‘How about,’ Leandro suggested, ‘we escape? Go and find some proper food.’ He looked pointedly at her barely touched glass. ‘And wine you can actually drink.’

He had a voice like melted chocolate, and eyes to match. Olive skin betraying his Mediterranean ancestry. Dark hair that was cut short, but Becky would just bet turned curly if he were in a rainstorm; it made her itch to slide her fingers into it.

And he had the sexiest mouth she’d ever, ever seen.

Leandro Herrera was a complete stranger. She knew nothing about him. She really ought to refuse. Politely, but refuse.

‘Yes. I’d love to.’

‘Good.’ He stood up again and held a hand out to her, and she let him draw her to her feet. Even though she was five foot seven in heels, he was a good six inches taller than she was. Broad-shouldered. Strong.

He could have made her feel intimidated.

Instead, he made her feel safe. And she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like this…

Kate Hardy lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history, she helps out at her children’s schools; she’s a school governor and chair of the PTA. She also loves cooking—spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.) Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She’s been writing Medical™ Romances for nearly five years now, and also writes for Modern Heat. She says it’s the best of both worlds, because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book: add a touch of passion, drama and danger, a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

Recent titles by the same author:

In Medical™ Romance THE DOCTORS ROYAL LOVE-CHILD (Brides of Penhally Bay) THE ITALIAN GP’S BRIDE THE CONSULTANT’S NEW-FOUND FAMILY

In Modern Heat SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER! BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S

Look out for Kate’s next Modern Heat

Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded out in September 2008!

What people are saying about Kate Hardy...

‘THE ITALIAN GP’S BRIDE is a spellbinding romance that I devoured in a single sitting! Kate Hardy is a fabulously talented writer whose books never fail to make me laugh, cry and care, and THE ITALIAN GP’S BRIDE is the latest in a long line of captivating romances that have made her one of my all-time favourite writers.’

—Cataromance on THE ITALIAN GP’S BRIDE, Medical™ Romance August 07

Look out for Kate Hardy in Modern Heat!

‘BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S is simply terrific! Sexy, funny, tender, passionate and romantic, this engrossing tale features a loveable heroine and a gorgeous Italian hero who will make you swoon! Kate Hardy is a writer readers can count on in order to deliver an entertaining page-turner which they will devour in a single sitting, and BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S is certainly no exception. So take the phone off the hook, put your feet up and lose yourself…’

—Cataromance on BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S, July 07

THE SPANISH DOCTOR’S LOVE-CHILD

BY

KATE HARDY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Terri and Lee, with much love

CHAPTER ONE

‘ROD HAWES, fifty-four, had just got a strike at tenpin bowling when he started having chest pains,’ Ed, the paramedic, told Becky and David as he wheeled the trolley into Resus. ‘His wife and kids are on their way.’

Becky glanced at their patient, not liking his colour or the sheen of sweat on his skin.

‘He described the pain as being like an elephant sitting on his chest,’ Ed continued.

Classic symptoms. So she was expecting the paramedic’s next comment: ‘The pain wasn’t relieved by GTN and from the trace we think he’s had an MI. We’ve cannulated and given him oxygen, but no aspirin because he’s got a stomach ulcer.’

A complication they could really do without.

Almost before David asked, she had a syringe in her hand and bottles. ‘Usual bloods?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Has he had an antiemetic?’ David asked the paramedic.

‘Not yet.’

‘I’m on it,’ Becky said, swiftly sorting out the bloods. She’d administered an antiemetic through the cannula and set up the electrocardiograph leads to take a trace of the heart’s activity by the time David had finished taking the patient’s history.

Strange how everything slowed right down in the middle of an emergency. Their patient’s life was at stake, but the team had worked together for so long that they all knew exactly what to do. Everything slotted together in the right place and at the right time.

And it was a shame that today was going to be the last time they’d work together. David was flying out to Africa almost straight after his shift to do a six-month stint with Doctors Without Borders.

Becky only hoped that the new consultant would be as thorough and as genuinely nice as David, treating the patients and staff alike with respect and kindness. Human Resources hadn’t exactly been generous with their information, and even the hospital grapevine had drawn a blank. All they knew about the new consultant was that he was male.

They were about to administer thrombolytic drugs when she saw the pattern on the ECG change. ‘He’s gone into VT.’

Hardly surprising. Becky knew that most patients who’d had a heart attack developed an abnormal heart rhythm afterwards. VT, or ventricular tachycardia, was where a ventricle, one of the lower chambers of the heart, beat too fast; it could lead to ventricular fibrillation, where the heart contracted but didn’t pump blood around the body, and it was life-threatening.

‘OK. We know the drill,’ David said wryly. ‘Crash team. Mina, can you remove the clothing from Rod’s upper body, so we can position the paddles more easily?’ he asked the first-year foundation doctor.

Mina did so while David checked Rod’s intubation and Becky checked his pulse. ‘He’s in pulseless VT,’ she reported.

David sighed and put one paddle on the apex position and the other on the right of Rod’s breastbone, just below the clavicle. ‘Charging to two hundred,’ he said. ‘Stand clear.’

Everyone took their hands off the patient.

‘Shocking now.’

Becky glanced at the ECG. ‘No response. He’s still in VT.’

They waited ten seconds to see if the ECG trace changed—the protocol was that you didn’t check the pulse after a shock unless the heart rhythm changed.

‘Charging to two hundred again,’ David said, keeping the paddles on the gel pads. ‘And clear. Shocking now.’

Still no response.

‘Charging to three-sixty,’ David said, ‘and clear. Shocking now.’

To everyone’s relief, the ECG showed a clear sinus rhythm—the normal beat of the heart.

Becky checked Rod’s pulse and her stomach plummeted. ‘No pulse. He’s gone into PEA.’ PEA, or pulseless electrical activity, was where the heart rhythm seemed normal on the ECG screen, showing that there was electrical activity within the heart, but the heart wasn’t actually pumping blood around the patient’s body.

He was intubated, on oxygen, and there was no sign of a bleed; they also knew from the history that the patient had given them that he wasn’t on any medication and hadn’t taken any drugs. So that narrowed down the likely causes of the problem.

David grimaced. ‘My money’s on thrombosis—a huge MI.’

Which meant the chances of a good result were slim. Becky knew that when a patient had gone into PEA, if they couldn’t find the underlying cause fast enough, they treated the patient as if they were in cardiac arrest. The odds weren’t on their side, but she drew up a milligram of epinephrine and handed it to David. ‘Want me to bag while you do the compressions?’

He nodded. ‘Sure I can’t persuade you to come with me? We could do with a really good nurse on the team. Especially one who’s a nurse practitioner.’

‘Thanks, but I’m happy here in Manchester,’ she said. Maybe a year or eighteen months ago, she would’ve jumped at the chance to get away from the mess of her failed marriage—and the even messier bit she’d never told anyone about, even her closest friends—but she’d stuck it out and her life was back on an even keel now.

‘Hmm.’ David looked at the ECG monitor. ‘As the underlying rhythm’s bradycardia, let’s try atropine as well.’

