy her. Just the buzz of the clinic wrapping up a busy day of sewing ballerinas back together for another night onstage—a night she would never have again—was like being seared with a hot poker again and again. No wonder she rarely left her flat these days. The pain that went with it was too much.

“Michalina Keminsky? I’m Dr. Manning.”

“Lina,” she snapped automatically, before looking up to match the male voice to the man. Uh-oh … She wished she’d not resorted to her post-accident narkiness quite so quickly. She remembered when people used to describe her as the “nice one.” From the frazzled look on the man’s face, a big load of attitude was the last thing he needed. Not that he didn’t look like he could handle it. He was tall. Six-foot-somethin’-somethin’. And fit. Not to mention a healthy dose of straight-up-her-strasse good looks, as well. His deep caramel-colored skin spoke to a mixed-race heritage. No stylized hairdo, just a smooth grade two from a not very talented barber, from the looks of things. Her fingers twitched, fighting a curious urge to reach out and run her hands along his head and then see what else happened.

Interesting.

She hadn’t felt physically charged in “that department” in quite some time. And his eyes! Two of the bluest, loveliest, darkest-lashed eyes she thought she’d ever seen. An optimum combo of sexy and nice.

“You coming?” He looked up for a nanosecond from the chart he was holding. “I’ve not got all day.”

Okay, fine. Not so nice, then. But at least he spoke in one of those American Southern drawly type accents. It took the edge off. She pushed up from the sofa, trying not to make it too obvious she favored one hip over the other. Even so, false sympathy made her cringe.

“You’re the boss.”

“Not yet.” He shot back. And then smiled. A nice and easy American smile.

Hmm. The jury was still out on this one. Dr. Cole Manning. He had been running En Pointe for a year after a stint up north with a rugby club, so she’d never met him in her prima days. A bit of a nomad, from the sound of things.

From monster athletes to the most delicately tuned ballerinas. Interesting switcheroo. Rumor had it he’d taken over for the clinic’s founder, trying to escape some demons of his own back in the US. Then again, the rumor mill in the dance world was about as sharp-tongued and schadenfreude-laden as one could get. One dancer down meant another dancer in. After a lifetime of dedication she was now getting the full glory of being the dancer down and it hurt. Big-time.

“After you.” Still focused on his chart, Cole gestured that she should head down the corridor before him. Not her favorite position as it would mean he’d probably see her limp. Not that the cane she carried wasn’t already a dead giveaway. But she wasn’t here for an audition. Only something she’d never done before in her whole entire life: a job interview. Not that she’d bothered to dress up for it or anything. Her thick, out-of-control hair was stuffed into a couple of over-the-shoulder plaits and she hadn’t even bothered borrowing something businesslike. Not when she was already perfectly at home in her favorite forest-green swishy rehearsal skirt. Never mind that it had become her favorite swishing-round-the-house skirt. It was still her favorite. And it swished. A girl had to grab her delights where she could.

A smile teased at Cole’s lips as “the favor” swooshed past him. He’d heard Lina was still smarting after her hip injury but at least she didn’t seem depressed. He believed anger was always better than the bleakness of despair and, from what he’d heard, Lina Keminsky had plenty to be upset about. Anger he could work with. It could be channeled into something productive. Something that made your world come alive again. Experience had taught him that time and again over the past five years. At least he was still able to do what he loved. In Lina’s case? She was going to have to do some proper soul searching.

“I’ve spoken to the City of London Ballet …” He let the words travel along the corridor and saw her spine stiffen, but the speed of her gait remained unchanged. The dance company would’ve done its bit for her as long as she was on the roster of dancers—but the phone call he’d received from Madame Tibold had confirmed she’d been officially signed off a few weeks ago. It was now seven months since her accident. Long enough to be up and about. Long enough to be facing the truth.

Unexpectedly, Lina whirled round at the end of the corridor, green eyes lit with sparks of passion. “I suppose they told you my performance as Giselle was an excellent career pathway to answering the telephone.”

It wasn’t often someone took his breath away and this was one of those Whoa! Howdy! Take a look at what we have here moments.

So. This woman was the “favor.”

Huh. Well. In for a penny …

He went to respond and found himself bereft of words. Peculiar. It wasn’t an affliction he usually suffered from. But what sort of human came close to having green eyes so … so green? Lina’s strawberry blond hair accentuated the extraordinary shade of pale green that—at this particular juncture—was being cloaked by heavy-lidded suspicion. Just like a cat. The way she held her body, tilted her head at him, impatiently tapped her foot—they weren’t having the off-putting effect on him they were meant to. Her soft Polish accent just added to the overall affect. Mesmerizing.

There was no mistaking the dancer in her. Even if she’d chosen something else to do, she would command the eye. Lina Keminsky oozed sensuality. And a healthy dose of get-the-hell-out-of-my-business. Which, strangely, made him feel right at home. He knew that feeling, too. It was why he’d thought working with a bunch of rugby players would suit him. A no-feelings zone. Turned out, no matter where he went, those better-off-forgotten memories insisted on clipping at his heels.

No. Lina wasn’t emanating serenity—but she had showed up. It was something.

He could easily imagine how beautiful she would look with a smile peeling apart those tightly pursed lips of hers. Even they were a different hue than mere mortal lips. A pale pink rose color. And it was all natural. No lipstick or gloss. Not a speck of makeup anywhere and, from where he was standing, so much the better. Lina pulled the sides of her navy crossover cardigan in more snugly over her front. He’d caught a glimpse of her collarbones as she’d tugged it into place—a bit too prominent, he thought.

“We’re looking for someone with your experience.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t ever actually planned to hire her. Just do the interview. That had been as far with the favor as he’d been prepared to go for the director of City of London Ballet. They had a lot of former dancers on staff, but they couldn’t take everyone. Particularly if they weren’t willing.

“What experience would that be, then? In breaking their hip, destroying their life, or both?”

“Reception.” Which she should’ve already known.

“And that involves …” Impatience ran across her face.

For heaven’s sake! Who was interviewing who here anyway? Despite his best efforts, Cole heard his crisp, officious voice come out. “We need someone capable on Reception. Someone who knows about dancers would be a perk.” Depending, of course, upon the level of “perk” Lina would bring to the job.

“I guess that rules me out, then.” Lina arched a brow, daring him to contest her.

Cole could feel the urge to rise to the challenge properly awaken within him. This woman didn’t want a pushover. She wanted combat.

He turned his own accent up a notch. Having a mother who’d grown up a dyed-in-the-wool Southern belle had its advantages. It had been drilled into him for years. The impression you make is everything. What you really feel doesn’t matter a hoot.

