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HOWEVER, when Jodie arrived at the small Italian restaurant at a quarter past eight—‘just in time for the last garlic dough ball,’ as Fiona commented with a grin—Sam Taylor was sitting at one end of the long table. Opposite the only spare chair, she realised with dismay. Wearing plain black trousers and a matching cotton round-neck sweater—trust him to do the Man in Black routine.
And it looked even better on him than she would have guessed.
Ignoring the rapid pounding of her heart, she sat down and gave him her most professional smile. ‘Hi. So you made it.’
He nodded.
Not going to make it easy for me, are you? she thought crossly. ‘Has everyone ordered?’
‘Yes, and we ordered for you,’ Mick Salmond, one of the few male nurses from the paediatric ward, told her. ‘Your usual. Margherita with mushrooms, black olives, Dolcelatte and avocado.’
‘Cheers. You’re a mate.’ She wrinkled her nose at him.
‘Avocado? On pizza?’ Sam lifted one eyebrow.
For the first time, Jodie saw amusement in his eyes. And suddenly that rainy Wednesday morning was gone: in its place was a sultry silver. And although his mouth wasn’t smiling widely—just a tiny lift at one corner—it had lost that vulnerable look. Instead, it looked…kissable.
Her mouth went dry. No. Absolutely not. No way was she going to start thinking of Sam Taylor in those terms.
Drop-dead gorgeous or lame duck? That was what her brother would have asked if she’d told him she’d been stupid enough to invite the consultant on their Thursday night pizza run—reasoning that either Sam was drop-dead gorgeous and someone had dared Jodie to do it, or he was another of Jodie’s lame ducks. Earlier today, she’d have said lame duck. Now she wasn’t so sure.
To cover her confusion, she nodded to the jazz band, a trio of singer-pianist, double-bass player and drummer, who were setting up for the night’s session. ‘They’re very good.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
She grabbed a bottle of red wine from the table and poured herself a glass, then took a large sip. ‘Mmm, that’s better,’ she said in satisfaction.
‘It’s the one you discovered last month,’ Fiona told her. ‘The Sicilian job.’
‘Trust a woman to find a wine that tastes of chocolate,’ Mick said, rolling his eyes. ‘It was on the “Specials” board. “Red wine with a chocolate finish.” And she was in charge of ordering, that night, so we didn’t get any choice.’
‘Come on. You know you like it. Anyway, red wine and chocolate are good for you. You’ve read the studies in the Lancet.’ Jodie grinned broadly.
General hooting greeted her words.
‘And then there’s that study on pleasure. People who enjoy themselves have better immune systems. It’s all to do with SIgA.’
‘Enough of the lectures, Jo-jo.’ Mick ruffled her hair. ‘And, please, don’t anyone mention the P-word.’
‘The P-word?’ Sam asked, mystified.
‘P-l-a-y.’ Mick spelled it out in phonics, amusing Jodie even more. ‘She’s writing some article or other for the British Medical Journal about the importance of play in paediatrics, how it helps children get better.’
‘So that’s why you spend all your free time on the ward, playing with certain patients?’ Sam asked.
She flushed. ‘Yes. No. I just enjoy my work, that’s all.’
The pizzas arrived, diverting everyone’s attention. Jodie had eaten three mouthfuls before she realised that Sam was staring at her. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘I can’t believe you’re actually eating that.’ He made a face.
‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’ Jodie cut another piece, making sure there was a slice of avocado on it, and speared it with her fork. ‘Here,’ she said, reaching over towards him.
Again, there was that silvery glint in his eyes and he bent his head to taste the pizza, his gaze locking with hers. Jodie’s mouth went dry again. She hadn’t eaten since a snatched half a sandwich for lunch, so the wine must have gone to her head. What was she doing, feeding him from her fork? And what must he think of her?
Embarrassed, she almost snatched her hand back.
‘Better than I expected,’ he said.
She could feel her face burning. Was he referring just to the pizza, or to her, or to the evening? And, come to think of it, why was he here? True, she’d pretty much steamrollered him into it on the ward—but he could have just not turned up and made an excuse the next morning.
Jodie decided to take refuge in her pizza. Maybe when she had some good, solid carbohydrates inside her, she might start thinking more clearly.
‘What made you decide on paediatrics?’ Sam asked, startling her into looking up at him.
‘I like children,’ she said simply.
‘But you’re not married, not planning any of your own?’
Jodie’s eyes narrowed. Why was he asking? So he could decide not to recommend her for promotion, since she didn’t have any real commitment to her job—she was going to give up work to have kids and waste all her years of training?
No, of course not. He wasn’t one of the old school, the sort who couldn’t help discriminating against young female doctors. He treated everyone on the ward alike—polite and distant. He was just trying to make conversation. It wasn’t his fault he’d touched on her sore point. Three months ago, her ex-boyfriend Graham had told her she spent too much time on her career and he wanted to start a family almost as soon as they were married. Not that he’d actually asked her; he’d just assumed she’d fall in with his plans. When he’d realised she wasn’t prepared to give up her job, he’d walked out on her.
