he found himself sitting down after his solitary meal with a beer in one hand and the local paper in the other, enjoying the last of the evening sun—and thinking about Virginia.
Lord, she was pretty. Her soft, lush curves had squashed up against him most invitingly, and he really hadn’t wanted to let her go. He’d forgotten what a real woman felt like—how solid and robust and positively right.
His heart started to thud more heavily, just with the memory, and his jeans tightened to an embarrassing degree. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the sun lounger and sighed. Was it wrong to want another woman? It didn’t feel wrong. It felt frighteningly normal and right.
It wasn’t as if Ann was still alive.
And he was. If he’d had any doubts about that in the past two years, today had dispelled them all. Yes, he was definitely alive—alive, well and in the market for a scorching affair.
Just sex, he promised himself. No commitment. Nothing long term or permanent, just a little diversion to help ease life along a little. After all, the kids needed him and there was very little left over to give anybody else.
But an affair with Virginia—oh, yes. He could handle that.
She’s a colleague, his alter ego was nagging gently. He switched it off. She understood the rules. She was a woman of the world—that was obvious from the assessing look she had given him that had thrown him for a loop.
They could work together and play together.
It would be fine. He’d make it fine.
His heart thudded a little faster, the beat heavy and strong under his ribs.
Anticipation.
He’d forgotten the taste of it, it had been so long.
He’d flirt with her a little, draw her out, see if she was interested. Maybe dinner, a play or the movies—something like that.
He wondered how Ann’s mother would feel about babysitting for him while he entertained a new woman.
Perhaps he’d ask the girl next door…!
So MAYBE she’d been mistaken. Maybe Ryan was interested. Either that or she was reading him all wrong, which could be fairly embarrassing!
She wasn’t. Every chance he had he made eye contact with her, and his eyes were ultra-expressive. She wasn’t sure if he meant them to be or if they just gave him away, but he was certainly interested in her.
She still didn’t know anything about him, however, but she was willing to bet from what she’d seen of him at work that he wasn’t the sort of man to cheat on his wife. The easy thing, of course, was just to come out and ask him, but she didn’t like to.
It was Patrick Haddon, one of the senior registrars, who told her in the end. They’d been working together on a patient and as the trolley was wheeled away to the ward he stripped off his gloves, dropped them in the bin and grinned at her.
‘Well done. I can see why Ryan speaks so highly of you—apart from the obvious attraction he feels, of course.’
His eyes were twinkling, and Ginny felt a soft tide of colour brush her throat. She ignored the compliment on her work in favour of the rider he had added. ‘Meaning?’ she fished.
Patrick laughed softly. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you.’
She shrugged, pretending indifference. ‘Is it so obvious?’
‘It is to me. It makes a change to see him notice the sex of his colleagues. Not that anybody’s criticising, Ginny. We’re all vulnerable to the right pretty face. Anyway, it’s good to see him taking an interest in a woman. Two years is a long time.’
‘Two years?’ she asked, trying not to let her curiosity be too obvious.
‘Since his wife died. I don’t think there’s been anyone since.’
She felt the shock of his words in a wave of regret for Ryan. How had she died? Slowly, or instantly? Did he know it was going to happen? Did he have time to say goodbye? How much had he been hurt?
So many questions without answers. There was only one Patrick could answer that she was prepared to ask, and even that was a loaded question. ‘Did they have children?’ she asked slowly.
‘Yes—two. A girl and a boy.’
Ginny felt a pang. She wasn’t sure which was worse—to have them and die, or live and not have them.
To die. Yes, of course. Her life was full, after all. Her work was demanding, interesting and stimulating. Her private life was about to flourish, if Ryan’s eyes were to be believed, and everything in her garden was rosy.
Well, almost. There was that little corner where nothing grew—where nothing would ever grow—but it was engulfed by the glorious mass of busyness that threatened to swamp her on occasions.
Yes, it was good to be alive.
Far better than to be dead.
Or widowed. Poor Ryan. She wondered what and when he would tell her about it. Probably not a lot, as he hadn’t yet. She sensed that his private life and work were kept very far apart, and she wondered which slot she would be fitted into if she became his mistress.
A third slot, kept especially for that eventuality? Neither one thing nor the other? Category Three—sex slave.
She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Don’t count your chickens, Patrick,’ she warned him. Or Ryan’s. Not that it’s anybody else’s business, but I’m sure if he was that interested he would have done something about it by now.’
But he hadn’t, and he didn’t, and by the end of that week she was wondering if he ever would.
He was constantly underfoot, though. On the pretext of training her he was there at her side all the time, and by the end of Friday she was ready to hit him. She was off duty at five, much to her great relief, and she went into the staffroom to hang up her coat. As she came out so he came in, and their chests collided just as before.
This time, though, he didn’t release her but stared down into her eyes and kept her there, hard against his body, while his eyes smouldered like green coals and her pulse rate rocketed.
She met his hungry gaze frankly, and after a few moments his eyes dropped to her mouth. She thought he was going to kiss her. Most men would have done, but Ryan clearly had more control.
She wished to God he didn’t, but it was probably just as well because there were people passing them in the corridor and they were attracting some very strange and interested looks.
‘Did you want something?’ she asked softly, and under her hands his chest jerked a fraction. A sharp intake of breath?
His eyes flicked up to hers again, and the heat in them
