It Happened One Night Shift

She watched a muscle clench in his jaw. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he dismissed. ‘You’ve worked all night and I’m here with a perfectly functioning car. It makes sense. Now … Where. Do. You. Live?’

She glared at him. ‘Only a really stupid man would call a tired woman stupid.’

Gareth shut his eyes and raked a hand through his hair, muttering, ‘Bloody hell.’ He glanced at her then. ‘I apologise, okay? Just tell me where you live already.’

‘Paddo.’

Paddington. Of course she did. Trendy, yuppie suburb as befitted her sparkly dress and expensive car. ‘Perfect. You’re on my way home.’ He was house-sitting in the outer suburbs but she lived in his general direction.

She folded her arms. He could tell she was deciding between being churlish and grateful. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind?’

Gareth shook his head. ‘Of course not,’ he said, indicating that she should make her way to his car. ‘As long as you don’t mind slumming it?’

Billie shot him a disparaging look. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’

Gareth nodded as she passed in front of him. The question was, would he?

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_ab79d9f4-1db1-58d6-bf29-06a378ac68e9)

THEY DROVE IN silence for a while as Gareth navigated out of the hospital grounds and onto the quiet Sunday morning roads. He noticed she tucked her hands between her denim-clad thighs as he pulled up at the first red traffic light.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, cranking the heat up a little more.

‘Not too bad,’ she murmured.

Gareth supposed the seats in her car were heated and this was probably a real step down for her. And maybe when he’d been younger, before life had dealt him a tonne of stuff to deal with, he might have felt the divide between them acutely.

But he’d since lived a life that had confirmed that possessions meant very little—from the pockmarked earth of the war-torn Middle East to the beige walls of an oncology unit—he’d learned very quickly that stuff didn’t matter.

And frankly he was too tired and too tempted by her to care for her comfort.

Her scent filled the car. He suddenly realised that she’d been wearing the same perfume last Saturday night but he had been too focused on the accident to realise. Something sweet. Maybe fruity? Banana? With a hint of vanilla and something … sharper.

Great—she smelled like a banana daiquiri.

And now it was in his car. And probably destined to be so for days, taunting him with the memory.

She shifted and in his peripheral vision he could see two narrow stretches of denim hugging her thighs, her hands still jammed between them.

‘So,’ Gareth said out of complete desperation, trying to not think about her thighs and how good they might feel wrapped around him, ‘you called yourself Dr Keyes … the other night. With M-Dog.’

Yep. Complete desperation. Why else would he even be remotely stupid enough to bring up that night when they were trapped in a tiny, warm cab together, only a small gap and a gearstick separating them, the kiss lying large between them?

But Billie didn’t seem to notice the tension as she shrugged and looked out the window. ‘It’s easier sometimes to just shorten it. Ashworth-Keyes is a bit of a mouthful at times and, frankly, it can also sound a bit prissy. I tend to use it more strategically.’

‘So drunk teenagers who go by the name of M-Dog don’t warrant the star treatment?’

Billie turned and frowned at him, surprisingly stung by his subtle criticism. ‘No,’ she said waspishly. ‘Some people respond better to a double-barrelled name. There are some patients, I’ve found, who are innately … snobbish, I guess. They like the idea of a doctor with a posh name. Guys called M-Dog tend to see it as a challenge to their working-class roots … or something,’ she dismissed with a flick of her hand. ‘And frankly …’ she sought his gaze as they pulled up at another red light and waited till he looked at her ‘… I was a little too … confounded by our kiss to speak in long words. I’m surprised I managed to remember my name at all.’

Billie held his gaze. If he was going to call her on something, he’d better get it right or be prepared to be called on it himself. She might be helplessly squeamish, she might not be able to stand up to her family and be caught up in the sticky web of their expectations but she’d been taught how to hold her own by experts.