‘No, I’m not married, and I’m not planning a houseful of kids,’ she said tightly, still seething inwardly at the memory of Graham’s parting shot that she’d be a lousy wife anyway—she couldn’t even cook! ‘Not all women want children, you know.’
‘Don’t they?’ asked Sam, his face completely unreadable.
‘No. I’m an honorary auntie—well, godmother to my best friend Ellen’s little boy, Billy—and that suits me fine.’ Actually, that was a bit of a fib. She did want children, just not yet. Not until she’d figured out how to raise a family without throwing away all those years of studying and working silly hours. And then there was the small matter of finding a suitable father…
That rainy Wednesday morning look was back in his eyes again. Children were obviously a sore point with him, too, Jodie thought. Not that it was any of her business.
Time to change the subject. ‘Why did you decide on paediatrics?’ she asked.
‘I…’ He wasn’t going to tell her the whole truth. ‘I did a stint in Paediatrics after I qualified. I went to Cardiology after that, then Oncology—but I found that I liked working with children best.’ Even though it was like rubbing salt in the wound.
‘Cardiology.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I nearly did that, too. Because of Sadie.’
‘Sadie?’
‘My younger sister.’ Her green eyes were suddenly sombre. ‘She had a hole in the heart. There wasn’t anything they could do at the time. She died when she was two weeks old.’
‘Was she much younger than you?’ he asked gently.
Jodie shook her head. ‘I was nearly three at the time. My brother, Matt, was seven, so he remembers more about it than I do. Anyway, when I decided to become a doctor, he was the one who said I should give myself time to find out what I was really interested in, not rush straight into heart surgery or neonatal so I could save future Sadies. We had a huge row over it, but I have to admit he was right.’ She smiled wryly. ‘He rang me tonight, actually. He’s getting engaged—at last. He and Annie have known each other since junior school but they only realised their feelings for each other a month or so back. Now they’ve decided they’ve wasted too much time already, so the engagement party’s this weekend.’
‘And you’re on duty?’ Sam guessed.
She nodded.
He tipped his head on one side. ‘Can’t you swap shifts with one of the others?’
‘Not when we’re almost skeleton staff.’ She shrugged. ‘Ah, well. Matt and Annie’ll come up for the weekend some time soon and we’ll have a party of our own. Just the three of us.’
So the boyfriend was definitely off the scene, Sam thought. Though he wasn’t sure if she was upset about it or not. Jodie had seemed touchy when he’d mentioned children—maybe the boyfriend hadn’t wanted them and she had.
But he couldn’t get involved with her. One, she was a colleague; two, she was probably on the rebound; and, three, maybe she’d sort out her differences with her ex and they’d get back together.
But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even when they were both talking to other people, and she’d shifted places to drink her coffee at the other end of the table and chat to Fiona Ferguson, he was aware of her. Aware of every move she made—the way her blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders, the way her bright purple silk shirt highlighted the intense green of her eyes. Aware of the curve of her mouth. His body tightened and he suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss her. To tangle his fingers in that silky soft hair, to feel her mouth soften and open under his own, her hands against his bare skin…
He took a deep breath. Hell. What was it about Jodie Price that got under his skin? He’d always been so scrupulous about keeping work and his private life separate.
Not that he had a private life. Just himself and the cat who’d adopted him when he’d moved to Norfolk. Not the children he’d once expected to have by this age. Not a little boy climbing everything in sight and wanting to help Daddy make a tree-house and listen to his heart with Daddy’s stethoscope and go to the park together to sail a model yacht on the boating lake. Not a baby girl just starting to walk, tottering on unsteady legs towards her father with a beaming face and chubby outstretched hands when he walked in the door, greeting him with a loud ‘Da-da,’ and a stream of delighted babbling.
He locked his hands together under the table, squeezing his fingers hard until the physical pain took his mind off his mental torture. Half the conversation tonight had been about children—particular cases on the ward who’d touched everyone’s heart—or handing round the latest family snaps to be admired. It was why he always avoided social events at work, so he didn’t have to smile and smile and pretend the yawning gap in his own life didn’t exist. The yawning gap that even dedicating himself one hundred per cent to his job didn’t fill.
He caught himself watching Jodie again. The way she laughed, throwing her head back, her whole face lighting up. The way she looked earnestly at whoever she was talking to, making them feel as if they were the only person in the room. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners…
Oh, get a life, Taylor, he told himself wryly. Nothing’s going to come of it. Ever.
When everyone had finished their coffee and gradually drifted home in twos and threes, sharing lifts and taxis, Sam and Jodie were left in the doorway of the restaurant.
‘How are you getting home?’ he asked.
‘Pushbike.’
He frowned. ‘In this rain?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s only about three miles between here and my place. Fifteen minutes, tops, if I catch all the traffic lights on green.’
‘But you’ll get soaked.’
