скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Hmm. I thought there was more in there. I’m just …’ His smile made him look like some major celeb. She’d never noticed that before either. Gangly teenager Isaac was now pretty damned handsome? Who knew? And now he was swaying, too. Oops … no, it was her … What was she doing? The tree … yes, the tree. ‘I just need to finish this decorating. Then I really should go to bed.’
‘You need a hand?’
‘Going to bed? No. I don’t think—’ She looked down at his palm. It was a nice hand. Slender fingers, neat nails and the slightly roughened skin of a man who worked with his hands …
Oh, and his brain. Because he was also too clever and too successful—seemed the man just knew instinctively about bars and where to put them and who to market them to. Clever, and her brother’s friend. And then he’d found out her deepest, darkest secret …
Stupid. Stupid.
‘No. Thanks. I’m just finishing this. You can go.’ She wafted her hand to him to leave, needed him to leave as that memory rose, scoring the insides of her gut like sandpaper.
She slid her fist back into the decorations box. Something warm banged against it, then darted out of the hole. Something brown. Small. With more legs than she had time to count.
‘Yikes!’ Jumping back, she stepped on Isaac’s booted foot, banged against his body—which was a whole lot firmer than she ever remembered—and ricocheted off him into an armchair, which she scrambled on, all the better to get out of the way of a man-eating furball. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. ‘What … the … hell was that?’
Isaac laughed as he ducked down to the floor. ‘Shh … it’s just a little mouse. Very frightened now, too, by your crazy demonic scream.’ He crawled along the carpet, hemming the creature into a corner, then swooped in and grabbed.
It darted away, under the TV cupboard and into a very dark corner. Now the only view Poppy had was of a very firm-looking jeans-clad backside. And a slice of skin between his belt and T-shirt, skin that for an odd reason made her tummy do a little somersault. Seemed Isaac had recently been somewhere sun-kissed as well as wintry northern Europe. ‘Have you got it?’
A muffled voice came from underneath the cupboard. ‘For an educated woman who uses scalpels for a living you’re mighty squeamish when it comes to tiny pests. I think it’s escaped.’
‘You think? You think? I can’t live here thinking I don’t have mice. I want to know I don’t have mice. I don’t like them, they scare me, however irrational that makes me. And where there’s one, there’s always more. There could be fifty of them.’
‘Then at least you won’t be alone, right?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Sure you are.’ He scrambled up, looked at her all hunched up on the chair and grinned. ‘So you were yelling at some poor, unsuspecting, innocent bystanders. Very loudly.’
‘They were down there across the road and I’m up here behind a window. They didn’t hear.’
‘No. But I imagine the rest of the building did. Where is everyone?’
She slumped down, choosing not to have any more wine, because, seriously, two bottles were way more than she usually had. The mouse had done a runner, so she shovelled her feet under her backside in case it decided to retrace its teeny steps. ‘They’re all out. Gone. Holidays, shopping … all insanely happy and …’ Left behind.
He perched on the arm of the chair, arms folded over his chest—looking as if he was trying to appear sympathetic but inwardly laughing. The way his face lit up when he laughed … that mouth, so nice, so weird. And maybe it was Shiraz-coloured glasses because he was so good-looking weird. Attractive weird. Sexy weird. Infuriating Isaac was eye candy, too. Who knew?
She’d been so busy being annoyed at him living in her space that she hadn’t thought anything else about him at all. Apart from being aware of an electric current every time she was in the same room as him. She’d always assumed that had been caused by her anger at his general class-A irritatingness. ‘Fancy them going off and having a nice time without you. Poor Poppy. Lonely?’
And he was a mind-reader, too, but no way would she fess up to such an idea. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s great that they’re all sorted—it gets them off my hands. Finally.’
‘You love it, though, playing the mum, looking after them all, nurturing them … putting up the tree as a surprise for when they get home. Sweet. You don’t want to be alone at all, do you?’
‘You make it sound pathetic when really I’m just using you all to pay the mortgage.’
He leant towards her. ‘Hey, I was joking—at least you were the sensible sibling and put your money into bricks and mortar instead of partying it away like Alex. And it’s a great flat even if it does get a little busy. And leaky. But the company helps, right?’
‘Some of the company does …’
‘Don’t worry, message received loud and clear. I’m sorry Alex gave me the room without talking to you first. I wouldn’t have moved straight in if I’d known. But I’ll be out of your hair as soon as my apartment’s done.’ Isaac’s grin smoothed into that soft smile again and for some strange reason her unmentionables suddenly got hot and bothered.