She drew up a milligram and checked it, then David administered the drug.

Just respond, she begged their patient silently. You’ve got a family on its way to you, needing you to wake up. Rod Hawes was a family man who’d been out with his wife and kids, having fun. Why the hell did this sort of thing have to happen? Why couldn’t it happen instead to someone who’d made his family’s life miserable and wouldn’t be missed?

She pushed the thought away. Not here. Not now. Despite the two rotten days she’d just spent in London, this wasn’t the time or place to think about that. She needed to stay detached, do her job.

Ten sequences of basic life support over three minutes, checking for a pulse after each one.

‘Still no pulse,’ she reported.

‘No change on the ECG,’ Mina said.

Another milligram of epinephrine. She counted the rhythm: fifteen chest compressions to two breaths.

Still nothing.

Come on, come on, she thought. Go into VF so we can go back to shocking you. Get your heart started again.

Irene, one of the staff nurses, came in. ‘His family’s here,’ she said.

David nodded, his face grim. ‘Now’s not a good time for them to see him. Can you take them to the relatives’ room and look after them? I’ll be with them as soon as I can. As soon as we get him to respond.’

‘Will do.’

But after they’d been working for twenty minutes, David stopped. ‘It’s not going to happen,’ he said softly. ‘His brain’s been without oxygen for twenty minutes. He’s gone. Everyone agreed that we call it?’

One by one, very quietly, the rest of the team agreed.

‘Right. Time of death…’ he looked at the clock ‘…four forty-seven. Thanks for your help, team. Sorry we didn’t make it.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘This sucks. Big time.’ He sighed. ‘Better go see his family.’

‘Do you want me to do it?’ Becky asked.

He patted her shoulder. ‘You’re a sweetheart for offering—but it’s my responsibility. I’ll do it.’

‘I’ll call his GP, then, and inform the coroner,’ she said. ‘And fill out the forms for you to sign.’

‘Let’s hope I’m a bit better than this when I get out to Africa,’ he said, shaking his head in apparent disgust with himself.

‘Hey. Don’t beat yourself up. You know as well as I do that PEA doesn’t have a good prognosis—and one in three patients with an MI don’t even make it to the emergency department in the first place. You did your best. We all did.’

Neither of them said it, but she knew they were both thinking it: their best just hadn’t been good enough.

And although Becky was based in the minor injuries section for the rest of her shift and concentrated on treating each patient, there was still that underlying misery she felt whenever they lost a patient. A dull, heavy feeling that wouldn’t shift, even by the time she got home.

‘Bad day?’ Tanya, her housemate, asked as she walked in.

‘Does it show?’

Tanya nodded. ‘From the look on your face, I’d say you lost a patient.’

‘Yes.’

Tanya gave her a sympathetic hug. ‘That’s exactly why I could never work in emergency medicine. At least in paediatrics most of our patients make it.’

‘We don’t lose that many,’ Becky protested.

‘You know what I mean.’ Tanya switched the kettle on. ‘You need tea. Actually, I’ve got a better idea than that. You know the newbie doctors on our ward?’

‘The first-year foundation doctors have been in for two months now. They’re not exactly newbies any more,’ Becky said.

Tanya grinned. ‘If you ask me, they’re still a bit wet behind the ears! But Joe’s pretty cute. And he’s having a party tonight. Why don’t you come with me?’

‘I wasn’t invited,’ Becky pointed out.

‘He said I could bring a friend.’ Tanya brushed her objection aside. ‘What you need is a good night out. Lots of loud music, maybe a bit too much red wine, and let your hair down.’

‘Down.’ Becky flicked the ends of her short hair. ‘And that would be how, exactly, Tan?’

Tanya laughed. ‘Oh, you. Seriously, come with me. It’ll be a laugh.’

After the week she’d had—including two days spent being the dutiful granddaughter and resenting every second of it—Becky could really do with a laugh. ‘OK. Thanks. I will.’

Lord, he needed a breather from this party, Leandro thought.

Given the choice between spending his first Saturday in Manchester completely on his own in a rented flat, wondering why the hell he’d left Barcelona, and coming to a party where he was likely to meet some of his new colleagues, Leandro had accepted the invitation with a smile. Enthusiasm, even.

But he’d forgotten what kind of parties junior doctors threw.

Ones with plenty of cheap wine, barely edible snacks that left you hungry, and terrible music played at the kind of volume where conversations had to be conducted at shouting pitch. Where there was barely any room to move, because so many people were packed into the place.

Thirty-five years old, and he’d hit middle age, he thought ruefully. Because he was beginning to wish he’d stayed in after all.

Leandro took a swig from the bottle of beer and wandered into the garden, thinking at least he’d find a quiet corner there. Although it was April, it was warm enough for him not to need a coat.

And then he saw her.

Sitting on a bench tucked away in a quiet corner of the garden, with her shoes off and her knees drawn up to her chin, looking as though she wanted to be a hundred miles away, too. A kindred spirit, perhaps?

He walked over to the bench. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

She looked up at him and frowned. ‘Sorry. I didn’t catch what you said.’

Hardly surprising. She’d probably been deafened by the music blasting from inside the house.

‘I said, do you mind if I join you?’ he repeated, this time a little louder.

She shrugged and uncurled, making room for him to sit beside her. ‘Help yourself.’

Even though the sun had set an hour or so ago, the light shining into the garden from the kitchen was bright enough for him to see her properly. She had short brown hair, the sort that would go into spiral curls if she let it grow, and dark blue eyes that looked haunted. And a perfect rosebud of a mouth that sent a frisson of desire down his spine.

‘Gràcies.’ He sat down. ‘Leandro Herrera.’ He held his free hand out to her. She took it, and the frisson down his spine grew stronger.

‘Rebecca Marston. Everyone calls me Becky,’ she said, shaking his hand. Her grip was cool, firm, precise—and he liked it.

‘Which part of Spain do you come from?’ she asked.

‘Barcelona.’

She looked thoughtful. ‘Catalunya.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m impressed. You know Spain?’

‘Not really. I had a penfriend years ago—our teacher had spent a year in Spain and taught at a school there, and she told us a bit about the country. She set up a penfriend scheme between the two schools.’ She smiled. ‘In the years before email and chat rooms. But those early lessons helped when it came to taking exams.’

‘Parla català?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I assume you’re asking me if I speak Catalan—I don’t, and my Spanish is horribly rusty. But your English is excellent.’

‘Gràcies. I learned from an early age.’ He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘So, Rebecca—Becky. Do you always escape into the garden at parties?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘No, though I am at this one. My housemate persuaded me to come with her because she thought it would do me good to…’ And then she gave him the most gorgeously mischievous smile, indicating the ends of her short hair. ‘To let my hair down a bit.’

He smiled back. ‘And you’re regretting letting her persuade you?’

She nodded. ‘This really isn’t my kind of thing.’

‘Not mine either,’ he admitted. ‘And I heard someone say something about karaoke.’

Becky closed her eyes briefly. ‘Help. I’m not sure what’s worse—being bullied into singing something in front of a crowd or having to listen to other people singing out of key or out of rhythm.’

