Once Upon A Christmas Night...

‘I think she’s doing a ward round.’ Gerry flipped an enquiring look at the receptionist, who nodded. ‘She’ll be back soon. Can I help?’

‘Not unless you’re in charge of the Christmas pageant.’ Gerry wouldn’t question the excuse. Jess wasn’t ‘his type’. It occurred to Greg that perhaps it was the women he usually dated who weren’t his type.

‘So she’s got you involved with that, has she?’

‘Not yet. I thought I might lend a hand, though. Anything that involves you in chains has got to be worth a look.’

Gerry chuckled. ‘Yeah. Think I got lumbered there.’ Something caught his eye and he gestured. ‘Jess. You’ve got a new recruit.’

By the time Greg had turned, her initial reaction to his presence, if indeed there had been one, was under control. He’d never seen her in anything other than scrubs or jeans before, but today she wore a skirt and blouse under her crisp white coat. Hair tied back, showing off the curve of her neck, and, though it came as no particular surprise to Greg that Jess had legs, somehow he couldn’t drag his eyes away from them.

‘Don’t eye my staff up, mate.’ At least Gerry had the grace to lean in close so no one else could hear him. Greg shot him a warning look, and Gerry laughed, turning to the receptionist, who immediately gave him something else to do.

‘You want to help with the pageant?’ Jess’s voice next to him was uncertain.

‘Oh. Yeah, I thought if you wanted a hand… ’ He stopped. Suddenly it seemed crass to just breeze in, as if the last ten months hadn’t happened.

‘Yes. Always.’ She twisted her mouth. ‘Greg, I… It was such a surprise to see you last night, and I didn’t… ’ She took a breath. ‘I just wanted to say that I heard about your father. I’m very sorry. I should have made sure that I got the chance to say that before now.’

He stared at her. He’d left her hanging, without a word, and she was the one who seemed to feel she had something to explain. ‘Thanks. And… I was the one who wasn’t around, not you.’

‘That’s understandable.’ Suddenly they weren’t talking about his father any more. It was all about Greg and Jess. And that kiss. No, not the kiss, that had been just fine. The promise he’d made and then broken.

‘You think so?’ Calling her, from his father’s place or long distance from America, had seemed somehow indefinably wrong. Now he was back in London, it felt wrong that he hadn’t.

She shrugged. ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.’

That was all he needed. ‘Well, in that case, do you want to meet up? To talk about the pageant, I mean. I could buy you lunch perhaps.’

She pursed her lips. ‘You might like to reconsider that. I can think of a lot of jobs in the time it takes to eat lunch. Maybe just a coffee.’

He wanted so badly to push her, not to take no for an answer. But he didn’t have the right. Thinking about her for the whole of the last ten months didn’t count as any form of contact, unless she happened to be psychic. ‘Whatever suits you. Would you like me to call you?’

She nodded, pulling her phone out of her pocket. ‘What’s your number?’

She thumbed in the digits as he recited them and his mobile sounded, one ring from his back pocket. ‘There, you’ve got mine now. If you want to risk lunch, I’ll make a list of things we need help with.’

He grinned. Jess had come through for him yet again. This time he wouldn’t let her down.

Are you free for lunch on Sunday?

Jess wasn’t about to admit that those seven words were the ones that she’d been waiting for ever since she’d last seen Greg. She texted back with the minimum of information.

Yes.

Come over to mine. I’ll make lunch. You can give me a rundown on what you want me to do.

‘Don’t tempt me… ’ She hissed the words between her teeth, but couldn’t help smiling to herself. He might have left her hanging, and it might have hurt, but Jess wasn’t quite sure what she would have done if he hadn’t. If Greg had come knocking on her door, she might just have taken fright and pretended she wasn’t home.

Sounds good. What time?

I’ll pick you up at twelve.

No, that was one step too far for the moment.

Send me your address. I’ll make my own way.

There was a pause, and then her phone beeped again. His address, along with an electronic smile. Nothing like his real smile. Good. It was far too early to start thinking about all the things his smile did to her.

The climb up to the top floor wasn’t anywhere near long enough to make her feel dizzy, but then Greg answered the door. A blue shirt, open just far enough to show improbably smooth, olive skin and jeans that fitted him like a glove. Dark hair, and dark eyes, which were even more striking here than in the fluorescent glare of the hospital. Couldn’t he give a girl a break?

