Picking up the Pieces
Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

NICK DAVIDSON Was Lonely.

Not just alone. He was used to that. He’d been alone for years, since he’d conceded defeat over his disastrous marriage.

Now, for the first time, he was lonely — lonely, and suffering from a severely deflated ego.

He’d always told himself that if he’d wanted to, if he’d really made the effort, he could get Jennifer back.

‘Well, you were wrong, old buddy,’ he muttered.

He glanced round without interest.

It was a typical room in a typical hospital residence — clean, the décor uninspired and marred by little patches on the wall where Sellotape had stripped tiny sections of the shiny paint. This paint was a nondescript cream, not dissimilar to the room at the Audley where he had spent the past two months trying to woo Jennifer back.

He snorted softly.

Fat chance he had stood. She had got married again on Christmas Eve, to a man for whom Nick had the utmost — if grudging — respect. And Tim, Nick’s son, would live with them.

That hurt. The rest — watching her standing beside Andrew as they made their vows, seeing the love in her eyes for another man — none of that had hurt him, although he had thought it would. No, only Tim.

Nick blinked hard and focused his eyes on the that would be his home now for the next few months, until either the post was made permanent or he moved on. His flat was too far away to be of use in this job, and so he had given up his lease, ready anyway for a change of scenery. Perhaps he’d buy a little house if he settled here.

For now, though, it was home, if that wasn’t too evocative a word for the barren little cell he was standing in. Barren and hot. They were all either too hot or too cold. This one was scorching, and Nick threw open the window.

It was New Year’s Eve, and bitterly cold, but it hardly seemed to penetrate the emptiness inside him.

The residence, the teaching block and the old wing of the hospital formed four sides of a square, and in the centre a group of early revellers were singing and dancing round the frozen fountain.

At this rate, he thought sourly, they’ll be out for the count by eleven o’clock and miss all the jollity.

He shut the window again to drown out the noise of their singing and threw himself down on the bed.

The springs growled in protest.

Nick gave a wry snort. That was all he needed — a bed that would keep him awake all night!

There were voices in the corridor now, people laughing, someone yelling something about a party.

But no one was about to invite him, because there was no one who knew him yet. Anyway, he didn’t feel much like celebrating.

Instead, intending to find the orthopaedic wards and make himself known, he tugged on a jumper, slipped his wallet into the back pocket of his trousers and stepped out into the corridor.

Something soft and delicately scented hit him square in the chest, and his hands flew up automatically.

The girl was slim, her shoulders fragile under his hands, her sparkling green-gold eyes framed by a soft mass of gleaming golden curls. She straightened and laughed up at him. ‘Sorry!’ she apologised, and Nick smiled slightly.

‘My pleasure.’

‘Oh!’ A soft flush coloured her cheeks, and her smile faltered. Then it reappeared, and she continued, slightly breathlessly, ‘I’m Cassie — Cassie Blake. You’re new, aren’t you? I saw you moving in earlier.’

He nodded. ‘I’m the orthopaedic SR. Name’s Nick Davidson.’

Her smile dimpled her cheeks. ‘Well, hi. I’m a theatre sister up there — I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of you. Ciao for now!’ She moved away with a little waggle of her fingers in farewell, then turned back. ‘Just a thought — are you doing anything tonight?’

He shook his head. ‘No, nothing. Thought I’d go and introduce myself on the wards.’

She pulled a face. ‘There’s hardly anyone to meet up there. Come to the party — most of them will be there. I’m on duty so I’ll probably be in and out, but I can introduce you round, if you like?’

Suddenly, wandering round the hospital on his own didn’t appeal any more. Nick grinned. ‘Done — give me two ticks to change.’

She ran her eyes over his jeans and cotton sweater, and shook her head, setting the pale gold hair dancing again. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and he felt the loneliness recede a little. ‘You’re fine. Come as you are.’

And so he found himself in the bar, shaking hands, forgetting names almost before they were spoken, smiling and laughing and telling jokes, yelling above the increasing din, until at a quarter to twelve Cassie found him again, her face worried.

‘Have you seen Trevor Armitage?’ she yelled.

He frowned. ‘Rings a bell. I don’t know — what does he look like?’

She grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the noisy bar into the corridor.

‘That’s better. He’s short, fair hair, moustache — he’s the other orthopaedic reg. There’s a whole scad of RTAs out there and we need him, but he isn’t answering his bleep — oh, damn, this is typical.’

‘Er — I think I saw him headed for the loo — let me go and check.’

Nick turned back into the cacophony of the bar and made his way across the crowded floor to the gents’.

There, sprawled across the floor with a sickly smile on his face, was a man with fair hair and a moustache.

‘Are you Trevor?’ Nick asked him.

‘Might be … Who wansh to know?’ he slurred.

Nick straightened. ‘Forget it, friend, you aren’t doing anything tonight.’

He headed back out and found Cassie waiting for him by the door.

‘Well?’

‘Out for the count.’

‘Oh, damn — what are you doing for the next few hours?’

He grinned in defeat. ‘Operating?’

‘Are you sober?’

Nick nodded. ‘Better than him — I’ve been on mineral water since ten, and I only had two drinks before that.’

Cassie’s face lit up. ‘Great. Come on, the team’s waiting. When does your contract start officially?’

Nick glanced at his watch. ‘In about six minutes?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Oh, my … He is gorge-ous!’

‘Hmm?’

Cassie tried to drag her eyes away from the mirror and her inch-by-inch inspection of Nick, scantily clad in theatre greens, the short sleeves amply displaying his lean, well-muscled arms with their dark scatter of hair; there was more of the same hair clustered at the base of his throat, curling slightly against the edge of the V. It looked impossibly soft. She wondered how it would feel ——

‘Ah-hem.’

‘What?’ She jumped guiltily and blinked at her colleague. ‘Sorry, Mary-Jo, did you say something?’

Mary-Jo chuckled. ‘Pardon me for interrupting! I said, he’s gorgeous. Six feet of solid M-A-N — whoo-whee!’

Oh! Well, I suppose so, if he’s your type…’ Cassie hastily stuffed her hair under her cap and skewered it with grips, and tried to ignore Mary-Jo’s soft laughter behind her.

‘Oh, yes, he’s my type … I wonder if he’s single?’

‘Haven’t got a clue.’

‘I’ll have to find out.’ Mary-Jo practised her smile in the mirror beside Cassie, and then winked at her. ‘We can’t have all that testosterone going to waste — criminal!’

Cassie laughed. ‘You’re disgusting.’

