Tempted By Collection

But then he’d seen this woman climbing up a wobbly ladder, a ladder she should never have been up in the first place, on her own. He’d seen her reaching out for things that she hadn’t got a chance in hell of reaching.

He’d seen how badly it had wobbled and he’d dropped his own briefcase and caught her, feeling the weight of her fall into his arms. He’d looked into her eyes up close, those pools of liquid brown, flecked with gold and green, and had felt a smack of something hard in his gut.

He’d intended to give her a dressing-down there and then. To yell at her for being so stupid and complacent, but in the fall her long hazelnut hair had come loose of its clip and lain over his arm, soft and silken, and it had taken a moment for him to realise that he’d been staring at her for much too long and that he really ought to let her go. The way you let go of a dangerous animal before it could bite or sting you.

She’d been unthinking in her actions. She’d assumed she would be okay, that somehow the rules didn’t apply to her, and she’d been wrong.

Her beauty had thrown him briefly. There had been a second, maybe two, in which he’d momentarily been stunned by those chocolate eyes of hers, but then he’d cast those distracting thoughts to one side.

So she was attractive. So what? Beauty counted for nothing in his department. He needed solid workers. Excellent nurses. Team players. People who played by the rules. Not lone rangers who thought the whole world ought to revolve around them.

She’d blushed, looked embarrassed and had glanced down and away from him. His insides had twisted at her sweetness, flipping and tumbling like an acrobat in the Cirque du Soleil and the sensation had so startled him that he’d almost been unable to speak.

Offering to help her with the tree had seemed logical. Gentlemanly. A way for him to gather his thoughts and reactions. To make sure she stayed safe. And give him time to put his own walls back up.

But it had been more than that. Exactly what, he couldn’t say. It had been a long time since a woman had disturbed him like that.

Not since Meredith...

He looked at the rest of Naomi’s things dashed across the floor and started to pick them up again, trying to find places for them, trying to find order in the chaos.

He hadn’t thought about Meredith for ages.

But that was a good thing surely. It meant he was moving on, didn’t it? For too long, it had been a painful, persistent memory. When he’d thought of his wife, it had been about the days following the accident—sitting at her bedside in hospital, holding her hand, praying that she would wake, praying that she would recover. Holding out hope for her.

As the years had passed, the better memories of his time with Meredith had come to the fore. He was able to remember the good times they’d shared. Their happiness on their wedding day. Their love. The pain and grief was still inside would still torment him when he allowed it to, but it had taken on a different form recently.

His vow to never get involved with another woman, never to open his heart up to another, had held strong. He could never love another the way he’d loved his wife; it just wasn’t possible.

Until now, he’d never had to doubt himself, or feel that that vow was threatened in any way.

Yet something about Naomi Bloom needled him. In the short time he’d known her, she’d practically demanded his attention, his protection, his help. He’d been forced to get involved. No decent man would have left her to fend for herself with Mick. No gentleman would have walked away from her after the burglary. When he’d found out she had nowhere to go, there’d been no other sensible option but to ask her to stay.

It would be difficult having her in his home. But he could stay out of her way. It would be all above board. She could have Meredith’s old craft room that he’d turned into a spare bedroom during one mad weekend of decorating before he’d thought of what to do with his time and his life to cope with his grief.

One night to allow Naomi to get proper locks for her doors, better security. It was just about one colleague helping another. It was about being a decent human being.

One night only.

She opened her bedroom door and came out, lugging a heavy suitcase with her. He got up to take it from her and lifted it easily. ‘A lot of clothes for one night!’

‘I’d rather not leave anything here to be stolen. Just in case.’

‘Is there anything else you want to take?’

‘There was some paperwork, but I’ve packed that away. I’m ready to go.’

He nodded. ‘I guess we’d better get going, then. Are you hungry? Would you like me to pick us up something to eat on the way home?’

‘Oh! Well, only if you’re eating, too. I don’t want to get in your way or disrupt your routine any more than I already have.’