‘That smells fabulous. What is it?’ When she followed him through to the large, sleek kitchen, the smell curled around her like a warm, comfortable blanket.

‘One of my mother’s secret recipes.’ Greg had clearly come to the same conclusion that Jess had. The easy humour they’d shared at work was the best way to forget that they were alone together in his flat. ‘You know the score. If I tell you what’s in there, I… ’

‘Yeah, I know. You have to shoot me.’

‘Yep. Or challenge you to a duel.’

‘You prefer hand-to-hand fighting?’

‘Every time.’ He surveyed the pans on the stove, gave one a stir and then turned his attention back to her. ‘Don’t you like to be able to look straight into the other man’s eyes?’

‘Of course. How else would I know exactly what he was thinking?’

He barked out a sudden laugh. ‘Touché. So tell me all about this Christmas extravaganza of yours.’

It wasn’t really hers and it wasn’t much of an extravaganza, but it was something to talk about over their meal. Greg chuckled when she told him about the plan for carol singers, dressed up as characters from Dickens, and loved the idea for storytellers in the children’s wards.

‘That’s a great idea. Aren’t you going to go through to the general wards as well?’

‘I don’t know.’ Jess shrugged. ‘I didn’t really think of doing that.’

‘Adults love to be read to as well. There’s evidence to suggest that it’s beneficial for stroke patients. I imagine that a good storyteller could capture a lot of interest with the elderly as well.’

‘Hmm. Yeah, worth thinking about.’ She should have known that Greg would be able to add something to the value of the project.

‘So what else?’

‘As it’s the hospital’s two hundredth anniversary this year, we’re going to do a small exhibition in the main foyer. How things were then. There are loads of old documents in the basement, and I was thinking of making a model of the building.’ He was giving her the same look that everyone gave her when she got to this bit. ‘It’s not as crazy as it sounds. It’s going to be done properly, I’m not thinking of just gluing a couple of empty cereal packets together. It’ll be 1:87 scale, like the model trains.’

‘Trains?’

Jess rolled her eyes. ‘What is it about men and model trains? Yes, trains if you like, the railway ran past the hospital then as well. Only I can’t find anyone who’s got any trains.’

‘I’ll give someone a ring. One of my father’s associates in America. She has a talent for getting anything you can think of.’

‘We don’t have a budget… ’

He swept her objections away with a wave of his hand. ‘That’s okay. No budget needed. Pat has a talent for that as well.’

Jess eyed him suspiciously, but he didn’t look as if he was going to come up with any further explanations. And she wasn’t in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth. ‘Thanks. That would be great.’ In for a penny… ‘And the model?’

His lips twisted into a smile. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ll sort that out too.’ He put his fork down onto his empty plate with a clatter. ‘Anything else?’

‘No, I think that’s enough to keep you busy. Or… Pat, was it?’

He grinned. Perhaps she had been a little too transparent. ‘Yeah, Pat. I’ve known her since I was five years old. She was going to retire this year but I convinced her to stay on for a little while, to help me sort out my father’s estate.’

‘Oh. Good idea.’ Jess wasn’t even going to admit to herself that she would have been jealous if Pat had turned out to be a leggy blonde. Or, more exactly, a leggy blonde in her twenties. ‘Was it very complicated, then?’

‘Yes.’ The sudden flatness of his tone said that Greg had divulged as much as he was going to on the subject. ‘Did you enjoy your food?’

‘Very much. You have a great apartment, too.’

He looked around, as if he hadn’t noticed. ‘Glad you like it.’

What wasn’t to like? Greg didn’t live ostentatiously, but all his furniture matched and it screamed quality. And that was before you counted the large, top-floor living space, the tall windows and the amazing view.

‘You moved in here recently?’ This kind of apartment was far beyond the reach of a doctor’s salary. He must have inherited the money from his father.

‘No.’ He laughed at her surprise. ‘I had a trust fund. By the time it matured, it was enough for this place.’

Jess almost choked on the last mouthful from her plate. Greg obviously came from a very different background from hers. ‘That sounds… useful.’

He leaned towards her. ‘The last time I saw you look that disapproving was when Ray Harris ended up as a patient in his own ambulance.’