What? No. It was just unseasonably warm tonight. Or a vasoconstrictive response to the wine. Or something. Whatever was making her body parts flush it was definitely not Isaac Blair. ‘Oh, yes, the swanky South Ken penthouse. I’ve heard it’s going to be very nice. Very swish and expensive.’ Very uncluttered, too, no doubt. Isaac liked to keep things simple—most notably his love life, which, she’d observed over the years, was more like a revolving door of heartbroken women trying to ensnare him, and nothing stable or serious. Or committed. Ever. ‘And the renovations will be finished when?’ Hope rose.
‘A couple more months, I imagine. There’s Christmas coming and everything shuts down so there’ll be no progress made for a few weeks. Mid-February?’
Hope fell, but, God knew, she needed the cash to fund her home loan. Alex might well have spent all his inheritance but he’d had a good time in the process. All she’d got out of ploughing her grandmother’s inheritance cash into a bijou flat was a financial noose around her neck, dodgy plumbing and four-legged furry friends. Regardless, she didn’t feel overly comfortable being on her own with Isaac and flushing unmentionables. ‘Okay, so you stay on longer than February the twenty-eighth and I’ll charge you double rent.’
His eyes widened. ‘You drive a very hard bargain, Dr Spencer.’
‘Indeed I do.’ Her eyes locked with his and there was a strange rippling in the atmosphere between them. Was she imagining it or did he feel it, too?
He dragged his gaze away, but not before she caught a glimpse of tease there. Maybe a little heat. Whoa. Isaac? Heat? With her? Maybe she hadn’t imagined it.
‘So it’s just you and me here tonight, then?’ he asked.
‘It appears so.’ And why did that make her feel suddenly nervous? No, not nervous … tingly. Tingly happened to other people. Not her.
She looked across the wooden floor to the dark hole under the TV and tingly mingled with fear. Although she had to admit she did feel a lot better with Isaac in the flat. ‘Just you, me and our furry friend, of course … plus his babies, wife, mother, grandparents, probably a community the size of a small tropical nation living in the rafters, the walls … under my bed.’
‘I’ll get a trap tomorrow from the hardware stall at the market and have a word with the café and let them know we have guests. They’ll need to know for their own health and safety measures.’
‘Oh, I don’t want it hurt, or dead. I just want it gone. Out of here.’
‘Like me? Right.’
Got it in one. She couldn’t hide the smile. ‘You can stay if you can keep the rodent population to a minimum. Humanely. Yes. Yes. The mice. Do things … with them.’ Was she rambling a little?
‘Is that all I’m good for, really?’
She could think of a few things—starting with that mouth. Her stomach joined her head in all kinds of woozy. Definitely too much alcohol on an empty stomach. ‘I’m sure you’re good for a lot of things, Isaac …’
‘I’ve never had any complaints.’ He stood up, the flash of cheekiness gone. She wondered how it would be to really flirt with him, just a little. But then she didn’t know how. He brushed down his T-shirt and strode towards his bag.
There was something she was supposed to ask him. She couldn’t remember … Something about work or Christmas … Her head was getting foggy … Oh, yes … She held up a finger. ‘Wait. One thing.’
He stopped and turned, the bag still in his hand. ‘Yes?’
‘I have a problem.’
Smug eyebrows peaked. ‘Oh? Just the one?’
‘Don’t be cheeky. I’m organising the department Christmas party and the venue has double-booked us. Any chance Blue could fit us in? I’m in a bit of a pickle because I’m organising the party …’ Had she already said that? He might just save the day. She put her hand on one hip and flashed him her best winning smile. ‘Pretty please?’
It appeared to have little effect apart from the eyebrows rising further. ‘Now you’re just being nice because you want something. Poppy, Poppy, should I charge you double rates, too? What night?’
‘Next Friday.’
‘I’ll check the diary tomorrow. Shouldn’t be a problem, though. That’s early for a Christmas party.’
‘Things tend to hot up the closer we get to Christmas. Everyone wants a Christmas baby so they either try to hold on … or try to get it out early. We want to get the party out of the way so we can focus.’ Focusing was a bit of a problem right now, but she figured she’d be fine by Christmas.
‘So you’re working over Christmas? Not going home?’
She snorted at the thought. ‘You’re joking, right? I offered to work Christmas Day so the staff with families that actually cared for each other could spend time together. That way I have a good excuse to stay away from the family pile. So do me a favour and make sure my work Christmas party’s a good one? I want at least one thing to look forward to this festive season.’ Give me a good time, Isaac?