‘No, I’m realistic. It wouldn’t hurt you to be exposed to a little testosterone every now and again. In fact, I’ll be generous. As a seasonal gesture of goodwill, I’ll let you have him — how about that for a New Year present?’

‘Wasted,’ Cassie said drily.

Mary-Jo shrugged. ‘Oh, well, don’t say I didn’t offer, but there’s a limit to my generosity, and he is quite spectacularly gorgeous …!’

Gorgeous? Gorgeous didn’t even begin to touch it, Cassie thought. All afternoon she’d noticed him, carrying stuff in and pottering in and out of his room, and then their meeting — well! Crashing into his chest was just calculated to do unbelievable things to her blood-pressure, but surely to goodness it should have settled down by now!

And she was going to be working with him, though how she had no idea. Every time she looked up, he seemed to fill her vision, and her heart seemed to have acquired a unique rhythm all of its own tonight.

Lord knows what’s so special about him, she thought. He wasn’t particularly tall — maybe six feet, certainly not much more — not particularly broad, although what she could see of him was beautifully put together; all in all, he was pretty average, really, except for those eyes. That was it, the eyes, that amazing, shatteringly clear blue — or was it the way that oh, so soft dark hair flopped over his eyes, or the little-boy grin, lop-sided and appealing?

She shook her head hard to clear it, muttering under her breath, and jumped when his soft, husky voice sounded in her ear.

‘OK?’

She swallowed, forced herself to meet those beautiful eyes in the mirror and nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Let’s go, then. The patient’s up here.’

She had already introduced him to the rest of the team, and now she watched as he quietly took charge as soon as the anaesthetist handed over.

He had studied the X-rays and decided to use an external fixator on the shattered tibia exposed by the sterile drapes.

‘Circulation’s a bit iffy — I want to see if I can improve that. Maybe when the bones are realigned the pressure might ease.’

After cleaning the wound and manipulating the bones back into approximate alignment, he concentrated for a while on the blood vessels, and Cassie was fascinated to watch him. He worked swiftly and economically, causing as little disruption to the tissues as possible.

She had seen other surgeons clearing such a large area of skin away from the field that the skin subsequently died and had to be replaced with grafts.

Not so with Nick. He was steady, thorough and absolutely meticulous, completely absorbed in his task, and Cassie found herself able to anticipate exactly what he needed and have it ready to give him at the precise second he needed it. As the operation proceeded, they found their minds and hands meshing in a carefully orchestrated dance, as if they were one.

It was exciting, totally absorbing, and she felt as if they’d been working together for years. There were no hitches, no hold-ups, no words needed bar the absolute minimum.

Compared to the way she worked with Trevor, it was a miracle, but then Trevor often did what she would not have done. Perhaps that was the answer. Nick seemed blessed with a methodical logic that was a gift to follow — or perhaps he was just her sort of person.

She didn’t want to think about that. The last time she had worked with a surgeon who was ‘her sort of person’, he had turned out to be someone else’s sort of person, too — and that person had been his wife.

The hurt had been deep, and the wariness still lingered, three years later. Oh, there were dates, but nothing serious, nothing — well, physical. Not now. Not since Simon.

Nick shifted slightly and she was instantly aware of the change of pressure between them, standing as they were so close together. She tried to move away, but it was impossible without moving the trolley, so she was forced to stand there, his hip hard against hers, desperately conscious of the warmth of his body and the subtle flex of muscle in his thigh as he shifted again.

He held out his hand, and she blindly reached for the trolley and slapped an instrument in his hand.

There was a little snicker from Mary-Jo, and Nick sighed pointedly.

Her eyes flew up to his face, and the blaze of fury and contempt in his eyes took her breath away. Horrified, she looked down at his hand and saw a scalpel lying there.

‘How the hell am I meant to suture him with that?’

His voice was cutting, and she felt the flush crawl up her throat and stain her cheeks. ‘Sorry, I was thinking about something else,’ she mumbled helplessly.

‘Evidently. I want —’

‘I know what you want,’ she muttered, reaching for the suture.

He said something under his breath. It could have been ‘You and me both,’ but she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t about to ask him to repeat it, anyway. She was ready with the suture but his admonishment had wounded her and she bit her lip.

She wouldn’t be much use either to him or to the patient if she couldn’t keep her mind on the job!

It seemed to take forever, but finally he was satisfied that the circulation and nerve supply was restored as well as possible. At last the fixator was screwed home, and the patient wheeled out to recovery.

As he moved away to talk to the anaesthetist about the next case, she checked her instruments, wheeled the trolley out and stripped off her gloves.

Her hands were shaking, but whether from the contact with his body or the reaction to his anger she didn’t know. It was going to be a long old night.

It was, every minute of it as long as she could have imagined, and fraught with difficult cases. As Nick said, it was the anaesthetist who had the hardest job, because several of their patients had had a skinful and their systems were already severely depressed, but she would have swapped with the anaesthetist in a second. Anything rather than stand hip to hip with a man whose temper had scalded her.

Not that she hadn’t deserved it; although her lapse hadn’t been that major, it had thrown his concentration. Not hers, though. Hers had already been thrown, or she wouldn’t have done anything so stupid. Even so, she had been unprepared for the anger in his eyes — not to mention the contempt. And they had been working so well together until then …

One man was seriously touch and go, and when the anaesthetist reported a plummeting blood-pressure Nick shook his head and stood back.

‘He doesn’t need me. He’s got comparatively little bleeding from this femur — he needs someone to take a look inside that abdomen.’

‘Spleen?’ the anaesthetist murmured, and Nick nodded.

‘I reckon. He was the driver, wasn’t he? I think he’s got an encapsulated haemorrhage, and I’m not going to go rooting about in there. Is there anyone available?’

‘Ted’s on, isn’t he?’ Cassie said quietly.

Stephen, the anaesthetist, nodded. ‘I believe so.’

Mary-Jo, the circulating nurse, left the room at Cassie’s signal, and came back moments later.

‘The switchboard are paging him. He’s in the hospital.’

He appeared within seconds, and within minutes was scrubbed and opening the man up.

‘Ouch,’ he muttered. ‘Splenectomy — that’ll get his new year off to a good start!’

They were running whole blood into him as fast as possible, and as soon as the blood supply to the spleen was clamped his condition started to pick up immediately.

‘Lucky.’

The surgeon peered at Nick over the patient. ‘He may not think so when he comes round. What are you going to do about the femur?’

