Her Christmas Eve Diamond. Scarlet Wilson
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and as she was in midstep—it sent her straight into his arms. ‘Ow-w!
The lift was small. Even smaller with the large storage cage and two people crammed inside. And as Brad had pressed the ground-floor button as he’d pulled the cage inside, they were now trapped at the back of the lift together.
She was pressed against him. He could feel the ample swell of her breasts against his chest, her soft pink jumper tickling his skin. His hands had fallen naturally to her waist, one finger touching a little bit of soft flesh. Had she noticed?
Her curls were under his nose, but there was no way he was moving his hands to scratch the itch. She lifted her head, capturing him with her big brown eyes again.
This was crazy. This was madness.
This was someone he’d just met today. It didn’t matter that he felt a pull towards her. It didn’t matter that she’d offered to help him. It didn’t matter that for some strange reason he liked to be close to her. It didn’t matter that his eyes were currently fixed on her plump lips. He knew nothing about her.
Her reputation had preceded her. According to her colleagues she was a great nurse and a huge advocate for her patients, but her attention to detail and rulebook for the ward had become notorious.
More importantly, she knew nothing about him. She had no idea about his history, his family, his little girl out there in the world somewhere. She had no idea how the whole thing had come close to breaking him. And for some reason he didn’t want to tell her.
He wanted this to be separate. A flirtation. A distraction. Something playful. With no consequences. Even if it only lasted a few weeks.
At least that would get him past Christmas.
‘You can let me go now.’ Her voice was quiet, her hands resting on his upper arms sending warm waves through his bare skin.
But for a second they just stood there. Unmoving.
The door pinged open and they turned their heads. His hands fell from her waist. She turned and automatically pushed the cage through the lift doors, and he fell into step next to her.
The tone and mood were broken.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind helping me with this? You could always just draw me a map.’
She stuck her elbow in his ribs. ‘Stop trying to get out of buying me dinner. What number did you say the flat was? If I find out I’ve got to carry all these boxes up four flights of stairs I won’t be happy.’
They crossed the car park and reached his car. She blinked. A Mini. For a guy that was over six feet tall.
‘This is your car?’
‘Do you like it?’ He opened the front passenger door, moved the seat forward and started throwing boxes in the back. ‘It’s bigger than you think.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you just leave some stuff in the car?’
Brad shrugged. ‘Luca borrowed my car last night after he helped me move my stuff. I think he had a date.’ And some of his boxes were far too personal to be left unguarded in a car.
Cassidy shook her head and opened the boot, trying to cram as many of the boxes in there as possible. She was left with two of the larger ones still sitting on the ground.
She watched as he put the passenger seat back into place and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I can just put these two on my lap. It’s only a five-minute drive. It’ll be fine.’
Brad pulled a face. ‘You might need to put something else on your lap instead.’
She felt her stomach turn over. What now?
‘Why do I get the distinct impression that nothing is straightforward with you?’
He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the porter’s lodge at the hospital gate, leaving the two boxes next to his unlocked car. ‘Come on.’
‘Where on earth are we going?’
‘I’ve got something else to pick up.’
He pushed open the door to the lodge. Usually used for deliveries and collections, occasionally used by the porters who were trying to duck out of sight for five minutes, it was an old-fashioned solid stone building. The front door squeaked loudly. ‘Frank? Are you there?’
Frank Wallace appeared. All twenty-five stone of him, carrying a pile of white-and-black fur in his hands. ‘There you are, Dr Donovan. He’s been as good as gold. Not a bit of bother. Bring him back any time.’
Frank handed over the bundle of black and white, and it took a few seconds for Cassidy to realise the shaggy bundle was a dog with a bright red collar and lead.
Brad bent down and placed the dog on the floor at their feet. It seemed to spring to life, the head coming up sharply and a little tail wagging furiously. Bright black eyes and a pink panting tongue.
‘Cassidy, meet Bert. This is the reason I lost my tenancy.’
Cassidy watched in amazement. Bert seemed delighted to see him, jumping his paws up onto Brad’s shoulders and licking at his hands furiously. His gruff little barks reverberated around the stone cottage.
He was a scruffy little mutt—with no obvious lineage or pedigree. A mongrel, by the look of him.
‘Why on earth would you have a dog?’ she asked incredulously. ‘You live in Australia. You can’t possibly have brought him with you.’ Dogs she could deal with. It was cats that caused her allergies. She’d often thought about getting a pet for company—a friendly face to come home to. But long shifts weren’t conducive to having a pet. She knelt on the floor next to Brad, holding her hand out cautiously while Bert took a few seconds to sniff her, before licking her with the same enthusiasm he’d shown Brad.
‘I found him. A few weeks ago, in the street outside my flat. He looked emaciated and was crouched in a doorway. There was no way I could leave him alone.’ And to be honest, I needed him as much as he needed me. Brad let the scruffy dog lick his hands. Melody would love this little dog.
‘So what did you do?’
‘I took him to the emergency vet, who checked him over, gave me some instructions, then I took him home.’
‘And this is why you got flung out your flat?’ There was an instant feeling of relief. He hadn’t been thrown out for non-payment of rent, wild parties or dubious women. He’d been thrown out because of a dog. She glanced at his face as he continued to talk to Bert. The mutual admiration was obvious.
The rat. He must have known that a dog would have scored him brownie points. No wonder he’d kept it quiet earlier. She would have taken him for a soft touch.
She started to laugh. ‘Bert? You called your dog Bert?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What’s wrong with Bert? It’s a perfectly good name.’
‘What’s wrong with Rocky or Buster or Duke?’
He waved his hand at her. ‘Look at him. Does he look like Rocky, Buster or Duke?’
He waited a few seconds, and Bert obligingly tipped his head to one side, as if he enjoyed the admiration.
Brad was decisive. ‘No way. He’s a Bert. No doubt about it.’
Cassidy couldn’t stop the laugh that had built up in her chest. Bert wasn’t a big dog and his white hair with black patches had definitely seen better days. But his soft eyes and panting tongue were cute. And Brad was right. He looked like a Bert—it suited him. She bent down and started rubbing his ears.
‘See—you like him. Everyone should. He’s a good dog. Not been a bit of bother since I found him.’
‘So how come you got flung out the flat? And what about the new one? I take it they’re happy for you to have a dog?’
Brad