by Annie O'Neil
Heaving a dramatic sigh, Ali draped her team duffel coat over one of the two kitchen bar stools, went to her bedroom, peeled off the layers of outdoor gear and put on her favorite pajama shorts with a cozy slouch-shouldered jumper.
Me, some scraps of old cheese and a bit of TV. Precisely what the doctor ordered!
The jangle of the doorbell nearly made her jump out of her skin. She hadn’t had any visitors before and certainly wasn’t expecting any now.
She hurriedly pulled on her woolly slipper boots and jogged to the door. When she pulled it open her stomach careened round her insides and her heart lurched into her throat all in one blood-racing moment.
Standing there, or rather filling up her doorway, eyes twinkling and a bottle of red dangling from his fingers, was The Suit.
“Hello, there, neighbor. Fancy a bit of work talk over a glass of vino?”
Ali’s heart changed its syncopation—moving from dirge to dance mix in an instant. Pure determination kept her from unleashing a broad smile at his presence. She was a steely-gazed doctor, not a moony-eyed teenager. Right?
Her body’s response to Aidan had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was the most gorgeous male specimen she’d ever seen. Clothed or otherwise. Or with the fact that his voice was about as trickle-down-your-spine scrumptious as they came. Especially when he was whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he traced his fingers across her bare belly in an endless swirl of figure-eights.
He was an arrogant know-it-all! And now he was her neighbor?
“What are you doing here?”
Not really a comment out of the etiquette books, but she was pretty sure they were past social niceties.
“I live a couple of buildings down in the complex and thought I’d be a bit more welcoming than I was this afternoon,” he explained with an innocent smile.
“But how did you know I...?” she started, then petered out.
“Apart from the fact your contact details are listed on every emergency sheet at the stadium, who do you think sent you the recommendation you check the place out?” He held up the bottle of red. “This was my thank-you from the building committee for your decision to move in. I thought it would only be fair to share the spoils.”
Aidan practically purred as he made to enter her apartment minus an invitation.
Ali stepped aside on autopilot, all too aware of the scrummy male scent of him as he swept past her into the loft. She could think of a thing or two he could do to be more welcoming—and they were definitely not in an etiquette book.
Regroup! Ali stared at the closed door and tried to come up with a plan. Think, think, think, think.
Kick him out. It’s the only way. Time to show the upper hand.
Ali whirled around, only to see Aidan merrily nosing around her kitchen.
“What’s for dinner, honey? Hope it goes with red!”
Aidan’s voice was infused with the same twinkle of humor she could see in his eyes. The same rascally voice that had kidded her about how quickly she had managed to rip his clothes off. Well, not rip exactly—she had been aware that he might need his shirt the next day—but who knew cotton could seem such a thick barrier between a woman and The Suit’s chest? The clothes had had to go!
He gave her a wink. A cute one that threatened the tightly pinched corners of her mouth. He really did have the most beautiful brown eyes. They somehow managed to look even more like dark chocolate now than they had the first time she’d seen them. A rich contrast to the deep maroon lambswool jumper that his shoulders filled to designer perfection. Of course. Would The Suit’s shoulders do anything but?
What had happened to his suit, anyway? Probably best he didn’t have it on. Too much temptation. Mind you, his earth-toned moleskin trousers didn’t exactly look off the rack. Aidan was rocking a sophisticated “lad” look. Complete with ironically arched eyebrow as he scanned her flat.
It was obvious, as she watched him take in the old leather sofa, the bare walls and the small dining table without chairs, that he found her living arrangements amusing.
“I’m presuming no one told you we have furniture stores up here?”
“Look—” Ali started, then clamped her lips tight. It wasn’t as if she was going to tell him she’d sold all of her furniture in a spontaneous and very thorough need to clutter-clear.
Everything she’d had before her mum died was a memory, and ever since then she didn’t do rehashes of the past. She wasn’t going to tell him a single thing. Not about her mother. Not about her who-knew-where-the-hell-he-was? father. Not about the accident that had ended her dance career before it had even begun. Not a word. Just like she’d said at the airport. No names. No history. Just unbridled passion.
It was obvious Aidan wasn’t after a roll in the hay now. He was on a fact-finding mission.
Too bad! This was her space. One night stands at snowy airports were one thing. Casual drop-in dinner dates with her grouch of a boss had a whole other rulebook.
“Doesn’t seem the doctor’s got much in the house.”
Aidan was making himself quite at home—merrily inspecting her refrigerator’s stores and, having found them wanting, opening up the cupboard doors where he would see, Ali knew, absolutely no food. It was all very familiar for someone with whom she was—er—intimately familiar.
“I’ve been busy. I haven’t really—”
“If you’re going to be part of this team you’ve got to keep your energy up.” Aidan wagged a teasing finger in her direction.
Who was this man? Dr. Jolly-Jekyll or Mr. Keep-Your-Hands-Off Hyde?
“Well?” Aidan looked at her expectantly.
“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” Ali tugged her fingers through her hair, twisting a few dark strands round her index finger. Her stomach was in knots, so her hair might as well be, too.