Nick frowned. ‘I’ll have to pin it — it’s a nasty spiral. If we could do it with traction I would, but it’ll just slide every time he moves and he’ll be back to square one. I’ll let you finish and see how he is.’

‘He seems stable now,’ the anaesthetist told them from the head of the table.

Ted shrugged. ‘You carry on — I’ve done the tricky stuff. Just warn me if you’re going to hammer anything and shake him about so I don’t stick a suture into his aorta.’

Nick grinned, his eyes crinkling above the mask. ‘OK. Here we go, then.’

They worked well together, pausing for each other occasionally, and when they were finished and the man was taken away they left the operating-room and went into the staff lounge in the theatre suite.

‘New, aren’t you?’ Ted asked, eyeing Nick over his coffee.

Nick grinned at Cassie, his anger apparently forgotten. ‘Ah — you could say that. Actually I’m supposed to start officially on Tuesday, but technically my contract runs from the first of January, so I guess I’m on the staff as of about —’ he glanced up at the clock ‘— six hours ago.’

‘Is that the time?’ Cassie asked incredulously.

The ODA popped his head round the door. ‘That’s all, folks. All quiet on the Western front.’

‘Well thank the lord,’ Mary-Jo said with a heartfelt sigh, and, kicking off her rubber boots, she curled up in the chair and rubbed her feet.

Now how does she manage to look elegant doing that? Cassie wondered in amazement. Even more amazing was the sudden realisation that Nick didn’t even seem to have noticed, but was turning to her, just as her mouth opened in an enormous yawn.

He followed suit, displaying a full set of even, gleaming white teeth, and then chuckled.

‘I wonder why yawning’s so infectious?’ she said with a strained little laugh.

Nick’s mouth lifted in a heart-stopping, crooked grin. ‘Defence mechanism. If you yawn, perhaps your body knows something mine doesn’t, so if I yawn, I’ve covered my bases without having to go to the effort of finding out why.’

‘You’re crazy,’ she told him, her voice uncooperatively breathless.

‘Mmm. Fancy some breakfast? I’m starved. I didn’t get round to eating last night, and I could eat a horse.’

Cassie’s stomach rumbled in anticipation, and she clapped a hand over it and giggled. ‘Betrayed! How can I pretend otherwise?’

His smile was slow and lazy. ‘Your body’s not very good at keeping secrets, is it?’

She flushed, suddenly aware of him again and wondering what else her body was giving away apart from exhaustion and hunger. Oh, lord, had he known what she was thinking when she handed him the wrong instrument?

Nick unwound his legs and stood up, holding out a hand to pull her to her feet.

‘Come on, then, let’s get out of this fancy dress and go and find some food.’

They disappeared into their separate shower-rooms, and emerged a few minutes later looking much refreshed. Nick could have done with a shave and Cassie felt her make-up needed a bit of attention, but, considering the night they had had, she felt they looked pretty respectable.

She was unprepared, however, for Nick’s open appreciation over breakfast in the gloomy canteen.

She paused, a loaded fork hovering in front of her mouth, and met his eyes.

‘Have I got a smut on my nose?’ she joked to break the tension.

‘I didn’t realise eating could be so erotic,’ he said softly, and she felt hot colour flood her cheeks.

She set her fork down again.

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘Am I?’ His gaze was hot, intent, and he took a bite of toast and ran his tongue round his lips to retrieve the crumbs. ‘Really?’

Cassie’s heart jerked against her ribs, and she looked away, taking refuge in her coffee.

‘You’re beautiful.’

She choked into her cup.

‘And you’re nuts,’ she croaked, glaring balefully at him over the remains of her coffee.

His mouth lifted again, one side tilting slightly higher to lend a touch of piracy to his lean, shadowed cheeks and wickedly twinkling blue eyes. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘You look like a pirate,’ she said without thought, and his smile widened.

He leant towards her, and his hair flopped forward again; her fingers itched to smooth it back. ‘Is that your private fantasy?’ he murmured. ‘To be captured and dragged off on to the high seas, condemned to a life of sexual slavery at the hands of the autocratic pirate king?’

She snorted inelegantly. ‘Sounds like your private fantasy to me,’ she told him bluntly.

His grin was wicked. ‘You’ve found me out. Finish your breakfast — I promise not to ogle.’

But her appetite had gone, replaced instead by another hunger, one long suppressed.

‘I don’t want any more,’ she told him, and pushed back her chair, glancing at her watch. ‘It hardly seems worth going to bed,’ she said rashly, and could have bitten her tongue out as his brows arched speculatively.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

She glared at him, trying hard to ignore the beating of her heart and the slow spread of warmth through her veins.

He stood up too. ‘I’ll walk you back to your room.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘There’s every need. I don’t know where you sleep. How can I indulge my fantasies without knowing where you sleep?’

‘Precisely my point,’ she retorted, but her heart beat even faster. She had to get away.

‘I’ll follow you,’ he taunted softly.

She turned to glare at him, hands on hips, and met the challenge in his laughing eyes.

She chuckled, defeated. ‘You would, as well. All right, you can walk me to the door, but you’re not coming in.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Hmph.’

They made their way through the corridors of the awakening hospital, bustling now with the new shift coming on, the cleaners timing their assault on the floors to coincide exactly with the busiest period.

It was worse in the residence, with doors banging and water running, radios blaring, occasional laughter, the odd plea for quiet from some overhung young reveller desperate for a few more hours of oblivion.

‘Here we are,’ she said, and turned her back to the door. ‘My flat — or “flatette”. It isn’t really big enough to be called a flat, but it’s home, and it’s a sight cheaper and cleaner than the only sort of hovel I could find in London —’ I’m babbling, she thought frantically, but she didn’t know how to get rid of him. Try the blunt approach, she told herself. She forced herself to meet those lazy, knowing blue eyes.

‘Thank you for breakfast. Goodbye —’

‘But you’re not safely in. You might have lost your keys, or you could have had an intruder —’

‘Nice try, Mr Davidson. Bye-bye.’

He grinned appealingly. ‘Thirty seconds? There’s something I have to say to you.’

‘Can’t you say it out here?’

He pulled a thoughtful face. ‘It’s a little sensitive. It’s about your — er — lapse in Theatre.’

She whipped the door open and dragged him in, shutting the door and leaning back against it.

‘I’m sorry about that. I was…’

‘Distracted?’ he supplied helpfully. ‘So was I. I believe I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I was rather unkind to you, and it was just because I was…’

‘Distracted?’ she suggested, and his mouth softened.

