twisted as she tried to hitch the now falling papers back under her arm.
He reached for them, his hand brushing against her blouse, sending a shiver through his gut. Strange how his body was reacting to her. Very strange. ‘Let me take those papers from you.’
‘I can manage.’ She stopped short and shook her head with determination and resolve, obviously trying to be strong when she didn’t need to be. He got the feeling that Ivy Leigh put a brave face on a lot—to hide what? Some perceived weakness? Something that was more than a problem with her foot.
‘I know you can manage. But you have too many things to carry and I have nothing. Let me take them.’ Without waiting for her to answer, he took the folders and slipped them under his arm, wondering what the hell the point of this was. She was on the other side—the annoying, bureaucratic, meddling middle-men side.
Talking with the enemy, helping the enemy, whatever next? Sleeping with the enemy? Pah! As if he would do anything so foolish.
And she obviously had a full appreciation of that. ‘I know what you’re doing, Matteo. You’re trying to get me on side and then you’re going to strike. Pounce … or something. Try to catch me unawares, try to convince me to set you free from my course and then hit me where it hurts.’
‘Never. I would never hit anyone.’ There had been a few times when he’d come close—okay, once when he’d stepped over that line and with good reason. But never again.
She looked confused. ‘Don’t panic, it’s a turn of phrase. I didn’t mean you’d really hit me. I know you wouldn’t do that.’
‘Good. And, actually, I was just being nice.’
‘Well, that is unexpected. Who knew you could be?’
The fleeting anger at the memories melted into humour. Ivy Leigh was good at sparring. He admired that. Always good to respect the enemy. Laughter bubbled from his chest. ‘Strange, yes, considering we are on opposite sides. The next thing we know we’ll be doing something ridiculous like going for a drink.’
‘Oh, no. I can’t do that.’ She jabbed the lift button again and tsked. ‘I never mix business with pleasure.’
‘I’m intrigued that you think having a drink with me would be pleasurable?’
Again there was a smile, but it belied a look in her eyes that was … half wistful, half anxious. ‘I’m sure the drink would be very pleasurable indeed. I’m very partial to a decent red. But, as I say, it’s not something I do.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘Then I’m glad that we agree on something.’ But that wistful look remained, until she turned away.
There was no one else around. The place was silent. The conference area had all closed down for the night so it was just him and her and a buzz in the air between them that was so fierce it was almost tangible. ‘And you are going where now?’
She shrugged. ‘Back to the fifth floor, if this lift ever arrives. I have work to do.’
‘After five o’clock? All the other paper-pushers have long gone.’
Her lips curled into a smirk. ‘Pen. It’s pen-pushers not paper-pushers.’
‘I know, I know. I apologise. I’m still getting used to your idioms.’ And she was stunning when she smiled. Which, it appeared, made him tongue-tied too. Really? What in hell was wrong with him?
‘Where the hell is this lift?’ Jab-jab on the button with those emerald fingernails. ‘I don’t think about the time I put in. I just do what’s needed, and if that keeps me here all hours then so be it. Like most lawyers, I expect to work hard.’
‘Then you’d make a fine doctor too.’
‘Believe me, I wouldn’t.’ She gave a visible shudder and he wondered whether she’d been hurt at some point. Maybe a doctor had broken that well-protected heart of hers. And, again, why that was remotely relevant to anything, he didn’t know.
‘You don’t like doctors? A hospital is a strange place to work, then.’
‘Most doctors are fine. In fact, my mum’s one.’ Finally the lift arrived with a jolt and the doors swished open. Taking the folders from his hand, she fixed her gaze on him. ‘Only a few of them ruin the reputation for the majority …’
What? As she stepped into the lift he put a hand out to stop the doors from closing. ‘You mean me? I have a reputation?’ He laughed. ‘Good to know. Let me guess how that goes … I am too outspoken. I am a maverick. I am too committed to my job. Worse, I leave broken hearts in my wake …’
‘Apparently so.’ Her fingers tapped against the cold steel of the wall panel. ‘And a lot more that I couldn’t possibly say …’
‘I am also very attentive to detail. Some would say passionate. I have a sense of humour. I play very hard indeed …’ His gaze drifted over her face. The detail there was stunning. The eyes that gave away her emotions regardless of how hard she tried to keep them locked away. That mouth, the keeper of barbs and insults and a perfect smile. Those lips … How would it feel if he were to kiss her? How would Miss Prim and Proper react then? Would she let him see a little of what was under that hard surface? Because, dammit, he knew there was more to her. A softer side—a passionate side. Just waiting to be set free. Lucky man who ever achieved that.
The door jolted against his back, reminding him that this was neither the time nor the place to be kissing Ivy Leigh. And yet … he reached a hand to her cheek and he could have sworn he saw heat flicker across her eyes, just enough to mist them and to tell him that he was not the only one struggling with this wildly strange scenario. Her mouth opened a little, he could see her breathing had quickened, and her eyes fluttered closed for a microsecond. Enough to show he had an effect on her … and she liked it. Didn’t want it, not at all, but she liked it.
She pulled away. ‘So. I’ll see you tomorrow. Show me what you’ve got, Mr Finelli, I’m expecting to be very impressed.’
He felt strongly that he could show Miss Leigh a thing or two and she’d be very impressed indeed. Work. Work. Reminding himself of what was truly the most important thing in his life, he took a step back too. Che stupido. ‘Do not bring me back to that issue again. Those damned workshops. This social media thing. Miss Leigh, you make my blood boil sometimes.’
‘I try my best. All part of the service.’
With that she gave him a very satisfied smile that he imagined would grace her lips at the end of a particularly heavy lovemaking session. For a fleeting second he imagined her naked and on his sheets. Spent and glowing.
‘Goodbye, Mr Finelli.’
He watched the lift door swish closed, thanking the god of good timing that she’d had the good sense to put a stop to whatever dangerous game had been about to play out. She made his blood boil indeed, the heat between them had been off the scale. No woman had made him so infuriated and so turned on at the same time. He spoke to the metal doors as the lift lurched upwards. ‘Goodbye, Ivy.’
Then he turned to walk up the stairs and back to the surgical suite. A ward round beckoned, then some prep, allaying the fears