Geez, she was funny.
‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do. And now, I’m definitely going to bed.’ He turned again, his back straight, shoulders solid and that backside giftwrapped in jeans, all tight and firm and … her mouth watered.
What in hell was she thinking?
She watched him reach the door and felt an overwhelming desire to talk to him just a little more. She didn’t want to be on her own. And for some reason she felt a tingling down low and a need to … to what?
She hadn’t been able to think about sex for so long and now … well, right now she was thinking about it a lot. And not just because she was on the obstetrics and gynaecology rotation, although if that job taught her anything it was that women were either doing it a lot or not able to do it and wanting her to fix problems so they could do it some more.
But she deserved a little fun—and some much needed sexperience—maybe Isaac would know how she could find some. ‘Hey, Isaac, wait.’
‘What now?’
‘You have fun, right?’
She couldn’t read his expression as he turned to face her. Something between grumpy and irritated. And downright insanely sexy. ‘Sure. I work hard so I figure I should play hard, too.’
‘That’s it … that’s just it, right there. I’ve worked so hard for so long and I just want … more. Is there more? What more is there? What am I missing? How do you … you know, have fun without getting messed up in the process? Do you understand?’ She wasn’t sure she did. Not a lot of anything made sense right now. Except that Isaac had come closer and was looking at her with those bluest of blue eyes—okay, he was a little out of focus … And she wanted to stroke his hair. No, she wanted to breathe in his smell. It was smoky, very masculine. Yummy. She wanted to breathe him in and stroke his hair. ‘Is there more, Isaac?’
‘Oh. Okay, I see, we’re at stage three already.’ He disappeared into the kitchen and brought back a pint glass filled with water. ‘Drink this.’
She took a sip. He pushed it back towards her mouth and she drank a whole lot more; it was refreshing but nowhere near as nice as the Shiraz. ‘Stage three of what?’
‘It goes like this. The tipsy stage. The funny stage. The “pondering the universe” stage. Then, the “I love you, you’re my bestest ever friend” stage. And finally, the upchuck. We see it all the time at work and, trust me, you do not want to get to stage five.’
She put the glass down on the coffee table. ‘I am so not at any stage.’
‘Walk in a straight line, then, preferably towards your bedroom to sleep the alcohol off.’
She doubted she could stand in a straight line. ‘I don’t have to. I’m fine, thank you very much. Very fine indeedy.’
He held her gaze. A challenge. The heat in his eyes was flecked with serious. So nice. So very, very nice.
And very, very Isaac. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll walk.’ Oh, yes, she could do that. She could do that perfectly; show Isaac Blair she wasn’t afraid of any challenge from him.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_c43c7898-59f4-595d-aa8d-2a6252a22083)
STAGE THREE. WITHOUT a doubt things could well get messy. After spending hours dealing with this kind of stuff at work Isaac really did not need it at home, too, but he took Poppy’s hand and pulled her up from the chair. For the second time that night she bumped against him and he steadied her, feeling the softness of her body as she leaned into him. Cute that she wore old-fashioned pyjamas to bed, but with Poppy’s slightly restrained approach to life it wasn’t surprising.
The way she felt was, though. She had curves where curves should very definitely be and right now, pressed against him, they certainly chased away the London winter chill.
Hell, she’d grown up. A lot. And even though he’d caught up with her over the years he hadn’t really looked at her. Hadn’t wanted to—and she clearly hadn’t wanted anything to do with him either. Not since the night he’d held her thick dark hair while she vomited into a rose bush and cried for a man who wasn’t him. ‘Hey, careful.’
‘Oops. Sorry.’ She looked up at him through a fringe that grazed long black eyelashes and something flashed behind her deep brown eyes. Caution. Poppy’s normal mojo. She’d trodden a safe, sensible path for the last however many years—never letting herself get out of control, always steadily working towards her career goal. But there was something else in those eyes, too—something glittering—need? Lust?
First time he’d seen her let her guard down in for ever. Amazing what a bit of wine could do.
‘Right.’ He stretched a piece of tinsel along the floor. Hell, it wasn’t his problem; she wasn’t his problem. But he had to make sure she was safe. Way he saw it, he could probably do this tinsel line straight to her bedroom and she’d hardly notice. ‘Now, walk along this line and we’ll see what stage you’re at. Then you should definitely get some shut-eye.’