He gestured to his office door. It was time to get the balance of this little tête-à-tête back in order. “This isn’t normally how I conduct job interviews, Ms. Keminsky, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

There was a whimper from a small willow basket just inside the doorway and they both looked down. Puppy was looking up at them with his mournful eyes.

Good thing he wasn’t sentimental. The little tricolored ball of fur would already have a name if that were the case. His receptionist—ex-receptionist—had called it Fluffy and there was no chance Cole was going to run around the park calling out that name. Not that keeping it—him—was part of the plan. It was temporary. Right, Puppy? He gave the mutt a grudging nod of thanks. They could, at the very least, work as a team while they were stuck together.

“Right—so now you see why we need a receptionist.”

He pointed at a chair across from his desk and scooped up Puppy’s basket at the same time.

“Why?” Lina asked drolly, folding into the chair. “He no longer likes to answer the phones?”

“He’s broken his leg so he finds the hours too long. On top of which he doesn’t make a very nice cup of tea,” Cole replied.

Lina maintained a neutral expression. She was clearly a woman who didn’t fall for corny lines. As if to confirm his theory, she raised a dubious eyebrow at him, then moved her eyes to the puppy.

Interesting. Not someone who cooed straight off the bat. Now, that he liked. Not to mention being able to spar verbally with someone. Ballerinas … hmm …

Ballerinas had thick and thin skin and it was sometimes impossible to tell which tack to use. Lina definitely didn’t seem as though she needed coddling. Quite the opposite, in fact. While she took in his hodgepodge attempt at a puppy carrier—hey, needs must and all that—Cole took another studied look at her.

She was hands-down beautiful. A bit too thin. Proud. Still had a slight limp after the hip surgery, which really shouldn’t have been there if she’d been doing all the rehab. And obviously resented being here. To hire or not to hire?

His number one motto sprung to mind: It’s up to you. And Lina Keminsky didn’t look like a willing player. This wasn’t a charity. It was a business. A frantically busy one even in the quiet times. And with her chip-on-the-shoulder attitude, he didn’t know if he could offer her the post. Not without making more work for himself.

“Our receptionist found herself a flamenco dancer who could only get work in Spain. He asked her to elope the same day as she got Puppy here. I guess the lure of the Latin lover won out. All of which is to say there’s an urgent need for a receptionist here at the clinic. Comes with a puppy.”

Lina’s fingers drummed along her collarbone, her expression impassive. She never liked to react to things straight away and she could tell Cole was assessing her. A twitch or a frown spotted by the ballet master could’ve knocked her off her career path so she had taught herself to smile or remain expressionless, then deal with the fallout in private. Just like she was trying to do right now. Except …

Right now? Right now it was all she could to keep her fingers from dancing the tarantella, let alone keep her pulse in line.

Her stream of visitors since the accident had gone from steady to trickle to nonexistent. She liked it that way. At least she thought she did.

But a blue-eyed, caramel-skinned and ridiculously long-lashed Dr. Charming, complete with a fluffy puppy in a basket? Unh-unh. No. She hadn’t banked on that.

She looked out the window to the sprawl of sky visible beyond the rooftops. Maybe this was some sort of heavenly intervention. A dark bank of clouds was hunkering in the distance. Hmm.

The day was morphing into something entirely unexpected. Did she wish she’d tamed her hair into something more sophisticated, washed her face, put on something other than her reliable skirt and navy wrap-over?

Yes.

Did she resent her former dance captain for needling her into coming out of her cozy fortress of a flat for a job she didn’t want?

Yes.

Coming along had seemed to be the only way to get everyone off her back. Now that she had, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to leave without learning a bit more about Cole Manning. And the puppy. It was cute. Mishmash mutt cute. One ear up, one ear down. Forlorn expression on its face. A little bit like looking in the mirror.

She narrowed her eyes at Cole. He was cute, too. But his ears matched. Hmm.

Nah. Nope. She wasn’t going to do it. Now wasn’t the time to open up. She hadn’t even come close to sorting things out for herself and she’d vowed not to let anyone in—let alone renowned Dr. Fancy Dance Clinic Manning—until she could face the world, aka her family, with pride.

Her fingers stilled as her gaze slipped away from Dr. Charming’s expectant gaze. She had been wrong to come. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, pressing herself up and out of the chair. “Maybe another time.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Cole leaned back in his chair, hands lacing behind his head. “This is a limited-time-only offer.”

She pressed a hand against the wall to stabilize herself as a hit of dizziness unbalanced her.

The sensation was growing familiar. Food shopping hadn’t exactly been topping her list of things to do. Very little topped her list of things to do these days. What was the point when her entire life’s ambition—not to mention her daily routine for the past twelve years—had disappeared at the end of a poorly executed plié?

A plié! Of all the ways to shatter your dreams into smithereens …

“So what’s on offer, Dancing Doctor? Is this a job with benefits?” The words were out before she could stem them. Oops. She doubted they were printed on his business card. Not that he’d shown her one.

“I doubt anyone who has seen me dance would call me that.”

Maybe not. But he didn’t seem to mind.

His full lips opened into a broad smile. There was a little gap between his front teeth that was … Ooh, mój boże … It was sexy! Lina hadn’t felt anything close to even a hint of desire for months—okay fine, longer—and now twice in the space of an hour? Her giddy nerve endings were fighting her very best poker face for supremacy.

What was he doing being all good-looking and thirty-something anyway? She’d thought Dr. Cole Manning would look more—more academic, have furrows in his brow and maybe some white hair. A big shock of it. Who had put that dimple on his cheek when he smiled? That thing was about as close to irresistible as it got. And on top of that a puppy? Life was testing her. Hard.

Lina stopped herself from chewing on her lip. And ogling. It could come across as flirtatious. She didn’t do relationships. Not now—and she certainly didn’t do flirting. Particularly at job interviews.

“I hope you’re not trying to find another project—another success story. No headlines to be made here, I’m afraid.”

Did his jaw just twitch? Hard to tell. Maybe she’d hit a sore point. Well, too bad. This time of day was normally when she took a first-class nap. Then again, she’d been taking a few too many of those lately.

“Why’s that? What’s so bad about your story?” he challenged.

Uh. Apart from the totally obvious fact that she’d never dance again? She held her cane out between them. “It’s a bit too late for a full recovery.”

He let the words hang between them for a moment. She liked that he didn’t offer her the over-sympathetic expressions she’d had from all of the hospital staff when she’d been in recovery. The piteous looks had made her blood boil. She wasn’t someone to be pitied. She was someone who …

Who …

Well, that was as yet to be decided, wasn’t it?

Lina shifted her position as the wind dropped out of her sails. She didn’t exactly know who she was these days. All she knew for sure was what she wasn’t—a ballerina.

