by Annie O'Neil
He was just about to tell her to forget it when Amanda’s lips thinned again, then twisted into a contemplative moue as she looked at him through narrowed eyes.
What went on in that head of hers? It surprised him to note how much he actually wanted to know. Normally the less he knew, the better. But Amanda had him all topsy-turvy, and he wasn’t one hundred percent sure why he kept coming back for more. Moth to the flame sprang to mind. Or was it more like two peas in a pod?
“Fine.” She gave a tight nod. “One glass.”
“As you wish, m’lady.”
“Enough with the ‘m’lady’ stuff. You’re every bit as titled as I am,” she huffed, already briskly making her way toward the door, offering a few hip-height goodbye waves to the doctors and nurses newly arrived on shift, all of whom seem to have received some sort of cheesy holiday jumper memo he hadn’t caught sight of.
Glowing Rudolph noses? Bah. Didn’t they know the hazards a battery-powered jumper presented?
“Besides...”
She caught him off-guard by screeching to a halt, eyes blazing with something he couldn’t quite identify.
“You earned yours. I didn’t.”
“I don’t know,” Matthew countered, appreciating that he was treading on thin ice. “You certainly take it for the team here in the A&E. Didn’t I see you dive in front of a nurse today, so she wouldn’t get vomited on?”
“Pfft.” Amanda shrugged. “I was wearing a disposable gown. She wasn’t.”
“And you’ve been pulling longer shifts than Dr. Menzies has scheduled.”
“That’s hardly the stuff of champions, Matthew. And if tacking on a few extra hours to help out in an A&E unit that sorely needs better staffing is the criterion for being titled, then every single staffer in this hospital should be bending a knee before the Queen when she hands out her New Year’s honors!”
She swept an arm from one end of the A&E to the other, in an indignant display of disbelief that such a thing hadn’t come to pass already, and just as quickly dropped her hands, halfheartedly working them back into the deep pockets of her crimson coat.
Matt nodded. Fair enough. He wasn’t going to make her smile. Not today. At least not with idle chatter about who deserved to be a sir or a lady and who didn’t. She was right. Sometimes life was simply capricious. And...as in Jenny O’Shea’s case...sometimes it was downright cruel.
A hit of cold air promising another frosty night swept across them as they walked out through the automatic hospital doors, past the ambulances on their never-ending cycle of arrivals and departures and out into streets filled to bursting with people hurrying toward home, or a party, or to late-night shopping on Oxford Street—which seemed to be just about every night now that Christmas was less than a fortnight away.
A few minutes of brisk, decidedly silent walking later Amanda whirled round, tears streaming down her face, grief creasing her brow as the day’s full weight finally hit her.
“Oh, it’s just not fair, is it?”
Without a moment’s hesitation Matthew pulled her into his arms and held her tight. He couldn’t provide words of comfort. There weren’t any in this sort of case. No answers. No good reasons. Just life slinging out its challenges one by one while everyone tried to stay afloat.
As he held Amanda close to him he wondered if this was just a bad day taking its toll, or if her response was more personal.
He pulled her in tighter, putting a protective hand across the back of her head as a man haphazardly shouldered a Christmas tree and zigzagged his way to a nearby block of flats. He was hyper-aware of Amanda’s jagged breaths against his chest as she fought for control over her emotions.
When a window in the foot traffic cleared he worked them toward a quieter lane, less full of traffic than the main road, and pulled her back close to him, whispering nonsense, really. All he wanted her to know was that she could feel safe in his arms. Safe to cry, to scream, to wail—to pummel his chest if she needed.
As her sobs lessened he put one of his hands to her cheek, brushing his thumb along her jawline until he reached her temple. There, he began to stroke his fingers through the silky blond waves of hair that had fallen out of her loose bun, and it struck him that nothing in his life felt more natural than holding Amanda in his arms. Feeling her fingers tighten in their clutching of his jumper, her heart hammering so fast it beat against his own ribs, her hair brushing underneath his chin as she moaned a long stream of, “No, no, no—it’s just not right...”
He agreed. It wasn’t right. But if you had someone by your side to help carry the load...
You’re not that man.
He cleared his throat and used his free hand to dig into his pocket. He pulled out a fresh handkerchief and tucked it into the hand she had pressed against his chest, with a murmur to say that it was clean and he didn’t need it back.
When Amanda eventually pulled away, ducking beneath her free-range locks, her expression was almost shy. If she was anything like him—and Matthew had one hell of a feeling she was—doing this—weeping unabashedly—was more intimate for her than the night they’d shared all those years ago.
Again he raised his thumb, swept a couple of lingering tears from her flushed cheeks.
The moment shifted from tender to sensual in an instant.
How she could look so beautiful after sobbing her heart out, he didn’t know. Perhaps the honesty of emotion was more powerful than any amount of mascara or eye shadow, or whatever it was she wore to mask her natural beauty. In a league of her own, she was. Stunning.
Unexpectedly she giggled. “Well, that was a bit mortifying.”
She pulled away from him, her shoulders wriggling beneath the heavy wool of her winter coat, and looked around her as if suddenly seeing the small cobbled street she must have walked along a thousand times in a brand-new light.
