Her Honourable Playboy

And then there was Seb himself. He wasn’t the sort of man who took no for an answer—not unless there was a good reason. Which there was, but she didn’t want to discuss it with him and have him laughing at her.

So that meant going out with him. Which made her a doormat, for letting other people bully her into doing something she really didn’t want to do. Also been there, done that, absolutely no way in hell she’d put herself in that situation again.

Whichever way she looked at it, she lost.

Out of all the hundreds of tickets sold, why had they had to pick hers out?

And then a truly nasty suspicion hit her. Tracey had bought the ticket for her. Tracey—so Alyssa had heard—had been the one to pick the ticket out. Coincidence? Or had it all been a fix?

No. Surely not. Tracey knew Alyssa hadn’t wanted the date. It had to be a coincidence.

All the same, it niggled at her.

‘Right. Night out with Seb.’ Mr Smooth And Charming. It would’ve helped if he’d told her where they were going when he’d asked her for her address earlier that afternoon. Should she dress up? Dress down? ‘Bloody man,’ she muttered.

Still, it was just one night. It was a charity thing. So he wouldn’t try it on with her; he wouldn’t try to add her to the notches on his bedpost. If he did…then she’d remind him about that case they’d worked on today. Toddlers weren’t the only ones who could catch themselves in a zip. Especially if they had a helping hand. That would be enough to make him realise that she meant business and he was wasting his time.

In the end, she opted for a little black dress and low-key make-up.

At precisely half past seven, her doorbell went.

Well, she supposed that was one point in his favour. He hadn’t turned up early, trying to put her on the spot; and he hadn’t turned up late, making her stew even more about this whole stupid situation.

She opened the door and her eyes widened.

Seb usually wore a suit at work, but so did the other male consultants. And, sure, she’d seen his picture in the gossip rags often enough, with a woman hanging onto his arm and batting her eyelashes. But she hadn’t been prepared for just how good he looked in the flesh, wearing a dinner jacket. Dress shirt. Bow-tie—a proper one, hand-tied, rather than a fake one. Skin freshly shaven. Hair neat. Shoes—hand-made Italian leather which he’d probably bought in Milan, knowing him—perfectly shined.

Everything precisely calculated to make a woman swoon.

Well, she wasn’t an ordinary woman. She wasn’t going to swoon.

Even if, just for a moment, she would have liked to.

‘Hi,’ he said.

Then he smiled.

He had a dimple. A dimple. How come she’d never noticed it at work? That dimple completely undermined his sophisticated act. It made him look cute. And it made her want to reach out and touch him. Just the tip of her finger to the middle of his dimple. From there it would be a tiny, tiny distance to the corner of his mouth. And then tracing the outline of that full lower lip, one that promised the most mind-blowing kisses.

Uh.

She pulled herself together and hoped he hadn’t noticed her hesitation. ‘Hello, Seb.’

‘Ready?’

Not in a million years. ‘Sure,’ she said, affecting a calm she definitely didn’t feel.

‘Let’s go.’

He had a low-slung sports car. An expensive boy toy. Well, Seb would.

‘Like the car?’ Seb asked.

She shrugged. ‘It’s got four wheels.’ And every bit of chrome was polished to a high sheen. The leather interior was flawless. Clearly it was his pride and joy.

‘This,’ he said with a grin, ‘isn’t just a car. It’s a vintage E-type Jaguar.’

She couldn’t help herself. ‘Fancy yourself as James Bond?’ Though, she had to admit, he’d make a good James Bond. Smoother than Sean Connery—or Pierce Brosnan, her favourite. Sexier, too.

‘No, that’d be an Aston Martin. Everyone remembers the DB5 from Thunderball—or maybe you’re thinking about the V12 in Die Another Day.’

A car was just a car in her eyes—but trust him to know the difference. Still, it could’ve been worse. She wouldn’t have put it past Seb Radley to pick her up in a stretch limo with a chauffeur in full livery.

He opened the door for her. Polite, but not pushy—or maybe he just didn’t want anyone else’s fingerprints on the car’s paintwork.

OK. She could do this. It was just one evening, that was all. Not a date, and there was no future in it. Nothing to worry about.

When Seb had joined her in the car and fastened his seat belt, she asked, ‘Where are we going?’

‘A quiet restaurant.’