“I don’t think I’d be much good at delivering messages quickly for you.”

“Lina, I’m pleased to inform you En Pointe is part of the modern era. We receive and deliver our messages by telephone—not foot messenger these days.” And there came that slow smile again—like the sun coming out from beneath a cloud. Warming, wrapping round her like a protective blanket.

She considered him skeptically. Why was he doing this? Interviewing her—the least likely candidate for the job?

“And we have the latest in ergonomic chairs ready and waiting to be whirled in.” He gave her a playful smile and showed off his chair’s three-sixty spin. “If whirling in wheelie chairs between taking calls is your thing.”

She lifted an eyebrow and gave him a “yeah, right” look.

“And, of course, a whole lot of other things you are familiar with.” Cole’s face turned serious as he began to rattle off the seemingly endless list of injuries a ballet dancer—any dancer—could come across on any given day, at any given moment. Just. Like. Her.

He rose and crossed to a table where coffee and tea supplies were in abundance. Was that how he fueled himself?

“You’re Polish, right? So I presume you take coffee?”

She nodded.

“How do you take it?”

“White—no, black.” Her eyes caught his as she heard herself say, “I like both.”

She wasn’t talking about coffee anymore.

Heat instantly began to sear Lina’s cheeks and she forced herself to look away. Anywhere but at Cole. He was obviously mixed race and—słodkie niebiosa—he’d turned out perfectly. Not that she was attracted to him or anything. She was more used to being surrounded by gorgeous men at work than not. It had just … been a while.

She watched as he flicked the switch on the kettle before he opened a packet—definitely from a specialty shop—and poured a healthy pile of grounds directly into a waiting cafetière, grinned and gave her a wink. Measuring didn’t seem to be his thing.

“I hope you like it strong.”

Her tummy fluttered.

Er … what was that? She didn’t have tummy flutters. She had—well, she wasn’t quite sure what she had but she wasn’t a schoolgirl with strings of pastel-colored butterflies dancing gaily around her insides. She was a woman on the verge of figuring out what to do with the whole rest of her entire life now that all her hopes and dreams had careened straight over the horizon.

“So, tell me more about this job. Nine to five and see you later, boss man?”

“Something like that. Here, have some biscuits.” Cole tossed her the packet. Guess formality wasn’t his thing, either. Refreshing after years of ballet where every breath she’d taken, every gesture she’d made, everything had been based on exacting tradition.

Cole settled himself back into his chair after handing her a mug of coffee. “It’s pretty straightforward. Answering the phones, checking clients in …” He pointedly looked at his coffee. “Making sure the milkman has come.”

“You have a milkman?” The information brought an unchecked smile to her lips. She’d grown up in a small village where the milkman, the baker and butcher had still been everyday sights. Everyday jobs.

“Sure do.” Cole grinned back. “Why? Were you a milkmaid in your past?”

“No.” The smile abruptly tightened into a grimace. Her best friend from school had followed in her mother’s footsteps and milked her father’s dairy herd. They made cheese and, on special occasions, ice cream—but mostly it was delicious, creamy milk and very, very hard work which, by all accounts, she still did.

Lina had led a different life. Her parents had scrimped and saved and sacrificed so that their daughter could pursue her dream of becoming a ballerina.

Which one of them was happier now? she wondered.

She saw Cole watching her intently. Best to keep on track. Trips down memory lane weren’t of any use now. “The job?”

“Right. The job.” Cole had to stop himself from physically shaking his head to put himself back in the moment. He’d been outright staring and was pretty sure Lina had caught him at it. He doubted he’d disguised it as an interested-physician look. It had been a bald and outright I-wish-I-knew-more-about-you look. He cleared his throat.

“As I said, it’s pretty straightforward. It doesn’t pay a high salary, but if you’re happy to have a trial run—a week to start with to see if you’re interested and then three months before we sign a full contract—we open at nine a.m. I’d expect you at eight.” He named a figure and noticed Lina’s eyes widen ever so slightly. It wouldn’t put her in designer heels but it would pay her rent. The last time he’d checked, box-office staff at the City of London Ballet were receiving more an hour than members of the corps de ballet. Everyone needed to make a living, and fallen prima ballerinas were no different.

“So?”

Lina still hadn’t said anything. She took a sip of her coffee, her face unreadable.

“And if after one day I decide this isn’t for me?”

“We hire someone else. Simple as …”

“Simple as what?”

Cole laughed. “I don’t know. I heard someone cool on television say it and thought I’d have a go. Clearly, I’m not down with the hipsters.”

Lina took a bite of biscuit, hand curled protectively in front of her mouth as she chewed, rather than risk a reply. He didn’t need to be in with any crowd. Cole Manning was in a class of his own. She closed her eyes as the sugary sweetness of the biscuit melted into nothing on her tongue. It tasted like home. The one place she couldn’t go until she could show her parents she’d been worth the effort.

She looked at Cole again. He seemed genuine enough. As did the job offer.

A receptionist job. Well … She tried to keep her dejected sigh silent. At least she knew she was physically up to it. Talking to people—talking to dancers—all day might not come so easily.

She looked away from him, teasing at a pile of invisible flower petals on the floor. She didn’t want him to see how much she needed the job. Her foot automatically shaped itself into an elegant turnout as it swiped the “petals” to the side of the room with a controlled semicircle of movement. That much she could do.

“Cole!” A woman appeared at the doorway and gave the frame a quick double knock. “We need you in Reception right away.”

It was then that Lina tuned into the noises outside Cole’s office. There was the sound of a young woman crying. Periodically broken by an occasional heated wail. She knew that feeling. She knew it down to her bones.

“All right, Lina? Are we good?” Cole rose quickly to his feet, moving the puppy’s basket to the floor.

“So I already have the job?” She couldn’t help but let some cynicism sneak into her voice. This whole thing was sounding more and more like some sort of setup.

“Let me check what’s happening out there and then see how we go, shall we?”

CHAPTER TWO

“IT HURTS!” THE teenager’s face was a picture of pure unadulterated agony. She was on the floor, knees slightly bent, back hunched over, and a wash of tears wetting her cheeks.

“It looks like it hurts,” Cole agreed. He was never one of these doctors who brushed away the pain. If it hurt it hurt. Plain as. Apart from which the poor girl’s foot was already thick with heat and swelling. If he had to guess? A serious sprain—level two. A possible tear in the ATFL? Nothing life-altering, but it would certainly keep her out of pointe shoes for a couple of months, and for a young girl like this—thirteen or fourteen—it would feel like a lifetime. He looked up at the mother, who also had tears in her eyes. He raised his eyebrows in lieu of asking what had happened.

“I dropped her before we reached the sofa.”