‘You haven’t disrupted me at all,’ he said, picking up her case and heading for the front door, hoping she couldn’t see the lie in his eyes.

They walked back to the hospital car park in silence. He put her suitcase in the boot of his car and then opened the passenger door for her. She looked surprised, smiled a thank you and then slid into the seat. He closed her door and walked round to his side, his mind going a mile a minute.

The only woman to have set foot in his home had been Meredith and that was, of course, because she had lived there. Now he would be bringing home a stranger, a very attractive stranger, one who he hoped he could keep his distance from until she moved out. It ought to be easy, he thought. His penthouse flat was pretty large, and it was just one night.

If all else fails, I’ll just put on my headphones and wear a blindfold.

Dr Williams’s home was amazing. She’d never seen anything like it. She felt like Cinderella—going from her poor, ragamuffin lifestyle to this rich, sumptuous, stunning elegance that all seemed too much to take in.

His flat was on the top floor, not the bottom, like hers. The square footage must have been in the thousands and the space was open-plan, all glass windows, wooden floors and soft leather sofas. It had a minimalist element to it but looked nothing like what she’d expected from a single man. There were even fresh flowers on top of a grand piano in the corner of the living room.

He saw her notice them. ‘My cleaner brings them in.’

She nodded, touching the long green stems. ‘That’s kind of her.’

‘She insists. Tells me it brightens up the place. Makes it welcoming.’ He didn’t sound convinced.

‘She’s right.’ Her fingers slid over the smooth black sheen of the piano. ‘You play?’

He nodded. ‘A little. You?’

She blew out a little puff of air. ‘I could probably manage chopsticks if you reminded me how to do it.’

He smiled grimly, a darkness to his eyes. Was there pain there? Something... As if a part of him was missing. Or as if there was a part he was hiding, or at least trying to.

‘You have a lovely home, Dr Williams.’

‘Tom.’

She looked at him and smiled, feeling strange using his first name like that. ‘Tom, okay.’

He looked about him as if seeing the flat for the first time. ‘Let me show you to your room. Then you can settle, or I could make us something to eat. You must be hungry—it’s been a long night.’

‘You cook?’

‘Yes.’

‘From scratch?’

‘Is there any other way?’ He pulled up the handle on her suitcase and wheeled it across the floor behind him.

Naomi followed him down a corridor and through a door and suddenly she found herself standing in a bedroom that was as big as her whole flat. ‘Wow. It’s beautiful.’

‘There’s closet space...plenty of hangers. The bathroom is back through here; it’s the door to your right.’

She followed him through the doorway into the bathroom and the light came on all by itself, controlled by a sensor. She smiled and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She looked a mess! Her face was pale, yet blotchy and her hair all over the place, whereas Tom stood beside her, coolly detached, perfectly groomed.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she ran a hand through her hair in an effort to control it. ‘I’ll probably have a bath, if that’s okay?’

‘Sure.’

‘Thank you, Tom. For everything. You’ve gone above and beyond today.’ Her voice began to wobble as she spoke and she swallowed hard, forcing back the tears of gratitude. She hated crying when she didn’t mean to, but sometimes it seemed like her body was just so overwhelmed by certain stressful situations that she couldn’t stop herself.

But she would not cry in front of him again!

He simply smiled and backed away, most likely pleased to be escaping her tumultuous existence.

Naomi went back to the spare room and sank onto the bed, looking around her. What curious twist of fate had intervened in her life today? A new job. A burglary. And a soft place to fall. At least for tonight.

Sighing, she pulled off her coat and hung it up on the back of the door. She’d run herself a bath, maybe have a bite to eat and then hopefully she’d get a good night’s sleep.

She didn’t expect she would. It had been one heck of a day! And now she was suddenly living in her boss’s home. That felt...odd. She didn’t know him and the understanding he must have of her at this point was tenuous. He obviously didn’t let people get too close. Everything about the man screamed ‘keep away!’ but he’d been generous and offered her a bed for the night when she’d had no other choice. That was good of him, right?

She was going to have to think of a way to thank him for this.