‘That was my professional face.’

‘No, it wasn’t. You looked as sour as a bowl of lemons.’ He was teasing her now.

‘Well, it was a bit much. Ray was just trying to help—the guy didn’t need to take a swing at him. How hard do you have to hit someone to break their cheekbone?’

‘Hard. And you were a model of restraint. I couldn’t have done better myself.’ He chuckled.

‘Of course you couldn’t. I was there, remember? I saw what you did to that drinks machine.’

‘It wasn’t working. I pressed the button and got hot water all over my feet.’

‘You didn’t press it, you punched it.’

They were both laughing now. This was almost unbearable. The highs and lows, the humour, the camaraderie, all of it free of the framework of hospital rules and common sense, which had kept their relationship on a professional footing. There was nothing to protect her now.

‘So what’s so bad about having a trust fund, then?’ He was still grinning.

Jess shrugged. ‘Thought I was off the hook with that one.’

‘You’re not on any hook. I’m just interested.’

‘I’ve just never known anyone with a trust fund. Does it make a difference? To the way you look at things, I mean.’

He threaded his fingers together. Long fingers. She already knew that Greg had a sensitive touch. ‘I had to work just as hard as everyone else at med school. Lived in the same sorts of digs. It matured when I was thirty and by that time I’d already earned what I really wanted out of life. I imagine that was just as my father intended.’

‘He sounds like an astute man.’

Something flickered in his eyes and then died. She was evidently not about to hear any of Greg’s thoughts on his father. He rose and collected the empty plates from the table. ‘Go and sit down. I’ll make some coffee.’

‘I’ll help you with the dishes.’ Jess made to get up.

‘My guests don’t do washing up.’ He grinned at her protest. ‘Neither do I. I’m just going to stack these in the dishwasher.’

Right. Of course he was. Jess shook her head at her own lack of sophistication and obediently descended the three steps that divided the dining area from the living space, sitting down on one of the butter-smooth, leather sofas.

He was back in ten minutes, along with a tray, laden with coffee and after-dinner sweets. ‘This is nice. Really nice. Thank you.’ He was more than just a good cook, he was a good host. Everything was in the right place, at the right time. And Jess was pretty sure that the music playing softly in the background had been chosen with her own favourite tracks in mind.

‘Thank you.’ He seemed about to ask something and then hesitated.

‘I can only say no.’ Jess might not have the sophistication that Greg had, but she could read between the lines.

‘Nah. You won’t do that.’ He settled back in his seat, the soft leather easing with him.

‘I might. You think you can just charm me into anything?’ He probably could, but letting him know that would be a bad move right now.

He thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t.’ He let the compliment, if that’s what it was, sink in. ‘Unfortunately.’

‘Why unfortunately?’

‘Because some things are a lot easier when you have a friend around.’

All right. He’d got her now. After that, she couldn’t say no. ‘What things?’

‘I’ve inherited a house from my father. I need to go up there next weekend as there are some things I need to sort out. I’d really appreciate some company.’

Jess pressed her burning cheek against the cool, brushed steel wall of the lift. So Greg had secrets. That was okay, everyone had one or two. His family had money. That wasn’t exactly his fault. As a colleague, even as a friend, that wouldn’t have mattered one way or the other.

He wasn’t either of those any more, though. Not quite a lover yet, but Jess was becoming acutely aware that it would only take one touch. One kiss, and this time nothing would be able to stop them.

And if they didn’t stop? If they went ahead? Greg would have the power to tip her well-ordered life on its head. Jess had no doubt whatsoever that he would, that was what Greg was like, he thought outside the box. The scariest thing about it was that this only made him even more irresistible.

She sighed. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t transform her world and then leave. If the hospital grapevine was anything to go by, that’s exactly what he would do. But that didn’t matter any more. However many reasons there were to have nothing more to do with Greg, she was going with him next weekend. That was all there was to it.

CHAPTER THREE

JESS’S WARDROBE WASN’T large, but it was focussed. Plain skirts and trousers and an assortment of matching blouses for work. A tailored suit for interviews, a few pairs of jeans, ranging from new to falling to pieces, and tops, ranging from very warm to very summery. A dress, bought for a summer wedding, which she’d worn only once. Nothing seemed suitable for a visit to the house that Greg had inherited from his father, which sounded large—no, sprawling—and far grander than anything she was used to.