“You mean you carried her in here?” Cole was impressed. It was a bit of a hike from the pavement.

“We were just about there and …” Her hand flew to her mouth in horror.

“You did well. No additional harm done. Just a bit of ego bruising, from the looks of things.” He nodded to the mother before quickly returning his attention to her daughter. “You’re all right, darlin’, aren’t you?” The teen gave an unconvinced nod before Cole looked back at her mother. “Shall we get her up and into an exam room?”

“Please. I am so—The day’s just been … I tried …”

Cole rose, put a hand on the woman’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. Parents were often more traumatized than their child. From the looks of the number pinned on her daughter’s chest she’d been at the London Ballet Grand Prix. The biggest day on a young ballerina’s calendar. There would be no scholarships or job offers for her this year.

“Let me help. Can I have your arm?”

Cole looked down at the sound of Lina’s softly accented voice. She was totally focused on the girl.

“What piece were you doing?” Lina instinctively sought to distract the girl from her injury.

Cole moved round to help Lina raise the girl from the ground but watched curiously to see how she dealt with a traumatized dancer. They shared common ground. It could be useful.

“I was doing the ‘Spring Concerto.’” The girl only just held back a sob.

“Vivaldi?” Lina’s face lit up. “What a wonderful choice. And your contemporary piece?” She sat back on her heels and looked at the girl seriously. “You did have a contemporary piece, right?”

“It was ‘Spiegel im Spiegel.’”

“Are you kidding? That’s one of my favorites. I used to dance to that one a lot.”

“Used to?” The girl swiped away some of her tears, missing Lina’s microscopic wince.

“What’s your name?” Lina asked.

“Vonnie.”

“Beautiful.” She tucked an arm around the girl’s small waist and began to raise her into a wheelchair she must have brought in. Resourceful. Cole found himself beginning to rethink the “just a favor” part of his agreement. Maybe she would be a good hire.

“I’m Lina. Shall we get you to X-ray?”

It was all Cole could do not to laugh. Lina didn’t have the slightest clue where X-ray was and how she’d magicked a wheelchair out of nowhere was impressive … a picture of confidence. And, more importantly, she’d engaged Vonnie enough to begin to stem the flow of tears. Impressive for someone who hadn’t seemed keen to spend her day with working dancers.

“Actually, can you put any weight on it?” Cole was the doctor here. Probably wise to take charge of this scenario.

Vonnie wrapped an arm round Lina’s shoulder and, with Cole’s help, heaved herself up.

“Have you already put ice on it? Kept it elevated on the ride over here?”

“Yes,” Vonnie snuffled. “As soon as it ha-ha-happened!”

Uh-oh. Those tears were back again.

“Lina, I’ll take Vonnie to X-ray, all right?”

The young girl twisted round, her face wreathed in anxiety, one of Lina’s hands clutched in her own. “No! Please don’t make her go. She understands me.”

Lina looked over at Cole and gave him the Polish version of a Gallic shrug.

“Fine. But you’ll have to leave the room during the X-ray.” Cole stepped away from the handles of the wheelchair and handed over steering duty to Lina. She wanted to work here? She could prove it. “I’ll lead the way, shall I?”

Cole tipped his head from side to side as he took in the extent of the injury. Swelling could hide things, but X-rays didn’t lie. He’d been right. It was a typical grade-two ballerina sprain—a tear of the anterior talofibular ligament with lateral swelling.

“So what do you say? Eight weeks until she dances again?”

“Mmm … something like that.”

In the tiny dark room, with only the X-ray board spreading a low-grade wash of light, having Lina so close, Cole had to rethink how wise a move it would be to hire her. He was attracted to her. And not just your average gee-you’re-good-looking sort of attraction. He was fighting a Class-A desire to spin her round, pull her into his arms and find out how she tasted, how she would respond to his touch. None of which would really be appropriate in a professional environment.

“It’ll be hard for her to hear … on top of missing out at the Grand Prix.”

“Believe me, I’ve delivered my share of bad news.”

Lina noticed Cole’s change of tone instantly. Almost felt it, they were so close. There was something deep-seated in his words. Grief? Rage? She couldn’t quite tell which, but maybe the rumors about him fighting demons was true. Not such a lighthearted Southern gent after all.

“I’d better get out of your way so you can let her know.”

“Yes, that’d be great.” Cole batted away the words, “I mean, I need to do this with the patient … Protocol,” he added, as if it were necessary. She knew the drill. She wasn’t a doctor so why should she have access to Vonnie’s appointment? It was for her mother to be there for her, and from the sound of approaching voices she would shortly be with her.

“Okay, well … it was nice to meet you. I guess I’ll wait to hear from you?”

She turned to give him a goodbye grin and got as far as turning. Right down to her very toes she felt the impact of the aquamarine of his eyes. A shame it would be the last time she was going to see them. A shame about a lot of things.

“How long has it been?” Cole’s voice broke into the quiet, indicating she should follow him to his office.

“Since what?”

“Since you’ve had a proper meal?”

Lina stiffened.

A while.

But not because of—Oof. Honestly? She balled up her jacket and protectively clutched it to her tummy. As if that would stop the jig-jag of emotions bouncing around in there. She liked eating as much as the next person. She just hadn’t been able to get it together and money was tight. Supertight. Things she most certainly wasn’t going to admit to Mr. Doesn’t-Like-to-Poke-His-Nose-Into-Other-People’s-Business. Ha! That’d be about right.

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say otherwise.” The puppy whined. Cole pulled the wicker basket up from the floor to have a peek and give the pooch’s muzzle a little rub. Not that he was growing fond of the thing.

“Look.” He gave Lina a pointed look. “This guy needs some grub and so do I. Why don’t you join us for dinner? My treat.”

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

Lina’s tummy rumbled. Loudly.

Cole grabbed a couple of charts and a prescription pad from his desk before squaring himself to her. “After I finish with Vonnie, join me. Us. I know a little place down the road. Go have a nosy around Reception while you’re waiting. See what you think. Consider it part two of your interview. You don’t have the job yet.”

Er … “Okay.” Lina said the word to his back as he headed out of the office but got a thumbs-up as he disappeared round the corner. Hmm …

The puppy whimpered again and Lina found herself gently extracting him from his willow basket nest.

Poor little thing had a splint on his tiny back leg and looked terrifically sorry for himself. She gave an appreciative snort. “We all have our moments. Don’t we, Puppy?” Now, to see what the future had in store …

A good nosy around and Lina felt none the wiser. Actually, it hadn’t been much of a snoop session. She’d just gone into the reception area, plopped herself and Puppy down on one of the—very nice—sofas and thumbed through a magazine or two. Sitting behind the reception desk would have seemed too much like interest. It would have been akin to acknowledging how much she really needed the job. So reading magazines and enjoying the serene atmosphere, now that most of the practitioners had gone for the day, was what she did, happily enjoying the latest celebrity gossip and fashion mags … And then she hit Dance Monthly.