“What’s it short for?”
“What?” She stared at him blankly.
“Your full name—I presume it’s not Ali.”
“Alexis. Defender of humankind,” she answered by rote, eyes suddenly locked with his.
Aidan stepped out from behind the kitchen bar, clasping her right hand between both of his. A burst of electricity shot along her spine as she found herself eye to eye with the appealing expanse of his chest. She’d kissed that chest. Lots. A nice display of sexy man whorls of hair above a c’mon, punch me hard set of abs.
If she were to look up into those espresso-colored eyes of his and—
She felt her hand being rigorously shaken.
Er... Was she missing something here?
“Hello there, Alexis.” He further corrected himself, “Dr. Lockhart. I think we got off to the wrong start today.”
Today?
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Aidan Tate, Chief Medical Officer for the North Stars—at your service.”
He dropped her tingling fingers, took a broad step backward and performed a half bow, then looked up at her with those incredible, endlessly dark eyes. Ali felt her knees give a little.
For heaven’s sake. You’ve met the entire royal family and didn’t act like such a ninny. Pull yourself together!
She gave him a slight head-nod. If this was his version of an apology he had yet to win her over. Well. Professionally. “Dr. Ali Lockhart—at your service.”
There were a number of things Aidan could have said in response, but they wouldn’t serve the purpose of his visit. He was here to begin afresh with Dr. Alexis Lockhart, the team’s new physio-surgeon with one turn-you-green-with-envy CV.
“On paper it looks as though you’ve never taken a moment off to do anything other than study or practice medicine. When did you start? When you were twelve?”
“Something like that.” Ali crossed her arms protectively across her chest and looked
away.
There was a story there. Maybe too much time in the science lab accounted for her wild-girl antics at the airport.
His gaze slipped down toward Ali’s feet, stopping to note a couple of scars on her left knee. He’d not noticed them the other night—which was pretty amazing, considering the gymnastics they had achieved. His curiosity was piqued, but he looked away. He wasn’t being fair. He’d come here to apologize and now he was treating her just the way he’d insisted to the coach the players would. Like chattel.
Coach Stone had been fairly terse when Aidan had suggested they see if they could transfer her to another team and bring in a different locum for the rest of the tournament season. One who wasn’t so easy on the eyes.
“Not a chance.” That had been the unwavering reply. The players had taken to her straight away, Stone had said, and hiring someone else with credentials like hers at this point in the season was going to be nigh on impossible. She was staying and that was that.
He cleared his throat and looked at Ali’s reflection in the window. Since when were lambswool boots and a mismatched set of pajamas so sexy?
Maybe if he pictured Ali with an eye patch it would help. And a hideous perm. And a hunchback.
“Earth to Aidan?” Ali was waving her hands in front of his face, pulling him out of an embarrassingly obvious stupor.
“Yeah—sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Anything you care to share?”
Might as well go for it.
“The elephant in the room.”
“Which elephant would that be?” Ali smiled her hostess smile at him.
Aidan couldn’t help returning her smile. If things were different they’d make a great pair. But they weren’t—so it was best to lay his cards on the table. The man she’d met at the airport didn’t exist in his everyday life. The man she’d met was an anomaly.
“Well, we could talk about the big elephant—about how we slept together—or the smaller one—how you should probably clear your spare underwear and gym kit out of my desk.”
“Oh, blimey. That’s your desk, is it?” Ali clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Who else’s would it be?”
“I don’t know—it didn’t seem to have anything personal on it so I just thought it was free.”
Good point. He didn’t do personal. Especially at work. But that didn’t address the issue at hand.
“The locker rooms have eyes and ears, Dr. Lockhart. Very acutely tuned, testosterone-charged cauliflower ears. I don’t think it would be wise to have what happened at the airport being public knowledge. Or to be repeated.”
She gulped, looked away, then began to laugh. Nervous giggles or happy memories? He knew what camp he was in.
“Can you imagine if the lads knew?” she asked. “About that night?” she qualified, as if he could have even begun to forget.
She lifted her gaze to his and this time he was certain they both felt the same connection. Having her standing in front of him in sexy little jim-jams wasn’t strictly helping his body keep it neutral.
Her expression turned sober. “You’re right. Absolutely right. The only reason I came up here was to learn, and all the...” she blew a slow breath between her lips “...other stuff would just get in the way.”
They nodded at each other for a moment, as if they’d just signed a significant pact. And they had. They would be colleagues only. It was agreed.
“I know it wasn’t what you planned for tonight—but what do you say we go out for a bite to eat?”
Ali gave him a dubious look.
“To talk about the team...your next three months here and what you hope to get out of it. Professionally.” He weighted the word as a reminder to himself.
“I’d like that,” she replied, then looked down at her skimpy outfit. “I’m guessing pajamas aren’t the dress code. Smart or casual?”
He knew what he wanted to say, but picked the pragmatic response. As agreed. “Casual is fine. I know a great little Greek place—just around the corner.”
“Love a bit of meze!” Her smile brightened. “Give me two minutes.”