‘Especially when they’ve drunk enough to think they’re in tune and sound as good as their favourite pop star,’ he added dryly. ‘I think I’m going to call it a night.’

‘I don’t blame you.’

Something in her face told him that she felt the same way. And even though he had no intention of seeing her again after tonight, it would be good to have company rather than going back to his flat on his own. Dinner wouldn’t hurt. So he gave into the impulse and asked, ‘Have you eaten tonight?’

‘Just some nibbles here.’

‘How about,’ he suggested, ‘we escape? Go and find some proper food.’ He looked pointedly at her barely touched glass. ‘And wine you can actually drink.’

He had a voice like melted chocolate, and eyes to match. Olive skin betraying his Mediterranean ancestry. Dark hair that was cut short, but Becky would just bet turned curly if he were in a rainstorm; it made her itch to slide her fingers into it.

And he had the sexiest mouth she’d ever, ever seen.

Leandro Herrera was a complete stranger. She knew nothing about him. He could be some kind of maniac. She really ought to refuse. Politely, but refuse.

And then her grandfather’s voice echoed in her head.

I should think so, too. Why you couldn’t just settle down and have children and support your husband, I’ll never know. Going off with a complete stranger, indeed. No moral fibre, your generation…

Oh, shut up, Gramps, Becky thought. She was a grown woman. And in her view strangers were friends you hadn’t yet met. If a gorgeous man invited her out to dinner, and she wanted to go, then it was her choice. And she was going to do it.

‘Yes. I’d love to.’

‘Good.’ He stood up again and held a hand out to her. She slipped her feet back into her shoes, then took his hand and let him draw her to her feet. Even though she was five feet seven in heels, he was a good six inches taller than she was. Broad shouldered. Strong.

He could’ve made her feel intimidated.

Instead, he made her feel safe. And she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like this.

Certainly not with Michael, who’d taken every safety net away from her.

‘I’d better let my housemate know I’m leaving,’ she said.

‘Of course. And I need to say goodbye and thank you to my host.’

Old-fashioned good manners. She liked that, too.

‘I’ll meet you by the front door, yes?’ he suggested.

She smiled back. ‘Sure.’

The rooms were crowded and the deep bass of the music was enough to give her a headache. She couldn’t see her housemate anywhere in the crush. ‘Have you seen Tanya?’ she asked several of the paediatric nurses who worked with Tanya. At the fifth ‘Sorry’ she gave up. She walked back into the garden, where it was quiet enough to think straight, and texted her friend. Being party pooper. C U back home. Have a good time!

Then she headed back to the kitchen and found Joe. ‘Thanks for letting me come with Tanya.’

‘No worries. We’ve got loads of room.’ The junior doctor frowned. ‘You’re not going already, are you?’

‘I’m not really in a party mood,’ she said ruefully. ‘Had a bad shift this afternoon.’

‘You’re in the emergency department, aren’t you?’ At her nod, he looked sympathetic—clearly he’d guessed the outcome of her day. ‘Well, see you around. Thanks for coming.’

She smiled back. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

Joe grinned. ‘Oh, I plan to!’

Leandro was waiting for her by the front door.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

She still had the chance to say no. She could call a taxi and go home on her own.

But there was something about Leandro’s smile, the warmth in his eyes, that told her this was a man she could trust. ‘Ready,’ she said.

CHAPTER TWO

‘SO DO you know anywhere nearby that serves reasonable food?’ Leandro asked.

Becky glanced at her watch. ‘At this time on a Saturday night, to be honest, most of the places I know are going to be full.’

‘Then I have a suggestion—seeing as I’m used to eating late in Spain, and if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes more, maybe I can cook us dinner.’

‘You’re offering to cook for me?’ She looked at him in surprise.

He spread his hands. ‘What’s so strange about that?’

She didn’t really know him, and he’d just offered to cook her a meal. Part of her thought that this was a seriously bad idea. Going for dinner with a stranger in a public place where she could call a taxi and escape if she needed to would be one thing; going to his home was just asking for trouble. But, on the other hand, her instincts were rarely wrong—and she didn’t have any mental warning bells about Leandro Herrera.

Quite the opposite.

‘I… Well. I’m just not used to men who can cook,’ she hedged. Her father was incredibly old-fashioned in his outlook and had always maintained the kitchen was her mother’s domain—he wouldn’t so much as heat up a pizza in the oven. Her grandfather was even worse—he actually expected women to withdraw from the table after dinner and leave the men to port and cigars. Most of the male doctors she knew ate in the hospital canteen and lived on cereals or take-away food at home. And as for Michael…

The less she thought about her ex-husband, the better.

‘The first cookbook published in Spain was from Catalonia,’ Leandro said with a smile. ‘Libre del Coc. It was nearly five hundred years ago, and my people are very proud of that. My mother taught me to cook.’

He didn’t mention his father, she noticed. Or maybe his father had been more like the men she’d grown up with.

‘You need to tell your friend where you’re going,’ Leandro added. ‘So she knows where you are and who you’re with and won’t have to worry about you.’

He rose a couple more notches in her estimation. That kind of thoughtfulness was rare, in her experience. Or maybe the men in Catalonia had a more developed protective instinct than the men she was used to. ‘Thank you.’ She pulled her mobile phone out of her bag and tried calling Tanya. ‘Ah. No answer.’

‘She probably can’t hear you above the music,’ he said with a wry smile.

‘I’ll text her,’ Becky said, and swiftly tapped in a message. Having dinner with Leandro Herrera. He gave her his address, and she felt her eyes widen. He lived in West Didsbury, one of the more upmarket districts of Manchester. She added his address to her text message and sent it to Tanya.

‘If we go to the end of the street we’ll be on the main road and we’ll be able to flag down a taxi, yes?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Have you lived here long?’

‘I moved here this week. How about you?’

‘Six years.’

‘I’m looking forward to exploring the city,’ he said. ‘So where do you recommend I start?’

‘It depends what you like. The theatres are good; there are music venues and clubs to suit all tastes; and the museum’s got an amazing collection of pre-Raphaelite art.’

‘Not something I know,’ he admitted. ‘I know more about the Modernistes. Gaudí’s from my home city. And obviously we have the Picasso museum in Barcelona.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘So you like art.’

She nodded. ‘Not that I get much time to visit the galleries in Manchester.’ She didn’t want him thinking that was a hint, so she changed the subject swiftly. ‘There’s an off-licence not far from here. Can we go there before we get a taxi?’

‘Why?’

‘Because if you’re cooking dinner, the least I can do is provide the wine.’ She smiled. ‘I promise it’ll be better than that stuff in the box at the party.’

He laughed. ‘That wouldn’t be difficult. But there’s really no need.’

Oh, yes, there was. She didn’t want to be beholden to him. She’d had too many years of feeling beholden. ‘If I don’t contribute, then I don’t feel able to accept your offer,’ she said quietly.

He sighed. ‘In my world, when you ask someone to dinner, you don’t expect them to pay the bill.’