A huge thank you indeed.

Tom stood in his kitchen furiously whisking eggs for some omelettes. It felt strange knowing that he wasn’t alone. That there was someone else in his home. A woman. A beautiful woman. And a work colleague, no less.

That would get the hospital grapevine going, no doubt. Especially if they arrived for work tomorrow together in his car. Perhaps he could let her get out at an earlier point?

He shook his head. Was he really that rude? Or worried about his reputation? Of course not. Everyone knew him at work. He was dedicated, honest, hard-working. No lad-about-town, causing outrageous rumours.

Besides, they might be lucky. No one might notice.

Naomi was in Merry’s room. The room she had used as a craft room, making cards, decoupage and that other thing she’d done...quilling? Or something like that. She’d been so talented at it. Sometimes he’d gone into that room to see what she was working on and had been amazed at this beautifully constructed hummingbird or peacock or mythical creature, all made out of coloured curls of paper. He remembered her smiling face looking up at him and saying, ‘What do you think?’

And now Naomi was in there. Did she know? Could she sense it? He’d barely been able to stay in there and it had taken all his strength to redecorate it. To change it from what it had been. To take away the pain of the once pale blue walls.

They were a peach colour now. He’d not been in there since he’d painted it, except to change the bedding.

All the crafting stuff was gone, packed away. Some of it he’d given away. Instead, he’d installed a big wrought-iron bed in there along with bespoke beech furniture. It was all very plain. Simple. For guests. Not that he’d been expecting any guests. But if he gave the room a purpose, rather than it just lying empty, he could forget about his dreams for that room and what he’d once hoped it would turn out to be.

A nursery. Because one day, he and Merry would have tried to start a family. They’d talked about it anyway...

It would never be that now. And now it was Naomi’s room. For one night anyway.

He tried to focus on the eggs, on grating cheese, on slicing courgettes and mushrooms, but his brain kept on torturing him with the image of her eyes, the way she’d looked up at him when he’d caught her falling from that ladder.

This was crazy! Why should it bother him what her eyes had looked like? Or that her skin had been smooth like porcelain, that her lips had looked full and soft? They were just work colleagues. Just associates. He was helping her out.

He whisked the eggs harder, trying not to think about her. He tried to focus on all the work he needed to get through tomorrow, but he could only envision her face and the way she’d felt in his arms...

Cursing, he put down the bowl of eggs and just stood still for a moment. Perhaps what he needed was a breather. A moment of mindfulness, to get himself back on track. He thought of the patients he’d seen that day. Their cases. The injuries. The treatments. The protocols.

Yes. That was working.

The door to the guest room opened and out walked Naomi in a thigh-length robe, with her hair all scooped up in a towel.

He quickly picked up the eggs and whisked them some more. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘I’m starving.’

‘Good.’ He tried not to breathe in all the aromas that she’d somehow brought out with her. There was a hint of lavender and something else sweet, warm and clean. She perched herself on a stool at his breakfast bar and he saw long, toned legs and dainty feet with pink-painted toenails. ‘I’ll make a start, then.’

‘Can’t wait.’

He swallowed hard and turned his back.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE WOKE WITH a start, a bad dream about smelly men in balaclavas still in her consciousness as she blinked quickly and looked about the strange room. Then she remembered.

Tom’s.

She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Five-forty-two a.m. It was early. But she had to be at work at seven, ready for the shift handover at seven-fifteen, so there didn’t seem much point in trying to go back to sleep. She’d be getting up in twenty minutes anyway. Throwing off the covers, she got up and quickly made her bed, before getting dressed.

She moved quietly, hoping not to disturb Tom. She’d already put him out enough yesterday, especially last night when her presence had meant he couldn’t even relax in his own home. The last thing she wanted was to wake him early and disturb his sleep pattern.

He was a good man, she thought. Despite the prickly exterior. He’d opened his home to a complete stranger, giving her the space she’d needed to just settle and breathe and get over her stressful day.

