with Oliver.
‘I should warn you that I have two left feet,’ she said. ‘And I’ve never danced to this sort of music.’ She gestured to the jazz trio on the stage. ‘I’ve only ever watched Strictly Come Dancing on the telly. So on your head—or toes—be it, if you really want me to dance with you. But now’s your chance to escape with all your toes unbruised.’
‘You won’t bruise my toes.’ He smiled. ‘Just follow my lead and it’ll be fine.’
Was it really going to be that easy? Ella didn’t share his confidence. At all.
But then Oliver led her onto the dance floor and they actually started dancing together.
It felt like floating on air. The way he guided her meant that she was moving in the right direction and her feet were always in the right place. And she’d never, ever experienced anything so magical. It was even better than she’d dreamed. Right at that second she felt like a fairy-tale princess in her swishy-skirted dress, dancing with the handsome prince. And she loved every moment of it. Being in his arms felt so right—as if this was where she’d always belonged. It made her feel warm and safe and cherished; yet, at the same time, there was the slow, sensual burn of attraction, dangerous and exciting.
Oliver danced with her for three songs in a row; and she was greedy enough to want to dance with him all night. Except this was the hospital’s charity ball and Oliver was a consultant. He should be mixing, like the rest of the senior staff.
‘Shouldn’t you be—well—dancing with someone else?’ Ella asked, feeling guilty both for being selfish and for wanting Oliver all to herself.
His eyes glittered behind his mask. ‘No. It’s up to me to decide who I dance with—and I want to dance with you.’
Her heart skipped a beat. Was Oliver telling her that he’d noticed her, the way she’d noticed him over the last few months? That for him, too, this had been building up for a long time? Or was she misreading him and hoping for too much?
‘Though would you rather be dancing with someone else?’ he asked.
‘No, no—not at all.’ Though she rather thought that Oliver might have spoiled her for dancing with anyone else, ever again. Not that she was going to admit that to him.
‘Good.’ He kept her in his arms, and Ella’s pulse went up a notch as they moved round the dance floor.
* * *
Oliver knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He’d meant to dance with Ella once, to be polite and friendly, then keep his distance.
The problem was, he really liked the feel of her in his arms. Which again was ridiculous, because Oliver didn’t do proper relationships. Not since Justine. He was well aware that the hospital grapevine had labelled him a heartbreaker, a playboy who had an endless string of one-night stands. There was a grain of truth in the rumours, because he never got involved with anyone for the long term; but he really wasn’t a heartbreaker and he was picky about who he slept with. He always made sure that every woman he dated knew the score right from the start: that it was just for fun, just for now and not for always. He definitely didn’t leave a trail of broken hearts behind him, because that would be unkind and unfair.
But there was something about Ella that drew him. A simplicity of heart, maybe?
Which was precisely why he ought to make an excuse and get her to dance with someone else. Put some space between them until his common sense came back. He didn’t want to mess up their working relationship. Even though right now he really, really wanted to dance her into a quiet corridor and kiss her until they were both dizzy.
Then he became aware that she was speaking and shook himself. ‘Sorry, Ella. I was wool-gathering. What did you say?’
She gave him the sweetest, sweetest smile—one that made his heart feel as if it had just turned over. ‘Nothing important.’
‘I guess I ought to stop monopolising you and let you dance with someone else,’ he said.
* * *
Which was Oliver being nice and taking the blame for her social mistakes, Ella thought. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. She kept the bright smile pinned on her face as they went back to join the rest of the team. Then Charlie Warren, one of the other doctors from Teddy’s, asked her to dance. Although Charlie was usually quite reserved, his offer was genuine enough, so she accepted.
‘So are you enjoying the ball, Ella, or here under sufferance like me?’ Charlie asked.
‘I’m enjoying myself.’ In fact, much more than she’d expected to. Though she had a nasty feeling that Oliver was the main reason for that. ‘I’m sorry you’re not.’
‘I never do, really,’ Charlie began, then grimaced when she trod on his toes.
‘Sorry,’ she said instantly. ‘I’m afraid I have two left feet.’
‘I thought all Irish people were supposed to be natural dancers? I guess you have Riverdance to blame for that.’ It was an attempt at humour, as he was obviously trying to make polite conversation, but for as long as Ella had known Charlie, he’d always been distant with everyone at work. Quite the lone wolf.
‘Sadly, that gene bypassed me,’ she said. ‘I’m more Flatfeet than Flatley.’
‘I think my toes have already worked that one out for themselves but, even though we’re no Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, you look lovely tonight, Ella.’
‘Thank you,’ she said smiling. ‘I think you look more like James Bond than Fred Astaire anyway.’
‘You’re very sweet, Ella.’ He gave her a shy half-smile. ‘And you’ve made an otherwise dull evening much nicer.’
Ella found herself going through a similar routine with the colleagues she danced with from the Emergency Department.
‘You know, we’re going to have to set up a special broken toe department in the unit, just for the men you’ve danced with tonight,’ Mike Wetherby teased.
‘So I’d be better off sticking to delivering babies than dancing, hmm?’ she teased back, knowing that he meant no harm by the comment.
‘You can dance with me any time you like, Ella O’Brien,’ Mike said. ‘As long as I have fair warning so I can put on my steel-toe-capped boots first.’
She just laughed. ‘In steel-toe-capped boots, you’d be clomping around the dance floor as badly as me.’
‘Then we’d be the perfect match.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
And then Oliver rested his hand on Ella’s shoulder. ‘The next dance is mine, I believe.’
The warmth of his fingers against her bare skin sent a shaft of pure desire through her. She reminded herself crossly that this was a charity ball and Oliver had danced with at least half a dozen other women. He’d treated them in just the same way that he’d treated her, with courtesy and gallantry, so she was kidding herself and setting herself up for disappointment if she thought that his behaviour towards her tonight was anything more than that of a colleague. And
