impulse, when her shift finished, she went over to his office and knocked on his door.
‘Yes?’
His tone was still slightly curt, but she ignored it and walked in. Closed the door behind her.
He looked at her, not smiling. ‘What can I do for you, Dr Richardson?’
He’d still got that barrier up between them, then. Until this afternoon he’d called her by her first name. They had been a team. Well, she wasn’t going to let him put her off now. When she had moments like these, she really needed other people around her. Someone to pull her back from the fear. ‘I wondered if you’d like a coffee or anything, Joel.’ She deliberately used his first name.
‘No, thanks. I’m catching up with my paperwork.’
And the look he gave her said very clearly that she was holding him up. ‘When you’ve finished, then. Maybe we can go for a drink or something.’ And maybe he’d talk to her. Talking had always helped her in the past.
He frowned. ‘A drink? Lisa, you need to understand I’m not in the market for a relationship.’
He thought she was asking him out? She scoffed. ‘Actually, I wasn’t asking you for a relationship. I was asking you out as a colleague who can see you’ve had a rough day—the kind of day when it might help to talk to someone who understands. I meant a drink, as in coffee or something. Nothing else.’
‘Oh.’ He didn’t apologise, though colour slashed across his cheekbones so clearly he knew he was in the wrong. ‘Sorry, I need to be somewhere.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Like now.’
Of course. His little girl. She should have thought. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have held you up. Goodnight.’
Lisa had closed the door behind her before Joel had a chance to say anything. He groaned and covered his face with his hands. He’d been a first-class bastard, snapping at her and leaping to conclusions—stupid conclusions. Of course she hadn’t been asking him out. She’d just seen him as a colleague who’d had a rough day and wanted to make him feel better. He’d been projecting his own thoughts onto her—his own ridiculous desire for a relationship with her.
And he’d overreacted. Big time. Had pushed her away as hard as he could, because there was something about Lisa Richardson that made him really want her. And he wasn’t in a position to offer her any sort of relationship.
Ah, hell. He’d apologise tomorrow. Explain that the case had brought back memories for him and he shouldn’t have taken it out on her.
Though wild horses wouldn’t drag from him the fact that he’d pushed her away for another reason—to keep temptation at bay.
He saved the file he’d been working on and shut down the computer, then headed for Hannah’s to pick up Beth. She fell asleep in the car, as she always did when he was on a late shift; he carried her to bed, tucked her in, and stood watching her for a moment. Sometimes she looked so like Vanessa when she was sleeping that it hurt.
But he’d never let his daughter down the way he’d let his wife down. She’d come first in his life. Always.
The next morning, he dropped Beth at Hannah’s, then made a swift detour into the hospital shop on his way to the department. Flowers? No. Too ostentatious. And it might give the wrong message. He wanted something that said sorry in a colleague-like fashion.
Every medic he knew loved chocolate. So it was a pretty safe bet.
He bought the nicest box the shop had, then headed for his office, grabbed a sticky note from his desk and scribbled her a quick note. Sorry. Bad day yesterday. Shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Cheers, Joel.
Yep. That would do. It sounded like a note from a colleague, not a lover.
Lover.
Nope, he had to push that word right out of his head. He wasn’t going to be Lisa’s lover. No matter how much his body wanted him to.
He went swiftly to the restroom. Her locker was—of course—locked. Great. He knew she was never late for her shift—that meant she had to be on a late shift. He’d try to catch her just before she started, then. With a sigh he returned to his office, shoved the chocolates in a drawer, then went out to see the night staff for the handover to his shift.
Facing Joel was something Lisa really didn’t want to do. She’d spent most of the previous night feeling hideously embarrassed. He’d actually thought she’d been asking him out on a date. That she fancied him.
The worst thing about it was, he was right. She did fancy him. She just wasn’t going to do anything about it. Because she had a feeling that, if she let him, Joel Mortimer could be very, very important in her life. And she wasn’t going to make her mother’s mistakes. Wasn’t going to love someone so much that the world stopped without them.
She’d just changed her shoes and locked her locker door when Joel strode into the restroom, his hands behind his back. He looked like one of the consultants you saw on TV dramas, ordering a junior doctor, ‘Walk with me,’ so he could explain some esoteric procedure or other. Cool and distant and clever.
‘Morning,’ he said.
‘Morning,’ she replied coolly.
‘Lisa—look, I owe you an apology. I was incredibly rude to you yesterday. You were being kind, a good colleague, and I…’ He grimaced. ‘Well, I shouldn’t take out my personal problems on my team.’
Oh, lord. Just when she’d been prepared to be an ice queen, he said something to melt her. The more so because he was so obviously sincere.
He coughed. ‘Um—this is by way of an apology.’ He drew his hands from behind his back and handed her a large brown paper bag.
She peered inside, and smiled. ‘You didn’t need to do that, Joel—but thank you. Apology accepted. And if you’re going to give me chocolates every time you have a bad day, I could be tempted to send every male geriatric who walks into the department your way.’
He laughed, clearly remembering that he’d told her elderly male patients loathed him. ‘Just you try it. I’ll make you deal with the really gory stuff.’
‘I can do gory.’ She’d attended enough accidents with the air ambulance in the past. She smiled. ‘But I could do with learning a few of those bad jokes of yours for the next time I get a nine-year-old who needs distracting.’
‘Done.’
Lord, he was gorgeous when he smiled. That slight quirk to his mouth, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes and the way his eyes turned almost pure gold. It made her want to reach out, touch his face. Run her thumb along his lower lip.
What would it be like to slide her fingers through those black, glossy curls and draw his head down to hers? Would his face be smooth, or would there be the faintest hint of stubble grazing against her fingertips as she stroked his skin? How would it feel when he kissed her—when his mouth brushed against hers, exploring, teasing, inciting, demanding a response?
It would be so easy to find out. All she’d have to do would be to slide her hand behind his neck and draw his face down to hers, brush her mouth against his and—