‘In my world,’ she retorted, ‘friends share. Which includes the bill. Or, in this case, make a contribution in the form of wine.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Then I had better accept your offer. Gràcies, Becky.’

They walked in relaxed silence to the parade of shops round the corner. ‘Red or white?’ Becky asked.

‘Either.’

She opted for both: a fruity New Zealand sauvignon blanc and a rioja.

He hailed a taxi, gave the driver his address, and insisted on paying the fare at the other end. ‘No arguments, this time,’ he told Becky.

His house was a Victorian terrace, set in a leafy, tree-lined road. The kind of house she would’ve loved—the kind she and Michael had planned to move to. Except his price had been too high, one she just hadn’t been prepared to pay. Especially after all the dreams had come crashing down round her. And there was no way she could afford a house on her own, so after the divorce she’d gone back to renting.

‘Nice house,’ she said as he ushered her inside. The décor didn’t give much away—the colour scheme was neutral and there weren’t any prints on the wall—but if he’d only just moved in he probably hadn’t had time to change it to suit his tastes.

‘That’s what I thought when I looked around. I need to check with the agency if I can put anything on the walls, but in the meantime I can live with it.’

So it was rented rather than his own. Not that it was so surprising. Even if he planned to buy a house, it would take time to sort out.

‘Let me get you a drink. Would you like a glass of wine, or would you prefer coffee for now?’

‘I’d love a coffee, actually. Thank you.’

‘De res.’ Her confusion must have been obvious, because he smiled. ‘That’s “You’re welcome”.’

She smiled back. ‘So you’re going to teach me some Catalan?’

‘Sure. But let’s eat first, yes?’

She followed him into the kitchen.

‘Would you rather eat here or in the dining room?’ he asked.

‘I don’t mind.’

‘Here, then.’ He gestured to the chair and switched the kettle on. ‘How do you take your coffee?’

‘A little milk, no sugar, please.’ And most of the time, at work, it was cold.

‘Are you OK with chicken?’ he asked.

‘Lovely. Anything I can do to help?’

‘No, it’s fine. Do you mind if I put some music on? I prefer cooking to music.’

‘Sure.’ Though Becky really, really hoped he didn’t like the kind of dance music they’d been playing at the party. She liked the kind of music you could sing along to, something with a tune.

It seemed that Leandro preferred classical—she didn’t recognise the soft, gentle guitar piece, but liked what she heard. ‘That’s pretty. What is it?’

‘One of Mozart’s divertimenti. One of my favourites for chilling out.’

‘So the music at the party really wasn’t your sort of thing.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘I must be getting old.’

Hardly. She felt the same. ‘You don’t look older than your early thirties.’

‘I’m thirty-five. And I do like contemporary music…just not the stuff they were playing.’ He handed her a mug of coffee: just as she liked it, strong with just a splash of milk. So he’d been listening to what she’d said. That, in her experience, made a very pleasant change.

‘Gràcies,’ she said.

He looked pleased that she’d tried to use his own language. ‘De res,’ he said, and started preparing their meal. He worked swiftly and accurately, she noticed, slicing and chopping. ‘Are you a chef?’ she asked.

He laughed. ‘No. I just enjoy cooking. It relaxes me—that, and good music.’

He didn’t venture any information about what he did for a living, and Becky wasn’t in the mood for being pushy. She’d been pushed too hard herself over the last few days, and right now she just wanted to relax and unwind and not have to think about anything at all. She sipped her coffee and enjoyed listening to the music and watching him sizzle chicken in a pan.

‘That smells gorgeous,’ she said.

‘Twenty minutes, and it’ll be done.’ He rummaged in the fridge, arranged a few things on a plate, and brought it over to the little kitchen table.

‘Tapas?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Though strictly speaking it’s tapes in Catalan. I’m sorry, this is a bit scrappy because I wasn’t planning to entertain—just some Manzanilla olives, chorizo and cheese. But it’ll keep us going until the chicken is done.’ He took two wineglasses from the cupboard. ‘Red or white?’

‘Either.’

‘Red, then.’ He opened the bottle of rioja. ‘Nice choice,’ he said, pouring them both a glass, and sat down opposite her. ‘Well. Salut.’ He raised his glass.

She did likewise. ‘Cheers.’

It was easy to relax with Leandro—he kept the conversation light and didn’t push past her personal boundaries. By the time he brought over their main course, Becky was thoroughly relaxed.

‘This looks gorgeous.’

‘Pollastre romesco—chicken with romesco sauce. It’s a mixture of almonds, tomato, garlic and vinegar. And this is espinacas a la Catalana—spinach with raisins and pine nuts,’ he added, gesturing to the green vegetable. ‘Sorry, I don’t have any potatoes. But would you like some bread with your meal?’

‘No, this is fine, thanks.’ She tasted a mouthful. ‘Wow. You’re a fantastic cook.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled. ‘Spanish food and drink isn’t just paella and sherry, you know.’

‘It sounds as if you’re sick of being stereotyped.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘So many people think that Spain is all about bullfights and guitars and waiters called Manuel. And there’s much more to it than that.’

‘Tell me,’ she invited. And when he described the buildings and the festivals and the fireworks and the human ‘towers’ of acrobats reaching up nine storeys, his eyes glittering with enthusiasm for his native city, she could just imagine herself there.

For dessert, Leandro offered her nectarines, and then he made more coffee and brought out a box of chocolates. Really, really good chocolates. Ones she adored but almost never bought for herself because she couldn’t justify the indulgence except on her birthday or at Christmas.

‘This,’ she said, ‘is perfect. A million times better than what was on offer at Joe’s.’

‘So how come you ended up at the party?’

‘Joe works with my housemate. Tanya thought the party might cheer me up—it’s been the day from hell, and I’ve also been away for a couple of days.’

‘And you wish you were still away?’ he asked.

Becky thought of the rows and the silences. The expectations that she never fulfilled. The constant disappointment on her parents’ faces because she hadn’t settled down and produced grandchildren. Not that they would’ve been sympathetic if she’d told them what had really happened with Michael—or if she’d told them about the baby she’d lost. They would’ve blamed her, and she already blamed herself enough. She didn’t need the extra guilt. Which was why she’d never told anyone the full story. ‘No. I’m glad to be back in Manchester. I only went back to London because I was expected to,’ she admitted. ‘It was a family birthday, so I had to be there.’

‘But you couldn’t wait to get away?’ He took another chocolate. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

Clearly his family was as difficult as her own, though he’d sounded affectionate before when he’d mentioned his mother teaching him to cook.

‘So what about you?’ she asked. ‘How do you know Joe?’

‘I don’t, really. It was a loose invitation—an acquaintance of an acquaintance, and I thought it was a better option than being on my own my first Saturday night in Manchester.’ He shrugged. ‘Though I found something better. An evening with good food, good wine, good conversation and good company.’

‘Here’s to that,’ she said, raising her wineglass. ‘And definitely better music.’

‘Though this isn’t quite what you’d dance to,’ he said. ‘And you need dancing at a party.’ His gaze held hers for a moment. ‘Would you like to dance with me?’

