Picking up the Pieces. Caroline Anderson
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been without a woman since he had gone to college.
Even so …
He dropped on to the bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling and rerunning the last few hours.
It had all started in Theatre, of course, with the subtle warmth of her body soft against his side, the slight shift of her hip, the delicate fragrance of her hair — or had it? Had it started when she had crashed into him, her soft breasts pressed against his chest, that same delicate fragrance invading his nostrils and tangling in his senses?
He could smell her still, a faint trace of the scent lingering on his jumper — and small wonder. He had got close enough to her, for God’s sake!
And yet not close enough. His body ached, the heavy fullness taunting him. He closed his eyes and groaned, shifting his jeans to ease the pressure.
Who was he trying to kid? Only one thing would ease it, and, even at his worst, he would have balked at falling so easily into bed with a woman he had just barely met.
He was too old for this, for the raging hormones of adolescence, the uncontrollable reaction of his body, the shattering, all-consuming need for sex. What he needed was a relationship, a full, balanced, mature relationship based on considerably more than just lust.
He rolled on to his front and groaned.
Ok, his mind knew all that. Try telling his body!
He did — for the next two hours. Then he went up to the ward and checked on his patients, to find a pale but unchastened Trevor slumped in the sister’s office swilling black coffee. He glared at Nick balefully.
‘I gather you did a magnificent job.’
Nick snorted. ‘Well, one of us had to, and you were clearly in no condition to be let loose near a patient.’
‘Yes, well, I should keep that to yourself, old chap. Family contacts and so on — wouldn’t look good for the new boy to cast aspersions…’
He levered himself up and groaned involuntarily, then forced a smile. ‘I’ll return the favour one day.’
Nick stepped back out of his way. ‘That won’t be necessary — I like to remain sober when I’m on duty.’
Trevor stopped. ‘I don’t think you’ve been listening tome.’
‘Oh, I have — and I didn’t like what I heard. I won’t be intimidated, I don’t care who the hell you’re related to. If you foul up again, I’ll report you.’
Trevor gave a short, contemptuous laugh. ‘I’m terrified. Excuse me.’
Nick watched him go, disgust and anger warring within him. There was nothing he hated more than people using their contacts — unless it was being threatened by those people.
He went back out into the ward and found the staff nurse on duty at the work station. After discussing last night’s patients with her, he went back to his room, picked up a coat and walked the deserted streets around the hospital until the light faded.
Then he returned to his room, exhausted, and threw himself down on to the bed.
Perhaps now he could sleep, he thought, but the faintest trace of Cassie’s fragrance drifted off his clothes still and he groaned, still tormented by the memory of her sweet softness cradled against him.
Was there no peace?
There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to get to know her — fast!
Cassie had given up all attempts at sleep and was making a cup of tea when the knock came on the door late that afternoon.
She opened it, and stepped back in surprise.
‘Nick!’
He grinned, a little sheepishly, and thrust a bunch of flowers at her. ‘For you.’
She took them, flustered, and then found she was holding a handful of wet stems.
She met his laughing eyes suspiciously. ‘Where did you get them?’
‘One of the wards.’ His grin was infectious, but she tried not to be influenced.
‘I should make you take them back.’
‘No point — she’s gone home without them. Discharged herself. Can I come in?’
She stood back and he pushed the door shut behind him and pursed his lips thoughtfully.
She glanced down at the flowers. They were lovely, their bright jewel colours bringing sunshine into the room. So what if he had lifted them from a ward? She smiled at his cheekiness.
‘So, to what do I owe these…?’ She gestured with the flowers, and he smiled slightly.
‘I owe you an apology,’ he said eventually. ‘I came on to you like a hyperactive schoolboy — I’m sorry.’
Good lord, he was flushing! Cassie hid her smile.
‘Please, don’t worry. It was sort of mutual.’
He snorted with laughter. ‘I beg to differ. No schoolboy ever came on to me like that before!’
The giggle escaped before she could stop it. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. Look, I was just making tea — would you like some?’
He looked slightly surprised — as if he was expecting her to throw him out. She probably should.
She dumped the flowers in the sink, washed her hands and wiped them on her jeans. God knows where the towel was.
‘Yes or no?’
His gaze dragged up from her hips and focused blankly on her eyes. ‘What?’
‘Tea.’
He flushed again. ‘Yes — please.’
‘How do you like it?’
His eyes flew up to hers, startled, and then fluttered shut.
‘On second thoughts, perhaps this isn’t such a good idea,’ he muttered. His voice sounded strained, slightly choked. He went to turn away but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
‘Nick? Why did you come?’
He sighed and turned back to her. His eyes were staggeringly blue, clear and bright and filled with conflicting emotions.
‘I wanted to get to know you. I’ve been thinking about you all day. You’re driving me crazy. I want you. It’s ridiculous; we have to work together. I thought if we spent some time just talking, getting to know each other — perhaps it would all simmer down and we could — oh, hell, I don’t know. You got any good ideas?’
She shook her head, compelled by his honesty to be truthful. ‘None. I feel the same. Nuts, isn’t it?’
Her smile was tentative, uncertain, and Nick felt the tension inside him ease a little.
‘Absolutely crazy,’ he agreed. ‘White, no sugar.’
Her jaw sagged a little, and then the smile broke out in earnest and brushed her eyes with gold. ‘Find yourself a seat.’
He looked at the bed — tugged up rather than made, the cover still turned back, doubtless laden with that delicate fragrance — and chose the solitary chair for the sake of his sanity.
‘So,’ she handed him a mug, dropped on to the bed and hitched her legs up, crossing her bare feet at the ankle, ‘what do you want to know?’
‘Everything — anything. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
His brows shot up. ‘Really? You don’t look it.’
‘You’re supposed to say that to ladies in their eighties,’ she teased.
He felt a grin pluck at his lips.
‘Touché.