Her expression sobered, and the next time their eyes met the emotion in them was so deep his heart lodged in his throat.
“This is so ironic,” she said, shaking her head, breaking their eye contact. “Crying. With you. Of all people.”
“What do you mean ‘of all people’?”
Amanda gave him a sharp look, and her lips were parting to speak when, as if she’d clicked a remote control, he could see the Ice Queen slide back into place.
“Nothing. Apologies. Just being ridiculous, really, aren’t I? Though I’m clearly not—it was a tough day. And, seeing as we’re going for the same job, it’s just...funny.”
The job? This wasn’t about the job.
“It’s not exactly laugh-a-minute kind of funny, is it?” Matthew knew she hadn’t even come close to explaining herself. What secret was she hiding? “You still up for that glass of wine?”
Again she gave him a curious look. One part disbelief to one part who-are-you-really? It was disconcerting. More so to realize he was prepared to tell her. To lay out the hits of history that had turned him into the unsettled, trying-to-do-the-best-he-could-without-getting-hurt man who was standing in front of her.
“Maybe another time?”
He said it before she could. It was written all over her face. She wanted to go home. Alone.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
“What? The big strong Knight making sure the poor maiden doesn’t crumble to bits the second he’s out of view?”
He knew she was teasing, but she’d pretty much hit the nail on the head. He hadn’t been able to offer her any comfort. The least he could do was see her safely home.
“Something like that.” He matched her teasing tone, before lowering it an octave. “Besides... Who would I have to play with at work if you took to your bed?”
The atmosphere between them thickened.
Everything was going Tilt-A-Whirl, as if he and Amanda were testing one another at
each stop on the emotional spectrum. From tears, to polite chitchat, to sudden hits of barely checked desire.
Playfulness twinkled in Amanda’s eyes as the tip of her pink tongue nipped out and swept along her full lower lip. “Now, what would have you thinking of me in my bed, Dr. Chase?”
A shot of heat blasted his chest apart and swept straight past his belt to parts of his body he was unsuccessfully willing into submission.
Grateful for the protective cover of his overcoat, he fell back a step or two as she pressed the code into the garden square he presumed was across from her house, taking the opportunity to rake the length of her visually.
He knew damn well why his body had taken a trip to the tropics. He wanted her. Had from the moment he’d laid eyes on her all that time ago—just the same as he did now. Another shockwave of erotic desire taunted him with an image of pressing Amanda up against one of the enormous oaks in the center of the garden and having his wicked way with her. The cool, wintry air would be a titillating contrast to the heat they would create as they moved together in synchronized—
“Do you like the decorations?” she asked, turning back with an innocent expression.
Grateful for the darkness, he murmured something nondescript, stopping himself from reaching out to grab her hand, or drape a protective arm across her shoulders as if they’d been a couple from the beginning of time. That was how natural it felt to be with her. How much he wanted to touch her.
Was it him, or were those sidelong glances she kept giving him sending the same message?
I want you.
A handful of footsteps away from the gate leading out of the garden he went with his gut and pulled her to him, lips lowering without a moment’s hesitation until he was kissing her with a near insatiable hunger.
She tasted of lip gloss and salty tears and a natural sweetness he knew belonged just to her. He could hear her murmur his name against his lips, press her hands to his chest, but he persisted. His tongue teased at her lips as he tugged her closer to him, wanting her to feel the effect she was having on him. He groaned when she finally responded, her mouth opening to allow his tongue in, tasting and exploring with the same heated desire he felt. He drew a sharp breath in as she raked her fingers through his hair, making him long for the sensation of her nails scraping along his bare back.
As quickly as the heat of their kisses soared, a frigid wind blew between them and Amanda pushed back, shaking her head, pressing the back of her hand to her lips. Whether she was trying to hold in the sensation of their kisses or to wipe it away was impossible to tell. Her breath was shaky. Cheeks pink again, but for an entirely different reason.
Once more she started shaking her head. “No. No, I can’t do this. Not now. Not with—” She bit down hard on her lip and winced.
“Not with what? The job?” He lifted his hands out to his sides. “It’s yours if you want it. I can find somewhere else. Do something else.”
Her mouth widened in disbelief. “You don’t mean that.”
She tugged her collar tightly round that telltale pulse-point in her throat. What he wouldn’t give to dip down and kiss her right there...
He forced himself to look her in the eye, only to see that her attention was already fully focused on a house opposite the garden gate. A woman was visible in the window, holding up a small boy. Both of them were peering into the square—he presumed to see if Mummy was coming home.
Everything that had been lava-hot in him turned to ice. Family. Responsibility. The two things he wasn’t programmed for.
“You’re right. I don’t.” He kept his tone as light as possible, nodding toward the house as he did. “Looks like you’d better get home now. See you tomorrow.”
Amanda gave him a distracted look as she raised her hand to the woman and waved, though they were too far away for them to see her.
He turned to go. He didn’t need a reminder that he would never relive those intimately sensual moments with Amanda. Not that he deserved it. Not with his track record.
