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‘I think we’ll keep the status quo for now,’ he countered without turning a hair. ‘Shouldn’t you be off, Sylvia? It’s getting late.’
Exasperation was written all over his sister. ‘One day, Ethan,’ she muttered as she stalked out, banging the door behind her.
Abby hoped that she’d be around to see this unlikely comeuppance. But she doubted it. Ethan Grant couldn’t be emotionally hurt because he didn’t feel.
Or did he?
Sylvia’s earlier accusation that he was still getting over some woman named Vanessa popped back into Abby’s head. She stared at him, wondering if that could explain his attitude towards her. Had he been jilted once by some pretty young woman? Was she still embittered years later?
Abby could appreciate how that might happen. She herself knew that it would be many years before she got over what Dillon had done to her. But she’d never attributed such sensitivity to the male sex, and especially not to a man like Ethan Grant, who didn’t seem to have a sensitive bone in his body.
‘Do I have a pimple on my nose, Miss Richmond?’ Ethan Grant asked archly. ‘You’re staring at me.’
‘Sorry, Doctor. I wasn’t really staring at you. I was off in another world.’
‘Not a pleasant one, by the look on your face.’
‘No,’ she agreed drily. Memories of Dillon and what he’d done never inspired her to do the Highland Fling.
‘You’re not the most communicative female, are you?’ he said, a flash of irritation crossing his normally impassive face. ‘Here. Make sure you post all the letters on your way home,’ he said as he handed over the small tape recorder, then whirled to stride back into his room, his white coat flapping rather angrily around his legs.
Abby stared after him with rounded eyes, aware that she’d just seen Ethan Grant not quite his usual, coolly composed self.
What had disturbed his equilibrium? she puzzled. His earlier argument with Sylvia? Surely not his discovering that his latest ladyfriend wanted more of him than the occasional dinner date. He’d been coldly contemptuous about that.
No, it had been something to do with her. Probably her staring at him. He hadn’t liked that one bit. He also hadn’t liked her not revealing what lay behind her preoccupation.
Well, that’s too bad, Abby thought caustically as she settled down behind her computer to begin typing up the letters.
She hadn’t typed more than a heading when a bitter smile tugged at her mouth. God, she could just imagine Ethan Grant’s reaction if she’d told him she was thinking about her bastard of an ex-boyfriend, and how his betrayal had sent her to prison for four years—four long, hard, soul-destroying years.
Abby didn’t think that what had happened to the dear doctor via the hands of that Vanessa woman would match what Dillon had put her through. If anyone had the right to be bitter and wary about the opposite sex, it was Abigail Rose-Maree Richmond!
CHAPTER TWO
ABBY was just beginning the second letter when she remembered the other letter—the one she’d forgotten to give to Ethan.
All the mail had been delivered extra late that day, after Dr Grant had started seeing patients. Not that he ever opened the mail himself, unless it was marked ‘Confidential’ or ‘Private’.
Such an occurrence was rare. Most letters sent to the surgery were either cheques for unpaid accounts, general enquiries from other doctors, or advertising mail from various pharmaceutical and medical companies. But there was one letter that Friday which Abby thought the doctor might want to see personally.
It was from the Bungarla private hotel where the medical conference was being held—a notice about a last-minute change of lecturer. It seemed that one of the Sydney surgeons listed to lecture was unavailable, and was being replaced by world-famous neurosurgeon Dr Philip Ballistrat.
Abby appreciated that Ethan probably wouldn’t care less about it, now that he’d decided not to go, but since she wasn’t supposed to know about that she thought she’d better take it in to him.
Sighing, she pressed pause on the tape recorder, picked up the envelope in question and rose to make her way across the waiting room floor. She stopped in front of the closed door, glancing down to check that all the buttons on her white blouse were safely done up before smoothing the pleated black skirt down over her hips.
Abby didn’t want a repeat of the unfortunate incident a couple of weeks back when, unbeknownst to her, one of the small pearl buttons on her blouse had popped open, giving anyone who had looked at her chest at an angle an eyeful of lace-encased breasts.