‘Completely. All I could think about was the feel of your body pressed up against me, and every time I tried to shift away from you you followed me —’

‘I didn’t! I was trying to get away, and you kept following me!’ Heat flared in her cheeks. His voice was like a caress, and she could feel again the heat of his thigh against hers, the shift of his hip, the hardness of his leg muscles as he braced himself …

‘You could have moved the trolley. Whatever, I’m sorry I embarrassed you publicly.’

She blinked. That was it? She had expected a mild reproof, at the very least, if not an outright dressing-down — certainly not what amounted to a full-scale apology! And in that soft, coaxing voice, like rough velvet.

He had turned and was looking round her bed-sitting-room with interest.

As well he might, she thought with a sudden flare of embarrassment. Her undies were draped over the radiator to dry, scraps of silk and lace, her one major weakness. Hurriedly she scooped them up and shoved them into a drawer, her cheeks flaming.

He was looking at her Christmas cards, his mouth twitching as he pretended to ignore her embarrassment.

‘Um …’ she began, but then floundered to a halt. How could she get rid of him before she made a total fool of herself?

He straightened, as if he read her mind. ‘I’m just going, but before I do, one last thing.’

He crossed the room slowly, purposefully, and held out a card to her.

‘See this?’ he said softly.

It was a picture of a sprig of mistletoe. Belatedly it dawned on her what he was going to do, but she was too late to move, and anyway, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

‘Happy New Year,’ he murmured, and, holding the card over their heads, he wrapped his other arm round her, drew her up against his chest and lowered his mouth to hers.

The sensation was electric, his lips soft and yet firm against hers, and she could feel his heartbeat against her own. She gave a little cry, and he took instant advantage to deepen the kiss.

Dimly she was aware of the card fluttering to the floor as his hands came up to cup her face and steady her against his onslaught, and then she was aware of nothing except the heat of his mouth, the urgent rhythm of his tongue and the way her body ached to know him.

Her hands were on his back, and through the soft cotton of his sweater she could feel the muscles ripple as she kneaded them with her palms.

‘Cassie,’ he groaned, and his hands left her face, one sliding down her back to ease her hips more firmly against his, the other coming round to cup her breast in his large, skilful hand.

One hard thigh nudged between hers, and his mouth abandoned its exploration of her jaw to return to her lips, sucking and nibbling, then soothing with the moist velvet of his tongue.

He was trembling, his body taut with passion, and she arched against him, desperate to eradicate even the tiny space still left between them. There was no thought of stopping him, no way she could find the resolve to push him aside. Her mind had surrendered absolutely to her body’s needs, and at that moment in time, she needed this almost-stranger with the laughing eyes and the ready wit and the clever, clever mouth.

Just then his clever mouth lifted from hers, and he rested his cheek on her hair, his hand leaving her breast to cup the back of her head and tenderly smooth the tousled curls.

Oh, Cassie,’ he said softly after several minutes, and then eased away from her.

His mouth was softly swollen from their kisses, his hair mussed, his eyes dark with wanting.

‘You were right,’ he told her gently, and his voice shook. ‘You shouldn’t have let me in.’

Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, and she sat down with a plonk on the edge of the bed, stunned.

She tried to analyse what had happened, but her brain didn’t seem able to co-operate. She was awash with sensation, her body alive and tingling, and the only thing that penetrated her awareness was the dull ache of longing that kept her awake for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER TWO

NICK was stunned.

OK, it had been a long time — nearly a year, in fact, the longest he had been without a woman since he had gone to college.

Even so …

He dropped on to the bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling and rerunning the last few hours.

It had all started in Theatre, of course, with the subtle warmth of her body soft against his side, the slight shift of her hip, the delicate fragrance of her hair — or had it? Had it started when she had crashed into him, her soft breasts pressed against his chest, that same delicate fragrance invading his nostrils and tangling in his senses?

He could smell her still, a faint trace of the scent lingering on his jumper — and small wonder. He had got close enough to her, for God’s sake!

And yet not close enough. His body ached, the heavy fullness taunting him. He closed his eyes and groaned, shifting his jeans to ease the pressure.

Who was he trying to kid? Only one thing would ease it, and, even at his worst, he would have balked at falling so easily into bed with a woman he had just barely met.

He was too old for this, for the raging hormones of adolescence, the uncontrollable reaction of his body, the shattering, all-consuming need for sex. What he needed was a relationship, a full, balanced, mature relationship based on considerably more than just lust.

He rolled on to his front and groaned.

Ok, his mind knew all that. Try telling his body!

He did — for the next two hours. Then he went up to the ward and checked on his patients, to find a pale but unchastened Trevor slumped in the sister’s office swilling black coffee. He glared at Nick balefully.

‘I gather you did a magnificent job.’

Nick snorted. ‘Well, one of us had to, and you were clearly in no condition to be let loose near a patient.’

‘Yes, well, I should keep that to yourself, old chap. Family contacts and so on — wouldn’t look good for the new boy to cast aspersions…’

He levered himself up and groaned involuntarily, then forced a smile. ‘I’ll return the favour one day.’

Nick stepped back out of his way. ‘That won’t be necessary — I like to remain sober when I’m on duty.’

Trevor stopped. ‘I don’t think you’ve been listening tome.’

‘Oh, I have — and I didn’t like what I heard. I won’t be intimidated, I don’t care who the hell you’re related to. If you foul up again, I’ll report you.’

Trevor gave a short, contemptuous laugh. ‘I’m terrified. Excuse me.’

Nick watched him go, disgust and anger warring within him. There was nothing he hated more than people using their contacts — unless it was being threatened by those people.

He went back out into the ward and found the staff nurse on duty at the work station. After discussing last night’s patients with her, he went back to his room, picked up a coat and walked the deserted streets around the hospital until the light faded.

Then he returned to his room, exhausted, and threw himself down on to the bed.

Perhaps now he could sleep, he thought, but the faintest trace of Cassie’s fragrance drifted off his clothes still and he groaned, still tormented by the memory of her sweet softness cradled against him.

Was there no peace?

There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to get to know her — fast!

Cassie had given up all attempts at sleep and was making a cup of tea when the knock came on the door late that afternoon.

She opened it, and stepped back in surprise.

‘Nick!’

He grinned, a little sheepishly, and thrust a bunch of flowers at her. ‘For you.’

She took them, flustered, and then found she was holding a handful of wet stems.

She met his laughing eyes suspiciously. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘One of the wards.’ His grin was infectious, but she tried not to be influenced.

‘I should make you take them back.’

‘No point — she’s gone home without them. Discharged herself. Can I come in?’