‘I’m no good at dancing,’ she said. ‘I have two left feet.’

‘Then let me teach you.’ He stood up and took her hand. The touch of his skin against hers sent a frisson of desire down her spine, and she let him lead her through to the living room.

‘Something to dance to. Now, let me see.’ He glanced along the rack of CDs.

The sound system in his living room was seriously expensive, Becky noticed. Given those chocolates, Leandro was a man who clearly liked the best. And expected the best.

So this idea of dancing was a really bad one. Especially as he hadn’t listened to her warning that it wasn’t her forte.

But then she didn’t have the chance to think any more as the music flooded the room: a soft intro, and then a really sexy, haunting voice singing in Spanish. She had no idea what the man was singing about, but she loved his voice. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked.

Leandro named a Spanish singer she’d never heard of. ‘He’s popular in my country,’ he added with a smile. ‘Now, the dance.’ He took her hands and placed one on his shoulder and the other on his waist. ‘This is for balance. Just follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.’ He smiled at her. ‘The rhythm is slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.’

Oh-h-h. She remembered a chick-flick she’d gone to see with a crowd of her female friends. ‘Is this the tango?’

He inclined his head. ‘It doesn’t have to be as showy as the ones you see in films. I’m not going to bend you over backwards or place your cheek next to mine so we’re facing the same way and stalk down the room. Just relax, feel the beat of the music and trust me to guide you.’

Before she knew it, they were dancing. It felt as if she were floating. Not stumbling, as she had before.

‘Two left feet? I don’t think so,’ he whispered, holding her close.

Probably because he was an incredible dancer and she was simply following his movements.

She could feel the warmth of his skin through his thin cotton shirt, and she was so aware of the way he was holding her, one hand resting on her shoulder and the other on her waist. Holding her close. Moving as one with her.

‘You have beautiful eyes,’ he said softly. ‘Like the colour of a sky on a late spring evening, just as the stars are starting to come out.’

Flattery, she knew. But it sent a little flutter through her. ‘Thank you.’

They danced in silence a while longer, then she felt his lips brush lightly against her cheek. Just once. And then he paused, clearly waiting for her signal.

She could drop her hands and take a step back. Thank him for the evening, and call a taxi.

Or for once she could live dangerously.

How long had it been since she’d found a man as attractive as she found Leandro Herrera? How long since she’d felt that spark?

She turned her head, just slightly, so she faced him. Saw understanding dawn in those gorgeous dark eyes. And then his mouth touched hers. The lightest, sweetest contact. It made her mouth tingle, made her want more.

She moved a little closer, and felt his breathing change.

And then he was kissing her again. Tiny, nibbling kisses, persuading her to open her mouth and let him deepen the kiss.

She completely forgot the music. Forgot to dance. Forgot to move. The only things she was aware of were the feel of his mouth against hers and the desire scorching through her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this—maybe since the early days with Michael. Although she’d dated a couple of times since her divorce, she’d never wanted it to go further than a goodnight kiss, and a chaste one at that.

With Leandro, she wanted more. A lot more.

And she wanted it now.

From the feel of his hard body against hers, she knew it was completely mutual. That he wanted her just as much.

At last he broke the kiss. ‘Em sap greu. Sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen.’

She felt her face heat. And the way she’d reacted, kissing him back… He must think she was a complete tart. They were almost strangers, and she’d practically thrown herself at him. ‘I’m sorry.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’ll go.’

‘I don’t want you to go. I didn’t mean that.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘Just that when I invited you to dinner, I didn’t expect you to sleep with me in return.’

Her face heated even more.

‘Which isn’t a polite way of saying that I’m not attracted to you. I want you, Becky. Very much. But I don’t want you to feel that I’m pressuring you. So I’ll call you a taxi.’ He moistened his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. ‘Because if you stay here for much longer I’m not going to be able to be an honourable man. My self-control will splinter and I’ll end up carrying you to my bed.’

The idea made her whole body quiver; she could feel her nipples hardening at the thought. Being carried to Leandro’s bed. And he’d be as good a lover as he was a dancer. Looking out for her, making sure her pleasure was as great as his.

But there was a problem. A huge one. Because she didn’t want her heart broken again. She’d been there when her marriage had broken up—and then, just when she’d thought she’d reached the lowest point, she’d discovered she could hurt even more.

And she was never, ever going to take that kind of risk again.

Work, at least, was safe. Something she was good at. Something where she could make the world a better place.

She dragged in a breath. ‘There’s something I should tell you. I’m not looking for a relationship.’

‘I’m not looking for a relationship either. I’m about to start a new job.’ He spread his hands. ‘I don’t have time for anything except my work.’

So if they did this, it would be for one night only.

One perfect night with a stranger.

Tempting. So tempting. But even if this was going to be just for one night, she didn’t want him thinking badly of her. She didn’t want him thinking that she made a habit of going off with complete strangers. ‘I don’t do one-night stands, as a rule.’

He inclined his head. ‘Then I’ll respect your wishes and call you a taxi.’

It would be the sensible thing to do.

But after the days she’d spent in London and the miserable day at work, Becky needed warmth. Needed to feel.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t want you to call a taxi.’

Her words came out in a whisper, and Leandro’s pulse quickened. ‘You want to stay here with me?’

She nodded.

‘Just for tonight.’ He needed this to be clear. He’d already seen what relationships did to people—he’d grown up knowing that his mother’s heart was cracked in two. And he wasn’t going to let that happen to him. So he’d concentrated on work: keeping his relationships for fun and his heart intact. Despite the physical pull he felt towards Becky Marston, that wasn’t going to change. His focus was on his career, and it was going to stay that way.

‘Just for tonight,’ she confirmed.

Heat flared at the base of his spine. ‘You’re sure about this?’

She lifted her chin. ‘I’m sure. Very sure.’

He bent his head and kissed her. Hot and hard. And when he lifted his head he could see desire reflected in her eyes. ‘Ets molto atractiva.’

‘Sorry?’

Idiot. He needed to remember she didn’t speak Catalan. ‘I said,’ he translated softly, ‘you’re beautiful.’ He stole another kiss. ‘You should know, I don’t make a habit of this.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘I didn’t think you did.’

She swallowed hard. ‘And there’s something else you should know. I’m a bit out of practice.’

She didn’t say so aloud, but he could read it in her eyes—she was worried that she’d disappoint him.

He smiled and rubbed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. ‘That isn’t a problem. I have a feeling that this is going to be good—for both of us.’

CHAPTER THREE

LEANDRO took Becky’s hand and led her to the stairs. Then he stopped, looked at her, said something in rapid Catalan and scooped her up with one hand under her knees and the other round her waist. She slid her arms round his neck for balance, and he carried her up the stairs as if she were a slender five-foot waif instead of curvy and five feet seven.

It should’ve felt macho and offputting.

Instead, it sent a kick of desire through her. That this gorgeous man wanted her so much he couldn’t wait to carry her to his bed.

He pushed the door open with his foot, then set her back down on her feet next to the bed before going over to the window and closing the curtains.