‘Not out partying?’ She couldn’t help the snipe.

He came straight back with, ‘Didn’t think it was your style.’

A low blow, but she supposed she deserved it.

She didn’t say much during the rest of the drive, just let him concentrate on the driving. And he was a good driver. She’d give him that.

The restaurant turned out to be small and discreet, overlooking the Thames. And Seb, of course, had got the best possible table, by the window—just perfect for watching the sky darken and all the lights come out.

‘Very pretty,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘The food’s good.’

The waiter, when he brought them the menu, addressed Seb by name. Clearly it was a favourite haunt of the Hon. Sebastian Radley. The waiter also didn’t give her a second look so, equally clearly, Seb must bring a lot of women there. Alyssa was just one in a long, long line.

Not that it should sting. This wasn’t a date, and she wasn’t interested in Sebastian. There was absolutely nothing to feel upset about. She pushed the emotions back where they belonged. Buried.

This was an expensive place, too, she thought, because there were no prices on the menu. Obviously he intended to impress. Well, she wasn’t twenty-five any more. She didn’t fall for surface charm. ‘What do you recommend?’ she asked.

He looked casually down the list. ‘It’s all good. Order whatever takes your fancy.’

Well, at least he wasn’t going to order for her.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked.

She hadn’t expected that. ‘I thought you’d prefer to order,’ she blurted out—and could have kicked herself at the amused look on his face.

‘I’m not that much of a chauvinist. I don’t know your taste, so I’d rather you picked something you like.’

He was being thoughtful? Maybe she’d misjudged him. ‘What about you?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m driving, so I’m only having one glass. I’m happy to go with your choice.’

OK. She’d take that at face value. When the waiter came back, she ordered a bone-dry Sancerre and chicken livers with bacon, followed by monkfish.

To her surprise, Seb followed suit.

‘I thought you’d be—’

‘A red-meat man?’ He finished her words, and smiled. ‘I like food. All sorts of food.’

That little flicker in his slate-blue eyes meant that ‘all sorts’ applied to more than just food. Seb was trying to flirt with her.

Well, tough. She wasn’t interested in flirting with him, or anything else. As soon as tonight was over, they’d be back to being colleagues—and, as far as she was concerned, the sooner the better.

Even if he was drop-dead gorgeous.

Even if he did have that cute little dimple.

Even if his mouth just invited a kiss.

Seb Radley was trouble, and she’d already had more than enough trouble in her life. She wasn’t going to get involved. Not at all.

A woman who knew what she liked. Seb definitely approved of that. He was bored, bored, bored with the air-headed debutante type who hung on his every word and expected him to make all the choices.

Alyssa was very far from being an airhead. She was interesting. Though he didn’t know the first thing about her—other than that she was very competent at her job and was a lot better at handling kids than he was. And that her eyes were the same shade of green as the sea. How come he’d never noticed that in six months of working with her?

‘How long have you worked at the Docklands Memorial Hospital?’ he asked.

‘Three years.’

She was a bit stingy with information—she was supposed to be chatting back to him. Though he knew it was his own fault for asking a closed question—one that could be answered in a couple of words. OK, Seb. TV presenter mode, he told himself. Put her at her ease—get her talking about a subject we have in common. Which, he guessed, meant their work. ‘Have you always worked in emergency medicine?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Where were you before the DMH?’

‘I moved around a bit.’

Evasive. Hmm. What was she trying to hide? He couldn’t tell a thing about her from her accent—there wasn’t a trace of a regional burr or upper-class clipped vowels. She was a completely unknown quantity. ‘Me, too.’

To his disappointment, she didn’t ask him where he’d worked. And she was clearly uncomfortable chatting with him. He let the conversation lapse and just watched her as she stared out of the window. Actually, she was quite pretty. She had a heart-shaped face, a Cupid’s bow of a lip—and it was her natural shape, too, given that she was barely wearing any make-up—and those stunning eyes. Her hair was in a short, practical bob, and he found himself wondering what it’d look like when it was tousled. When she’d just woken up. When she was still sleepy and warm and soft and off guard, rather than alert and suspicious.

When the food arrived, they ate in near-silence. The stars were out, the food was good and the waiters were unobtrusive. And his companion wasn’t wittering on about nothing and trying to look winsome. This, Seb thought, should have felt perfect.

Except it didn’t.