The cover story nearly sent her running for the hills: “Down and Out: Are the Fallen Forgotten?”

Against her will, tears sprang to her eyes. They may as well have put her face on the cover. Talk about cruel! She fought the growing tickle in her throat and nose, tightened her eyes, scrunched her forehead as much as she could, willing the pain to go away. Would there ever come a day when things wouldn’t hurt this much? It was hard to believe. Impossible even.

“Dr. Manning said you were still here!” A tearstained but smiling Vonnie appeared in Reception with a pair of crutches and her leg done up in a pneumatic walker. Lina jumped to her feet and shook away the remains of her own tears. She didn’t know why, but having helped Vonnie, for even a few moments earlier, had given her a boost. It would hardly do for the teen to find her blubbing on her own.

“Remember not to put any weight on that for three weeks!”

Cole appeared beside Vonnie with a bag of what she assumed to be treatment aids. Cooling gels, compression wraps, anti-inflammatories. She knew the drill.

“I know.” Vonnie sighed melodramatically, and rolled her eyes in Lina’s direction before singsonging, “RICE, RICE, RICE, RICE, RICE!”

“That’s right, young lady,” Cole replied in a stentorian tone Lina hadn’t heard from him before. “And what does it stand for?”

“OMG, I practically came out of the womb knowing what that stood for!”

Cole crossed his arms and gave her a very good “I’m waiting” face. Lina could easily see him being a parent, willing to wait as long as it took for the child to clean their room, finish their homework, whatever … She wondered what—No, she didn’t. She didn’t wonder that at all!

“Rest, ice, compression and elevation. Are you happy?” Vonnie’s tone was more teasing than truculent so whatever they’d discussed in the exam room had put her in a better mood. Her mother emerged with coats and handbags and a couple of tutus Lina hadn’t noticed before.

“Ooh, look at these—they are wonderful!” Lina couldn’t help herself.

“Do you really think so?” Vonnie’s mum flushed with pleasure as Lina nodded emphatically. “I made them.”

“They’re amazing.” Lina meant it. From the very bottom of her heart. Her own mother, to save money on the countless tutus she’d required, had stitched and stitched and stitched for her, as well. “You’ve got a wonderful mother, Vonnie.” Lina gave the girl’s shoulder a squeeze. “You make sure you let her know how much you appreciate her.”

“I will!” Vonnie replied, working her way across Reception and out the door. She might, mused Lina. Or she might not. Lina hoped she had done the latter, but was never sure it had been enough. One day … she would let her mother know just how heartfelt her gratitude was. One day.

“So, I guess that’s us! Just another day at En Pointe!” Cole shrugged on a wool blazer, scooped up the puppy in his basket from the sofa and gestured with his head toward the front door with a smile. “Are you ready?”

Cole took about three seconds to examine the menu before offering the waitress a smile and his order.

“I’ll have the spaghetti carbonara, a fresh salad, some garlic bread and—uh—Rover, here, will have a bit of plain chicken and some rice. In a bowl. Is that doable?”

“Not a problem.”

It was easy enough for Lina to see that anything Cole or “Rover” asked for wouldn’t be a problem for the waitress, who had plonked herself down in the spare chair between the two of them. Lina may as well have been invisible for all the attention the waitress was paying her. Not that she minded. Going along to a job interview she’d been cajoled into was one thing, but being dragged out—okay, well, being blackmailed into going out to dinner was another.

“Who’s the little puppy?” The server had on her best baby-talk voice now. “You’re the little puppy! You’re the little puppy!”

So much for the restaurant’s no-dogs policy.

The waitress had already made a puppy-exception rule, and brought the little guy a bowl of water and a couple of itty-bitty raw carrots to gnaw on in case he was teething. Right now the pup’s head was resting on the brim of the basket, lending him more supercute factor than anyone—or anything—should be allowed.

Cute factor or no, Lina was there for the sole purpose of securing the job. That was it.

“Lina?” Cole tipped his head in the waitress’s direction. It was her turn to order. She’d scanned the prices and hadn’t even bothered to look at the menu choices. One entrée was the equivalent of her weekly food budget.

“Don’t worry.” Cole reached across and covered her hand in his. “I’ll take it out of your first paycheck.”

Lina tugged her hand away and clenched it in her lap. She wasn’t comfortable accepting help … but it had been ages since she’d had a well-made restaurant meal. Gone were the days of being feted by London’s social elite.

“The gnocchi, please. And a rocket salad.” They were the least expensive items, but with the added bonus of reminding her of pierogi. Pierogi! Her mouth watered at the thought of her mother’s pierogi. One day … she’d go home one day. Lina pursed her lips and handed the waitress her menu, who gave her a cursory glance, scribbled something on her notepad, then whirled off with a smile expressly for Cole’s benefit.

Lina focused her attention on the puppy. Neutral territory. That’s what she needed. Cole’s hand on hers had been too close to feeling something—wanting something. She hadn’t realized how curative the simple touch of a hand could be.

“He doesn’t look like a Rover.”

“No?” Cole rubbed a finger along the little guy’s head. “What does he look like?”

As if by design, they both crossed their arms, leaned back and considered the puppy. He had a white muzzle that broadened into a wide stripe that led up to his forehead. Black took over from there. He had little brown arches over each eye, white paws and appeared slightly affronted at this very obvious inspection.

“Vladimir,” Lina pronounced.

“Horace,” Cole countered.

Lina shook her head. “No. He is not a Horace.”

“How do you know he’s not a Horace?”

“I just know.” Lina gave Cole her best I-just-know look, then tipped her head to the left as if it would give her a different perspective. The puppy opened his eyes wider as if in anticipation of her coming out with the right name.

“Wojciech.”

“I can’t even pronounce that.” Cole laughed. “How about Spot?”

“No!” Lina protested. “That’s lazy. And look. Where do you see spots on this guy?” She lifted him up out of the basket. His back leg was in a little splint. She wanted to ask what had happened but felt herself already getting too involved with the puppy and with Cole. They both looked at her as if she held all the answers to the question at hand.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help giving the puppy a little cuddle. It was impossible not to. She held him up again so that they were face-to-face. “What’s your name, huh? Jak masz na imię?” The puppy scrunched his face into a mess of wrinkles before yawning widely in her face. Then he sneezed. Twice.

“Maybe he doesn’t speak Polish.”

“Maybe he doesn’t speak American.” She kept her gaze on the puppy.

