by Annie O'Neil
“That sounds like the voice of experience.” Aidan leaned forward, lowering his head to see if she would receive his inquisitive smile.
“We’ve all got history.” Her eyes remained resolutely elsewhere. “Shall we...?” Ali abruptly dropped her knotted serviette onto the table and briskly headed toward the waiter who’d been making up their bill.
“Hang on, Ali.” Aidan jogged to catch up with her, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “This one’s on me.”
“No need,” she replied with a tight smile. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” A look of remorse flashed across her face. “Sorry. Thank you. That’s very kind.” She shot him an apologetic grimace. “I guess you’re not the only one who’s tired.”
“Not to worry.”
Aidan handed a couple of bills to the waiter and waved away any change as Ali shrugged on the coat she’d left on one of the hooks near the front door. She was halfway out the door by the time he’d grabbed his own. There was definitely a story there—a painful one, from the looks of things. But he wasn’t one to dig—particularly as he’d been doing his own “artful dodging.” He was no psychiatrist, but he’d put money on the idea that Alexis Lockhart—defender of humankind—hadn’t come up North solely to expand her medical horizons.
“Shall we go back via the river route?”
“You’re the boss!” Ali quipped.
“Hopefully not a bossy boss,” he shot back with a grin. Witty lines had never really been his forte.
“There’s still time.” Her face bore no trace of humor.
Aidan chose silence as the best response. He’d had enough experience with clamping his mouth shut when yet another woman he’d casually dated had expressed disappointment over things not turning more serious. Not that Ali seemed all that interested in plumbing emotional depths with him. Quite the opposite, in fact. Keeping things superficial...? Now, that he could do.
She rubbed her hands together in the cold winter air and huffed out a puff of breath. “Sorry. I’m sounding really narky and I don’t mean to.”
He pointed her toward the riverside path that would bring them to their respective homes. And he didn’t mean to be superficial. Not with her. He felt a rush of desire to keep things between them on a good level—positive. He’d already seen two sides to this woman and he liked them both. Very much.
“Not to worry. It’s been a long day.”
“You can say that again.”
CHAPTER THREE
“ALL RIGHT, LADS—let’s clear some room for the lady.” The assistant coach ushered the players aside for Ali, with her medical tote bag in hand.
“It’s only Harty!” one of the guys shouted.
“Cheers, mate,” Ali riposted.
She enjoyed being just “one of the lads.” It was about a gazillion times easier than being anywhere near Aidan, whose mere presence insisted upon reminding her of how very much like a woman he had made her feel.
“What did you do this time, Rory? Eyes all right?”
She knelt down on the ground next to Rory Stiles, who was busy clutching his shoulder with his eyes squeezed tight shut. From his expression, it looked as though the blindside flanker had taken the full brunt of his fellow player’s might. As she peeled his hand away from his shoulder, one glance at the tenting at his collarbone told her all she needed to know.
“Right. Let’s get you off the field and into the clinic. You’ve done a job on your clavicle.”
The redheaded athlete cracked open his eyes and tried to grin at her through the pain. “It’s nothing, Harty. Just get a figure-of-eight on me and I’ll see out the rest of the practice.”
“No sling is going to see you through the next thirty seconds, let alone two hours, my friend.” She smiled down at him. These guys were just like dancers. Injured or not—the show must go on!
“Just give me some meds—I’ll be fine.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you pain meds right now. Not until we know what else you’ve done to yourself. We want those bones to heal properly, don’t we?”
“Tate would give me meds!”
“No, he wouldn’t.” The familiar rich voice filled the air around them. “What’s going on?”
“Rory seems to have broken his collarbone and wants to compromise his long-term health for the sake of a practice session.”
“No need to be so melodramatic, Dr. Lockhart. These lads are made of sterner stuff than your tutu brigade.” Aidan knelt down alongside her.
“My what?”
“Ah! Ha-ha-ha! Tutu brigade! Good one, Dr. Tate.”
Rory laughed and Ali shot him a look. One that said, Thanks for nothing, and carried on with her silent and thorough inspection of Rory’s neck and upper spine.
What was that? thought Aidan. The fifth time he’d stuck his foot in it today? Working with Ali was becoming progressively more difficult. Yes, he respected her professionally—but the side of him that wanted her on a completely carnal level was constantly threatening to take over his practical side. His professional side. The one he’d insisted they respect. Work. Careers. Things you could rely on. And all he could think about was taking her in his arms and having his very wicked way with her.
“Any tingling sensations in your arm?” Ali asked Rory.
“Nah.”
“Shortness of breath?”
Rory sucked in a deep breath. “Nope.”
“Guess you’ve kept your arteries out of the pinch zone. Lucky boy. Doesn’t feel like a compound fracture—otherwise it’d be surgery for you!”
“C’mon, Rory. Up you get. I’ll have a look.” Aidan went to help Rory push up from the ground.
“Excuse me, I think we’re good here. Aren’t we, Rory?” Ali moved to Rory’s other side as he rose.