She stood back and he pushed the door shut behind him and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

She glanced down at the flowers. They were lovely, their bright jewel colours bringing sunshine into the room. So what if he had lifted them from a ward? She smiled at his cheekiness.

‘So, to what do I owe these…?’ She gestured with the flowers, and he smiled slightly.

‘I owe you an apology,’ he said eventually. ‘I came on to you like a hyperactive schoolboy — I’m sorry.’

Good lord, he was flushing! Cassie hid her smile.

‘Please, don’t worry. It was sort of mutual.’

He snorted with laughter. ‘I beg to differ. No schoolboy ever came on to me like that before!’

The giggle escaped before she could stop it. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. Look, I was just making tea — would you like some?’

He looked slightly surprised — as if he was expecting her to throw him out. She probably should.

She dumped the flowers in the sink, washed her hands and wiped them on her jeans. God knows where the towel was.

‘Yes or no?’

His gaze dragged up from her hips and focused blankly on her eyes. ‘What?’

‘Tea.’

He flushed again. ‘Yes — please.’

‘How do you like it?’

His eyes flew up to hers, startled, and then fluttered shut.

‘On second thoughts, perhaps this isn’t such a good idea,’ he muttered. His voice sounded strained, slightly choked. He went to turn away but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

‘Nick? Why did you come?’

He sighed and turned back to her. His eyes were staggeringly blue, clear and bright and filled with conflicting emotions.

‘I wanted to get to know you. I’ve been thinking about you all day. You’re driving me crazy. I want you. It’s ridiculous; we have to work together. I thought if we spent some time just talking, getting to know each other — perhaps it would all simmer down and we could — oh, hell, I don’t know. You got any good ideas?’

She shook her head, compelled by his honesty to be truthful. ‘None. I feel the same. Nuts, isn’t it?’

Her smile was tentative, uncertain, and Nick felt the tension inside him ease a little.

‘Absolutely crazy,’ he agreed. ‘White, no sugar.’

Her jaw sagged a little, and then the smile broke out in earnest and brushed her eyes with gold. ‘Find yourself a seat.’

He looked at the bed — tugged up rather than made, the cover still turned back, doubtless laden with that delicate fragrance — and chose the solitary chair for the sake of his sanity.

‘So,’ she handed him a mug, dropped on to the bed and hitched her legs up, crossing her bare feet at the ankle, ‘what do you want to know?’

‘Everything — anything. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight.’

His brows shot up. ‘Really? You don’t look it.’

‘You’re supposed to say that to ladies in their eighties,’ she teased.

He felt a grin pluck at his lips.

‘Touché. What else? Oh — where did you train?’

‘The Westminster. You?’

‘Barts. Did you know Simon and Jodie Reeve?’

The question was totally unexpected, and Cassie felt shock crawl over her skin. She managed to answer, though, but her voice sounded strained to her ears.

‘I worked with Simon for a while. I only met Jodie once.’ The once she had come and begged Cassie not to ruin her marriage — the marriage Cassie hadn’t known existed.

They split up about three years ago — some heartless bitch got her claws into him.’

She controlled the urge to deny it, to tell him that she hadn’t been heartless, just endlessly, blindly, stupidly in love with a manipulative snake and a compulsive liar. Instead she simply nodded. ‘So I gather. I’d left by then.’ She took a steadying breath and changed the subject — fast. ‘So, about you — how old are you?’

‘Thirty-three. Have you ever been married?’

‘No. How about you? Are you married?’

He shook his head. ‘No. No, I’m not married.’ Not any more. He wasn’t ready to enlarge on that, though. It was all too fresh, too raw. He turned the conversation back to her.

‘Anyone special in your life? Anybody you love?’

She thought of Simon. She had loved him once, or so she thought, but not now, and maybe not ever. She shook her head. ‘No, no one special. No one at all, actually.’ Her smile was wistful, and covered a wealth of loneliness. ‘How about you?’

Only Tim, he thought, but she didn’t mean that, and, if he wasn’t ready to talk about Jennifer, he certainly wasn’t ready to talk about his son. ‘No. I am, as they say, footloose and fancy free.’

‘The perennial bachelor,’ she teased, and he smiled slightly.

‘Sort of. Are you doing anything tonight?’

‘No-why?’

‘Come out for dinner.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Nick.’

‘No strings, I promise.’

‘No goodnight kiss?’

There was a long pause that zinged with tension, and then his mouth twisted into that one-sided grin that melted all her resolve.

‘Maybe just a little one.’

‘And then another, and another, and before you know it —’

‘No kiss, then.’

‘Promise?’

His eyes softened with rueful humour. ‘I promise.’

‘Seven, then. I don’t want to be late tonight, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow — family lunch.’

‘That’s fine, I could do with an early night myself. I’ll pick you up.’

He stood up, and she unwound her legs and slid off the bed. ‘Er — how dressy? Like, jeans, ball gown — which?’

‘Is that the choice?’

His grin was infectious. ‘I do have one or two things in between,’ she told him with heavy irony.

He paused, then shot her a keen look. ‘Do you like dancing?’

‘Dancing?’

‘Yes — you know, jiggling about to music —’

‘OK, OK — yes, I love dancing!’

‘Good. We’ll go dancing. Wear something —’ he waved his hands expansively ‘— dressy and appropriate.’

‘Dressy — appropriate — right. OK, out. If you’re taking me dancing, I need time to prepare.’

He grinned and winked. ‘I can hardly wait.’

Cassie’s heart was thudding and her palms felt clammy by seven o’clock. She had dragged the entire contents of her wardrobe out and ferreted through them in growling desperation. The only thing — absolutely the only thing she could possibly look right in for what Nick had in mind was practically topless and virtually bottomless as well.

Black, tight, the ruched satin bodice miraculously clinging to her slight breasts and hugging her ribs and waist, the skirt full from the hip and outrageously short, it was sexy, fun, provocative and totally over the top.

It was also the only thing in her wardrobe other than black leggings and a sequin-studded camisole that was remotely dressy, and she hardly ever got the chance to wear it.

She found a soft black wool shawl that covered her almost completely, and draped it round her shoulders.

Instantly better. With the spangled tights and the high, strappy sandals she felt ready to dance the night away, and that was just what she was going to do!

She was just doing a last twirl in front of the mirror when she heard a firm stride stop at her door, and then a sharp knock.

She opened the door, and totally forgot her nerves.

He looked stunning. She had thought he was attractive tired and rumpled at the end of a long night’s operating — like this, freshly showered and shaved, with a sparkling white shirt, silk bowtie and dinner suit, he was devastating.

