Her Honourable Playboy. Kate Hardy
look.’
‘Thank you.’
He smiled. ‘Hey, I just did the easy part. Alyssa did the tough bit.’ And he really meant it. She’d done the thing he found more difficult than anything else: she’d calmed the little boy right down.
‘Thank you, both of you.’
Alyssa brought her story to a swift conclusion, but before she could follow the patient out of the cubicles Seb said softly, ‘Alyssa?’
‘Mmm-hmm?’ She looked faintly wary.
‘Thank you for bailing me out.’
‘Kids worry you?’
Was it that obvious? ‘I’m just…I don’t have the rapport with them that you clearly do.’
‘No problems.’
He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were…well, married with kids. Of course you won’t want a night out on the town with me. But you won the raffle fair and square, so I’m more than happy to pay for a babysitter as well as the rest of it, so you and your husband can have a night out together.’
She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not married.’
‘Partner, then.’
Her green eyes glittered. ‘And I don’t have children. It’s just part of my job.’
Hell, she was back to freezing him again. And he didn’t like the way she was looking at him. Kind of, well, as if she despised him. And it was irritation that made him say something he knew was seriously stupid, even as he spoke the words. ‘Then, if you’re free, let’s get it over with. Tonight. I’ll pick you up at half seven.’
Without giving her the chance to say no, he went to find his next patient.
CHAPTER TWO
ALYSSA really didn’t want to go on this stupid night out.
But what choice did she have? If she refused, people would start asking questions. Nosy questions. Dig into things she’d rather keep where they belonged: firmly in the past. Plus, the hospital grapevine would make a big thing about it. For weeks staff on other wards would be pointing her out in the corridors or the canteen as The Woman Who Said No To Seb Radley. Alyssa hated being gossiped about. Been there, done that, absolutely no way in hell she’d ever put herself in that situation again.
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