“You and me are always good, Harty. Now...if Tate, here, would just shave a little more often—”
“Invasive surgery isn’t the answer to everything.” Aidan glared across the expanse of Rory’s chest at her.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got this one covered, Dr. Tate.”
“Hey, listen, guys—no need to fight over me.” Rory giggled.
“We’re not fighting!” Ali and Aidan answered simultaneously.
“Uh...” Rory looked round at his teammates. “Anyone else here see Mommy and Daddy bickering again?”
“Yup.”
“Sure did.”
“Me too!”
“Same old, same old.”
Aidan tightened his grip on Rory’s elbow as the confirmations rolled in. They weren’t fighting.
“Dr. Lockhart and I were merely having a professional disagreement. Over treatment. Which is a wise thing to do. Options should always be discussed before invasive action is taken. That was the reasoning behind our hiring Dr. Lockhart in the first place.”
“Not because she’s a hot doc?” shouted one of the boys.
Aidan threw a glance in Ali’s direction, hoping for some backup. Annoyingly, she was laughing along with the rest of the lads.
“Rory. Get a move on. We need to get some ice on you and take some X-rays.”
“I’ll just stay here with the boys, shall I?” Ali called after him.
“Whatever you think is best, Dr. Lockhart,” Aidan called over his shoulder, hating himself as he did it.
What could he do, though? It wasn’t as though he was going to admit he had the hots for his new colleague. Work and pleasure—they just didn’t mix. If it meant he had to come across as a hard-ass some of the time—well, then, so be it. These boys had a tournament to win—and that needed to be his priority.
* * *
“What was that all about?”
Ali held the door open, but didn’t look anywhere near issuing him an invi
tation to enter. She hadn’t said two words to him the rest of the day at work, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d gone all Cro-Magnon on her and that wasn’t the best way to work together. It wasn’t any way to work together.
“Would it help if I said you were possibly right?”
“Possibly?” Ali looked indignant.
“Well, it’s a fracture. I strapped him up—figure-eight—and told him to rest and ice it tonight, and that both of us would take a look in the morning, when the swelling had gone down.”
“That’s very magnanimous of you.” Ali fake-smiled at him, then began to close the door as she spoke. “Thank you for coming by to let me know.”
“This—” he lifted up a two grocery sacks and stuck his foot in the doorway “—is a peace offering. Can I make you dinner?”
“What? And have you one-up me again?” Ali’s hackles were well and truly raised.
“No.” Aidan pressed his heels into the ground and made himself grow a couple of inches.
He knew he’d been a jerk, but he was hardly going to let Ali turn this situation into a free-for-all of notch-gathering. The North Stars’ medical needs were ultimately his responsibility. And he knew the patients better than she did. Fact.
“I’m happy to have takeaway—or nothing, if you prefer—but we’ve got to sort this out.”
“What, exactly?”
“You. Me. How we deal with things at work.”
Ali rocked back in her woolly boots and he could almost see the decision-making process in her eyes.
“What were you going to make?”
“Risotto.”
She pushed her lips out into a deep red moue and arched a brow.
“What kind?”
“Asparagus and lemon. My nan’s recipe.”
“I didn’t know your nan was Italian.”
“She wasn’t—but I dare you to diss my nan’s risotto.”
“Ha!” Ali pulled open the door and let him pass. “Do you have her tucked around the corner somewhere?”
“Not tonight,” Aidan mused as he carried the shopping to her kitchen island. “I wasn’t certain if you’d offer to cook.”
“That’s something we both know is unlikely to happen.” Ali padded over to him and began to nosy through the bags.
“You want to open up that wine I brought the other day?” He scanned the counter to see if it was still there. It was.
“You go ahead.” Ali slipped onto one of the barstools and watched as Aidan began to hunt round her kitchen for knives or chopping boards or whatever it was he needed to make risotto. “I’m ‘in between’ drinks right now.”
“Oh, yeah?” Aidan smiled up at her. “What does that mean?”
“It happens sometimes—I just can’t pick what drink I like. Right now I’m leaning toward soda and lime.”
“Jumping on the wagon?”
“No—” she started, then reconsidered. “Maybe. I don’t know... Just haven’t felt like drinking. It’s my new boss.” She pulled a face at him. “He’s working me so hard I need to be at the top of my game so he’ll stop questioning my expert opinion about things. Like injured clavicles near the pinch zone.”
“Ali...”
“Yes?” She drummed her fingers along the kitchen island.
She was looking forward to an explanation. She was used to being in charge. Biting her tongue in front of her patients was not familiar terrain and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Here.” Aidan handed her a knife and a big handful of asparagus. “Chop these up, will you?”
“Tell me why you undermined me today.” She stood her ground. She wasn’t going to be sidetracked and pushed into a sous chef role to boot.
“Honestly?” He looked at her and about a thousand thoughts jockeyed for pole position. “I’m...” he began, then reconsidered. “You’re— This is all a big change. Having you here.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman or because I’m better at practicing medicine?” She gave him a sassy grin.