‘See. I can do this, no problemo.’ Her right foot rested on top of the tinsel, scarlet-painted toes pointed as if she were perfecting a gymnastic display on the barre. Left foot. Then the right flailed in mid-air, she wobbled, fell sideways and into his outstretched arms. She grabbed on to his shoulder and he got a whiff of clean citrus, shampoo possibly or shower gel. The woman smelt good. She smiled. ‘Oops again. You’re a good catcher, Isaac. Thank you for being here. You’re very kind. Very nice actually, I think. Underneath that standoffish mask. Very nice indeed. We could be friends, you know … You know a lot about me. More than anyone—’
‘Shh. Let’s concentrate on the walking thing.’ He placed a finger over her lips. Rapidly approaching stage four—he did not want to deal with that. ‘Then I think we should get you to bed.’
‘Absolutely … Is that … is that an offer?’ The heat in her body slammed against his. Her lips parted ever so slightly as she smiled.
Then closed again as he shook his head. ‘Thanks. But, no. If we were ever to do anything in bed, Poppy … which we won’t … I’d want you to be able to remember it in the morning.’
Sleeping with Poppy? Insane idea. But the thought lingered for just too long, and he hadn’t been with a woman in a while.
Absolutely not.
He gently removed her from his arm, and within a nanosecond of that touch his body zinged with a shot of pure feral desire. Here she was offering herself to him, this attractive grown-up woman—although he’d only just awoken to that fact. He could take her to bed and ease away some of the stresses of the past week. Show her the fun she so obviously craved.
Only, this was Poppy and there were a dozen or more reasons why that would be the worst damned idea he’d had in a long time. Not least the fact she was drunk, lonely and, until she’d uttered that last sentence, he would have sworn she hated his guts. He’d been there at her lowest, her weakest and worst moment, and somehow she’d never forgiven him.
Not that he’d ever cared. Impressing women past a flirty dalliance had never been on his agenda. He’d spent enough time watching too many marriages fail to contemplate one himself, and he wasn’t about to change that any time soon.
It had been a busy few days—he was tired, was all, having put every ounce of effort into getting the Paris bar up and running. He needed sleep. On his own. ‘Come on, let’s get you to the bedroom.’
‘No! Bathroom first. Teeth. Floss. Wee.’
‘Too much information, lady.’ For some reason his hand seemed to have slipped back round her waist. She wasn’t so drunk that she’d fall over, but he thought it best he should steady her as they walked towards the bathroom. Her head rested against his shoulder and she looked sweet. Smelt great. Felt … sexy as all hell. Was it possible to be jet-lagged from a one-hour flight? Because he couldn’t think of any other reason for this strange disorientation.
He tried to keep his eyes on the bathroom decor and not on Poppy’s backside as she dipped to rinse her toothbrush. She’d done a reasonable job painting the flat in bright, light colours. The bathroom still needed a little TLC as the plumbing was cranky at best but it was clean and tiled in muted stone. A large skylight shed light from above although now all he could see were glimpses of stars in a cloudy night sky.
What gave the room colour were the multi-hued bits of lace drying on the radiator on the far wall. Still unused to sharing a house with so many women, he wondered what the correct response should be to finding flimsy underwear wherever he looked. He doubted it should be the spike of interest, and trying to match the panties to the woman. Now he tried not to imagine Poppy in the red and black number.
Hey, he was a hot-blooded man after all.
After a few moments of brushing her teeth she looked at him through the reflection in the large mirror. ‘You know it’s a medical impossibility to become a virgin again once you’re not. Right?’
‘Uh-huh. You’re the doctor, not me. But I think it’s a given that once the seal is broken it can’t exactly be unbroken. And where are you going with this, Miss Einstein?’ Grabbing the towel, she dried her mouth, then turned to him.
‘I’m a fraud. I advise women every day about their sex lives and I don’t have one. How can I talk to them about sex when I don’t even remember what it’s like? I don’t want to be an almost-virgin when I die, Isaac, but I’m headed that way.’
Like he was the right guy to be having this conversation with. Especially when he was the only person in the universe who knew why she’d given up sex. Anger started to rise from nowhere. She’d run away from any kind of relationship ever since, when she could have been happy. Happier. ‘You really do need to sleep off that wine. There’s plenty of time to get a sex life and plenty of men who, I’m sure, would be willing to help you in your … dilemma.’
‘Would you?’ Those pretty painted toes took a step towards him.
‘Would I what?’
But instead of answering in words, she pressed her mouth against his. Pressed her body against his. Made little mewling sounds that activated every hot-blooded cell in his body. And, hell, he should have pulled away, put her straight to bed and left. But she tasted so damned good …