‘It seems one of your buttons has lost its battle against your womanly shape, Miss Richmond,’ Ethan had pointed out in a softly mocking voice as he’d bent to pick up his next patient’s file from the tray beside her. ‘Perhaps larger buttons are called for in future? Or even a bigger sized blouse?’
Abby had been thankful that he’d turned away before her embarrassment had time to blossom into a full-blown blush. Which it had—her mortification increased by the way her breasts had immediately seemed to swell further, straining against her bra and her blouse, making her fumbling attempt to do up the tiny button all the more difficult.
It was the only time Ethan Grant had managed to get under her skin—sexually speaking—and she wasn’t about to let it happen again. So Abby was disturbed to find that when she knocked on the door, her hand was shaking. There was also an instant gathering of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.
Her scowl reflected her feelings. To have Ethan Grant reduce her to nervy state was irritating in the extreme.
‘Do come in, Miss Richmond,’ came the laconic invitation.
Gritting her teeth, Abby opened the door and went in, calmed by the knowledge that her private agitation was just that. Private. The man seated behind his desk would never guess from her calm demeanour and cool gaze that she was anything but totally indifferent, both to his personage and his looks.
‘Yes, what is it?’ he asked peremptorily on glancing up.
She stepped forward and deposited the envelope on the leather-topped desk. ‘A letter for you, Doctor. It’s from the people running the conference next week, letting you know about a last-minute change of lecturer. I thought you might like to have a look at it but I forgot to give it to you earlier. Sorry.’
He picked up the envelope and tossed it straight into the waste-paper basket in the corner. ‘I’ve decided not to go to that,’ he said brusquely.
The movement of light and shadow across his face showed dark rings of exhaustion under his beautiful blue eyes, and despite knowing that it was all self-inflicted Abby felt marginally sorry for him.
‘What a pity,’ she said, deciding to do her bit to get the damned fool to go. Love him or hate him, he was a good doctor and he really did need a break. ‘They’ve been able to get Dr Philip Ballistrat in place of one of the lesser lights,’ she said encouragingly. ‘I would have thought you’d like to hear him talk. He’s very famous, isn’t he?’
Abby was taken aback by Ethan’s response to her news. He remained frozen in his seat for several seconds, his normally phlegmatic blue eyes betraying... what? Surprise? Astonishment? Surely not shock! What was so shocking about what she’d just told him?
Abby was even more taken aback when any surprise was swiftly replaced by an icy smile which sent an oddly erotic shiver running down her spine.
‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled. ‘Who would have believed that? You’re quite right, Miss Richmond. I certainly wouldn’t like to miss the opportunity of hearing such a renowned surgeon.’
He swivelled round in his black leather chair, slid over to the corner, lifted the envelope back out of the basket then slid back again. ‘Thank you for bringing it to my attention. You’ve no idea how disappointed I would have been to have found out afterwards he’d been there and I’d missed him.’
‘So you’re going after all?’ she asked hopefully, thinking how happy Sylvia would be.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
Abby almost clapped her pleasure.
‘Thafs some smile, Miss Richmond. I take it you won’t mind my being absent next Friday?’
Was it his sardonic remark, or the intensity of his gaze on her mouth which rattled her? Whatever, her smile faded immediately, although her heart began pounding behind her ribs and she found herself staring back at his mouth and wondering how it would feel upon hers.
Abby could hardly believe her train of thought. Lord, she didn’t even like the man. Yet here she was, fantasising about his making love to her.
Self-disgust made her stiffen inside. She straightened to her full five feet nine inches and delivered a cool look across the desk. ‘It makes no difference to me, Dr Grant, whether you’re here or not.’
His laugh was as cold as his eyes. ‘No. I can see that. Which is just as well, I suppose. That way you’ll be able to give the proposition I’m about to make a totally unbiased consideration.’
‘P-proposition? What proposition?’
‘Don’t look so alarmed, Miss Richmond. I’m not about to ask you to do anything immoral or criminal. I am, however, in an awkward situation where this conference-cum-holiday is concerned. It’s for couples, you see, and the ladyfriend I was going to take can’t make it.’
