by Annie O'Neil
“Look.” She put the knife down on the cutting board filled with asparagus and tomatoes. “Cooking is clearly not my arena. It’s yours. I’ll do what I’m good at and select some music.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“No, it’s not,” she snapped. Did everything have to be a competition? “I just know my area of expertise is not anywhere around this part of the apartment.” She waved her arms around the open-plan kitchen area.
“Being around the players all day must bring out the combatant in me.” Aidan held his hands up in the surrender position, one hand clothed in a flowery oven mitt, the other holding a pink-handled spatula. Another internet purchase.
Ali looked at him standing there, this absolute picture of manhood, bedecked with flowery kitchen gear, and couldn’t help bursting out laughing.
Aidan feigned surprise that she should find his appearance funny, and then joined in her laughter. It felt good. Relaxing.
“Truce?” He offered her the hand with the oven mitt on it.
Still giggling, Ali took the oven mitt and shook it with a somber expression.
“Truce. Not that I know what we were fighting about, but a truce sounds perfect. I need a mate up here.”
Aidan’s eyes widened.
“A friend—a friend!” Ali covered, quickly busying herself with her music collection. Nice one, Ali. That’s some top Freudian slippage, right there.
Aidan’s expression turned serious as he returned to the risotto, giving it an occasional stir, visibly trying to formulate what he was going to say next.
“Ali, I want you to know I’m glad you’re here. That you’re part of the team.”
She held her breath, a little nervous that there was a however attached to this kind statement.
Aidan poured in another dollop of stock, waited for the sizzle and whoosh of steam then looked up at her. He took a thoughtful sip of wine, swished it around a bit and then swallowed. He reminded Ali of one of those annoying wine critics on TV.
“Your CV is flawless and the team couldn’t ask for anyone better. Apart from—”
“Apart from...?” Ali tried to tease the rest of his sentence out of him without exploding in fury.
“Me, of course.” And then he released another one of those perfectly gorgeous smiles.
Unable to help herself, Ali fell apart with an enormous belly laugh. You didn’t get as good as this man was rumored to be without a healthy splash of arrogance.
She raised an invisible glass to him, “Touché, Dr. Tate. Touché.”
“Let’s put that asparagus in, then. We need to get some food into you—then it’s straight to bed. Tomorrow’s another big day.”
Ali felt heat creep into her cheeks for the second time that night and hid her face in her hands.
It was all too easy to imagine Aidan carrying her into her sparsely decorated bedroom and having his manly way with her. Again.
She peered at Aidan through her fingers. She had come up here to shake things up a bit, and there was no contesting the fact that meeting him again had done that to a tee!
“Asparagus, please, chef.”
Aidan’s voice broke into her thoughts, sending another disconcerting tangle of heat twirling round her stomach.
“It’s tender enough that it can just steam in amongst the rice.”
She slid the cutting board across the island and watched as he fluidly cascaded the delicate spears into the creamy risotto. He gave the mixture a few swift turns, then pulled a couple of plates out of the oven.
She raised an eyebrow.
“You didn’t expect your risotto on a cold plate, did you?”
From you it’s hard to know what to expect.
Aidan joined Ali on the spare stool at the kitchen bar as her dining room chairs were nonexistent.
They ate heartily and silently.
Aidan frowned at his risotto. Not because it wasn’t good. It was excellent and he knew it. He was confused as to why Ali was living like a Buddhist monk.
“So, is this what you Southerners call ‘Extreme Living’?” He tried to keep his voice light, but saw that his comment had chafed. Her eyes had clouded over with something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Loneliness? Sorrow?
That was it. Sorrow.
Nice one, Aidan. Seemed he just couldn’t keep his foot out of his mouth tonight.
“Call it what you please, but I like it this way.”
Her tone was curt and there was defiance in her expression, daring him to suggest that her home should be otherwise.
“I think it suits you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He could see she didn’t know whether to smile or be insulted. “It looks like the home of someone who has something to hide.”
A flash of anger crossed her face.
“Why would you think I have something to hide?”
He took another mouthful of rice, pretty certain he wasn’t meant to answer. Her lips parted as she took in a deep breath, then began speaking again, using her fork to visibly accent her key points.
“So I wanted to try something new! What’s so bad about that?” She raised an attitude-filled eyebrow at him—if such a thing was possible.
“Not a thing.”
“Damn tootin’ right! I suppose your flat is stuffed to the gills with furniture? Or is it more magazine-spread-ready, in case you’re chosen to be the centerfold for Physio Monthly?”
Ali smiled broadly as that picture fleshed itself out in her mind. Uh-oh. Wait a minute. He was naked in her mental picture. Not so very professional. She looked over at Aidan—fully clothed Aidan—to see if she could shake the image from her head.
The only things in her line of vision were his perfect lips. There was a bit of a five o’clock shadow in her sightline—the kind that made him appear just the opposite of scruffy.
Rugged. Male. Kissable.