Tonight she was acting out of character, but she wasn’t going to be completely reckless. ‘Do you have protection?’

He nodded. ‘I have protection. Not that I was planning this to happen tonight,’ he added. ‘My suggestion of dinner meant just that: dinner.’

‘Think of this an unexpected bonus,’ she said softly.

He walked back over to her and brushed his mouth against hers. ‘For both of us, estimada.’ He switched on the bedside light and came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms round her waist and pulling her back against him. He dipped his head and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘You smell lovely,’ he said softly. ‘Like chocolate.’

And so she should: the expensive bubble bath Tanya had given her for her birthday smelt of chocolate. She felt the warmth of his mouth against her nape again.

‘Mmm. You taste of chocolate, too,’ he murmured. ‘And I’m hungry.’

She knew exactly what he meant. Although they’d just eaten, she too was hungry.

Not for food.

For him.

And the way he was kissing her neck was the most arousing thing she’d ever experienced in her life.

He eased himself away from her for just long enough to undo the zip of her black shift dress. Slowly, so slowly, and his mouth traced a path down her spine as he uncovered her skin. When he reached the fastening of her bra, he unsnapped it, then slid the straps of her dress over her shoulders, drawing the straps of her bra down at the same time. As the fabric fell to her waist, he drew a line of kisses from the curve of her shoulder to the curve of her neck—tiny, open-mouthed kisses that made her want more.

She spun round to face him, letting her dress and her bra fall to the floor. Lord, his mouth was beautiful. If she could sculpt, she’d definitely want him as a model. She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him; as he responded, letting her explore his mouth in turn, she undid the buttons of his shirt and slid her palms across his pectoral muscles.

Perfect musculature.

She kissed her way down his throat, nipping gently and feeling a surge of satisfaction as he couldn’t suppress an ‘oh’ of pleasure.

Half-dressed, he was gorgeous. He had smooth olive skin, with a scattering of dark hair across his chest—enough to be sexy but not so much that it was offputting.

She’d just bet that, at the beach, he turned heads. Of women who wanted to be with him—and men who wanted to be him.

She pushed the material off his shoulders, letting his shirt pool next to her dress on the floor. ‘You’re beautiful,’ she said softly. ‘I take it you work out at the gym?’

‘No.’

She drew her fingertips down his arms. Again, perfect musculature without a hint of flab. ‘You feel like someone who takes care of his body, not a couch potato. So if you don’t go to the gym, you must do some kind of sport.’

He nodded. ‘I run most mornings. And I fence.’

She felt her eye widen. ‘With a sword?’

‘A foil,’ he corrected her.

She could imagine him as a Spanish pirate on a ship, swashbuckling his way through danger. Or even better, in eighteenth-century France with tight black trousers and a ruffled shirt. ‘I can see you as one of the Three Musketeers.’ She slid her fingers though his hair. ‘With long hair, you’d look amazing.’

His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Gràcies—but I don’t think that would go down too well with my boss.’

‘What do you do?’ she asked, suddenly curious.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about work tonight—right now it’s just you and me and I want to make love with you, Becky. I want to kiss you. Now.’

She tipped her head back slightly in invitation, and he wasn’t slow to take her up on it. His mouth was warm and strong against hers, and his tongue slid into her mouth, mirroring the action his body would make later.

I’m kissing a stranger, she thought. One of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever met, one who’s cultured and can dance and cook—but he’s still a total stranger. This is crazy. I really shouldn’t be doing—

Then she stopped thinking as his hands slid up to cup her breasts. When the pads of his thumbs rubbed against her hardened nipples, she gave a sharp intake of breath.

He drew back slightly so he could look her straight in the eye. ‘You like that?’

‘Yes.’

He gave her a lazy grin. ‘Good.’ He repeated the action, and she shivered. But it still wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

As if he could read her thoughts in her eyes, he traced a trail of light, teasing kisses down the sensitive cord at the side of her neck; the caresses turned to hot, open-mouthed kisses against her throat when she arched back and closed her eyes. He moved lower, kissing a line down her sternum, and a pulse beat hard between her legs; the beat grew even stronger when he shifted slightly and drew her nipple into his mouth. As he sucked, she gasped in pleasure, sliding her fingers back into his hair and urging him on.

Becky was past all coherent thought when Leandro dropped to his knees in front of her, removed her tights and stroked her inner thighs until her stance widened, then slid one finger under the edge of her knickers and drew it along the length of her sex. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her inner thigh. If he didn’t touch her properly now, she’d go crazy. Implode.

He pushed one finger inside her, and she couldn’t help crying out.

‘OK?’ he asked softly.

‘N-no.’

To her shock, he removed his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go into the bathroom and leave you to get dressed. Just give me a few minutes to cool down.’

What? No! That wasn’t what she wanted at all. ‘That isn’t what I meant.’ Her voice was low and breathy and just a little bit fractured.

He frowned. ‘No means no.’

‘I meant, no, I’m not OK. I…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want more.’

Enlightenment dawned and he gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘More, hmm? Tell me.’

She felt the colour stain her cheeks. ‘I want you to…to touch me.’

‘Here?’ He stroked the backs of her knees, keeping his gaze trained on hers.

She shivered. ‘North a bit.’

His smile widened and he stroked her inner thighs. ‘Here?’

‘North a bit,’ she said again.

He laughed. ‘You do realise you’re giving me two-dimensional directions?’

‘Then how…?’ She couldn’t think straight.

‘Show me.’ His voice was low and sent heat flickering down her spine. ‘Show me where you want me to touch you.’

Oh, lord. Everything she’d ever heard about Latin lovers was true.

And Leandro Herrera made her blood fizz.

She placed her hand over his and drew it up until he was cupping her sex, still through her knickers. ‘Here.’

‘Just here?’

A tiny murmur of frustration escaped from her. ‘Don’t tease me.’

He smiled. ‘I’m not going to tease you, estimada. I’m going to make love with you. And I want to take it slowly.’ Again, he circumvented her knickers, but this time, instead of pushing a finger inside her, he used his fingertip to brush lightly against her clitoris, skating back and forth until her knees went weak and she grabbed his shoulders with both hands, afraid that she was going to fall over.

‘I’m not going to let you fall,’ he said, guessing her fears. ‘Well, not in that way.’

She closed her eyes as he continued caressing her and the pleasure built higher, higher.

And then he stopped.

She opened her eyes wide and stared at him in disbelief. Why had he stopped now, when she was so near the peak? ‘Leandro?’

‘I want your eyes open,’ he said. ‘I want you to see me. And I want to see your eyes.’ With his free hand, he removed her knickers and looked up at her. ‘Madre de Deu, Becky,’ he said softly. ‘Ets bella. Te desitjo. I want you.’ He punctuated every word with a tiny movement of his hand that had her quivering. Just the right pressure and the right speed.

And then, unbelievably, her climax hit. Wave upon wave of pleasure.

‘Oh-h-h. Leandro. Yes.’

Little aftershocks of pleasure were still rippling through her when he pulled his duvet aside, lifted her, and laid her gently against the pillows.