Abby was taken aback by the smooth delivery of the lie. Funny. As much as she didn’t like Ethan Grant, she’d never thought of him as a liar. It just showed that one should never underestimate the deviousness of the male sex.
‘That was the main reason I’d decided not to go,’ he continued coolly. ‘Because it would be embarrassing and awkward to show up alone. Actually, my sweet sister suggested I hire a professional escort instead, but I’m sure you can appreciate that’s not to my taste. However, it occurred to me just now that perhaps I could persuade you to accompany me.
‘For a price, of course,’ he added, before Abby could do more than blink her shock. ‘I don’t expect you to do it for nothing. Sylvia mentioned once that you work as a waitress on the weekend. I would naturally compensate you for any lost wages, with quite a bonus thrown in. So what do you say, Miss Richmond? Do you think you might be interested?’
What do I say?
Abby stared at him while she battled to control her simmering fury. I’d say not for all the tea in China, you presumptuous, patronising bastard. I’d say stick it in your ear. I’d say up yours. I wouldn’t spend one hour alone with you, let alone three days and three nights!
‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ was what she actually said, congratulating herself on her silkily smooth voice.
‘The boyfriend would object, I take it?’
‘No. I don’t have a boyfriend,’ she said.
‘Surprising,’ he drawled. ‘Why, then?’
‘I wasn’t able to work last weekend because of a tummy bug. If I let my employer at the café down again this weekend I’ll lose my job there, and I simply can’t afford that.’ She couldn’t afford to lose this job either, which was why she was being so diplomatic. She’d have just loved to tell the dear doctor exactly what he could do with his proposition.
‘How much do you earn in one weekend?’
‘Why?’
He sighed. ‘Just answer the question, please, Miss Richmond.’
‘One hundred and twenty dollars, plus tips.’
‘I see. How long would it take for you to get another similar job, if you lost that one?’
‘What? Oh, I...I couldn’t say exactly. Sometimes you can be lucky, but it could take weeks and weeks.’
‘Three months tops, would you say?’
‘Y-yes.’ What was he getting at? Why didn’t he just let the matter drop? She wasn’t going to say yes, no matter how much he offered her.
He picked up a small calculator lying on his desk. ‘Thirteen weeks times one-twenty equals one thousand, five hundred and sixty dollars,’ he calculated aloud. ‘I would assume a girl like you would get plenty of tips, so I’ll up it to two thousand dollars—up front and in advance. What do you say to that, Abby? Not bad pay for three days’ work. More than enough to make ends meet till you get another job.’
His use of her first name did not escape Abby, and it sealed his fate even more than his demeaning offer. ‘I’m sorry, but I must refuse again, Dr Grant. I’m simply not a good enough actress for the part. I think Sylvia’s right. I think you should hire yourself a professional.’
‘But I don’t want a professional, Abby,’ he returned coolly. ‘I want you.’
She just stared at him, her mouth going dry. My God, if she didn’t know him better, she might think that he really meant that.
‘Maybe I should clarify that last statement,’ he went on drily, a single eyebrow lifting at her obvious surprise. ‘The reason I said I wanted you specifically is because I know that underneath your oh, so cool politeness you can’t stand a bar of me. I have no wish to have to fire you afterwards because you’ve stupidly fallen in love with me. On top of that, I would imagine that in the right clothes you could be quite lovely. Yes...’ His eyes drifted down from her face to the swell of her breasts. ‘Quite lovely.’
Abby didn’t know which part of his speech infuriated her the most. Certainly the condescending and lukewarm ‘quite lovely’ kept going round and round in her head. My God, if she set her mind to it, she could knock this supercilious devil’s eyes out!
‘Aren’t you afraid my underlying dislike might show through?’ she asked through gritted teeth.
‘No. I have great faith in the acting ability of women. Besides, I never take out females who fawn all over me. Of course, under the circumstances, I will only expect you to pretend to be a friend, not my live-in lover. Consequently I will change the booking to twin rooms.’
Abby only just managed to hide her contempt. So Evelyn had been expected to sleep with him during this little jaunt, play the part of his wife without ever expecting to get the part for real.
Charming.