If she thought she’d had butterflies before, her stomach went into full flip-flop overdrive mode now, when he reached for her hand, as if to say, It’s okay. I’m not attacking you.
Ali nearly fell backward off the stool as her mobile phone began a little dance on the counter, the vibration and ringtone breaking through the thick atmosphere.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, abruptly pulling her hand away from his.
Grabbing her phone, she walked to the far end of the large loft.
“Hello?” Ali knew her voice sounded unnaturally high, and she forced a slow breath between her lips to try to steady herself.
She held the telephone close to her ear, willing it to stop the roar of blood racing through her entire system. She could feel Aidan’s eyes on her, but she refused to turn around, focusing instead on the twinkling lights of the city reflected in the wide river steadily flowing past. She wished her nerves were a tenth as calm.
“Doc? It’s Rory.”
“Hi, Rory. How’s the collarbone? Is everything all right?”
Ali struggled to control her breath. She was really going to have to get a grip. Three more months of “friendship” with Aidan Tate was going to be much harder than she thought. She knew how moody and defensive she was coming across to him, but for some reason he brought out the extremes of all her emotions!
“Not really.”
Ali’s emotions sobered quickly, her years of medical training coming to the fore.
“You’re not feeling light-headed, are you? Finding it hard to breathe?”
“No, Doc. Nothing like that.” She heard him inhale sharply before continuing in a tight voice, “It’s just that I was practicing with the resistance bands and—”
“What?” Ali felt her eyebrows fly up and couldn’t help raising her voice. “You were meant to be resting it tonight. Icing it!”
“Yeah, I know.” She heard the remorse in Rory’s voice as he continued, “I thought I’d get a head start on rehab, so I’d be ready for the match, but I think I’ve made it worse.”
“Rory, I need you to lie down on the floor if you’re not already. I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Before she could continue with Rory, she felt the phone being taken from her hand.
Blood rushed to her face. How dared he? She was consulting with her patient. Aidan had already undermined her once today—and now he had the cheek to grab her phone from her in her own home?
Wheeling around to retrieve the phone, she saw Aidan holding out an arm as if to keep her at bay.
Unbelievable. He was so insecure he couldn’t even let her speak to one of “their” patients. This was going to have to stop.
“Rory—it’s Aidan here. Are you able to get to the clinic, mate?” He paused, looking intently into Ali’s eyes.
She felt her cheeks burn, ashamed that the heat came from a mix of frustration and attraction. The whole situation was ridiculous. She leaned her head against the cool window to try to regain some levity. If this was how the next few months were going to be, it was never going to work. She was too advanced in her career to be treated like a junior doctor.
Taking a deep breath, Ali reached out and took back her phone. “Rory, it’s Dr. Lockhart again. I’m going to put you on speaker so we can get you the best treatment straight away, all right?”
This time she kept her gaze steady, noting Aidan’s eyebrows rising a fraction, while the rest of his face remained neutral.
“Hi, Docs.” Rory couldn’t keep the confusion as to why they were together out of his voice, “I’m not sure, exactly, but when I was working with the resistance bands I think I dislodged my clavicle, and it seems to be in a weirder place than it was before.”
Ali glanced over to Aidan. Reading those darkening eyes of his was virtually impossible.
Pulling her eyes away, she continued. “Rory, you could’ve just dislocated it again, and I can fix that pretty quickly, but from what you’re saying there’s a chance the fracture has become compounded. The bone could move and pinch your carotid artery. We definitely don’t want that to happen. Are you alone?”
“Uh...not exactly.”
“Mate.” Aidan redirected his gaze to the phone, “Ali is right. You need to get on the floor immediately and have your guest get some ice, or frozen peas—whatever you have in the house—on that shoulder now. We’ll be over as soon as possible. Got it?”
“Sure, Doc,” Rory’s voice was sounding a bit weaker now.
“Hang in there, Rory. We won’t be long. If you begin to feel short of breath, or if any extremely sharp pains run down your arm, have your—erm—friend call an ambulance immediately.”
Ali ended the call and started scrolling through her address book for Rory’s details. She’d entered all of the players’ numbers and addresses into her mobile phone the previous week, just in case anything like this happened. She just hadn’t expected “anything” to pop up so quickly.
“I’ll drive.” Aidan’s voice sounded commanding. Surprise, surprise.
“Look, Dr. Tate—”
“Oh, we’re back to formal titles now, are we?” Aidan taunted as he strode across her apartment to the door, not even bothering to look at her as he spoke.
Wow. This man really knew how to rankle. The arrogance!
“Yes. This is a professional situation and I’m not going to spend the next few months begging you for permission to treat a patient. I don’t think I need to remind you who it was he rang.”
Ali kept her voice steady, but knew if she let go of the kitchen counter she was clenching her knees might betray the wobble they felt.
“And I don’t think I need to remind you who knows their way around the city.”
“Fine. You drive. But when we get there—he’s my patient.” Ali’s eyes sparked brightly as she spoke.
