Tempted By Mr Off-Limits

He threw back his head and laughed and Lola followed the very masculine line of his throat etched with five o’clock shadow to a jaw so square he could have been a cartoon superhero. Was it wrong she wanted to lick him there?

Gary placed Hamish’s beer on the bar in front of him and he picked it up. ‘What shall we drink to?’

Lola smiled. ‘Crappy shifts?’

‘Here’s to crappy shifts.’ He tapped his glass against the rim of hers. ‘And distractions.’

* * *

They were home by eleven. Lola had drunk another—standard—glass of wine and Hamish had sat on his beer. They’d chatted about the Herd Across the Harbour event and cattle and he’d made her laugh about his hometown of Toowoomba and some of the incidents he’d gone to as a paramedic. He was a great distraction in every sense of the word but when she’d started to yawn he’d insisted on driving them home and she’d directed.

But now they were here, Lola wasn’t feeling tired. In fact, she dreaded going to bed. She wasn’t drunk enough to switch off her brain—only pleasantly buzzed—and sex with Hamish was out of the question.

Completely off-limits.

‘You fancy another drink?’ She headed through to the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. She ignored the three postcards attached with magnets to the door. They were from her Aunty May’s most recent travels—India, Vietnam and South Korea. Normally they made her smile but tonight they made her feel restless.

She was off to Zimbabwe for a month next April. It couldn’t come soon enough.

‘Ah...sure. Okay.’

He didn’t sound very sure. ‘Past your bedtime?’ she teased as she pulled a bottle of wine and a beer out of the fridge.

He smiled as he took the beer. His thick, wavy, nutmeg hair flopped down over his forehead and made her want to furrow her fingers in it. There were red-gold highlights in it that shone in the downlights and reminded Lola of Grace’s gorgeous red hair.

‘I’d have thought Grace would still be up.’

Lola snorted. ‘I’m sure she is. Just not here. Did you forget she got engaged to Marcus today?’

‘No.’ He grinned. ‘I didn’t forget.’

‘Yes well...’ Lola poured her wine. ‘I’m pretty sure they’re probably celebrating. If you get my drift.’

The way his gaze strayed to her mouth left Lola in no doubt he did.

‘He’s a good guy, yeah?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Lola nodded. ‘They’re both hopelessly in love.’

Lola was surprised at the little pang that hit her square in the chest. She’d never yearned for a happily ever after—she liked being footloose and fancy-free. Why on earth would she suddenly feel like she was missing something?

She shook it away. It was just this night. This awful, awful night. ‘Let’s go out to the balcony.’

She didn’t wait for him to follow her or even check to see if he was—she could feel the weight of his gaze on her back. On her ass, actually, and she wished she was in something more glamorous than her navy work trousers and the pale blue pinstriped blouse with the hospital logo on the left pocket.

Lola leaned against the railing when she reached her destination, looking out over the parkland opposite, the night breeze cool as befitting August in Sydney. She could just detect the faint trace of the ocean—salt and sand—despite being miles from Manly Beach.

She loved that smell and inhaled it deeply, pulling it into her lungs, savouring it, grateful for nights like this. Grateful to be alive. And suddenly the view was blurring before her eyes and the faint echo of a thirteen-year-old girl’s cries wrapped fingers around Lola’s heart and squeezed.

Her patient tonight would never feel the sea breeze on his face again. His wife and two kids would probably never appreciate something as simple ever again.

‘Hey.’

She hadn’t heard Hamish approach and she quickly shut her eyes to stop the moisture becoming tears. But he lifted her chin with his finger and she opened them. She was conscious of the dampness on her lashes as she was drawn into his compelling blue gaze. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?’

His voice was low and Lola couldn’t stop staring at him. He was wearing one of those checked flannel shirts that was open at the throat and blue jeans, soft and faded from years of wear and tear. They fitted him in all the right places. He radiated warmth and smelled like beer and the salt and vinegar chips they’d eaten at the bar, and she wanted to talk about it.

Who knew, maybe it would help? Maybe talking with a guy who’d probably seen his fair share of his own crappy shifts would be a relief. Lola turned back to the view across the darkened park. His hand fell away, but she was conscious of his nearness, of the way his arm brushed hers.

‘My patient... He was pronounced brain dead tonight. We switched him off. He had teenage kids and...’ She shrugged, shivering as the echo of grief played through her mind again. ‘It was...hard to watch.’

Her voice had turned husky and tears pricked again at the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away once more as he turned to his side, his hip against the railing, watching her.

‘Sorry...’ She dashed away a tear that had refused to be quelled. ‘I’m being melodramatic.’

He shrugged. ‘Some get to you more than others.’

The sentiment was simple but the level of understanding was anything but and something gave a little inside Lola at his response. There were no meaningless platitudes about tomorrow being another day or empty compliments about what an angel she must be. Hamish understood that sometimes a patient sneaked past the armour.

‘True but... Just ignore me.’ She shot him a watery smile.

‘I’m being stupid.’

He shook his head. ‘No, you’re not.’

Lola gave a half laugh, half snort. ‘Yes. I am. My tears aren’t important.’ This wasn’t about her. It was about a family who’d just lost everything. ‘This man’s death shouldn’t be about my grief. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.’

‘I think it’s called being human.’

He smiled at her with such gentleness and insight she really, really wanted to cry. But she didn’t, she turned blind eyes back to the view, her arm brushing his. Neither said anything for long moments as they sipped at their drinks.

‘Was it trauma?’ Hamish asked.

‘Car accident.’ Lola was glad to be switching from the emotion of the death to the more practical facts of it.

‘Did he donate his organs?’

Hamish and Grace’s sister-in-law, Merridy, had undergone a kidney transplant four years ago, so Lola knew the issue meant a lot to the Gibson family.

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Was he not a candidate?’

Lola could hear the frown in Hamish’s voice as she shook her head, a lump thickening her throat. What the hell was wrong with her tonight? She was usually excellent at shaking this stuff off.

‘He wasn’t on the register?’

The lump blossomed and pressed against Lola’s vocal cords. She cleared her throat. ‘He was but...’