He was also standing in her doorway with his mouth hanging slightly open — much like hers.

She collected herself and found a smile, suddenly shy. ‘Come in.’

‘Ah — um …’He cleared his throat and met her eyes again. ‘You look…’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Are you ready?’

She nodded.

‘Come on, then, I’ve got a taxi outside.’

His hand on the small of her back was firm and warm, and he didn’t remove it until he opened the car door and ushered her in.

They went to a club she had never been to, but Nick was clearly known. The woman behind the desk almost oozed over the top.

‘Hello, there. Long time no see. Thought you’d deserted us.’

‘Would I, Janet?’ he said lightly, and placing his hand firmly in the small of Cassie’s back again, he guided her towards the restaurant.

‘Nick — good to see you again. How was Suffolk?’

‘Fine — Carlo, this is Cassie Blake. She’s very special. I hope you’ve saved us somewhere romantic.’

Carlo winked at her. ‘Always the romantic — you known this guy long?’

She smiled self-consciously. ‘Twenty-four hours?’

‘Ah — love at first sight! For you, I have the best table…’

It was, indeed, wonderfully romantic, screened by lush plants and bathed in soft music. Although it was still very early by London standards, it was already busy, but tucked away in their leafy nook they could have been quite alone.

They ate, and drank, and talked softly, though what food and drink and words crossed her lips Cassie couldn’t say. She was totally absorbed in Nick, to the exclusion of anything and everything else.

And later, when the tempo changed and the music grew lively, he led her on to the dance-floor and they danced for hours.

He was incredible, but so easy to dance with. His movements were fluid, his body graceful, but always in tune with hers, sometimes leading, sometimes following, always together. It was like being in Theatre with him, she thought, perfectly attuned, anticipating each other as if they had danced together for years.

After a few dances the band struck up a rock ‘n’ roll number, and Nick pulled her close. ‘Can you jive?’ he asked.

She laughed in delight. ‘Can a bird fly?’

He kissed her briefly and then threw her out to the end of his arm, reeling her in again and twirling her under before turning her to face him.

She matched him move for move, and, as his steps grew more complicated and daring, so she kept up without missing a beat.

As the dance finished he pulled her close and kissed her soundly. ‘You’re fantastic!’ he laughed breathlessly. ‘Oh, Cass…’

They jived again and again, and then when the tempo slowed they came together, swaying gently in each other’s arms, trapped by the spell of the music and the magic they found in each other’s eyes.

At last he led her back to their table and asked Carlo to call them a taxi.

‘You wanted an early night,’ he said apologetically.

She realised with amazement that it was almost three o’clock, but she didn’t care.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said softly, and there were stars in her eyes.

‘Cassie…’

He took her hand and wrapped it in his, then led her to the door.

The receptionist gave Cassie an envious look but she ignored it, too wrapped up in Nick even to notice.

There was no question in her mind, no doubt, no hesitation.

As the taxi dropped them off at the hospital gates, Nick turned to her.

‘I don’t think I’d better come to your room with you tonight. I made you a promise — somehow I have a feeling I’ll end up breaking it.’

She slid her hand up his arm and on to his chest, feeling the heavy beating of his heart against her palm. Her own heart was beating faster, too, racing against her ribs and making it hard to breath. Her voice was soft, deep, a little husky.

‘What if I release you from that promise?’

He swallowed convulsively. ‘Cassie…’

‘Come on.’

She slid her hand back down his arm and threaded her fingers through his. They tightened protectively, and she felt a wave of tenderness wash over her.

It would be wonderful. He would be gentle, and caring, and the heat would flare between them, melting away any last reservations and leaving them complete …

‘I have to get something from my room,’ he said softly, and they walked swiftly down the corridor, impatient to be alone.

He paused at his door, a frown of consternation on his face as he read the note pinned to it.

Oh, damn…’

‘What?’

‘I’m needed in Theatre for some reason. I’ll have to go.’

‘Trevor,’ she said heavily. ‘Again.’

He turned to her, his eyes still dark with passion. ‘Cassie, I’m sorry…’

She swallowed her disappointment. ‘There’ll be another day.’

‘I must go…’

She watched him stride away, his legs eating up the corridor, until he turned at the end and was gone.

Because New Year’s Day had been a Saturday, the following Monday was a bank holiday and so the hospital didn’t get back to its normal routine until Tuesday, and it was Tuesday morning in Theatre before she saw Nick again.

As he walked in, her heart stopped in its tracks and then crashed back to life again, and he headed straight for her, a smile lighting up his eyes.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi, yourself. How’ve you been getting on?’

He laughed shortly. ‘Busy. I seem to have alienated Trevor — whenever he’s supposed to be on call, he shoves off and tells them to get me.’

‘Doesn’t that make you sick? Just because his father’s a big shot he thinks he can do whatever he likes.’

‘Who is his father?’ Nick asked curiously.

‘Old man Armitage? He’s the top cardio-thoracic surgeon — and he’s a big wheel in the trust, as well.’

Nick groaned. ‘That’ll teach me to open my mouth.’

‘What?’

He laughed softly. ‘He threatened me the other day — told me not to make waves about him being drunk. I told him I didn’t frighten easily, and ever since then he’s gone AWOL. Maybe I ought to report him.’

Cassie snorted. ‘Not if you want to survive. You’ll find your contract abbreviated or your budget cut or your beds disappearing if you do that.’

Nick looked incredulous. ‘Are you joking? The guy’s a total waste of space.’

‘He’s also Daddy’s golden boy, and nothing and nobody gets away with anything.’

Nick snorted in disgust. ‘We’ll see. Right, let’s get down to work. We’ve got a nice, steady list this morning — a hip, an arthroscopy and a thumb.’

‘How boring!’

‘And amen to that! Frankly, after the weekend I could do with being bored. I’ll see you in there.’

He left for the men’s changing-room, and Cassie finished scrubbing and went into the operating-room.

The first patient was a woman of thirty-seven, who was having a hip replacement following deterioration of her joint with recent pregnancies. She had had Perthes’ disease as a child, and after she had slipped and fallen out of a tree at the age of eleven the subsequent displacement of the head of the femur had been corrected with surgery.

Now, twenty-six years later, the joint had finally and literally ground to a halt and was to be replaced.

Nick and Cassie were looking at the X-rays when Miles Richardson, the consultant in charge, popped his head round the door and grinned.

‘OK? How’s the new boy? I gather young Armitage has been under the weather and you’ve had to take over the weekend. Sorry about that — went to the wife’s parents’ for a night or two, or I would have done it myself.’