Aidan noted with a sense of admiration that she had managed to keep her voice level, even though he was pretty certain she was fuming. Truth be told, if someone had treated him as he’d just treated her...for a second time... Well, it wouldn’t have been pretty.
“Meet you in the garage in five?”
“Fine.”
Aidan took the stairs to his own apartment. How had he managed to make such a hash of their new “working relationship” so quickly?
He slipped the key into his door.
Simple. Rory had called Ali and not him. It rankled. He had always been the go-to man for the team. The only consistent medic in their lives. Despite having to be available round the clock, and forsaking what little social life he had, he had enjoyed having the team’s trust. He’d been their medical point man. And now, in just one short fortnight Ali had become their first port of call.
His mind raced with the things he could’ve done wrong with Rory. Had he set the figure-eight brace incorrectly this afternoon? He’d followed the usual checklist, hadn’t he? Or had he been too concerned with getting back out on the field and asserting his control over Ali?
Aidan shook his head clear, knowing he was going to have to face some hard truths. And soon. He kept trying to control her because she brought out a side in him he’d thought was long gone.
A few strides into his loft and a quick look to the right revealed that his medical bag was where he always left it—in the unused contemporary fireplace. Medicine. That was what got him charged. Sent fire through his veins.
Romantic evenings by the fireside weren’t really his thing.
Perhaps it was time to reconsider. He didn’t like the way he was treating this perfectly innocent woman who’d appeared in his life, rattled his cage and given him a good old-fashioned dose of reality. But romantic evenings by the fireside...? Not really appropriate.
He wondered if she’d ever been to kickboxing...
He grabbed his bag and shut the door behind him. Work. That was what he needed to focus on. Not one hundred and one ways to spend time with Ali Lockhart. She was his colleague and that was it.
CHAPTER FOUR
A TWENTYSOMETHING BLONDE woman pulled open the front door to Rory’s palatial modern house when they arrived before shrinking into the corner of the well-appointed room, from where she silently watched as Ali and Aidan knelt on either side of the player.
The moment Ali saw Rory’s ashen face she knew he’d done more than dislocate his collarbone joint. A separated shoulder wouldn’t tent like this. He’d compounded the fracture.
“Pulse is up. Too high.” Aidan’s voice was professional, efficient, as he took the player’s obs.
“Rory, don’t try to move. Are you able to follow my finger with your eyes?” Ali raised her index finger a few inches above Rory’s pale face and watched as he tried to follow her moving it slowly in an arc. His breath started to come in short, sharp bursts.
“Shuuurrre, Doc...” Rory’s speech was barely audible, and decidedly slurred.
“I think he’s compounded the clavicle and pinched the carotid. He’ll need surgery.”
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be without an X-ray, but we don’t have that luxury.” Ali was relieved to hear that Aidan’s question hadn’t been laced with doubt. It had been just one professional confirming a course of action with another. “Call an ambulance. He’ll need to get this plated and he shouldn’t be moved without a proper stretcher.”
“On it.”
Ali’s energies were entirely on Rory. If his carotid artery was pinched for much longer it could lead to a stroke, changing the young man’s life forever. Time was of the essence.
“This isn’t going to feel good, Rory. I need you to try your best to focus, all right?”
Glancing up at the young woman in the corner, Ali motioned toward a cushion on the long white leather sofa.
“Could you bring that cushion over for him?” The girl didn’t move. “It’s all right,” Ali reassured her, “This will help him.”
Two quick strides and Aidan was at Rory’s side, cushion in hand, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, holding on to the player’s hand.
“As big a breath as you can muster, mate—ready?”
Aidan looked up at Ali and gave her a quick nod of assent. Time was against them and she needed to act now.
Placing her hands on Rory’s neck and clavicle, Ali deftly felt for what was surely a compound fracture and realigned the bones as quickly and adroitly as she could.
Rory howled in pain and there was a rush of blood to his face. A welcome sight after the ghostly pallor he had worn when they’d first arrived.
“Hold him—he needs to stay stationary. This relocation isn’t permanent.”
Aidan responded quickly, placing a knee on the player’s good shoulder as Ali pressed down the best she could on his injured side with the melting packet of frozen peas and what looked to be a sirloin steak she’d found lying by Rory’s side.
She looked up again at the woman in the corner and gave her a reassuring smile. “You did well to keep him flat and have his shoulder iced. What’s your name?”
“Amber.”
Her voice was so soft Ali strained to hear her. She seemed nice.
“Amber. That’s a lovely name.” She offered her another smile and then tipped her head in the direction she assumed was the kitchen. “Would you be able to get together a bag or a tea towel filled with as much ice as you can find?
Looking back at Rory, who had his eyes clenched tight with pain but was breathing more regularly, Ali kept her voice low and steady.
“Rory? You’ve bashed yourself up a bit more than we thought, so we’re going to have to go to hospital, all right?” His eyes fluttered open in acknowledgment. “We’re most likely going to put a plate on your clavicle, which will give you a sexy little scar, but hopefully it will get you playing for the final.”