Alyssa didn’t want to be here. And she didn’t want to go out with him. Not in any way, shape or form. Why?

There was only one way to find out. And he was going to do it her way. The direct way. ‘You really don’t like me, do you?’ he asked.

Alyssa blinked at the question. She hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. ‘What makes you think that?’ she hedged.

‘Because you haven’t smiled once tonight. Not a genuine smile, anyway.’ He frowned. ‘So what did I do to upset you?’

‘Personally, nothing.’

‘What, then?’

He wanted honesty? Then he’d get it. ‘It’s what you stand for,’ she said quietly.

His frown deepened. ‘Meaning?’

‘As a doctor, you’re fine. You do a great job. As a person…’ She shrugged. ‘Let’s just say, if you were a woman, you’d be called some very nasty names indeed.’

‘Just as well I’m a man, then.’

His flippancy annoyed her. ‘Seb, you just hop from bed to bed. What kind of life is that?’

‘Fun, actually.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, please.’

‘Want me to prove it to you?’ Seb gave her a very, very sexy smile.

One that made her toes curl—or would have done, if she hadn’t known it wasn’t meant for her personally. He’d have behaved the same towards any woman. Seb was the sort who’d flirt with anything in a skirt—she just bet he’d be able to charm the most difficult geriatric patient, have her blushing and cooing and agreeing to all the procedures she’d just rejected flatly from someone else.

Well, she knew exactly where charming ended up. She didn’t want to be there again. ‘No, thanks.’

‘So you find me unattractive.’

She flushed. ‘I didn’t say that.’

He pounced. ‘So if I’m not unattractive, logically I must therefore be attractive.’

Yes. Seb was physically gorgeous. Not that she was going to inflate his ego any more by admitting that. ‘I think you’re an egotist. And you hurt people.’

‘Egotist, I’ll give you. Hurting people, no.’ Suddenly the teasing smile was gone from his blue, blue eyes. ‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Yes, I sleep with a lot of women. I happen to like sex. A lot. But my partners understand the situation right from the start. I’m not going to get married, or live with someone, or have a permanent relationship of any kind.’

‘Don’t you think that’s a bit shallow?’

‘Yes. That’s me.’ He spread his hands. ‘Sebastian the Shallow.’

‘Now you’re making fun of me.’

‘No. It’s how I am.’

It was her turn to frown. ‘So why did you become a doctor? And don’t tell me it’s because of the reputation of nurses, and it meant you’d get your pick of any girl you wanted. If you were that shallow, you wouldn’t have had the dedication to study for as long as it takes to get a medical degree—or have made it to consultant level at your age.’

His face shuttered. ‘Medicine just suits me.’

And he wasn’t prepared to talk about it. Which meant that the reason was important to him. ‘Who’s the real Seb?’ she asked softly.

He shrugged. ‘What you see is what you get.’

She didn’t believe him. Somewhere, underneath all that charm, was the real Sebastian Radley. A man she suspected might be a great deal more appealing than Seb the Hon., the socialite. ‘I think you’re hiding something. Running away from something. You’re using all your women as a huge smokescreen.’

‘And what are you running away from, Dr Ward?’ he riposted.

‘Nothing.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Come on. You’ve just pinned me down. Because I date a lot, you say I’m running away. You’re the opposite: you don’t date at all. So what are you running away from?’

Too many memories. Scott Cooper. Her own gullibility. ‘That’s my business.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘Stalemate, I think.’

‘Let’s drop this,’ Alyssa said, suddenly feeling out of her depth.

‘You started it.’

True. ‘It doesn’t mean you have to finish it.’

He grinned. ‘I like you. You’re refreshing.’

Refreshing? She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. ‘If that’s meant to be a pick-up line, you failed.’

‘It wasn’t. I’m not planning to have sex with you.’

Her face burned. ‘So now I’m the unattractive one.’

‘Actually, no. Though you’re very good at making yourself look invisible. When I heard your name on the winning ticket, it took me a while to place you. You’re attractive, Alyssa. Actually, you have the kind of mouth any red-blooded man would want to kiss until your eyes went hazy. The kind of flawless Celtic skin that looks like fresh cream. Skin that just begs to be explored. All over.’