‘Thank you. That was…’ She couldn’t find the right word. ‘Amazing.’ More than amazing.

He slid her a sultry look. ‘I haven’t finished yet.’

And then she realised he was still wearing his trousers. While she was completely naked. Abandoned.

She felt her eyes widen. ‘You’re—’

He stopped her protest with a kiss. ‘It’s OK. I wanted the first time to be for you. And, as I said, I haven’t finished yet.’

Oh, lord. If he could reduce her to a quivering heap with just one finger, what would it be like when his body finally slid inside hers?

He undressed swiftly. Gracefully—well, as a fencer, of course he’d be graceful. And Becky sucked in a breath as she saw him naked for the first time. ‘You’re perfect.’

‘Gràcies.’

He joined her on the bed and traced the curve of her jaw with a fingertip. ‘And you, too. Curvy, not a stick insect.’ As she instinctively sucked in her stomach, he smiled, leaned over and traced a circle round her navel with the tip of his tongue. ‘I said “curvy”, not “fat”. A real woman. Mateia bella. Very beautiful,’ he translated, rummaging in his bedside drawer for a condom.

He took it out of its foil wrapper, rolled it on, then slid his hand between Becky’s thighs and teased her with his clever fingers until she was quivering again. ‘Now?’ he asked.

‘Oh-h-h. Now. Yes. Please.’ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted a man so much. It had been years.

Leandro knelt between her thighs, gently fitted himself to her entrance and then eased in, in one long, slow thrust.

She’d forgotten how good making love could be. How long had it been?

But, no, she didn’t want the bad memories to seep in and spoil this. Live for the moment, she reminded herself. And this moment was good. Really, really good.

She stroked his back, his buttocks—lord, his gluteal muscles were as perfect as his pectorals—and then, when he ran one hand lightly up her thigh and cupped her buttocks, she wrapped her legs round his waist. Took him deeper.

Every thrust took her nearer and nearer the edge.

‘Look at me, estimada,’ he reminded her softly.

She did. And at the precise moment her climax hit again, she could see it reflected in his own eyes, in the way his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost completely black.

He wrapped his arms round her, holding her close and muttering words in Catalan which she didn’t understand, though his tone told her he was as moved by what had just happened as she was.

Eventually, Leandro withdrew. ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ he said politely.

She knew he needed to deal with the condom, but as he left the room she started to wonder what the protocol was here. She’d never had a one-night stand before. Should she stay or should she leave now?

Just as she was about to get out of bed and find her clothes, so at least she’d be dressed when he came back and wouldn’t feel quite so embarrassed about discussing it, he returned to the room—completely naked and uninhibited by his nudity—smiled at her and joined her in the bed.

‘I’m glad you didn’t decide to go.’ He put his arm round her, drawing her close so her head was resting on his shoulder. ‘I know we said neither of us want a relationship, and that hasn’t changed. But stay with me for a while.’

This was what she’d missed even more than sex.

Being cuddled.

Being held as if she were someone precious.

Something that had definitely been missing from the last months of her marriage.

And the silence wasn’t uncomfortable; she didn’t feel the need to break it. Right here, right now, in Leandro’s arms, she felt warm and safe and wanted.

Her eyelids started to drift down; although she knew she really ought to leave, maybe a few minutes’ nap wouldn’t hurt…

She stopped resisting and fell asleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

BECKY woke feeling warm and comfortable. Then she remembered it was Sunday morning and she was on a late shift. Which meant that she could have a lie-in: she could just drowse and go back to sleep.

And then two things burst into shocking clarity.

Firstly, this wasn’t her bed.

And, secondly, she was wrapped spoon-style around a hard male body, her face against his back and her arm slung comfortably round his waist.

Leandro Herrera.

Her gorgeous Catalan lover—for one night.

Oh, lord. She really shouldn’t have stayed. They’d both said this wasn’t going to be a relationship. She should’ve taken a taxi home last night.

From the regularity of his breathing, she knew that he was still sound asleep. Well, that was hardly surprising. They’d spent much of the night exploring each other, finding out just where each other liked to be stroked or kissed.

Forget the lie-in. She needed to leave. Now.

Slowly, cautiously, she slid her arm from around his waist and wriggled backwards. Leandro stirred for a moment, then rolled over onto his front.

Lord, he was gorgeous, she thought. A perfect back, broad shoulders and good muscle tone, and that beautiful smooth olive-toned skin. She was, oh, so tempted to kiss her way down his spine. Wake him up nicely.

But she knew what would happen next—and she’d end up being late for work. Which wouldn’t be a good idea.

In some respects, she really regretted what she was about to do. Physically, she and Leandro were compatible. Very compatible. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But, more than that, she’d enjoyed his company last night. Leandro was good to talk to, he was a great cook, and she’d felt comfortable with him.

Though the sensible side of her knew this was the right thing to do. Make a clean break. They weren’t going to see each other again. And even though she was tempted to break her personal rule and maybe see where their relationship took them, she didn’t want to end up in the same mess as last time—involved with a man who wanted completely different things out of life and expected her to make all the compromises. Because although Leandro seemed more domesticated than Michael had ever been, there were limits: Leandro had made it clear the previous night that his new job was going to take up all his time. Just like Michael, Leandro would be focused on his career. His job would come first, and hers…

Well, Michael had made it clear that her job wasn’t as important as his. And Becky had done with compromising.

She wasn’t prepared to give up all the years of studying and hard work she’d put into her career. She wanted to go right to the top. To become nurse consultant, and then maybe nursing director; she enjoyed helping develop her junior staff almost as much as she enjoyed treating patients.

So she dressed quietly and swiftly before tiptoeing out of Leandro’s bedroom and down the stairs. Although she could do with a shower, she didn’t want the noise of the water to wake him. Besides, it wouldn’t take her long to get home and she’d have plenty of time for a shower there.

Though she wasn’t going to vanish completely without saying goodbye—she’d been brought up to be polite.

If you could be polite with someone who’d given you mind-blowing sex the previous night.

She rummaged in her handbag for her personal organiser and removed a blank page. She wrote him a note and propped it against the kettle where he was bound to see it:

Thank you. Sorry, had to leave. B.

And she was sorry. Sorry that she couldn’t give Leandro a chance. But she had good reasons not to want to get involved, and no doubt his reasons for not wanting a relationship were equally sound.

‘Be happy,’ she said softly, glancing up the stairs, and let herself out of the house, closing the door quietly behind her.

Becky had assumed that Tanya, being on a day off, would still be asleep. So she crept into her own house as quietly as she’d crept out of Leandro’s. But when she’d clicked the door shut and turned round, Tanya was standing in the hallway. Fully dressed. And, unlike Becky, Tanya wasn’t wearing the same clothes she’d worn the previous night.

‘So where did you get to, then?’ her housemate asked with a knowing grin.

Becky smiled back. ‘Morning. I wasn’t expecting you to surface until this afternoon.’

‘It wasn’t that late a night.’ Tanya laughed. ‘Though the same clearly can’t be said for you, you dirty stop-out.’

