too. Why on earth had he paid so much money for a date with her? Was his ego really so huge that he hadn’t been able to stand someone turning him down?
Though that was a bit unfair. It didn’t fit in with the man she’d seen taking time to reassure a frightened child with a broken wrist earlier in the week. Or the doctor who, instead of going to get something to eat during his lunch break, had spent the time talking to the elderly man who was in for observation with stomach pains but clearly didn’t have anyone to come and wait with him. Or the man who’d got a terrified yet defiant teenage girl to open up to him and tell him exactly which tablets she’d taken then had sat holding her hand and talking to her the entire way through the stomach pump that Abigail had administered.
Lewis was good with people. He gave them time. As a doctor, he was one of the best she’d ever worked with.
And Abigail had to admit that Lewis Gallagher was also very easy on the eye. His dark hair was cut a bit too short for her liking, but his slate-blue eyes were beautiful. And his mouth could make her feel hot all over if she allowed herself to think about it. Not to mention the dimple in his cheek when he smiled.
But she wasn’t looking for a relationship, and he was wasting his time. She’d explain; she’d give him back the money he’d paid for the date, and then hopefully that would be the end of it.
Except on Sunday he turned up at her front door with a bunch of sweet-smelling white stocks. Not a flashy, over-the-top bouquet with ribbons and cellophane and glitter, but a simple bunch of summer flowers wrapped in pretty paper. The kind of thing she’d buy herself as a treat. And it disarmed her completely.
‘For you,’ he said, and presented the flowers to her.
‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’ She couldn’t help breathing in their scent, enjoying it. And she’d have to put the flowers in water right now or they’d droop beyond rescue. It would be rude to leave him outside while she sorted out a vase.
But this was Lewis Gallagher. In the white shirt and formal trousers he wore with a white coat at work he looked professional and she could view him as just another colleague. In faded jeans and a black T-shirt he looked younger. Approachable. Touchable.
How had she ever thought she could handle this? Her social skills were rubbish. They always had been. Maybe if she hadn’t grown up in an all-male environment… She pushed the thought away. This wasn’t about her mother—or, rather, her lack of one. She was thirty years old and she was perfectly capable of dealing with this on her own.
‘Come in,’ she mumbled awkwardly.
She put the flowers in water, then buried her nose in them and breathed in the scent again. ‘These are glorious.’
‘I’m glad you like them,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t expecting you to bring me flowers.’
‘I believe it’s official first date behaviour.’
First of three, according to the grapevine. ‘So today you’re on your best behaviour, next time you’re going to be a bad boy, and after the third date you dump me?’ She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’ll pass.’
‘That’s a bit unfair. You don’t know me.’
True, but she wasn’t going to let him guilt-trip her into agreeing to anything. ‘I know your reputation.’
‘Don’t believe everything you hear.’ He held her gaze. ‘Just as I don’t believe everything I hear about you, princess. Even if you are starchy and standoffish at work.’
The ice princess. Touché. ‘So why did you place that bid?’
‘Because,’ he said, ‘you intrigue me.’
‘And because I turned you down.’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s nothing to do with ego.’
‘No?’ she scoffed.
‘No. It’s because I was out of ideas on how to persuade you into joining in with the team outside work.’
So this wasn’t actually a date? She found herself relaxing. ‘I take it this is a team thing today, then?’
‘No. It’s just you and me.’ He shrugged. ‘And a few strangers.’
‘What do you mean, strangers?’
He spread his hands and gave her a mischievous little-boy smile. ‘There’s only one way to find out what we’re doing. Let’s go.’
She wasn’t that surprised to discover that his car was a convertible.
‘Very flashy,’ she said dryly. Though she supposed that navy blue was a tad more sophisticated than red.
‘Very comfortable, actually,’ he corrected her, unlocking the car and pressing a button to take the roof down.
The seats were soft, white leather. This should be clichéd and cheesy and make her want to sneer at him.
But he had a point, she discovered as she climbed in. The car was comfortable. And driving in the sunshine with the roof down and the wind in her hair was a real treat. She hadn’t done anything like this in ages; her own car was sensible, economical and easy to park, rather than a carefree convertible.
‘So where are we going?’ she asked.
‘About three-quarters of an hour away.’
He really wasn’t going to be drawn, was he?
‘Feel free to choose the music,’ he said.
The first radio station she tried was dance music—not her cup of tea at all. The second was playing one of her dad’s songs; she left the station playing, and couldn’t help humming along to the song.
Lewis smiled at her. ‘I had you pegged as listening only to highbrow stuff. Classical music. Like those tickets you bid on.’
He’d noticed that?
‘See, I told you that you could surprise me.’
‘So you don’t like this sort of stuff?’ Abigail had to remind herself not to jump to her dad’s defence.
‘Actually, I do. This sort of stuff is great on a play-list if you’re going out for a run. But I didn’t think you’d be a fan of Brydon.’
Their biggest. Not that she was going to tell Lewis that. Or why.
He didn’t press her to talk, and she found herself relaxing, enjoying the scenery.
Until he turned off the main road and she saw the sign.
‘Urban Jungle Adventure Centre.’ And it wasn’t just the name. It was the photographs on the hoarding of what people were doing at the centre. ‘We’re going zip-lining?’
‘It’s one of the biggest rushes you can get.’ He gave her a sidelong look as he parked the car. ‘With your clothes on, that is.’