She could just imagine him doing that. Kissing her for hours, until her senses swam and she opened to him. In every sense. Mind, heart and soul—and definitely body. Skin to skin. Feeling his heart beating against hers. Feeling his mouth against her skin, exploring and teasing and finding out where she liked to be touched, kissed.

Oh, hell. She’d thought her defences were sound. Against Seb, they were flimsy. Amateur, even. One more line like that, and she’d be on the point of begging him to take her somewhere quiet.

She dug her nails into her palm, hoping the tiny pain would clear her head. Charming meant cheating. She knew that. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

‘But there’s something else that I always make clear from the start,’ Seb said quietly. ‘I don’t have affairs with women who are married or attached in any way. And I don’t try to bully or persuade women into doing something they don’t want to do. You’ve told me you’re not interested, and I accept that. I’m not going to push you into having sex with me.’

Alyssa wasn’t sure whether she was more relieved or disappointed. Relieved that he wasn’t expecting her just to fall into his bed, and disappointed for exactly the same reason.

‘Pudding?’ He handed her the menu.

When had the waiter appeared? She hadn’t noticed. Oh, no. Please, don’t say he’d overheard the conversation she’d just had with Seb.

I’m not going to push you into having sex with me.

Her skin burned with mortification.

‘I,’ Seb said, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on hers, ‘am having crème brûlée.’

Crème brûlée. Celtic skin that looks like fresh cream. He was doing this on purpose.

She glanced at the menu. ‘It’s not on the list.’

He smiled. ‘They’ll do it for me.’

His arrogance was breathtaking. On the other hand, if he was a regular customer—a very regular customer—the staff probably indulged him.

That was Seb’s trouble. He was over-indulged.

‘Not by everyone,’he said, and her hand flew to her mouth.

‘I didn’t mean to say that out loud,’ she muttered. ‘Sorry.’

‘If you were anyone else, I’d demand a kiss as a forfeit.’ He leaned back in his chair and gave her a lazy grin. ‘But you’re not interested.’

‘Quite right.’ A kiss as a forfeit. Her whole body tingled at the idea, but she forced herself to sound cool, calm and collected. ‘I’ll have the lemon posset, please.’

Though when their desserts came, she wished she’d asked for crème brûlée as well. It looked gorgeous. The perfect caramelised crust—and with a raspberry on the top, dusted with just a smidgen of icing sugar and decorated with a tiny fresh mint leaf.

Clearly her longing showed on her face, because Seb scooped the raspberry from the top of his pudding, and leaned over towards her. ‘Open wide.’

‘I…’

Another hint of that, oh, so sexy smile. ‘You know you want to.’

Oh, yes.

She opened her mouth and allowed him to feed her the mouthful of fruit, caramel and cream.

‘My turn,’ he said softly.

He wanted a taste of her pudding?

Oh, Lord. If this was ‘not pushing’, she hated to think what he’d be like when he was trying to persuade someone into having sex with him.

Frankly, he wouldn’t even need to try. If they weren’t in the middle of a restaurant, she knew she’d be taking her clothes off right now and letting him do whatever he liked. Because she knew he’d make it good for both of them.

Embarrassed, she scooped a spoonful of the lemon posset and fed it to him.

He licked a smear from his lower lip, making her temperature rise a notch. ‘Creamy and smooth, with a hint of tartness. My idea of perfection,’ he said.

He was talking about the dessert. So why did she want him to be talking about her?

Somehow she managed to keep her composure during the rest of the meal. Coffee and tiny petits fours. When they’d left the restaurant, Seb switched on his CD player and she pretended to listen to Mozart so she wouldn’t have to make conversation on the way back to her flat.

And then a car overtook Seb in the middle of a roundabout. A small, bright yellow car—at least, the bits that weren’t rusty were yellow. The exhaust sounded illegal and the music pumping from the car was so loud that they could actually hear it above the music in their own car—and their windows were closed.

‘Idiot!’ Seb yelled, then glanced sideways at Alyssa. ‘Sorry.’

‘It was a stupid place to overtake,’ Alyssa said. ‘But let it go. Don’t get into a boy racer match.’ She could imagine Seb chasing after the yellow car and overtaking it, just to prove that he could.

‘I’m not that immature,’ Seb said. ‘I get it all the time in this car—people either want to drive it or want to beat it. But I also know this car could take on just about anything on the road and win. I don’t have to prove anything.’

