The Night Before Christmas. Alison Roberts
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was free at last. He escaped from the back of the grotto. Heading for the stairs, he passed Denise, who’d been stopped by a customer’s query.
The customer was none other than Holly’s mother. Holly gave him a suspicious stare and must have communicated something through the hand she was holding because her mother turned her head to stare at him as well.
The eye contact was like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. As though they knew each other. Intimately. A prickle of something he couldn’t identify traced the length of his spine. His step faltered inexplicably. He covered the odd blip by glancing at his watch and seeing the time was more than enough incentive to keep moving. He had no choice, if he was going to have any chance of making his meeting on time.
Weirdly, what he was feeling now was a strong sense of disappointment. Because he would never know the end of the story about Holly and Misty and whether they would get what they wanted for Christmas.
No. It felt like more than that.
Almost as though he’d just lost something.
Something ‘portant.
‘He’s not really a nelf,’ Holly muttered. ‘He hasn’t got a hat and he’s too big.’
Lizzie was only half listening because Denise was trying to direct her to where she would find the shortbread she needed to take back to the hospital.
Who was too big?
That astonishingly good-looking man who’d just given her the oddest look? He had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. Chocolate brown and … interested? No. It had been more than the kind of appreciative glance she was used to getting from men. It had been more like he was surprised to see her here. As if he knew her from somewhere else. That thought was just about as strange as whatever bee Holly had in her bonnet about elves.
If she’d met him before she would have most certainly not forgotten the encounter.
Keeping a firm hold on her daughter’s hand, Lizzie went in search of shortbread. Holly was happy and so was she. In a little while their mission would be accomplished and she could get back to where she really needed to be.
Maybe later … much later, when she had a minute or two to herself, she would indulge in remembering those dark eyes. Relive that frisson of something amazing that she’d felt in that heartbeat when his eyes had touched hers.
A secret smile tweaked the corner of Lizzie’s mouth. She’d have to save it for later but there was no reason not to indulge in a harmless little daydream. After all, who didn’t need a touch of fantasy in their lives now and then?
CHAPTER TWO
THIS was payback.
On a cosmic scale. Punishment for the very real pleasure Lizzie had found last night, dreaming about a pair of chocolate-brown eyes.
She had never expected to see them again. Certainly not at close range. But here they were, on the other side of Dr Kingsley’s desk.
‘Who are you?’
Oh … Lord … It was supposed to come out as ‘Who are you?’ and not ‘Who are you?’, as if she remembered him and was desperate to know his name.
He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was giving her the same kind of odd look he had when he’d passed her in Bennett’s department store yesterday.
‘I’m Jack,’ he told her. ‘Jack Rousseau.’
His voice was as smooth as the rich chocolate his eyes made her think of. Just as dark, too. And there was a subtle hint of a very attractive accent. Rousseau? Was he French?
Lizzie’s mouth went curiously dry and she dropped her gaze instantly. Not that it helped. He had both his hands on the desk, fiddling with the disc of a stethoscope lying on the blotter. Long, shapely fingers and hands, the backs of which were dusted with dark hair. Absolutely masculine hands but they looked very clever.
Sexy hands. Like the rest of this man whose name meant nothing to her. He was a complete stranger despite this odd feeling that she knew him. A two-second encounter in a crowded shop couldn’t account for this feeling of familiarity but illicit fantasies in the privacy of her own bed certainly could.
This was appalling. She had to say something before her hesitation became any more obvious but Lizzie could feel a blush of gigantic proportions blooming. She felt somehow exposed. Vulnerable. Backed into a corner simply because she’d done a tiny thing for her own pleasure.
There was only one thing for it. She needed to come out fighting. Her chin rose sharply and she met those dark eyes directly.
‘Where’s Dr Kingsley?’ she demanded.
As if to answer her sharp query, the door of the consulting room burst open.
‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie,’ Dave Kingsley said. ‘I wanted to be here to introduce you to Jack myself.’ He sent an apologetic smile to the younger man as he pulled another chair to that side of the desk. ‘Didn’t mean to abandon you for so long either.’
‘Couldn’t be helped,’ Jack Rousseau said graciously. ‘Emergencies happen.’
‘Car accident to a patient of mine who had a transplant five years ago,’ Dave explained to Lizzie, before turning back to his new colleague. ‘Looks like he’s damaged the kidney, unfortunately, along with messing up his spleen and liver.’
‘He’ll be on his way to Theatre, then?’
‘Yes. I might get a call. I said I wanted to have a look before any call was made about removing the transplant. Now …’ The surgeon’s smile signalled his change of focus to Lizzie. ‘You’ve obviously met Jack already.’
‘Mmm …’ Lizzie kept her gaze firmly on Dr Kingsley.
‘And he’s explained why he’s here?’
‘We were about to get to that, I think,’ Jack said.
Lizzie didn’t have to look to know that he was smiling. She could hear it in his voice. He was finding this amusing in some way? She could feel the skin on her forehead tightening as she frowned.
‘Let me do the honours, then,’ Dave said. ‘Mr Rousseau … Jack … is very well known for his expertise in abdominal transplant surgery, Lizzie. Westbridge Park has been trying to lure him away from his Paris base for some time but the best we’ve been able to manage is to persuade him to spend a month or so giving a series of lectures and working with other surgeons in some individualised training programmes. I’m one of them, I’m delighted to say.’
It would have been impolite not to shift her gaze to acknowledge the apparently famous expert. To nod, at least, as a sign of respect. Wiping the frown from her face was a bit more of an ask. Having their paths cross again like this still seemed a rather unfortunate twist of fate given her enthusiastic foray into the world of fantasy last night.
Her frown was noted.
‘I’m not really as young as I look,’ Jack Rousseau said kindly. ‘I’m thirty-six and I can assure you that I’ve had considerable experience in cases such as yours.’
Was he planning to take over her surgery? Misty’s surgery?
‘I’m more than happy with Dr Kingsley’s experience, thank you,’ she announced. ‘For myself and for my daughter.’
‘Heavens above, Lizzie,’ Dave put in. ‘I’m not about to hand you over. Though I have invited Jack to supervise and possibly assist in the surgery if that’s acceptable to you. Never hurts to have an extra set of eyes and hands, particularly if they happen to be regarded as the best in the world.’
The sound from the other man in the room was a protest of modesty. ‘The real reason I want to be there,’ Jack told her,