It Happened One Night Shift. Amy Andrews
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alone or the fact he was wandering around on a winter’s night with just a T-shirt covering his chest.
Why hadn’t someone given him a blanket?
Although, to be fair, he did look a lot more appropriately dressed for a roadside emergency than she did. His jeans looked snug and warm, encasing long, lean legs, and he had been wearing a fleecy hoody.
It sure beat a nine-hundred-dollar dress and a pair of strappy designer shoes.
He looked up then, pointing in the direction she’d been driving, and their gazes met. He nodded at her briefly, before returning his attention to the police officer, and she found herself nodding back.
Yep, Billie acknowledged—Gareth was one helluva good-looking man. In fact, he ticked all her boxes. And if she was up for a fling or available for dating in the hectic morass of a resident’s life then he’d be exactly her type. But there was absolutely no hope for them now.
The man had held her hair back while she’d vomited.
She cringed again. If she ever saw him again it would be too soon.
Gareth was acutely aware of Billie’s gaze as he answered the police officer’s questions. It seemed to beam through the cold air like an invisible laser, hot and direct, hitting him fair in the chest, diffusing heat and awareness to every millimetre of his body.
It made her hard to ignore.
Of course, the fact she was sparkling like one of those movie vampires also made her hard to ignore.
The gauzy skirt of her black dress shimmered with hundreds of what looked like crystal beads. Who knew, maybe they were diamonds? The dress certainly didn’t look cheap. But they caught the multitude of lights strobing across the scene, refracting them like individual disco balls.
As if the dress and the petite figure beneath needed to draw any more attention to itself. Every man here, from the fireman to the paramedics, the police to the tow-truck driver, was sure as hell taking a moment to appreciate it.
Their attention irritated him. And the fact that it did irritated him even more. She was a stranger and they were at an accident scene, for crying out loud!
But it didn’t stop him from going over to her when the police officer was done. He told himself it was to check she was feeling okay now but the dress was weirdly mesmerising and he would have gone to her even if she’d not conveniently vomited twenty minutes ago.
She had her back to him but, as if she’d sensed him approaching, she turned as he neared. Her loose reddish-brown hair flowed silkily around her shoulders, her hair curling in long ringlets around her face. Huge gold hoop earrings he’d noticed earlier as she’d administered the kiss of life swung in her lobes, giving her a little bit of gypsy.
He smiled as he drew closer. She seemed to hesitate for a moment then reciprocated, her scarlet lipstick having worn off from her earlier ministrations.
‘You sure know how to dress for a little unscheduled roadside assistance,’ he said, as he drew to a halt in front of her.
Billie blinked, surprised by his opening line for a moment, and then she looked down at herself and laughed. ‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ she said, although she had absolutely no idea why she was apologising for her attire. ‘I’ve just come from a gala reception.’
This close his biceps were even more impressive and Billie had to grip the blanket hard to stop from reaching her hands out and running her palms over them. She wondered if they’d feel as firm and warm as they looked.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ she asked, engaging her mouth before her brain as she dragged her gaze back to his face.
He did a smile-shrug combo and Billie’s stomach did a little flip-flop combo in response. ‘I’m fine,’ he dismissed.
Billie grimaced. Where had she heard that already tonight? ‘I really am very sorry about earlier.’
‘Yeah.’ He grinned. His whole face crinkled and Billie lost her breath as his sexiness increased tenfold. ‘You’ve already said so. Three times.’
She blushed. ‘I know but … I think I may have splashed your shoes.’
Gareth looked down at his shoes. ‘They’ve seen far worse, trust me.’
‘Not exactly the impression I like to give people I’ve just met.’
Gareth shrugged. She needn’t have been worried about her impression on him—he doubted he was going to forget her in a long time, and it had nothing to do with his shoes and everything to do with how good she looked in those gold hoops and sparkly dress.
And if he’d been up for some flirting and some let’s-see-where-this-goes fun he might just have assured her out loud. He might just have suggested they try for a second impression. But hooking up really wasn’t his thing.
Hooking up at an accident scene even less so.
‘We haven’t exactly met properly, have we? I mean, not formally.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Gareth Stapleton. Very pleased to make your acquaintance—despite the circumstances.’
Billie slipped her hand into his and even though she’d expected to feel something, the rush of warmth up her arm took her by surprise. She shook his hand absently, staring at their clasped fingers, pleased for the blanket around her torso as the warmth rushed all the way to her nipples, prickling them to attention.
Gareth smiled as Billie’s gaze snagged on their joined hands. Not that he could blame her. If she felt the connection as strongly as he did then they were both in trouble.
Just as well they wouldn’t be seeing each other again after tonight. Resisting her in this situation was sensible and right. But if there was repeated exposure? That could wear a man down.
Sensible and right could be easily eroded.
‘And you’re Billie?’ he prompted, withdrawing his hand. ‘Billie …?’
Billie dragged her gaze away from their broken grip, up his broad chest and deliciously whiskery neck and onto his face, his spare cheekbones glowing alternately red and blue from the lights behind him.
What were they talking about? Oh, yes, formal introductions. ‘Ashworth-Keyes,’ she said automatically. ‘Although if you want formal formal then it’s Willamina Ashworth-Keyes.’
Gareth quirked an eyebrow as a little itch started at the back of his brain. ‘Your first name is Willamina?’
Billie rolled her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, placing her hand on her hip. ‘What about it?’
Gareth held up his hands in surrender. ‘Nothing. Just kind of sounds like somebody’s … spinster great-aunt.’
Billie frowned, unfortunately agreeing. Which was why she’d carried over her childhood pet name into adulthood.
‘Not that there’s anything remotely spinsterish or great-auntish about you,’ he hastened to add. The last thing he wanted to do was insult her. The very last thing. ‘Or,’ he added as her frowned deepened, ‘that there’s anything wrong with that anyway.’
This woman made him tongue-tied.
How long had it been since he’d felt this gauche? Like some horny fifteen-year-old who couldn’t even speak to the cool, pretty girl because he had a hard-on the size of a house.
Not that he had a hard-on. Not right now anyway. Or probably ever again if this excruciatingly awkward scene replayed in his head as often as he figured it would.
Billie’s breath caught at Gareth’s sudden lack of finesse. It made her feel as if she wasn’t the only one thrown by this rather bizarre thing that had flared between them.
And she’d liked his emphasis on remotely.
She laughed to ease the strange tension that had spiked between