After their omelettes last night—which, due to something magical he’d done with Tabasco sauce and tomatoes, had been the most incredible she had ever tasted—he had wished her goodnight and disappeared to his room. She had watched him go, silent and strong, his long, lean figure moving gracefully like a cat into the shadows.

She’d taken the opportunity to look around his living space and discovered that Dr Tom Williams seemed very much a solitary man. There was no room for sentiment here. Each piece of furniture or decor had been chosen for its aesthetic appeal, rather than being some old family heirloom. There were no pictures on the walls of family or loved ones, no photo albums. Every surface was clean and uncluttered and only his bookshelves showed some hint to his character—clearly work focused, as all his books had been medical texts.

Was work all he thought about? She saw no sign of any other interest. There were no knick-knacks lying around like those she’d had all over the place. No personal touches. There was just the piano and, even then, she wondered if that was for him to play, or just another element of style. The only homely touch—the flowers—had been brought in by his cleaner.

But Naomi was thankful that he was focused on his work. Because apart from that small chat they’d had whilst he’d been preparing food in the kitchen, he had left her alone. He’d given her space, stayed out of her way.

It was his home and he was hiding in it. Perhaps he wasn’t that thrilled to have her here after all? Perhaps he had felt compelled to suggest that she stay with him because he thought it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Tom certainly seemed like a gentleman, from the little she knew of him.

Still, she felt safe getting up this early and having a few minutes to herself before he surfaced. Perhaps she could make him a coffee and some toast, or cereal. She had no idea if he would be a cereal type of man. A quick look in his kitchen would tell her what she wanted to know. But it would be good to do something nice for him to show her appreciation. After all, later today she would be out of his hair.

She opened her bedroom door and was surprised to find all the lights on and Tom already up and about in his kitchen. He looked over at her. ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’

She wasn’t used to being greeted like that in the mornings, even when she’d been married. Back then, she’d fall sleep, exhausted, after a long, physical day and when she woke and went into her husband’s room, the first words out of his mouth would usually be to tell her what sort of a night he’d had. Whether he’d got any sleep at all. There had been no hellos. No good mornings.

‘I slept very well, thank you. You?’

‘Seven hours. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Breakfast?’

She stood on the opposite side of the breakfast bar. ‘I was going to make you breakfast. I didn’t think you’d be up yet.’ She saw he must have been up for quite a while—his hair was still slightly damp from the shower, the auburn a deeper red whilst it was wet, and his jawline was freshly shaved.

‘What would you like?’

‘Just toast for me.’

‘Anything on it? Jam? Honey? Marmalade?’

‘You have all of those?’ She smiled.

‘I do.’

She liked watching him in the kitchen. He seemed at home in it. ‘Marmalade will be lovely.’

He cut two fresh slices from a large bloomer and popped the bread in the toaster, then poured her a coffee from a cafetière and passed her the milk and sugar.

‘You’re very domesticated, Dr Williams.’

He paused briefly to consider her words. ‘Because I can make toast and pour coffee?’

‘Because you know how to make someone feel welcome. I can appreciate it must be hard to have a stranger in your home, but you’ve made me feel like it’s okay to be here, so...thank you.’

His ocean-blue eyes met her mocha brown just for a brief second. He gave a quick glance of gratitude, of appreciation and then looked away again, busying himself with the breakfast. ‘Any idea of what you’re going to do about your flat?’

He was changing the subject. She wondered if she’d made him uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. I’ve got work first, so I guess I’ll have to sort it out later.’

‘Everywhere will be closed later. Why don’t you take the day off?’

‘On my second day? No chance. No, I’ll just have to hope for the best. Find someone to fix the door somewhere...’

He looked torn, as if he had something to say, but couldn’t say it.

The toast popped up and he handed it over on a plate, piping hot, along with a choice of marmalades, one with bits and one without.

‘Oh...er...thank you.’

‘It’s no problem.’

She hoped he was telling the truth.

‘Josephine McDonald?’

Her first patient of the day had already been seen by the triage nurse, who had noted on her card that earlier that day Josephine had misused her father’s nail gun and had a six-inch nail shot through the end of her index finger.

