The Spice of Life

She lost the battle and laughed. ‘Now, would I?’

‘Quite likely!’

She met his eyes, searching for any lingering trace of the bleakness she had seen the night before, but there was none, only undiluted wickedness flirting with her senses.

Well, he was wasting his time because as far as he was concerned she had no senses left!

She wiped the sink down viciously. ‘Can I do anything for you?’

He chuckled. ‘Now that’s a thought to play with!’ he said softly.

‘Damn it, Jack Lawrence—’

She turned, the soggy, dripping plaster bandage in her hand, but he was gone, only the last swoosh of the swing door left to show he had ever been there.

She sighed and shook her head. Aggravating man. She mustn’t let him take the rise out of her like that. He just seemed to find it so infuriatingly easy!

She caught up with him later in the staff-room, cracking jokes about second-rate coffee.

‘So,’ she said, ‘how did you get on with that young man’s friend last night?’

His face lost its sparkle. ‘Ah, Danny. Well, he was very distressed, as you can imagine. They’d been lovers for some time, apparently. A few months ago they had a row, and Steve stormed off and went nightclubbing in London for the weekend. He caught HIV from a casual encounter, didn’t realise and they patched up the row. The rest, as they say, is history.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘How sad—what a dreadful waste.’

‘One of the dangers of casual, unprotected sex. If you’re going to live that life, you have to learn to do so responsibly.

‘You don’t have to engage in casual relationships,’ she replied, more sharply than she had intended.

He arched a brow. Tut, tut, Sister Hennessy. Your Catholic upbringing is showing.’

‘And what if it is?’ she retorted, her chin lifting.

He met her eyes reprovingly. ‘We’re here to help, not to pass judgement. It’s no business of ours to referee lifestyles.’

‘But that’s nonsense! I wouldn’t hesitate to tell an overweight, unfit man that he was putting his health at risk. Why should I be allowed to give him dietary advice and not be able to advise a young person not to engage in indiscriminate sexual activity?’

He grinned. ‘You don’t tell an overweight man not to eat, you tell him what he can eat safely. Ergo, when you give advice on sexual behaviour, you don’t say, “You mustn’t”, you say, “Do it like this”—likewise junkies. You have to give them clean needles and good habits, not moral outrage and prohibition.’

‘Who in the hell is talking about moral outrage?’ she demanded, her voice rising.

He just grinned wider, bent forwards and dropped a kiss on her startled lips.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured absently, and walked away, leaving her riveted to the spot, astonished.

‘Well, well, well—I do believe our dear Sister Hennessy is speechless!’

She glared at Ben Bradshaw, dragged some air into her deprived lungs and marched swiftly down the corridor into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Then she let out the breath and sagged against the desk. Dazed, she lifted her fingers and rested them against her lips. They felt—tinglingly alive, soft and warm and swollen, aching for—for what? For more?

With a whimper of disgust and confusion, she sank into her chair and stared absently at the mound of paperwork. Damn him. Why did he have to do that? As if he’d known she’d spent all night wondering about the feel of his lips on hers, about how it would be if he kissed her.

She’d never expected rockets to go off and stars to shoot in all directions—leastways, not from just a casual brush of flesh against flesh …

She suppressed a shiver. Damn him. There had been nothing casual about that kiss. Brief, yes, and outwardly innocent, but my God, packed with promise!

Well, it wasn’t about to happen again!

She got to her feet, checked her cap in the little mirror on the wall and marched out into her department.

She rapped on his door, swung it open and stood in the doorway, not trusting either of them if it was shut.

He raised his eyes from the paperwork on his desk and leant back in the chair, a lazy grin on his face.

‘I suppose you want an apology?’ he said unrepentantly.

‘Don’t you ever—ever!—pull a stunt like that again!’

The grin widened. ‘Sorry—didn’t you enjoy it? Perhaps next time——’

‘Didn’t you hear me?’ she returned, her voice torn between a growl and a whimper. ‘There will be no next time!’

‘Pity. I was rather looking forward to it.’

She glared at him. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

He shrugged, a laughing, arrogant, almost Gallic shrug. You would have thought it was a compliment, she thought crossly.

‘I try to be.’

‘Well, don’t. This is my department, and I won’t have you lolling around here undermining my authority——’

‘My dear girl, nothing I could do could possibly undermine your authority,’ he drawled lazily. ‘The entire department cowers at the sound of your voice. I should have thought a little evidence of human frailty would merely enhance your reputation—and the association would do mine a power of good!’

She snorted. ‘Your reputation would be greatly enhanced if you took yourself seriously!’

Something changed in his face then, some fleeting spectre that drained the life from his eyes and left them cold and hard.

Then he smiled, a dangerous, cynical smile.

‘Life’s too short to take it seriously, Irish. You should learn that, before it’s too late.’

And with that he picked up his pen and returned to his paperwork, dismissing her.

She was in the staff lounge making herself a drink when he came in half an hour later.

‘Coffee?’ she asked, more as a reflex than anything. He shuddered and shook his head.