A Date with the Ice Princess. Kate Hardy
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her feel like a brat, wanting to throw a tantrum and stamp her feet when she didn’t get her own way. And she couldn’t understand why on earth he was affecting her like this.
‘Newsflash for you, princess. I bought a date with you. So you don’t get to decide where we’re going.’
Shut up, Abigail. Don’t answer him. Don’t let him provoke you. Except her mouth wasn’t listening. ‘Correction. You bought a date with me. Which means I organise it and I pick up the bill.’
‘Nope. It means you get to go out with me on Sunday morning.’
She was about to protest that she couldn’t, because she was working, when he added, ‘And you’re off duty on Sunday morning. I checked.’
She was trapped.
And maybe the fear showed in her eyes because his voice softened. ‘It’s only a date, Abby.’
Abby? Nobody called her that. Not even her father.
Well, especially not her father. He used her given name. The one she made sure nobody at work knew about because then it would be too easy to connect her with her father. Not that she didn’t love him—Keith Brydon was the most important person in the world to her. And she was incredibly proud of him. She just wanted to be seen for who she was, not dismissed as an attention-grabbing celeb’s daughter riding on her famous parent’s coat-tails.
Before she could protest, Lewis continued, ‘We’re just going somewhere and spending a bit of time together. All we’re doing is getting to know each other a little. But, just so we’re very clear on this, I’m not expecting you to sleep with me. Or even,’ he added, ‘to kiss me.’
‘Right.’ Oh, great. And now her voice had to croak, making it sound as if she wanted him to kiss her. How pathetic was that?
‘Wear jeans,’ he said. ‘And sensible shoes.’
‘Do I look like the sort of person who clip-clops around in high heels she can barely walk in?’ And then she clapped a hand to her mouth. Oh, no. She hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘No. But I think you could surprise me, Abby.’
She shivered. Oh, the pictures that put in her head. ‘I suppose now you’re going to say something cheesy about finding out if I have a temper to go with my red hair.’
‘It’s a cliché and I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he said. ‘Though, on this evening’s showing, I think you do.’
And, damn him, his eyes were twinkling. She almost, almost laughed.
‘You need sensible shoes,’ he said again. ‘Trainers would be really good. Oh, and wear your hair tied back.’
That was a given. She always wore her hair tied back. ‘So what are we doing?’ Despite herself, she was curious.
‘You’ll find out on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at your place.’
She shook her head. ‘There’s no need. I could meet you there.’
‘Ah, but you don’t know where we’re going.’
Irritating man. She forced herself to sound super-sweet. ‘You could tell me.’
‘True. But it’d be a waste of resources if we took two cars.’
‘Then I’ll drive.’ Maybe needling him a little would make sure he agreed to it. ‘Unless you’re scared of letting a woman drive you?’
‘No.’ He laughed. ‘Well, there’s one exception. But she’d scare anyone.’
Ex-girlfriend? she wondered. The one that got away?
Not that it was any of her business. And not that she was interested. Because she didn’t want to date Lewis Gallagher. She was only doing this because she’d made a promise to raise funds for the department.
‘So are you going to make a fuss about it, or will you allow me to drive rather than direct you?’
Put like that, she didn’t have much choice. She gave in. ‘OK. You can drive.’
‘Good. I’ll pick you up at nine. Your address?’
If she didn’t tell him, she was pretty sure he had the resources to find out. So she told him.
‘Great. See you on Sunday.’ And he was gone.
Making quite sure he had the last word, she noticed.
Abigail was really grateful for the fact that her shift on Saturday was immensely busy, with lots of people limping in with sports injuries and the like. The fact that she barely had a second to breathe also meant she didn’t have to talk; the hospital grapevine had been working overtime, so everyone knew Lewis had paid a ridiculous amount of money for a date with her—and she just knew that everyone was itching to ask questions. Why would a man who could date any woman he chose pay for a date with the girl nobody wanted to go out with?
This was crazy. She wasn’t his type. She wasn’t a party girl or one of the women who sighed over him and thought she could reform him. And, actually, she wanted to know the real answer to that question, 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