Cole rearranged the cutlery at his place setting with a grin. “Go on, then, Polish puppy-whisperer. What’s his name?”

Lina looked across at Cole once she had given the puppy a good long stare. “Igor.”

“Igor,” Cole repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Yes. Igor.”

For the second time that day Lina’s mood lifted as that smile of his peeled apart his lips and heated her insides as if he’d unleashed a swathe of warm sunlight.

“I like it. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a puppy name.”

Lina handed Igor across to him, careful not to get his injured leg caught on anything. “No. You have yourself a puppy name. And a puppy.”

Cole cradled the dog in the crook of his arm, careful to adjust the little splinted leg so it could lie along his forearm. “Didn’t I tell you? Part of the new job is dog walking. Once his leg heals, of course. Only until I find him a new home, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” Lina replied dubiously. Then the cogs started to whirl in a direction she didn’t like. She could feel the smile on her lips press into a thin line. Part of her physio was to take regular walks. Longer and longer. She should be doing at least two or three kilometers a day by now. Cole would know that. And, having watched her walk to the restaurant, he would probably have assessed that she hadn’t been taking as many walks as she had been advised to. She’d done countless laps of her flat but going out there—out here—where everyone could see her, judge her … she just hadn’t been up to it. Igor pricked up his ears and gave her an expectant look. Her eyes shifted to Cole’s face and he looked virtually the same—minus the furry muzzle. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Does anyone ever say no to you, Dr. Manning?”

The smile disappeared entirely from his eyes. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

When Lina excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, Cole waited for the waitress to take away their empty plates and give a farewell coo to Igor before pulling his coat on. He was pretty sure he knew the server’s life story by now but could honestly say he would leave the restaurant being none the wiser about the private life of Lina Keminsky. Not that prying had been his intention. They’d stuck to neutral topics when their food had arrived. And as much as Cole knew about how Reception worked, which, as it had turned out, wasn’t all that much. He’d taken over the practice about a year ago from an old medical school friend who had run off to get married—a recurring theme at En Pointe—and things had been running like a well-oiled ship up until now. Not that the past hour with Lina hadn’t lent a certain softening round the edges to the day.

It was pretty easy to tell she didn’t like to talk about herself and she’d quickly sussed out the same was true for him—or perhaps she simply wasn’t interested, which made a nice change. At home, or at least back in the United States, in the town where he’d grown up everyone knew everything about him. Back home everyone knew he’d had a fiancée—had being the crucial word. At twenty-six she’d been too young to die. Far too young. And her family was never going to let him forget it. So the fact that people generally kept themselves to themselves in London suited him to a T.

If what had happened to Lina had happened back home in North Carolina? There would’ve been a line of people at the door to her apartment, hands filled with bowls of potato salad, a platter of Grandma’s best fried chicken, a warm, tea-towel-wrapped plate filled with buttery collard greens, someone’s Great-Auntie Kay’s to-die-for double-decker chocolate cake with the cherry filling people talked about so much at the church socials, and so on and so on until before you knew it the whole thing would turn into an Item of Interest in the “What’s the Buzz” column of Maple Cove’s local gazette. There was no escaping the caring embrace of a community like that one. Especially when your African-American father and Irish mother were pillars of the community. The local judge and the most sought-after doula? There was no surprise when the couple’s son became a doctor engaged to the town’s most promising lawyer! A smile twitched on his lips, then tightened.

He wasn’t part of that community anymore.

He felt his teeth dig into his lower lip. It wasn’t worth it. Opening that particular can of worms. His parents were good folk. They were just ambitious. For themselves and for him. So what if they hadn’t been a huggy-kissy family? He’d made it, hadn’t he? Decorum, status, success. They were paramount in the Manning household. And now that he was a doctor running one of Britain’s most elite specialist clinics?

Nothing. None of it mattered.

The straight As at school, the letterman’s jacket weighed down with athletic achievements, the Ivy League education, the long-awaited proposal … none of the graft he’d put in to win an approving smile or a hug had meant a bean after the accident. His parents had made that more than clear.

The flash of grief tugged his mouth downward.

So, no. He didn’t like howdy-do-and-what-about-you? chitchat. Big-city anonymity had been suiting him just fine up to now.

But when it came to Lina? There was something telling him she might be worth breaking unwritten rules for.

She’d deftly managed to unearth his dry sense of humor and, as it had turned out, she had Eastern European drollness down to a T. Her impersonation of the waitress going all googly-eyed over the puppy had had him in stitches. Not that he hadn’t tried to hide it from her. He was going to be her boss after all and there were boundaries. Not that he’d managed to wrangle a “yes” out of her. If she did take the job, he’d have to remember that would be the extent of their relationship. A working one. He didn’t do personal. And he definitely didn’t do personal at work.

So why on earth had he invited her out to dinner? Not to mention let her name his puppy! Correction—the puppy. The puppy he was going to find a home for as soon as humanly possible.

He gave his head a scrub and snorted at the results. He’d given himself a grade-two once-over with his electric shaver that morning and wasn’t so sure even could be an accurate description. Yet another thing to add to the list of things that had turned his day into a catalog of disasters. Maybe he’d just wanted a bit of company for dinner. Someone who plainly didn’t want anything from him. No answers, no advice, no decisions. That suited him perfectly. If he could just shake off his attraction to her, he could go back to being cool, calm and collected Cole. The one who left his emotions at home. His parents, he thought with a bitter twist, would’ve been proud. At last! He was now just like them.

“You look like a snake bit you in the face.”

“Thanks and you look—” Cole stopped himself. He’d been about to say beautiful. “You look ready for a break from Igor and me.”

Cole automatically reached for her coat and helped her slip into it. His mother had drilled that into him. “Manners don’t make a man sexist, they make a man polite, and no one ever had a quibble about ‘polite.’”

“You’re too kind.”

If only she knew. Cruel to be kind was more like it.

As Lina slipped her arms into the sleeves and shrugged the coat over her shoulders, Cole was struck by how fragile her neck looked. Before they’d gone out she’d swept her hair up into some sort of semitamed twist, and a few tendrils had come loose and were brushing along the length of her neck, her shoulders. It was taking some serious control to stop himself from reaching forward and letting the pad of his thumb or the length of his finger draw down the length of her neck. He could just as easily imagine fastening a set of pearls round her neck, then dipping his lips to kiss the bare, pale swoop of skin between her neck and shoulder—

Lina turned around abruptly, and their noses nearly collided. Cole instinctively grabbed hold of her so she could steady herself but in that moment—and it was just a moment—with her face within kissing distance, her eyes caught with his, Cole knew he’d have to channel his deepest powers of control to ensure he only saw Lina for what she was—a potential candidate for the reception job. A job she hadn’t even committed to accepting. Hey! Maybe she wouldn’t take it. It’d probably be for the best.