‘It won’t kill me. You can’t catch a cold from getting wet, Doctor,’ she reminded him, wrapping a scarf round her glorious hair.
‘Where’s your bike?’
‘I…er…Why?’
‘Because you’re going to stop being stubborn, put your bike in the back of my car and let me give you a lift home. It’s the least I can do,’ he said, making her close her mouth on the argument she’d been about to produce. ‘You were kind enough to ask me to join you tonight.’
You plural, not you singular, she reminded herself. ‘I…er…’ Oh, why was she suddenly so inarticulate?
‘Where’s your bike?’ he asked again.
‘Chained to that lamppost,’ she said, pointing to the elderly and slightly battered racer she’d inherited from Matt fifteen years before, on her thirteenth birthday, and had liked too much to replace with a newer—or more feminine—model.
‘Keys?’ he asked, holding out his hand.
She shook her head, unlocked the bike herself, and wheeled it alongside him to his car. ‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked, eyeing the four-wheel-drive doubtfully. It was big enough to cope with her bike, but it was also pristine. And, judging by the number plate, less than six months old.
‘Sure.’ He opened the back and hauled her bike inside. ‘Hop in.’
Being in an enclosed space with Sam Taylor was a definite mistake, she thought. It was a big car, but she was still very much aware of how close he was to her. If she shifted her hand less than six inches, her fingers would brush against his. Fingers that were gentle with his patients. How would they be with her?
Stop it, Jodie, she told herself fiercely. And yet she couldn’t help remembering the look in his eyes as she’d fed him pizza. She could imagine them lying in the park on a sunny day, with his head in her lap as she fed him seedless grapes and morsels of Brie—and then bending down to kiss the crumbs away from his lips…
That’s the last time you ever drink more than one glass of wine in his company, Jodie Price, she warned herself.
Then she flushed as she became aware that he’d been talking to her, and she hadn’t heard a single word he’d said. ‘Sorry. I was miles away,’ she apologised.
‘Where do I go from here?’ he asked.
He sounded completely cool and calm. Obviously he didn’t feel the same pull and she’d be wise to remember that. Dragging her thoughts together, she directed him through the back streets of the city to her small terraced house. He parked the car and hefted her bike down.
‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘No problem.’
Should she ask him in for coffee? It was only polite, seeing as he’d given her a lift home, but she didn’t want him misreading her motives.
In the end Sam made the decision for her. ‘Goodnight, Jodie.’
It was the first time he’d ever used her name, and she wasn’t prepared for the sudden lurch of her heart. ‘Goodnight,’ she muttered, not quite daring to use his first name but not wanting to rebuff him by using a more formal mode of address.
She watched him as he drove away. She still knew virtually nothing about him, despite having spent most of the evening talking to him. He was as mysterious and distant as ever. Though there had been a moment when she’d thought she’d come close to breaking through his wall.
Shaking her head, she walked into the house. Maybe he didn’t want to be rescued. But that sultry silver in his eyes told her that she couldn’t give up. Not yet.
As he drove away, Sam could have kicked himself. Why had he insisted on taking her home? He’d been so close to breaking a personal rule. When he’d taken her bike out of the car, the way she’d looked up at him, her eyes all shiny and her mouth so soft and warm and inviting…His body had been screaming out for him to take her in his arms and kiss her, and to hell with the consequences.
But the sensible side of him had overruled it. Just. Apart from the fact that affairs with colleagues were bad news, he’d sworn he’d never get involved again. Not after his extremely messy divorce.
Come off it. What have you got to lose? Angela’s the complete opposite of Jodie, the voice in his head taunted. Just look at her.
Angela was petite, slender and well groomed, and she only ever wore little suits teamed with designer shoes, handbag and briefcase, whereas Jodie was tall, curvy and had a much more casual attitude towards clothes. Angela’s make-up was always immaculate, whereas Jodie’s barely existed—he suspected that the nearest Jodie came to cosmetics was a lip-salve. Angela would never have dreamed of letting her expensive haircut get wet—and if she’d had a bike it would have been an expensive and trendy mountain bike, not a battered, elderly racer.
Maybe that was the attraction: Jodie was the opposite of Angela. No, that was unfair. Jodie was a little like the Angela he’d fallen in love with at university, the young lawyer with a sparkle in her eye and a sense of fun that had stopped him being too serious.
The sparkle that had soon dimmed when Angela had discovered what a failure Sam had been as a husband—that he couldn’t give her what she most wanted in the world. And it would be exactly the same with Jodie. It might start out fine, full of love and laughter, but over the months it would change and one day he’d come home to an empty house and an apologetic note. Just like he had with Angela.
Though what was he doing, even thinking about Jodie in those terms? She wasn’t interested in him and he didn’t have the right to get involved with anyone. Not with his past.
She said being an honorary auntie was enough for her, the little voice reminded him.
Only because her biological clock hasn’t started ticking yet.
She was serious. She’s dedicated to her career.
Now, maybe. Things change. She’s a natural mother. You can see it in her eyes, in the way she acts with the children on the ward.