“Matthew, I—”
He turned back, surprised at the lift of hope in his chest.
“Thank you,” she said, lifting the handkerchief. “For everything.”
He nodded, the disappointment in his chest becoming leaden. “Goodnight.”
He turned and strode off in long-legged strides, until eventually he needed to feel the burn in his chest. Grateful he was still wearing his trainers, he kicked up his pace into a run.
The air bit his face as he pushed, strained against wash after wash of emotion, but his thoughts kept looping back to the same place. His heart. He was falling in love. And that was the one thing he’d promised himself he would never do.
* * *
Amanda pressed the door shut behind her and fell back against it, her chest heaving with emotion.
“Goodness, darling! You look absolutely puffed.” Auntie Florence appeared out of the sitting room, holding a very sleepy-looking Tristan in her arms. “Did you run home?”
Amanda pressed her hand to her chest—as if the silly gesture would contain the thumping of her heart recovering from those kisses—and tried her best to smile.
“How could I not? I didn’t want to miss my best little boy before he dropped off into the Land of Nod, did I?” She reached out her arms, her heart filling with peace as her son mimicked the gesture and all but flew into her arms. “Oops. Easy there, my love. We don’t want to use Auntie Flo as a launching pad, now, do we?”
Tristan giggled, tracing his fingers along her face. More than ever Amanda was struck by how much her son was turning into a little Matthew. She pulled one of his small hands into her own and play-nibbled along each of his fingers as if she was a hungry monster, which threw him into another gale of laughter.
A sharp ache filled her chest. One she’d never thought she’d feel. She wished Matthew could see his little boy. Enjoy hearing his laugh. Seeing his smile. It was just so impossible to tell how he would respond, and the desire to protect her son from even the tiniest dust mote of rejection was essential. Tristan was the one person she’d vowed never to fail.
“Darlings, look!” Florence had moved to one of the windows beside the large front door. “It’s snowing!”
Amanda pulled the door open, tugging a section of her winter coat round Tristan so he could see and touch his first winter snow.
When they were out on the front steps the air held that singular hushed, thrilling expectancy that only a snowfall in London could bring. As if the millions of people held within the city limits were all holding their breath, waiting for a Christmas miracle.
Amanda scanned the square, her index finger running the length of her lips and back again. Only a handful of people were in the square now...most of them hunched against the cold...none of them the six-foot-something, dark-haired, blue-eyed man who had just kissed her as if she were oxygen itself.
As her heart filled with disappointment she knew with sudden clarity exactly what she wanted her Christmas miracle to be...and ached at the impossibility of achieving the dream.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IF AMANDA HAD thought working with Matthew was high-octane a week earlier, one week closer to Christmas they were hitting a whole new level of anything-you-can-do-I can-do-better. Or maybe it was the whole kissing and then running away to hide in her house thing.
There was no doubting the chemistry between them. It fizzled and crackled throughout the long, wearing shifts. An invisible superfood rendering them both turbo-charged.
For every sprain she had, he would have a compound fracture. For every cardiac arrest that came her way, he would have a severe case of pneumonia.
It was as if they had trading cards of Worst and Silliest Patient Files. Not only did they enjoy “out-doctoring” each other, they enjoyed helping one another. It genuin
ely felt as if once the scrubs were on they were predestined to work with the other. And once they were off...
She blinked away an image of herself doing a striptease in a sexy elf costume... Those thoughts were far too naughty to revisit. Most of the time, anyway.
All very confusing. Particularly when memories of That Night and Those Kisses sent surges of adrenaline through her in the form of a brush of fingers as they handed one another instruments, the heat of his hand on the small of her back as he moved past her with yet another patient, a soft wink masking—just for an instant—those incredible blue eyes.
Ugh. Who was she kidding? The nonstop endorphin rush was undoubtedly The Other Elephant in the Room. The whole I-had-your-child-and-he-lives-round-the-corner elephant.
Hours would go by when she was engrossed in her work and then—bam! She’d catch a glimpse of Matthew smiling, or cross paths with him in the waiting room, and each time it was like being struck from behind with an anvil, adding to the weight of the huge secret she was carrying in her chest.
If she could just hold it in for a few more weeks, all the angst would be over and done with. One of them would get the job. The other would go on their merry way. They’d ring in the New Year, no hard feelings, and she’d most likely never see him again.
But then she’d think of poor Jenny O’Shea and her terminally ill son. Would she tell her son’s father? What was that saying? A burden shared is a burden halved?
She let her head crack down on the wall next to the assignment board. The longer she waited, the more confusing it became.
Should she tell him? When? How? Casual? Serious? A mix of both? Would he be angry? Thrilled? Would he want to marry her and whisk her away for a life of wedded bliss? Did she even want that?
Stupid question. Of course she’d love that. But maybe...maybe not just yet. Because the chances were much higher that he would head for the hills and prove to her what she’d feared all along: she didn’t deserve the perfect life. Not after everything she’d done.
She conked her head against the wall again, ignoring the curious looks of a passing nurse wearing reindeer antlers, and tried to channel the practice session she’d had out loud in the ladies’ loo earlier in the day.