Nick’s smile was rueful. That’s all right, sir. No problem. Might as well start with a bang.’

‘Good chap — happy on this one? Nasty mess on the radiograph — need to be a bit ruthless, I feel. Left it rather long. Ah, well, off to the wards. See you later.’

The door swooshed shut behind him, and Nick turned to Cassie and smiled.

‘Shall we?’

It was, as Richardson had predicted, a nasty mess, and it taxed all Nick’s skill to position the joint to his satisfaction.

Once again, working with him was a joy. They were perfectly in tune, their minds and bodies in total harmony, and, when he shifted against her, as well as the thrill of awareness, there was a wash of familiarity and happiness.

They exchanged glances over their masks, and she knew he felt it, too. And somehow acknowledging it made it easier to ignore, to subdue and dismiss, so that it just became a part of working with him, like the smell of his soap and the deeper, more natural smell of his skin, warm and faintly musky.

They finished that hip, and then the arthroscopy on the knee of a young amateur footballer with meniscal tears.

The last job, the thumb, was an untreated fracture of the scaphoid that had resulted in non-union of the detached fragment and consequent loss of movement in the thumb. It took time to sort out, but Nick took the time, and only finished when he was satisfied.

‘Sorry about that, it was rather trickier than I’d anticipated,’ he said to everyone there, and they murmured an acknowledgement and disappeared.

Cassie laughed softly.

‘What?’

‘Trevor would have said there wasn’t time and gone to lunch. The patient would have had to have waited, possibly till tomorrow. Actually, no, he would have finished quicker than you because he wouldn’t have bothered about the first hip to such an extent, and the thumb he would have hardly bothered with at all!’

‘I can’t believe he gets away with it,’ Nick murmured.

‘He gets away with anything he chooses. Did you hear Richardson? “Under the weather” indeed! We’re all under the weather — difficult to be above it unless you’re in a rocket!’

Nick chuckled. ‘Lunch?’

‘Have we got time?’

He shrugged. ‘A sandwich?’

‘Done. Give me two ticks to change.’

They went down to the canteen and got a sandwich and a cup of coffee each from the snack bar, then slumped in the corner with their feet propped on each other’s chairs and munched in contented silence. Then Cassie looked up.

That’s Trevor’s old man over there — grey hair, navy suit, paunchy, balding.’

Nick eyed him steadily, then nodded. ‘Right. Thanks. I’ll remember.’

There was a coldness about him that Cassie hadn’t seen before, and she suddenly got a bad feeling about the whole business.

‘Nick? You’ll be careful, won’t you? He could wreak havoc with your career.’

Nick laughed softly. ‘That overgrown puffball? My career’s more solid than that, Cassie. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything rash. I’ve got friends in high places, too. The difference is, I don’t choose to use them. Now, about tonight.’

She blinked. ‘Tonight?’

‘Yes — tonight. How about a quiet supper in a bistro somewhere? Nothing wild — I’m still tired after the weekend. I think I’ve done a week’s work in three days.’

‘Then are you sure you want to — ?’

‘Yes — absolutely certain. I’ve missed you.’

She laughed, a little self-consciously. ‘I’ve missed you, too. Silly, isn’t it? I hardly know you — how can I miss you?’

His smile was tender and very dear. ‘I’m glad you do. What time?’

‘Seven?’

He nodded. ‘I should be finished by then. I’ve got a clinic with Miles Richardson this afternoon, to ease me in, but that should be over by six at the latest.’

‘He’s very prompt — a bit of a stuffy old boy, but he’s a dear, really, and very good. Actually you remind me of him a bit when you’re operating — you’re very alike to work with.’

‘You mean you sidle up to him like that and rub yourself against him?’

She flushed. ‘Certainly not — and I don’t do that with you, either!’

He chuckled. ‘No, of course not,’ he teased. He was practically sitting on her foot, so she lifted it slightly and kicked him ever so gently on the back of the thigh.

‘Ouch.’ He grabbed her foot, and before she could wriggle away he slipped off her shoe and tickled her mercilessly.

She shrieked, just as Mary-Jo came and dropped down into the chair beside her.

‘Having fun, children?’

He released her reluctantly, his fingers sliding over the top of her foot with a very different touch, and smiled at Mary-Jo.

‘Hi. Thanks for your help over the weekend.’

‘My pleasure. Trevor’s an idle waste of space, isn’t he? I wonder when he’ll get his comeuppance.’

Nick smiled enigmatically and stood up. ‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we? Seven, Cassie?’

‘Fine.’

They watched him walk away, and Cassie shook her head. ‘I have a bad feeling about him and Trevor, Mary-Jo.’

‘You do? Me, too. He’s got a hell of a temper under that placid, easygoing exterior, I fancy. Witness the way he ripped into you the first night, without any warning.’

Cassie flushed scarlet and busied herself with the dregs of her coffee. ‘I was miles away.’

‘Mmm — down his trousers.’

She flushed again, even more hotly.

‘Mary-Jo, you’re disgusting.’

‘No — just honest. Hey, I’m just jealous. You two have obviously hit it off really well. Another date tonight?’

‘Another?’

Mary-Jo shrugged and grinned. ‘He turned up in Theatre at three on Sunday morning in a DJ, for God’s sake. Of course the guy had been somewhere. His eyes were wild and he was as crabby as an ousted tom-cat — you didn’t need a degree in psychology to know where he was coming from! Anyway,’ she shrugged again, ‘I asked him.’

Cassie groaned, and Mary-Jo laughed.

‘Hey, it’s OK, kid, I was subtle.’

Cassie laughed out loud. ‘You? Subtle? That’ll be the day.’ She stirred the chilly dregs in her cup again. ‘So … what did he say?’

‘He said he’d kill Trevor when he caught up with him — something about permanently disrupting the man’s sex life.’

Despite herself, Cassie chuckled. ‘I wonder how?’

Mary-Jo gave an evil grin. ‘I dunno — he had a scalpel in his hand at the time. I volunteered to help.’

Cassie laughed again. ‘Get in the queue! I have a vested interest!’

Mary-Jo shot her a keen look. ‘So, things could get pretty serious with you two, then?’

Cassie lifted her shoulders slightly. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll see.’

Her friend studied her face for a second, and then a broad smile broke out over her features and she nodded slowly. ‘At last. Well, good on you, kid. It’s about time.’

‘Right, that about wraps that up.’ Miles Richardson shut the last file and leant back in the chair, steepling his fingers and studying Nick openly.