For all Dillon’s subsequent betrayal, he’d at least been prepared to pull out all the stops in winning her heart before expecting her to become his lover. Nothing had been too much trouble—flowers, chocolates, candlelit dinners. He’d swept her off to bed with sweet words ringing in her ears and promises of forever. Whereas Ethan Grant promised his women nothing...except a cold-blooded, machine-like performance between the sheets.
Why, then, did Abby find herself suddenly wanting to experience that machine-like performance? Why, for pity’s sake? It went against everything she’d ever believed about herself.
Heat rushed into her cheeks at the appalling thoughts which sprang into her mind.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, flustered now. ‘It... it’s quite out of the question. I simply can’t.’
‘There’s no such word as can’t,’ he bit out. ‘So what’s the problem, then? I would have thought two thousand dollars would have smoothed over any antagonism you felt towards me. Believe it or not, I can be quite personable company when I want to be. Look, don’t say no straight away. Think it over and give me a ring at home on Sunday night around eight. Sylvia will be out, so you needn’t worry about any awkwardness there.’
Abby decided that it would be much easier to refuse for the second and last time over the telephone. It was hard to sound convincing when one was blushing and stammering. And when underneath one was insanely tempted to say yes. My God, she must be going mad!
‘All right,’ she agreed shakily.
When the beginnings of a smug smile pulled at her employer’s disdainful mouth, Abby’s heart immediately stopped its stupid fluttering. He believed she’d say yes, that the money he’d offered would override any qualms she might have.
Abby’s heart hardened further as she recognised that he might even suspect that underneath her surface hostility she was sexually attracted to him. This last suspicion closed the door on the subject. Nothing on earth would ever make her say yes now. Nothing!
CHAPTER THREE
NOTHING, as it turned out, except fate, and an old lady’s heartbreak.
The first nail in Abby’s coffin came the next day, when she quit her waitressing job after the boss pawed at her bottom one time too many. Then, on that same Saturday night, some rotten thug broke in and burgled Miss Blanchford’s room. The poor old thing was so distressed that Abby spent the whole of Sunday trying to comfort her.
‘It’ll be all right, Miss Blanchford,’ Abby soothed, after the police had finally left at around four in the afternoon. They were sitting in Miss Blanchford’s room, which was the biggest and best in the ancient old boarding bouse, its large window overlooking the rather ramshackle front garden. Unfortunately, it had been this same window which had given the thief easy entry into the downstairs room.
Miss Blanchford shook her head as two big tears trickled down her wrinkled cheeks. ‘All gone,’ she said with a strangled sob. ‘Five years’ savings. All gone.’
Abby bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying as well. The poor old thing. But, oh...if only she’d put her money in the bank, instead of in a biscuit tin under her bed.
The police thought the thief was probably someone who’d once lived in the same boarding house and had learnt about Miss Blanchford’s distrust of banks—not an uncommon thing with survivors of the great Depression. Unfortunately, the police also thought there was little hope of finding the perpetrator and recovering the money, although they hadn’t said as much to Miss Blanchford. Abby had insisted on that. The poor old love was upset enough as it was.
The real tragedy was that the money had been to buy an electric wheelchair. Miss Blanchford was suffering a degenerative muscular disease which was making it harder and harder for her to get around in her handpropelled chair.
‘What am I going to do, Abby?’ the old lady cried. ‘I don’t want to go into one of those government nursing homes. But soon I won’t be able to manage on my own. If I don’t have my independence, I’d rather be dead.’
‘Now you stop talking like that,’ Abby reprimanded, but gently. ‘The police’ll get your money back for you; don’t you worry.’
‘No, they won’t. It’s gone. I’m a silly old fool for keeping it in that tin.’
‘Now stop that. It won’t help, crying over spilt milk. I have this gut feeling your money will show up. Give them a few days.’ Abby had a gut feeling all right. Her stomach was already churning with the acceptance of what she was going to do to get Miss Blanchford that money.
‘The man was coming to show me a chair next Wednesday. He said it was one of the best second-hand electric chairs he’d come across. And only three thousand dollars. New ones cost a lot more, you know.’
