bent over her references again, cupping his chin in his hand and using his fingers to cover the little smile that wouldn’t be suppressed.
‘What if I gave you the chance and you couldn’t do the job in the end?’
‘You’d face that possibility with anyone,’ she said fairly. ‘I was good on fractures in my time in A and E, and God knows I saw enough of them. It frustrated me to bits not to be able to follow them up to Theatre and finish the job. What if you got someone whose only asset was his strength? What about the jigsaws?’
He looked up at her again and her eyes trapped his, mesmerising him. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘As you haven’t met the other applicant I can’t see how you can make that judgement—’
‘I’m not making any judgements, just putting forward for instances.’ She leant towards him, resting on those long, elegant fingers, her energy vibrating in her voice. ‘Look, I’m prepared to do it on a trial basis. If you give me three months, I’ll do everything I can to justify your faith in me.’
He stared at her in amazement. ‘You’re prepared to do it on a trial basis?’ he repeated, unable to believe the brass neck of the woman. ‘You want me to turn away a perfectly good applicant so I can give you a trial?’ He was stunned. Justify his faith, indeed! What faith? He had no faith in her, none at all!
She surged to her feet, nearly six feet of willowy, tormenting woman, and paced to the window. She was so slender he could have snapped her in half with his bare hands, he thought disgustedly. How did she imagine she could cope?
The sunshine caught her hair and for a moment she looked like an angel, the gold strands surrounding her enthusiastic, lovely face like a shimmering halo. Then she turned, a coil of energy that made him feel exhausted just to watch her, and came back to the desk, bracing those beautiful, slender hands on it and leaning towards him, her eyes earnest.
‘That’s right. It will give us both long enough to see if it could work. If it doesn’t, then I’ll give up and go quietly.’
He couldn’t stop the little snort. The very idea of this young woman giving up and going anywhere quietly was laughable.
She jerked up straight and glared down at him. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
He met her eyes, serious now. The last time he had believed a woman had been his wedding day. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
‘Why should I?’
‘Because I’m honest. I’ll try, and try hard. If it doesn’t work, I’ll admit it. What I won’t accept is not being given a chance just because you think I won’t stick at it or won’t be strong enough to do it.’
‘And will you?’
‘Of course. Give me your hand.’
Warily, a little bemused, he held out his hand and her warm, slender fingers curled softly round it and gripped with surprising strength. She settled herself into the chair again, said, ‘Ready?’ and at his nod he felt the power in her arm challenge his own strength.
She wanted to arm-wrestle? Far be it from him to spoil her fun, but he didn’t believe in hurting women—
‘Damn! How did you do that?’
She laughed. ‘You weren’t taking me seriously. You keep doing that, don’t you?’ She shook her head and laughed again. ‘Big mistake.’
He didn’t doubt it for a minute! He extricated his hand from her warm and enticing grip and leant back in the chair, regarding her steadily.
‘I let you win,’ he lied.
She snorted. ‘Fiddlesticks. You underestimated me, Mr Ryder. My point is this—I’m strong. I take care of myself—probably better than you do. I won’t let you down—I promise.’
Her eyes were grey, not the blue-grey of his but a soft, slightly greeny grey, wide and clear, and they locked with his and wouldn’t let go. He could still feel the strength of her grip, the warmth of her hand and he was achingly aware of the soft rise and fall of her very feminine curves under her fine wool sweater as she waited for his answer.
‘Please?’ she coaxed, and her voice whispered over his senses and did unbidden things to his normally ordered mind.
He felt himself crumble under that misty gaze, and the rigid set of his shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of his foolishness. ‘I’ll probably regret it,’ he found himself saying, ‘but yes, Dr Bradley, I’ll give you your chance.’
For a moment he thought she was going to jump over the desk and hug him, but with a massive effort she pulled herself together and smiled, and the smile set off little fires in her eyes that warmed the cold recesses of his heart.
‘Thank you,’ she said, with commendable control, and leant against the chair-back as if sheer will-power had been holding her up. ‘So—when do I start?’
He shuffled paper on his desk, still unable to believe what he had done. Was he quite mad? ‘The beginning of January? I’ll get my secretary to sort out all the details of your salary and so on—she might be able to help you with accommodation as well.’
He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, going round the desk to usher her out, and as she stood and smiled at him with her megawatt smile a shock of heat coursed through his body.
He crushed it ruthlessly and forced a smile. ‘Welcome to the team, Dr Bradley. I’ll see you in the new year.’
Her eyes were dancing and a subtle hint of perfume, sensuous and filled with promise, drifted over him as she moved. ‘Thank you. I’ll look forward to it. Happy Christmas.’
‘Thank you. And to you.’
Her strong, warm fingers curled round his again, familiar now and somehow enticing, and with a mumbled goodbye he closed the door behind her and leant against it with a groan, grateful for the long white coat which disguised his body’s betrayal.
A knot of tension gripped his chest and he rubbed it absently. What had he done?
Ah, well, it was only three months. Hopefully he could survive.
He wasn’t convinced. Her perfume lingered on the air, conjuring a memory of her smiling eyes and soft, lush figure. Frances Bradley, he realised with a sinking feeling in his gut, was one complication he could frankly have done without …
She found him in the sister’s office, dressed in green theatre pyjamas, his feet, in white anti-static boots, up on the desk, a file open on his lap. The remains of a cup of coffee lurked beside him, and she could see by his shadowed jaw that he had been up all night.
He looked forbidding and rather cross, she thought, and her heart sank. Oh, well, it was all her own fault, and if he proved a pig to work with she had only herself to blame. After all, he hadn’t wanted her.
Frankie approached him cautiously.
‘Happy New Year,’ she ventured.
He lifted his head and stared at her, then gave a tiny snort of disbelief. ‘Is