‘How’s it going so far?’

He nodded slowly. ‘Fine. No problems.’

‘Trevor?’

Nick looked away and chose his words carefully. ‘I get the feeling he’s not going to be the most cooperative colleague.’

Miles snorted. ‘Jumped-up little toad — he’s a lousy surgeon, a rotten diagnostician and a manipulative snake in the grass. Still, we lose him in three weeks or so — off to A and E to wreak havoc. He’s on general practice rotation, thank God. Think you can cope that long?’

‘If I see this little of him, I would say it’ll be a breeze.’

They exchanged an understanding smile, and Miles stood up.

‘Belinda rang — said would I like to ask you over for supper. Nothing special, just pot luck, but you’re more than welcome.’

Nick hesitated. ‘Er — thank you, that would have been very nice, but I have actually made other arrangements.’

‘Cassie Blake?’

He exhaled sharply, then laughed. ‘Yes — how did you guess?’

Miles winked. ‘Tom-toms. Can’t keep a secret at St Augustine’s. Bring her along, if you like — or would that cramp your style?’

He debated turning the invitation down, but the man was his boss, and he had already got off on the wrong foot with one of the department. Anyway, Cassie had said she liked him …

‘Not at all. Thank you, I will bring her, if you’re sure your wife won’t mind —’

‘No, no — be delighted, dear boy. Cassie’s a charming girl — best damn scrub-nurse I’ve ever worked with. Funny, that —’ he paused pensively ‘— only Trevor’s ever complained about her.’ He shook his head as if in puzzlement, then fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. ‘Here — expect you at seven-fifteen. Think you can find it? It’s just round the corner.’

Nick glanced at the card. ‘No problem — I can always ask someone. Thank you.’

Now all he had to do was break the bad news to Cassie.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SORRY about that.’

Cassie smiled at him warmly. ‘Don’t worry, I enjoyed it. They’re a charming couple.’

He wrapped his arm round her shoulders and squeezed her gently. ‘I would still rather have had you to myself.’

His words warmed her, and she slipped her arm up round his waist and hugged him back.

They had walked to the Richardsons’ house, as it was a lovely clear evening. It was cold and crisp, but the stars were bright and their breath frosted on the air. There was very little traffic about on the little side-roads around the hospital, and as they walked back Cassie was very aware of Nick, of the steady crunch of his footsteps, the solid jut of his hip against hers as he matched his stride to hers, his other hand that had found hers on his waist and now clasped it lightly, shielding it from the cold.

It was still early, only just after ten when they arrived back at the hospital, and she sensed his hesitation as they reached the door.

‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked tentatively.

He paused, as if he was struggling with himself, then nodded. ‘A quick one. I want to talk to you, actually — about Saturday.’

She opened the door and flicked on the light, then busied herself with the kettle.

‘What about Saturday?’ she asked as casually as she could manage. In truth, she didn’t feel very casual about it. She had felt edgy for days, and then today in Theatre had stirred it all up again, only somehow worse. She had actually been relieved when they had gone to the Richardsons’ rather than a bistro where they would have been alone in the crowd, but walking back her awareness of him seemed to have reached new heights.

She felt terribly vulnerable with him, somehow exposed, as if she had behaved rather foolishly and precipitately on Saturday night. She would have given him anything he asked that night — anything at all. For her, at least, what was blossoming between them seemed incredibly precious, something to be cherished and nurtured. She didn’t know quite how she would feel if he didn’t feel the same, but she knew she was being unrealistic. He was a man, after all, and men — well, they were different. They didn’t see and feel things the same as women, and she knew for a fact that he would define her emotions as sentimental clap-trap.

He was clever, though, practised with women. For all her lack of experience she knew that. Knew, too, that he would play the game by the rules and pretend an element of romance and sentiment to satisfy her.

His hands on her shoulders were warm and gentle, turning her round into his arms. His voice was soft, gruff even, utterly sincere.

‘I didn’t want to leave you — God knows how I walked away from you that night. I have no idea what I did in that theatre — all I could think about was you. Then, as the days seemed to rush by without time to see you again, I got to thinking that perhaps it was just as well, that perhaps it was better if we didn’t rush into such an intimate relationship. Maybe, if I hadn’t had to go up to Theatre, if we’d come back here and made love — maybe you would have regretted it in the morning.

‘I don’t know why, quite, but that really matters. I don’t want you to hate me, Cass.’

She was stunned. She had never expected this, almost a confession. Either it was a very good line, or he was being painfully honest and revealing his feelings.

She wished she could trust him. Damn Simon for destroying her faith so she was afraid to believe anything anybody told her.

She turned her face up to his and met his eyes, and could have drowned in the emotion so clearly visible in their cobalt depths. ‘I don’t think I would have hated you, Nick,’ she murmured.

‘I wouldn’t like to risk it.’

‘I mean it. I’m a big girl, Nick, I know my own mind. You’re probably right, it would have been hasty, but it was going to happen.’

He searched her eyes. ‘And is it still?’

She paused, her breath lodged in her throat. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.’

His eyes grew heavy-lidded with desire. ‘Oh, Cassie,’ he murmured, and then he was kissing her, gently at first and then more urgently, until finally they broke apart for breath.

For a long time he stared into her eyes, his own dark with need, then his lids drifted shut and he leant his head against hers.

‘I must go — now, while I’ve got the strength. I’m so tired I wouldn’t do you justice tonight — and anyway, there’s no rush.’ He hugged her briefly, his mouth lifting in a tender, wistful smile. ‘Think of me.’

And then he was gone.

She stared at the door for a long while, debating whether to go after him or not, but then her common sense reasserted itself — that, and her natural reticence. What if he didn’t really mean it? Only a fool would believe him. He was a natural, a gifted, skilful, charming rake, and Cassie didn’t believe in reformed rakes any more than she believed in fairy tales.

But he had sounded so sincere …

Cassie made herself a drink and curled up with it in her bed in front of the television. There was nothing much on, but it didn’t matter. All she could see were the cobalt depths of his eyes.

‘Think of me,’ he had said. How could she do anything else?

The following weekend she was off duty, and so, apparently, was Nick. Rake or not, Cassie found to her dismay that she desperately wanted to spend it with him. She waited, hopefully, for him to suggest that they get together, but he didn’t.

Finally on Thursday evening, over a plate of spaghetti in a local bistro, he told her he was going away for the weekend.

‘I try to spend every other weekend with my parents,’ he said, ‘and it’s their turn this weekend.’

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