“Because you’re different.” Aidan responded tactically. “I know you would be hard-pressed to believe it—but I don’t really do change. And having you here is one change after another, so you’re going to have to be patient with me. I hired you because I respected your work. I’d like you to stay—but you’re going to have to get used to working with me. We’re meant to be a team. This isn’t a one-woman chop shop, okay?”
Ali couldn’t stop herself. She had to laugh. One-woman chop shop? That was a good one.
“Who doesn’t like a bit of surgery?”
“Me! It’s not my area of expertise and— Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ali. Do I have to spell it out for you? I may be the CMO of one of Britain’s best rugby squads and able to make a killer risotto, but you know your way around the surgery ward. It’s impressive, Ali. Truly.”
Their eyes met. He was impressed by her? Her lips twitched into a smile. She was tempted to do a little victory dance, but gloating wasn’t her style.
“What was it you wanted me to do with this stuff?” She pointed at her cutting board.
“The asparagus? Small bite-sized pieces, please.”
Ali began hacking away at the innocent asparagus stems and snuck a peek at Aidan, meticulously pithing a lemon. You did pith them, right? Something like that... With big strong hands attached to some rather lovely forearms...
He glanced across at her cutting board. “Easy there, Doctor. I hope you don’t treat your patients like your asparagus.”
“Sorry?” Talk about micromanaging! Hadn’t they just been through this?
Aidan received the full force of her crackling blue eyes. “Don’t glare at me! You’re the one attacking it!” He couldn’t help laughing at her furrowed brow. “Here—let me.”
Aidan laid a hand on Ali’s and gently guided her knife across the asparagus spears, slicing them into emerald green bite-sized pieces.
He felt her hand stiffen at his initial touch, but as they made their way through a few more of the fluid movements she began to relax. A warmth began to move from her hand to his, straight up his arm and across his shoulders. Being with her this way, doing something as familiar as cooking, was calming him. A welcome tonic after a hectic day with the North Stars. A heated memory of the night they’d shared. An unspoken suggestion of things to come.
He felt her hair brush against his cheek as she turned to face him. Her blue eyes were searching his. There was very little space between them and it would have been incredibly easy to just lean in and tease a few kisses out of her full lips. Lips he’d been aching to taste from the very moment they’d parted at the airport.
From the look on her face, she wouldn’t stop him if he leaned in. He saw it in her eyes—just as he had the moment they had seen each other at the bar. Desire. Longing. But tonight it went deeper than that. If he touched her now he knew he wouldn’t stop at a kiss, a simple caress. He couldn’t. Not with her.
Ali reached him on a level he hadn’t thought possible anymore. Not after the island, where his heart had gone numb with shock when he’d lost his grip on his childhood sweetheart’s hand. He hadn’t even begun to know how to mourn her. How to honor her life—the future they would never have together. But from the very moment he had laid eyes on Ali he had felt alive. It was intoxicating, and he knew he was going to have to fight every cell in his body to maintain control.
Abruptly, Aidan returned to the other side of the kitchen island. He—they—had made a deal. A professional relationship. That was all he and Ali would share. He didn’t look at her, but he could tell Ali felt it, too. The connection. The silent simpatico he couldn’t quite define. It was a heated medley of disappointment, understanding, expectation and stasis. This close, he could smell her perfume—something a little citrusy? A bit of clean linen? It suited her.
As did the blue top she wore. It made her sea-blue eyes that much harder to resist.
Aidan felt his controlled exterior weaken.
He glanced over at Ali, who was now sawing away at some cherry tomatoes for the salad.
“Is this another example of your technique in the operating theater?”
Ali bristled. What did he know about her? Her work? What did he know about anything?
One minute he was doing a sexy kitchen version of Ghost with her, making pulses of heat strobe throughout her body, and the next he was making narky comments about the one thing in the world she knew she excelled at.
“You know where the door is, Dr. Tate.” She couldn’t keep an edge from her voice. “No one’s forcing you to stay.”
“Easy there, pet. I was just teasing.”
As quickly as he’d irked her, his gentle voice calmed her down. Aidan’s Northern accent wasn’t strong, but this was the first time the regional term of endearment she’d been hearing all week had made her knees turn to jelly. Good thing she was parked on a stool.
Come to think of it, no one had had that effect on her. Ever. Sure, she’d had boyfriends—if you could call someone you’d dated for a few months a boyfriend. Her work had always been her go-to partner. Never before had she met someone who came close to being both. Not that Aidan was. He was her colleague. Her boss. “The Suit” was someone she wouldn’t meet again.
Ali squeezed her eyes tight, listening as Aidan stirred rice into a pan of frying shallots. He poured in some liquid that immediately released a heady, steamy, intoxicating scent. It smelled the way she felt when Aidan looked at her. A bit other-worldly.
She sighed, rubbing her fingers across her eyes. She didn’t know if she could stand another hour of ping-ponging emotions, let alone three months of working together.