Going out and buying something might have been an option, but she felt unequal to the task. New clothes would only serve to make her feel more uncomfortable anyway. Taking a little more care with her hair and make-up and choosing favourite pieces from her wardrobe would have to be enough.

‘You look nice. I like your scarf.’ He grinned as he took her coat and weekend bag, opening the passenger door of his car for her.

It was the one thing she’d allowed herself to buy. A pretty lilac scarf that went with her plain grey trousers and sweater and the black leather jacket that she normally kept for best. Greg was wearing jeans and a warm, slightly battered, leather jacket but he had a knack of making scruffy look stylish. Sexy too, but Jess was trying not to think too much about that.

‘Do you want to put your jacket in the back? It’s a long drive.’ Greg had taken his own off and slung it on the back seat before getting into the car.

‘Yes. Thanks.’ She shrugged out of her jacket and he took it, draping it carefully over his.

‘Right, then.’ He twisted the key in the ignition. ‘Let me know if you get cold and I’ll turn the heat up.’

By the time they reached the suburbs she was feeling hot and cold by turn. When they hit the motorway, her stomach began to lurch. What was she doing? She’d been so brave, so thoughtless in agreeing to come away with him. He was so much more than a nice guy and a good doctor. He was sophisticated, drop-dead gorgeous and far more than a girl like her could handle. She was sure to make a fool of herself.

‘You okay?’

‘Hmm? Yes, fine.’ Jess turned her head away from him, staring at the hard shoulder of the motorway.

‘Sure?’

Cold perspiration began to form on the side of her brow. Suddenly she felt trapped, carried inexorably towards goodness only knew what. ‘Um. Actually, I do feel a little sick.’

‘Did you have breakfast this morning?’

She hadn’t had time. She had been too busy fussing over her packing and her appearance and stressing about her trip with Greg. ‘Not really… ’

‘There’s motorway services a mile up ahead. We’ll stop there.’

Just to swell the small fountain of misery that was bubbling up inside her chest, he helped her out of the car when they parked. And because standing made her head swim, she allowed him to. He kept hold of her until she was seated in the corner of the bleak, utilitarian cafeteria and then hurried to fetch toast and two cups of tea.

‘Feeling better?’ An awkward silence had only been rendered slightly more acceptable by having something to eat and drink.

‘Yes. I’m fine, just one of those stupid things.’

He gave the throw-away line rather more consideration that it deserved. ‘I could try acupressure.’

‘Since when have you done acupressure?’ Suddenly there was something to talk about. Something they shared. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been getting into alternative medicine.’

He grinned. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been getting into labels. There are lots of interesting techniques out there that bear quantitative investigation. When I was in the States, I met a guy who uses it to very good effect, in tandem with drug regimes.’

‘So you were working as a doctor in America?’

‘Just taking an interest.’ He steered deftly around the question. ‘Here, give me your arm.’

‘What, so you can experiment on me? In a café at motorway services?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t do it on a patient.’ She felt his fingers on her wrist, the thumb pressing firmly between the two bands of muscle that ran down the inside of her arm. ‘What do you think?’

‘Too many variables. I don’t know whether we can come to a definite conclusion.’ She was on steadier ground now. Jess ventured a smile.

He chuckled quietly. ‘Do you think it matters which arm you do it on?’ He’d clearly decided she felt better and had switched to ruminating on variations to his technique.

‘I wouldn’t know. Here, you want to have a go?’ She held out her other arm.

‘Hmm. Probably a bit late now.’ He grasped her arm anyway and tried again. ‘How’s that?’

‘Feels… okay.’ Much, much better than okay. She was starting to tingle all over. Either he’d hit on a discovery that had eluded other medical practitioners for centuries or her body had decided that responding to his touch was a good idea. Great. A little warning might have been in order.

‘Jess, we’ve known each other for long enough… ’

‘Worked together.’ She corrected him quickly. Working together was one kind of knowing. This was another.

‘I’m not your boss any more.’ Something dark, like liquid promise, glowed in his eyes.

‘I suppose that makes things less complicated.’