Becky groaned. ‘Enough with the teasing.’

‘I know you sent me that text saying you were going to dinner with that guy from the party—but are you telling me you actually spent the night with him?’ She frowned. ‘I was a bit worried about you when I got your text.’

Becky flushed. ‘OK, so it was a bit of a rash thing to do. But I told you exactly where I was going and who I was with. And I kept my phone switched on. And I’m never going to take a risk like that again.’

‘He must’ve been really something,’ Tanya mused, ‘for you to break the habit of a lifetime.’

Yes. Leandro had been really something.

‘Actually, it probably did you good,’ Tanya continued thoughtfully. ‘You’ve dated such utter losers since Michael—and don’t give me that look, Rebecca Marston. You know you have.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘It’s because you’re scared of commitment—you always date dreadful men who couldn’t possibly have a future with you so they’re absolutely safe to go out with.’

‘Hey, I thought you worked in paediatrics, not on the psych team,’ Becky said lightly. Though she knew her friend had a point: she was avoiding commitment. One unhappy marriage was enough for her. She wasn’t interested in a second chance at failure—or giving her family another stick to beat her with. ‘And I have to have a shower and change or I’ll be late for my shift. Catch you later, OK?’

Tanya clapped a melodramatic hand to her chest. ‘So you mean I don’t get any of the gory details? None whatsoever?’

‘Nope.’

‘Spoilsport.’ Tanya rolled her eyes, but let her go.

When Becky she arrived at the hospital for her shift, she found the usual Sunday afternoon mix waiting for her—pulled muscles and sprains from people playing sports, plus backache from gardeners who’d made the most of the sunshine but had overdone things after a winter with no real digging, and small children who’d stuffed beads up their noses. Some of them she had to refer to the doctor, but most of the minor injuries she could deal with herself.

And the best thing about her job, she thought, was that people left with a smile. They came in to the department worried sick or in pain, and left knowing what was wrong with them and with the injury treated.

But at the end of the shift she still couldn’t get the gorgeous Catalonian man out of her head.

Maybe she should contact him.

After all, she hadn’t given him any of her details, so he had no way of contacting her—but she knew exactly where he lived…

No. Best to leave it as a fabulous memory, no complications.

To her relief, Tanya didn’t bring up the subject of the beautiful stranger that evening. Becky was on a late shift again the following morning, and when she walked into the changing room Irene, one of the staff nurses, was on her break.

‘Hi. Nice day off yesterday?’ Becky asked.

‘Brilliant. Lee and I went to my parents for the day. I love family get-togethers. I mean, we ended up having the kids all sitting round a pasting table for Sunday lunch and the rest of us crammed in around the dining table, but that didn’t matter because we had such a laugh. And Mum, bless her, always makes my favourite pudding—even though it’s three years since I lived at home.’

How different other people’s lives were, Becky thought. And how nice it must be to look forward to visiting your parents, knowing there were going to be warm hugs and conversation, instead of silences, accusations and looks of disappointment. Grandparents who spoiled you and made a fuss of you, instead of criticising everything from your dress sense to your career.

Maybe she should’ve divorced her family at the same time as she’d divorced Michael.

She shook herself. ‘So dare I ask what the new consultant’s like? Up to David’s standard?’

‘Yes.’ Irene fanned herself. ‘And I can see why Human Resources kept the information to themselves.’

Becky frowned. ‘You’ve lost me.’

‘Because there would’ve been queues of nurses—not to mention all the female doctors—who suddenly needed emergency treatment, and really needed to see our new consultant personally,’ Irene said with a grin. ‘He’s gorgeous. If I wasn’t happily married, I’d be tempted.’

Becky rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me. Tall, dark and handsome?’

‘That doesn’t even begin to cover it. We’re talking definite sex-god status.’ Irene eyed her speculatively. ‘Actually, you could…’

‘No, I couldn’t,’ Becky corrected with a smile. ‘Work and relationships don’t mix. And, anyway, he might not be my type.’

‘Box of chocolates says you fall for him,’ Irene said immediately. ‘And I’m talking about a big box. My favourites—Belgian seashells.’

‘No way.’ Becky laughed. ‘I couldn’t be so mean. You’re on a definite loser there—it’d be like taking sweeties from a baby.’

Irene tapped her nose. ‘You just wait until you meet him. You’ll change your mind.’

‘He’s probably married, with kids. He must be at least in his thirties.’

‘No, no and yes. Karen—’ the department’s senior receptionist, who knew practically everything about everyone ‘—asked him. But… No, I’m not going to spoil the surprise.’ Irene grinned. ‘You just wait.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Becky changed into her uniform and took the handover from Sarah, the nurse practitioner who’d been working in the minor injuries unit during the morning.

There was no sign of their alleged sex-god consultant.

Not that it bothered her—she was more interested in doing her job.

Her next patient was a builder. According to the initial notes taken by the triage nurse, he’d slipped from scaffolding while working on a building site, and one of his fellow builders had brought him in.

‘So it’s your right ankle, Mr Barker,’ she said as he limped in. He could clearly bear weight on it, so that was a hopeful sign that it would turn out to be a sprain rather than a fracture. ‘Take a seat. Can you tell me what happened?’

‘Slipped off the scaffolding—I was only a couple of feet up.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Talk about stupid.’

‘Easily done,’ she said sympathetically. ‘How did you land?’

‘My right foot went under me—it felt as if I twisted my ankle.’

‘And how does it feel now?’

‘Throbs, and hurts like hell when I try to stand on it.’

‘Do you mind if I examine you?’

‘Sure.’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry about the boots. They smell a bit. I’ve got sweaty feet.’

She smiled at him. ‘Trust me, we’ve had far worse in here.’ Gently, she examined his ankle. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s a sprain, but because of the way you landed I’m going to send you for an X-ray, just to make sure. Before I do, I just need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.’ She quickly took his medical history, checked that he wasn’t on any medication, gave him some ibuprofen to help with the swelling and pain, and wrote out a form. ‘If your friend can help you down the corridor to the X-ray department, take this form to the reception area and they’ll sort you out. Then come back here and I’ll see you when the results are back.’ She smiled at him. ‘Sorry about the wait.’

‘That’s all right, petal.’

She wrote up the notes and called in her next patient. Judging from the wet teatowel wrapped round the woman’s hand, she’d guess at a burn.

‘Can you tell me what happened, Mrs Tennant?’

‘I can’t believe I were that stupid,’ Mrs Tennant said, looking exasperated with herself. ‘I’d put the kettle on and I reached into the cupboard to get the teabags. My daughter’s home from school with a stinking cold and she called out to me—and I just stood there with my arm stretched over the kettle, not thinking, when I called back to find out what she wanted. Course, I moved me arm the minute I felt the heat, but it were too late.’

‘When did it happen?’

‘Half an hour back. I got a taxi. My neighbour did first aid at work and she put a clean wet teatowel over it, and she said I ought to come here because it’s my hand.’ She bit her lip. ‘She’s looking after my Jessie. I hate putting other folk out, but she said there were nowt for it but to come here.’

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