She blinked. He hadn’t noticed the light color of her lashes before. He’d been too busy exploring the soft green hue of her—Hold your fire, there, soldier! No one’s going down that road just yet. Or at all.

“Right. I’d better get Igor back to get some snuggly time. Or something like that.” He regrouped and made his voice more doctorly. “Sleep. Puppies need sleep. Lots of it.” Cole took a broad step away from Lina and scooped up the basket where—up until that very moment—Igor had actually been sleeping quite contentedly. The puppy quirked a sleepy eyebrow at him. Lina shot him a similar look for good measure. Fine. He felt like an idiot. Could we all just get a move on now?

“Okay. I’ll see you at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, then?” She shifted her feet nervously.

Cole didn’t bat an eyelid.

So, she was taking the job. Bang went that solution.

Maybe she’d hate it and this little frisson—or whatever it was that was going on between them—would be short-lived.

“Yes. Perfect. See you then.”

Lina bent to give Igor a little scratch on the head. “Dobranoc kochanie, Igor. Tu jest nic!”

“What’s that?”

Sweet nothings for the pooch? Or something about their near miss in the kissing department? He scrubbed his hand along his chin. Terrific. Now paranoia had set in. His former receptionist had better be having one hell of an elopement!

“Nothing.” She tightened her coat round her slim frame and gave him a cursory farewell wave. “See you in the morning.”

“You bet. With bells on!”

She didn’t turn around. Which was for the best.

With bells on?

This wasn’t going to just be a trial period. It was going to be a trial by fire. And Cole knew he’d be the one racing across the burning coals.

It was cold enough in the flat that Lina wasn’t going to risk taking her hand out from underneath the downy duvet to give herself a good old conk on the head. What had she been thinking? Accepting the job at En Pointe? Pure unadulterated crazy.

She’d heard Cole worked miracles with his patients—but getting her to break her months-long hibernation? He hadn’t pushed her, but there was definitely a won’t-take-no aura about him. If she believed in that sort of thing. From what she’d gathered—and it wasn’t that much—he was more of a take-it-or-leave-it type. He’d seen and done a lot in his lifetime. It was impressive. And he hadn’t got where he was from sitting in his flat, moping. The train he was driving? It was ready to leave the station. If you wanted to be on the Manning Express, jump on fast!

So she’d jumped.

It was a matter of necessity after all. But that didn’t stop her stomach from churning. Or the odd butterfly from taking a teasing swoop and whoosh around her tummy.

The tick-tick of the clock suddenly seemed louder than Big Ben’s bongs.

In a matter of hours she was going from seeing no one but the postman—or his hand, at least—to answering the phone and sitting on Reception at Britain’s finest dance injury clinic.

She chanced sticking a finger out of the duvet to give her cold nose a scratch. Once she got her first paycheck she could get the heat turned back on. Oh, to be warm! She scrunched her eyes tightly against the streetlight conveniently beaming directly into her bedroom and let herself—just for a moment—picture summertime in her childhood village. There might not have been much money coming into the homes there but it was undoubtedly a rural idyll. Vast wildflower meadows sprawling up into the foothills of the mountains. Snow-capped peaks diminishing with the heat of the summer sun. A broad river teeming with shoals of fish and a seemingly endless array of birds. Maybe when his leg healed, she, Cole and Igor could find a park somewhere …

Maybe she, Cole and Igor nothing.

It was work. A job. They were not a magic trio. Cole was her boss. Igor was a—a patient? And she was going to answer the telephone. That was it. Working at En Pointe was a way to pay the rent and dig herself out of this ridiculous hole of unpaid bills she’d gotten herself into. Then, maybe, she could think about what to do next. There was no point in getting attached to anything because one thing life had taught her for certain was that nothing lasted forever.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, Lina couldn’t help a smile from tugging at her lips—or stop the small burst of pride she felt for having said yes to the job. It was a baby step. But it was a step. Her smile broadened as an image of Cole leaning against his office desk flitted across her mind’s eye. He looked all casual, relaxed and in control at the same time. Someone who was comfortable in his skin. Maybe he was a miracle worker. For the first time in a long time, apart from feeling scared out of her wits, she felt—just a teensy tiny bit—as if she just might be looking forward to a brand-new day.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU DON’T REALLY know what you’re talking about, do you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I …” Cole tried to look affronted and then realized it was pointless. Apart from the fact that Lina’s office look was about as pencil-skirt-tastic as a woman could get, he didn’t have a clue how the phone system worked.

“Sorry, Lina. I’m newfangled. Just give me one of these …” he pulled the latest model mobile phone from his pocket “… and I’m fine. One of these?” He eyed the multiline reception system like it had just flown in from outer space and waved his hand dismissively at it. “All Greek. Or should I say Polish?” He gave her a wink chased up by a meaningful look. It was meant to convey confidence. Or a boss-like jocularity. Lina frowned in response.

“Dr. Manning, you’re paying me to answer the phone—so I will answer the phone. Now, step aside, please, and go do your doctor thing.” Lina sat down decisively in her very nice chair and shooed him out from behind the reception area. This was her turf now. Not to mention the fact it was a bit too cozy having the two of them behind the desk. Very cozy. He’d been there long enough for her to divine that Cole’s mysterious, exotic man scent was not the coffee, the dog or anything else—it was eau de Cole. Olfactory heaven. And strictly off the menu! She might have to mouth-breathe in future to resist the urge to bury her face in his chest and just inhale. And resist she would.

This was a chance for her to get a grip on her life—not play googly-eyes with the scrumptious doctor. She shot him her best “scoot” look, more for herself than for him—but it worked. Which was satisfying.

“Don’t blame me for being all addlepated this morning. It’s entirely Igor’s fault. He kept me up most of the night with his crying.”

“You didn’t stick him in one of those horrible cages, did you?” Lina blurted. She couldn’t help it. She had a soft spot for Igor. And Cole.

No. Just Igor. Not Cole. He was an ogre. Well, not an ogre exactly …

He raised up his hands with an irascible twist to his lips. “Guilty as charged.” Then his expression softened. “That is, until about twenty minutes later when I couldn’t stand it anymore and brought him into my room. He stole my pillow.”

Lina couldn’t help but smile at the picture Cole painted. So he was a softie at heart. A bit different from the pull-your-own-socks-up portrait he’d painted of himself last night.