He grinned. ‘Yep. But I won’t pretend that I haven’t worked alongside you for more hours at a stretch than either of our contracts allows for. I’ve seen you exhausted, cranky, messy… ’

‘Thanks a lot!’

‘Fabulous, formidable… ’

‘Better.’ They both smiled at the same moment.

‘We’ve got past the point where we need to apologise for all our little foibles.’

‘You mean you have foibles?’ He did have a way of lifting her worries off her shoulders. Always had.

He shrugged. ‘Well, when I said our foibles I was just trying to make you feel better about yours.’

‘Oh, so you think you don’t have foibles?’ Jess wrinkled her nose at him. ‘What about that famous charm of yours?’

‘Doesn’t seem to work on you.’

‘Works on everyone else.’

‘Can I help that?’

‘Oh, yeah, you can help it. And the love ’em and leave ’em… ’

‘It keeps things simple. Anyway, I’ve changed. The last person I loved and left was… ’ He frowned, as if consulting his memory and not quite believing the answer he got back.

‘Who?’

‘You, actually.’

‘Me! We didn’t… .’

He leaned across the table towards her. ‘You don’t need to. It only takes a touch.’ He ran one finger down the back of her hand and Jess gulped, pulling her arm away.

‘So what about my foibles, then?’ Time to change the subject.

‘Your what?’ His gaze slid across her body, making her shiver.

‘Foibles. Pay attention.’

‘I am paying attention.’ He pushed the teacups and the plate that stood between them on the table out of the way. ‘Okay, so your eyes look as if they have flecks of gold in them. That’s not contacts, is it?’

‘Of course not.’ She nudged her leg against his under the table. ‘Foibles, I said.’

‘I heard. Well, you’re resourceful, talented, generally a force to be reckoned with. Only you don’t much like being out of your comfort zone.’

Yes, okay, he might have a point. There were good reasons for her to feel that way. ‘Maybe.’

He leaned forward, and Jess couldn’t help but move towards him. She felt his lips brush her ear. ‘It’s a rather nice comfort zone, though.’

‘Stop it.’ She was feeling better now. As if the weekend wasn’t so much of a trial to be got through. Jess almost wished that it was more than two days.

He drew back. From the look in his eyes there was no question that the dialogue was still continuing somewhere in the back of his mind.

‘Do you want to drive?’

‘What for?’

‘Sometimes driving can help if you’re feeling a bit queasy.’

She stared at him. He knew just as well as she did that this was an excuse. That somehow, indefinably, she would feel a bit more in charge of her own destiny if she was in the driving seat. He was good. Good at putting her at her ease. Very, very good at making her want him.

‘Okay. If you don’t mind.’

He shrugged. ‘Why would I mind?’

His car was a pleasure to drive. When she put her foot down on the motorway, it responded with a purr, rather than the laboured growl that her own car would have emitted. Greg pushed the passenger seat back so he could stretch his legs, and confined himself to giving directions. An hour later they turned into a long, gated drive and drew up outside the house.

‘It’s big.’ Jess scanned the complex roof structure, which accommodated an elaborate arrangement of mock crenellations beneath it. There was even a circular tower, tacked onto one side of the building, with a set of battlements and a flagpole at its top.

He grinned. ‘Yeah. Not the prettiest of places.’

‘It’s not meant to be. Victorian, right?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Then the architecture’s not about welcoming visitors, eh?’

He looked again. Leaned back to study the red-brick patterns over the windows and the heavy portico, as if this was the first time he’d seen the place. ‘Never really thought about it. So what is it all about, then?’

‘It’s a statement. This house is all about the people who live here being different from the people who live down in the village. They wanted to impress with their power, not their good taste.’

He nodded. ‘You think so?’

Yes, she knew so. The girl from a two-up, two-down felt confronted and challenged by this place and Jess imagined that was exactly how she was meant to feel. ‘It’s one way of looking at it.’

He nodded, obviously turning the idea over in his head. ‘Well, come inside. It’s a bit more homely there.’

Not so you’d notice. The large hallway was big enough to contain her whole flat, with height to spare, and the sweeping stone staircase continued the theme of a fortified castle. Leading up to a wide half-landing that was illuminated by a large, stained-glass window, the whole thing reminded her of a film set for a medieval saga.