All the same, when they came to the next set of traffic lights, the yellow car was next to them.

The driver—who looked young enough for it to be his first car, if he was even old enough to drive it—spread his hand as widely as he could and waved manically at them—with the kind of wide smile Alyssa associated with the more over-the-top children’s TV presenters. What was going through his head was obvious: Look at me! I’m king of the road—I overtook you and your flash car!

Seb revved his engine.

‘As you said, you’re not that immature,’ Alyssa reminded him.

‘Yeah.’ He grinned. ‘Though if you weren’t in the car with me, I’d be tempted.’

She could just imagine it. ‘Well, don’t.’

Seb pulled away sedately, but the young driver of the yellow car wasn’t going to let it go. He screeched in front of Seb without indicating, jammed his brakes on—hard enough that Seb had to brake sharply, too—then roared off.

Seb swore. ‘Teenage showing-off I can ignore—but that was downright dangerous. I need a word with that kid.’

‘Leave it, Seb. Walk away.’

Seb shook his head. ‘I don’t care if he’s got a car full of yobs with him. He needs to know that what he’s doing is going to end up in an—’

Just as he was about to say the word, it seemed to happen in slow motion. The yellow car was still speeding, and the driver appeared to be concentrating more on what was going behind him. That, or he just didn’t see the red light.

Or the lorry pulling out of the junction.

CHAPTER THREE

ALYSSA was already reaching for her handbag as Seb said, ‘Call the emergency services.’

She gave the operator their location, then explained what had happened. ‘Collision between a car and a lorry. Four in the car, not sure about the lorry. They might need to be cut out, so we’ll need the fire brigade as well as at least two ambulances and the police.’ She finished giving the necessary details and followed Seb over towards the crash site—he’d already taken a bag and a torch from the boot of his car.

‘That isn’t a trauma kit, by any chance?’ she asked hopefully, as she caught him up with him.

‘First aid only.’ He blew out a breath. ‘The best we can do here is triage and sort out minor wounds until the paramedics get here.’

The bonnet of the yellow car had been pushed back into the car, though the vehicle had slewed on impact so the brunt of the impact was on the driver’s side. The lorry driver had climbed out of the cab—so at least that was one less person to worry about, though Seb made a mental note to check him over too. With collisions, sometimes the injuries weren’t apparent straight away. There could be something nasty storing itself up.

‘We’ve called the emergency services. We’re both doctors,’ Seb said. ‘This is Alyssa and I’m Seb. Are you in any pain at all?’

‘No. But where the hell did they come from? I didn’t see them!’ The lorry driver was shaking—whether from fear or anger, Alyssa wasn’t sure. ‘Bloody joy-riders! The lights were green my way. I wouldn’t have pulled out if it wasn’t clear.’

‘They went through a red light,’ Seb said quietly.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Alyssa said. ‘Look, can you sit down over there? We’ll check you over when we’ve had a look at this lot.’

‘I’m all right.’ The lorry driver looked at the car. ‘Oh, hell. The driver’s never going to get out of that alive.’

‘He’s alive now,’ Alyssa said, ‘and we’re going to try to keep him that way. And even if you feel fine now, we still need to check you over.’

‘Is there anything we need to worry about in the lorry?’ Seb asked quickly.

The driver shook his head. ‘My load’s just fruit.’

So they didn’t have to deal with the risk of a chemical spill on top of this, Seb thought with relief. Good.

The driver of the car was crying as they went over to him. ‘Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me. I can’t get out. I’m stuck. Don’t hit me!’

Did the driver really think he was going to beat him up for overtaking him? Seb wondered. That he’d smash his fists into a young lad who was stuck in a crushed car and couldn’t defend himself? Hell, what sort of life had the kid led? ‘I’m a doctor,’ Seb said calmly. ‘And it looks as if you’re hurt enough.’

‘Let me handle this,’ Alyssa said softly.

‘I know I was stupid,’ the driver said, his voice shrill with panic. ‘I was showing off. I’m sorry. My mum’s going to kill me.’

Seb, noting the state of the vehicle, sent Alyssa a speaking glance: the boy’s mum might not get the chance. If there was a penetrating abdominal wound, or if the inside of the car had caused severe crush injuries, they’d be lucky to get the driver out alive.

‘It’s OK,’ Alyssa said. ‘You need to keep calm, so we can get you out of there.’