He smiled at Ali’s retreating figure. The man who she’d met at the airport would have waited as long as she needed. Not that he’d tell her that. This whole situation was a matter of using his head over his...other parts. They’d had their night and it had been a one-off. Now he just had to work his way through the next one-hundred-odd days, convincing himself that all work and no play was the most sensible thing to do.
He’d made it through the past five years without so much as a fissure in his heart. Keeping Ali at arm’s length couldn’t be that hard. What was the worst that could happen?
Operation Pals-R-Us was officially under way.
* * *
“Are you kidding me? It came out of the socket?” Ali could barely contain her disbelief. She was really going to have to hone her shoulder joint skills. Knees...? She had them nailed. Shoulders...? Not so commonly injured during the pas de deux.
“Completely. You could’ve heard his screams down in London, I’ll bet—but I got it back in, he’s been diligent with his rehab, and now to see Mack run you’d never know otherwise.”
“Amazing. To get him playing again was quite a feat.” Ali didn’t bother curbing her I’m impressed voice as she put her serviette onto her empty plate. Bodies were crazy things, and it sounded like Aidan had had his fair share of having to think outside the box to keep his players fit.
“I had to. These guys have a really short career window. If I can help make it just a little bit longer—so much the better.”
She had to fight the automatic wince. Her career window had been just as short. Nonexistent was more like it. But the past was the past. The players were lucky they had someone like Aidan looking out for them.
In fact, his idea to go out to dinner had turned into a good one. Better than she’d thought when they’d first arrived at the restaurant after a virtually silent ten-minute walk. Trying to make chitchat when all you can think about is kissing your new boss was tough work.
After a bit of an awkward recitation of their professional histories, and some seriously divine moussaka with homemade pita, they had moved on to medical horror stories. The topic was inevitable between doctors, and it had definitely put the pair of them on neutral territory.
In fact, Ali discovered as the evening zipped along, it was really fun. Aidan was turning out to be everything she’d hoped when she had agreed to the locum posting. Smart, funny—and, yes, deeply gorgeous, but she hadn’t known that when she’d signed on the dotted line. And now they’d agreed to keep things professional... Thank God they had medicine in common!
“I hope you don’t mind—” Ali held up her hand to flag the waiter. She’d just about eaten her body weight in moussaka and was ready to crash for the night.
“Not up for a shot of ouzo?”
Ugh. The thought turned her stomach. “No, thanks—you’re on your own with that one.”
“No problem. I’m amazed I made it this late.”
She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Jet lag,” he explained.
“Crikey! I totally forgot. You must be exhausted. Where was your holiday—some island in the Pacific, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t exactly a holiday.” Tricky. Aidan wasn’t one to lie—but he wasn’t in the habit of letting anyone into his confidence either.
“Oh?”
“It’s just something I do every year.”
She looked at him blankly.
“For a charity.”
“Oh, right! Which one?” Her eyes brightened.
“It’s to do with the tropical storm that devastated the region a few years back.”
“Oh, gosh. I remember that. It was horrib
le, wasn’t it? Thousands of lives lost, weren’t there?”
“Mmm. It took a lot of lives.” Including one that had meant the world to him.
“That’s brilliant that you go out there. I’ve often thought of doing some charity work in London—inner-city kids, that sort of thing—but I was always so wrapped up at the clinic.”
“You really made a success of that, didn’t you?” Aidan gratefully swerved from more questions about the island. Yes, he did charity work—but the rest of it...? That was neatly locked up in his emotional no-go zone.
“I hope so,” Ali began to twist the corners of her serviette into a tight coil. “Most people thought I was foolish for opening such a specialized clinic—but it’s not as if the only ballerinas who injure themselves are in the Royal Ballet. We get clients from all over the world now. My ‘little baby’ is all grown up now.”
“You were smart. Got in there before someone else thought of it and then made an art of it.”
Aidan nodded his approval—not that she needed it. En Pointe was now the destination for anyone with a dance-related injury. Impressive for someone who’d just turned thirty-two. The only way you could get that kind of success, this early, was undiluted drive.
“So how could you leave it all behind?”
Ali looked away.
“Oh...it was time to spread my wings—let new pairs of eyes see to things.”
“So you’re not going back?” This time he couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. “I don’t know if I could leave my baby as easily.”
“You mean you’d never leave the North Stars?”
“No, it’s not that. If something amazing tempted me I’m sure I’d go. But I’m happy enough here, and any ‘wing-stretching’ I need to do lands in the clinic just about every week in the form of new injuries, new techniques. I don’t need to go elsewhere. Don’t get me wrong—I’m delighted you’re here—but to leave behind your clinic after putting all that time and energy into it... It’s your calling card, surely?”
“No,” Ali answered quietly, still avoiding his gaze. “I never needed to be lauded for the work we do at En Pointe—I just wanted to make sure the resource was there. Dancers need a place they can rely on to specifically deal with all their needs when they’re injured. That’s why it provides a multi-level approach to the care it gives. We don’t just stick bandages on the dancers. They receive surgery, rehab, counseling—the whole lot.”