asked in amazement, gazing up at his hero with eyes like saucers.
He grinned and ruffled the spiky brown hair. ‘Even for me, sport.’
‘It’ll be all right, you’ll see,’ Skye said seriously, neatly reversing their roles, and he felt a lump in his throat again.
No. Whatever chaos and drama they’d brought to his life, he couldn’t imagine that life without them now. They belonged to each other, for better, for worse, and so on. They were a family and, like all families, they had good times and bad times.
Mostly they were good, but if Helle didn’t get up soon, he had a feeling that today was going to be a bad one …
Anna was feeling blue. She’d woken that morning wondering what it was all about, and two hours later she was still no nearer the answer. Wake up, get up, eat, go to work, go home, eat, go to bed, wake up—relentless routine, day after day, with nothing to brighten it.
Was she just desperately ungrateful? She had a roof over her head—more than a roof, really, a lovely little house that she enjoyed and was proud of—great friends, and a wonderful job that she wouldn’t change for the world—except that this morning, for the first time she could remember, she really, really didn’t want to be here.
So what was the matter with her?
Stupid question. Anna knew perfectly well what was wrong with her. She was alone. She was twenty-eight years old, and she was alone, and she didn’t want to be. She wanted to be married, and have children—lots of them—one after the other. Children of her own, not other people’s little darlings but her own babies, conceived in love, nurtured by her body, raised by her and a man with dark hair and gentle eyes and a slow, sexy smile—a man she’d yet to meet.
Would never meet, she thought in frustration, if her life carried on as it was. Her biological clock was going to grind to a halt before then at this rate.
Oh, damn.
She pushed her chair back and stood up, her eyes automatically scanning the ward, and stopped dead as a jolt of recognition shot through her.
It was him. Dark hair, cut short but still long enough to have that sexy, unruly look that did funny things to her insides. Tallish, but not too tall, his shoulders broad enough to lean on but not wide enough to intimidate, he looked like a man you could rely on.
Her eyes scanned him, taking inventory. Lean hips. Firm chin and beautifully sculptured mouth. Eyebrows a dark slash across his forehead, mobile and expressive. A smile like quicksilver. He’d paused to chat to a child, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his white coat, and the child was grinning and pointing towards her.
He was good-looking, certainly, but it wasn’t really his looks that made him stand out so much as his presence. There was something about him, she thought as he straightened and turned towards her, something immensely strong and powerful and yet kind—endlessly, deeply kind, the sort of enduring kindness that made sacrifices and didn’t count the cost.
She’d never seen him before, but her body recognised him, every cell on full alert.
He started towards her with a smile, and their eyes locked, and out of the blue, she thought, At last …!
‘Sister Long?’ he said, although he knew quite well who she was, if the badge on her tabard was to be believed.
‘Anna,’ she corrected, looking up at him with startling green eyes, and he felt a shiver of sexual awareness which had lain dormant for so long it was almost shocking. A wisp of dark red hair had escaped from her neat bob and was falling forward over her face, and he had to restrain himself from lifting it with his fingers and tucking it back behind her ear. She smiled and held out her hand, slim and firm and purposeful. ‘You must be our new paediatric orthopaedic consultant—Mr Bradbury, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘Adam,’ he said, and his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. ‘Adam Bradbury. Good to meet you. Have you got time for a chat? My department seem to have organised things so that I’m at a total loose end today, so I thought I’d spend it orienteering.’
She chuckled, a low, sexy chuckle that made his hair stand on end and everything else jump to attention. ‘Sure. Come into the kitchen, I’ll make coffee.’
He followed her, his eyes involuntarily tracking over the neat waist, the gentle swell of her hips, the womanly sway as she pushed the door out of the way and turned to hold it for him, flashing him a smile with those incredibly expressive eyes.
She spoke, but his body was clamouring so loud he didn’t hear her.
‘I’m sorry?’
She gave him a quizzical smile. ‘I said, tea or coffee?’
‘Oh—tea, thank you,’ he said, trying to concentrate on something other than her warm, soft mouth. ‘It’s a bit early for coffee.’
‘Well, there’s a thing. A fellow tea-drinker. Everyone else dives straight for the coffee.’ The smiled softened, lighting up her changeable green eyes and bringing out the gold flecks.
Not green at all, he realised, but blue and gold, fascinating eyes, beautiful eyes.
Bedroom eyes.
Oh, lord.
He stuffed his hands back into his coat pockets and angled them across his body as a shield. He had to work with her. He really, really didn’t need the embarrassment of an adolescent reaction!
Anna took him on a guided tour while the kettle boiled. She was glad to get out of the tiny kitchen, to be honest, the current running between them seemed so powerful. Not that he’d really given her any hint that he was interested, but there just seemed to be something that hummed along under the surface.
‘We’ve got twenty-one beds,’ she told Adam, walking down the ward towards the orthopaedic section, his area of special interest. ‘Six acute medical, six surgical, six orthopaedic and three single or family suites for more critical or noisy or infectious patients. We’ve got an isolation ward for barrier nursing or immuno-compromised patients—that’s another single, but I don’t tend to count it. It’s the only room that doesn’t get stolen for other things.’
‘Stolen?’ he said with a slow smile.
Anna rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, yes, of course—the lines get blurred and we end up with kids muddled up in the wrong place because of numbers, which drives the bed manager potty and the consultants come to blows over who has which bed for which child.’
His mouth kicked up in a crooked smile of appreciation, and her heart flip-flopped in her chest. Concentrate, she told herself sternly.
‘We keep the age groups together if we can—the long-stay older kids are the worst, as you might imagine, and the teenagers in traction are a nightmare.’
‘Well, there’s a thing,’ he murmured. ‘You could always put any really difficult kids in the Stryker bed for a little while just to get a taste of real deprivation of liberty.’
‘What, like throwing prisoners of war into the cooler? What a fascinating thought …!’
He laughed, and she thought her knees were going to give way. He’s probably