Cole abruptly pulled out a thick stack of colored sticky notes from his pocket and plonked them on her desk before hightailing it to his office. He’d already given Lina enough office supplies to last a month. She hardly needed more! Not to mention the tour of the clinic, each and every one of the therapy rooms, the changings rooms—separate for staff and patients—the sauna, the steam room, the water-therapy center and the staff kitchen—complete with a tour of the contents of the fridge-freezer. “Best to put your names on things if you really want to eat them.” Talk about a worrywart!

She eyed the phone system warily. Then again …

Okay. Release the breath you’ve been holding for the past twenty minutes. Three. Two. One. Fresh breath in … She watched as Cole turned the corner into his office, where he’d already stashed Igor in his basket … And now you’re on your own.

The telltale tremble began in her hands. She shook them. Hard. It always worked before she went onstage, so why not here?

So what if telling Cole she knew how it all worked had been bravura? At least it had been effective enough to get him out of her hair. Her well-groomed and twisted-into-a-French-knot hair, thank you very much indeed. Sleeping hadn’t really worked out so well the previous night, so a bit of overdue grooming had taken up the dawn hours. Not to mention the fact she was wearing her Sunday—and Monday through Saturday—best. She had one office-appropriate outfit and until she got a bit of money in the bank it would have to do. Not that she was planning on doing this forever. Not by a long shot. She was just playing a role—Tragic Receptionist. She’d even worn her old reading glasses from school for good measure.

Truthfully? Lina needed all the exterior armor she could get her hands on if she was going to convince herself, let alone everyone she would have to come into contact with, that she could do this job. And do it well. Turned out there was a lot more to it than picking up the phone and saying hello.

Answering the phones, greeting patients, pulling up medical records, making appointments, ordering flowers, milk, fruit, office supplies, updating staff schedules—erp!

She forced herself to take another deep breath in lieu of short-circuiting. Cole had left a lot of details out when he’d offered her the position. The only thing she’d really cared about had been the paycheck. Served her right. It was all she could do not to run out the door and go back to her bed and curl up in a protective little ball. It was too much all at once. If she tried to remember every single bit of information she’d have to learn in the next five minutes, her mind could just … very possibly … explode. Not to mention the torture of having to smile and offer warm greetings to working ballerinas all day long. The clinic, it seemed, mostly worked with dancers who could make a full recovery. It explained why her dance company hadn’t really pushed for the clinic to take her on as a patient. Not that she would’ve been able to foot what she imagined would be a very large bill.

The air whooshed across her lips in a panicky sigh. She sucked in a fresh breath of air and forced herself to think of the plus side of her conundrum. She needed to regain the control she knew she could impose on herself.

Once she had a bit of money in the bank she would be able to move on. Who knew what might be out there, waiting for her, apart from a big black void of nothingness? There might be rainbows and daffodils … and unicorns and horses that flew with wax wings that melted at the first sign of spring.

Okay, Lina. Get a grip.

Right now there was no money in the bank and nowhere to move on to. So, that being the case, she was stuck here pretending she knew how to be a receptionist. A blinking light on the phone caught her eye. She glanced at the wall clock. Nine on the dot. She poised her finger over the button, popped on the headset, blew out another steadying breath and here went nothing!

Lina pressed the button and greeted the caller as she’d been instructed, “En Pointe, this is Lina. May I help you?”

Silence.

She pressed the button again. “En Pointe, this is Lina. May I help you?”

Nothing.

Despite her best efforts, her mouth went dry. Just a little. Then another light started to blink. Panic started to set in. Another line lit up. The front door opened and a woman wearing bright purple scrubs entered and gave Lina a broad smile.

“Hi! Are you the new Scarlet?”

“Who?”

“Scarlet—the eloping receptionist,” she explained, extending a hand across the high reception counter. “I’m Gemma Holland, one of the physios. Sports massage by day, aspiring osteopath by night.”

Lina went to shake her hand but then thought she’d better try and answer the three calls coming in, and in swinging her hand back round she managed to get tangled in the headset wire and pull it free from the phone.

“Isn’t it annoying?” Gemma smiled, unfazed as Lina’s discombobulation grew. “I worked on the desk for a year and Cole still hasn’t understood the importance of a wireless headset.”

“You worked on Reception?” Lina couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Yeah. A few of us have—before we qualified. Here …” She walked round the counter, plugged in the headset, popped it on, quickly and efficiently took the three calls and then turned to Lina with a mischievous expression. “Did Cole give you your ‘training’?”

“If you call pointing at it and saying, ‘That’s the beast’ as training.”

“That’s what I thought. Don’t worry. I’ll give you a quick run-through before my first patient arrives. Cole’s useless. He doesn’t do front of house.”

Lina smiled at the term generally reserved for the theatre. She wondered if Gemma had been a dancer. She certainly had the figure for it. Had she been injured, too? There was a part of her that would love to have someone to confide in, make the world feel a bit less lonely.

Gemma quickly talked her through the system, which turned out not to be so complicated after all. “Just flick this switch here on the side and then punch the blinking light …” By the time Gemma had wished her luck and disappeared down the corridor, Lina felt a tiny bit more grounded.

Answering the phones? Check! She turned as the front door opened again. More staff and, from the look of the girl using crutches, the first patient of the day. Now all she needed to do was figure out how to do the four thousand other things the En Pointe receptionist was responsible for and everything would be fine.

Cole gave Igor a little scratch under the chin. It was five o’clock and about the ninety-thousandth time he’d checked his watch. He’d been itching to go out and check on Lina all day, but had thought she’d shy away from any sort of special treatment. He liked to be thrown in at the deep end and something told him—on that front—they were cut from the same cloth.

She’d need to find out on her own if she was cut out for the job. Not that he would’ve been much help anyhow. At least with the technical side of things. Yes, he could’ve introduced her to everyone—but a quick interoffice memo did the same thing, and more efficiently. So, yes, it was throwing Lina in at the deep end, but he wasn’t in the business of coddling. So he’d done it surreptitiously. A handful of the therapists at EP had been in her shoes over the course of the years. Ballerinas, modern dancers, even circus performers who had, through either catastrophic injury or prescient decision-making, opted for a life in health care rather than completely destroy their bodies. Not everyone stayed. Not everyone left. He had to admit he hoped Lina would at least see through the week—and after that the three-month trial. At the very least, it would get her back out in the world and give her a bit of money in the bank. Not to mention buy her some time to think about her options, her future. As if it was any of his business and he cared at all. Which he did not.

Igor stretched out on his desk, paying little regard to the files Cole had been trying to read.

“Thanks for the respect, pal.”

A light knock on Cole’s door brought the puppy upright with a small yelp.

“Sorry, Igor. How’s the little bitty pooch-pooch?” Gemma crooned, all eyes for the puppy and none for Cole, whose office she normally wouldn’t have entered without an invitation. He obviously had some sort of invisible force field around him, screaming Give me my space,

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