Naomi looked out across the waiting room and watched as a young woman stood up, grimaced and then walked over to her, clutching at her left hand that was wrapped up in a tea towel.

It was an impressive-looking nail.

‘Let’s take a look at that, shall we?’ Naomi walked Josephine back to a cubicle and sat her down, pulling the curtain closed. ‘So, how did this happen?’ She took hold of her patient’s hand, slowly turning it this way and that, to see what damage had been caused.

‘I was helping my dad out with a job. He’s a carpenter and he was letting me use the nail gun. I got...distracted...and somehow my finger ended up getting pierced.’

Naomi could understand. She was the accidental type, too. ‘What distracted you?’

Josephine blushed. ‘A guy.’

Naomi smiled at her patient. ‘Oh. I see. Was he worth it?’

Josephine nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh, yes! Definitely!’ She sighed dramatically. ‘What can I say? A girl gets her head turned by a handsome man and always gets hurt.’

Naomi smiled again and checked for capillary refill on the girl’s nail, which was fine, and stroked her finger. ‘Can you feel this? And this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I don’t think there’s any nerve damage. Can you bend the finger?’

‘Yes. But I can feel it pulling on the nail.’

‘We’ll need an X-ray to make sure it’s not gone through the bone and if you get the all-clear we can pull it out. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?’

Josephine blanched. ‘I think so. Just a year or two ago. Pull it out? Won’t that hurt?’

‘We’ll do a nerve block beforehand and you can suck on some gas and air if you need it. Is your father with you? Someone to hold your hand?’

‘Dad’s in the waiting area.’

‘Didn’t you bring the hot guy with you?’

‘Er...no. Apparently he doesn’t do well with blood.’

‘Right.’ She smiled.

‘What can you do? You see a hot guy, you have to give him the old “come hither” look. I just wasn’t coordinated enough to be alluring and shoot a nail.’

Naomi smiled, trying to picture herself giving anyone a ‘come hither’ look. But then she stopped herself. Why would she do that? She wasn’t looking for a relationship. She was happy being single and independent for a while. This was her first foray into the world alone, without her mother sticking her oar in, or without having to consider her husband’s needs. She was finally free to do as she pleased.

‘It’s not bleeding, so let’s get you round to X-ray.’ She turned in her chair, reaching for the X-ray referral card, and filled in the details. ‘Take this—’ she handed it over and reopened the cubicle curtain ‘—and head straight down, follow the red line on the floor, round to the right and past the second set of chairs. Put the card in the slot and they’ll call you through when they’re ready.’

‘Thanks.’

She watched the patient walk away and then started to clean down the cubicle. They hadn’t really used it, but she stripped the bed of its paper sheet, wiped it down with clinical cleansing wipes and redid the sheet. As she did so the cubicle curtain next to hers was whipped open. ‘Dr Williams!’

Was her heart beating just a little faster than normal? It definitely felt that way. She took a steadying breath to calm herself and inwardly gave herself a dressing-down. There was no need to get nervous with the man. He was her boss, yes, but that was all he was. She’d be moving out of his flat later.

‘Nurse Bloom.’

He dismissed his patient, who hobbled away on newly acquired crutches, and then he turned back to smile at her. He looked very dashing today in his dark navy trousers and matching waistcoat against a crisp white shirt. She had to admit she did like a man that dressed well. Vincent had always worn quite loose-fitting clothes like tracksuit bottoms and T-shirts. They had been the easiest things to dress him in and he’d liked to feel comfortable whilst in his wheelchair. So to see a man who knew how to dress well, who took pride in his appearance, without being vain, was a nice thing to see and enjoy.

‘The department looks decidedly less Christmassy today.’

She laughed good-naturedly. ‘Yes. There should be hearts going up soon, in readiness for Valentine’s.’ She blushed slightly at the inference she’d made that it was time for hearts and romance. Her mind scrabbled to redirect their conversation. ‘Or perhaps eggs for Easter? I’m sure the shops have them already.’