there’s life there’s hope’ had been offered several times.
Actually, no, he wanted to say as he’d stared at another batch of blood results and read off the poisons that had filled this tiny body.
‘There is hope, though…’ the parents had begged, and he had refused to flinch at the frantic eyes that had scanned his face as he’d delivered news.
He loved hope, he craved hope and had searched so hard for it today, but he also knew when hope was gone, said it before others would. Unlike others, he faced the inevitable—because it was either cardiac massage and all lights blazing, or a cuddle without the tubes at the end.
Yes, it came down to that.
Yes, it had been a XXXX of a day.
He had sat with the parents till ten p.m. and then entered a bar that was too bright, stood with company that was too loud and tasted wine that could dissolve an olive, and hated that he missed her. How could you miss a woman you didn’t even like? He hated that she’d ring tonight and that he might be tempted to go back. That in two weeks’ time he’d see her. Shouldn’t he be over Arabella by now? Maybe it was just because he had had a ‘bad day’. Not that he and Arabella had ever really spoken about work—oh, they’d discussed their career paths of course, but never the day-to-day details. They’d never talked about days such as this, Dominic mused.
Then he had seen her—Bridgette. In a silver dress and with a very wide smile, with gorgeous nails and polished hair, she had drawn his eye. Yet on inspection there was more behind that polished façade than he cared to explore, more than he needed tonight.
He had been checking for a wedding ring.
What no one understood was that he preferred to find one.
Married women were less complicated, knew the rules from the start, for they had so much more to lose than he did.
Bridgette was complicated.
He’d read her, because he read women well. He could see the hurt behind those grey eyes, could see the effort that went into her bright smile. She was complicated and he didn’t need it. But, on the way down to her ring finger, he’d noticed very pale skin and a tapestry of freckles, and he’d wondered where the freckles stopped, had wondered far too many things.
He didn’t need an ounce of emotion tonight, not one more piece, which was why he had excused himself and walked away. But perhaps he’d left gut instinct in his car tonight, the radar warning that had told him to keep his distance dimmed a fraction as he looked over to where she stood, laughing with her friend.
‘Hey, Dominic…’ He heard a low, seductive voice and turned to the pretty blonde who stood before him, a nurse who worked in Theatre and one whose husband seemed to be perpetually away. ‘So brilliant to see you tonight.’ He looked into eyes that were blue and glittered with open invitation, saw the ring on her finger and the spray tan on her arm on the way down. ‘I just finished a late shift. Wasn’t sure I’d make it.’
‘Are you on tomorrow?’ someone asked.
‘No,’ she answered. ‘And I’ve got the weekend to myself. Geoff’s away.’ Her eyes flicked to his and Dominic met her gaze, went to take another sip of his drink and then, remembering how it tasted, changed his mind, and he changed his mind about something else too—he couldn’t stomach the taste of fake tan tonight.
Then he heard Bridgette laughing, looked over and ignored his inner radar, managed to convince himself that he had read her wrong.
He knew now what Bridgette’s middle name was.
Escape.
‘People are talking about going for something to eat…’ Vince came over and snaked his arm around Jasmine, and they shared a kiss as Bridgette stood, pretending not to feel awkward—actually, not so awkward now that she and Jasmine had had such a laugh. She wasn’t going out to dinner, or to a club, but at least she and Jasmine had had some fun—but then the waitress came over and handed her a glass.
‘For me?’ Bridgette frowned.
‘He said to be discreet.’ The waitress nodded her head in Dominic’s direction. ‘I’ll get rid of your other glass.’
Double yikes!
She glanced over to black eyes that were waiting to meet hers.
Wrong girl, she wanted to semaphore back—so very, very wrong for you, Dominic, she wanted to signal. It took me weeks to have sex with Paul, I mean weeks, and you’re only here for two. And I don’t think I’m very good at it anyway. At least he hinted at that when we broke up. But Bridgette didn’t have any flags handy and wouldn’t know what to do if she had them anyway, so she couldn’t spell it out; she only had her eyes and they held his.
She lifted the glass of temptation he offered and the wine slipped onto her tongue and down her throat. It tasted delicious—cold and expensive and not at all what she was used to.
She felt her cheeks burn as she dragged her eyes from him and back to her friend and tried to focus on what Jasmine was saying—something about Mexican, and a night that would never end. She sipped her champagne that was far too nice, far too moreish, and Bridgette knew she had to get out of there. ‘Not for me,’ she said to Jasmine, feeling the scald of his eyes on her shoulder as she spoke. ‘Honestly, Jasmine…’ She didn’t need to make excuses with her friend.
‘I know.’ Jasmine smiled. ‘It really is great that you came out.’
It had been. Bridgette was relieved that she’d made it this far for her friend and also rather relieved to escape from the very suave Dominic—he was so out of her league and she also knew they were flirting. Dominic had the completely wrong impression of her—he thought she worked agency for the money and flexibility, so that she could choose her shifts at whim and party hard on a Saturday night.
If only he knew the truth.
Still, he was terribly nice.
Not nice, she corrected. Not nice nice, more toe-curlingly sexy and a dangerous nice. Still, no one was leaving. Instead he had made his way over, the music seemed to thud low in her stomach and for a bizarre moment as he joined them she thought he was about to lean over and kiss her.
Just like that, in front of everyone.
And just like that, in front of everyone, she had the ridiculous feeling that she’d comply.
It was safer to leave, to thank him for the drink, to say she wasn’t hungry, to hitch up her bag and get the hell out of there, to ignore the dangerous dance in her mind.
‘I’ll see you on Monday,’ she said to Jasmine.
‘You can help me pack!’
The group sort of moved out of the bar as she did and walked towards the Mexican restaurant. There had been a burst of summer rain but it hadn’t cleared the air. Instead it was muggy, the damp night air clinging to her cheeks, to her legs and arms as her eyes scanned the street for a taxi.
‘Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?’ Dominic asked.
And
