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From Fling To Wedding Ring
Karin Baine


She thinks she wants no strings……can sexy surgeon Ben change her mind?Nurse Mollie Forrester has a reputation as an ice queen, and the scars from a childhood accident have convinced her no man could love her. When she’s paired with handsome surgeon Ben Sheridan in a dance competition, Mollie discovers he’s not the playboy everyone thinks he is. She finds passion in his arms – but can Ben persuade Mollie she’s worthy of love?







She thinks she wants no strings...

Can sexy surgeon Ben change her mind?

Nurse Mollie Forrester has a reputation as an ice queen, and the scars from a childhood accident have convinced her no man could love her. When she’s paired with handsome surgeon Ben Sheridan in a dance competition, Mollie discovers he’s not the playboy everyone thinks he is. She finds passion in his arms—but can Ben persuade Mollie she’s worthy of love?


KARIN BAINE lives in Northern Ireland with her husband, two sons and her out-of-control notebook collection. Her mother and her grandmother’s vast collection of books inspired her love of reading and her dream of becoming a Mills & Boon author. Now she can tell people she has a proper job! You can follow Karin on Twitter, @karinbaine1 (https://twitter.com/@karinbaine1), or visit her website for the latest news—karinbaine.com (http://www.karinbaine.com).


Also by Karin Baine (#u7989cb8f-5784-5cb9-a74d-a86441441ba6)

French Fling to Forever

A Kiss to Change Her Life

The Doctor’s Forbidden Fling

The Courage to Love Her Army Doc

Falling for the Foster Mum

Reforming the Playboy

Their Mistletoe Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


From Fling to Wedding Ring

Karin Baine






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07510-7

FROM FLING TO WEDDING RING

© 2018 Karin Baine

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Kelly and Doctor K, who put me together again.

With thanks to Julia and Sheila for their patience and understanding, and to Tammy, Pat and Chellie for helping me with the research xx


Contents

Cover (#u7e0b3af3-3330-563f-84ea-aabf61c134ee)

Back Cover Text (#u277417e9-a60b-59f7-a2ff-99510553a584)

About the Author (#ude49c75f-ccbf-5e5a-94af-f65f7fc3fac0)

Booklist (#u534512fa-b782-5e5f-ad6a-a00b943fc483)

Title Page (#u51e29643-ea4b-5be1-acc5-834d3e73b8da)

Copyright (#u3bbcf05c-d06f-5aad-927e-90d75e3caba2)

Dedication (#u3b26cb42-0f8c-5d84-ac0f-80b2e4688d7e)

CHAPTER ONE (#uffe61253-83a7-536a-b84e-e3b9df9ce946)

CHAPTER TWO (#ub2b0820e-e43e-5a53-82c7-b8119b128c2c)

CHAPTER THREE (#u7d0f4ed9-7af1-5e2f-b1de-8cc9b35ef5b5)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u7989cb8f-5784-5cb9-a74d-a86441441ba6)

MOLLIE FOCUSED HER attention on the gun in her hand, fully aware of the implications of this moment. Tattoos were a commitment but, as she knew herself, they also had the potential to be life-changing. If not for the hours she’d spent under the needle she might never have had the confidence to leave the house at all after her accident and the numerous resulting surgeries, never mind complete her nurse training. Although she’d never fully come to terms with the scars left behind from her childhood, having the physical ones at least partially hidden gave her some comfort.

‘If you need a break, just let me know.’ She glanced up to check that her patient, Carole, was coping with the continued vibration of the machine against her skin, but she showed no visible signs of distress.

‘I’m fine. That numbing cream you used seems to have done the trick.’

‘Good. We’re almost done anyway.’

As a clinical nurse specialist in the breast care centre at the Tower Hospital in London she worked closely with her patients through all stages of their treatment to ensure quality of care, from providing emotional support after that first diagnosis of breast cancer to advice and information post-treatment, but it was her role as medical tattooist that gave her most job satisfaction.

She knew how much it took for these ladies to trust her with their bodies after the trauma they’d gone through. That first time she’d had to strip off for the consultation with her tattoo artist, she’d been trembling so hard she’d imagined the only art possible was squiggly lines and splodges, but the sympathetic, caring nature of the woman she’d soon come to see regularly had put her at ease. She wanted to recreate that feeling of safety and privacy for everyone who came through the doors of her clinic as well as leaving them with a sense of pride in their appearance.

Some women who’d decided their bodies had been through enough after chemotherapy and surgery opted for the tattoo only rather than go through a breast reconstruction after a mastectomy, while others decided to make use of the prostheses and stick-on artificial nipples available. It was a personal choice for each individual patient, one not arrived at easily, and it was her job to inform them of the options available. This final decision was the road back for these women reclaiming their bodies and femininity from cancer.

She’d been there to support Carole during her difficult decision to have her breast reconstruction at the same time as her mastectomy six months ago and for her sake wanted to get the all-important shading right with the medical grade micro-pigment to create the 3D effect of the areola around the reconstructed nipple to complete the transformation. Hopefully this would be the last surgical step for her.

‘It looks so real. I can’t thank you enough.’ Carole’s eyes were shining with tears of gratitude as Mollie cleaned the wound one last time and switched off the tattoo machine.

She gave a cough to clear the ball of emotion wedged in her throat as she removed the sheet partially covering Carole’s upper half. It was impossible to accompany people on this journey without becoming emotionally attached.

‘You can take a good look in the mirror to make sure you’re happy before I put the dressing on.’

Though Mollie had never suffered from cancer herself, being able to look in the mirror without recoiling had been an important part of her recovery process and she was privileged to be in a position to do the same for other people. Even if she wasn’t convinced other people didn’t look at her scars without judgement, and still kept them covered as much as possible.

‘You’ve done an incredible job... I don’t know why I’m crying...’ Carole laughed through her tears as she eased her clothes on. She’d been stoic throughout the counselling sessions during her treatment and it was only human for those emotions she’d been holding back during her battle to come flooding out now it was coming to an end.

‘It’s a natural reaction, Carole. You’ve been through a lot. Now, do you have anyone you can talk to if you need to until I see you again?’ Although they’d discussed the course available to her with a clinical psychologist to help rebuild her confidence, it wouldn’t be right to just send her home now with no immediate emotional support.

‘My husband’s been great, as you know, but my sister has invited me to stay with her for a few days in the country so I think I might take her up on the offer.’

‘Good idea. The break will do you good and we’re only on the end of the phone if you need to talk to any of us. Leave that dressing on for forty-eight hours and try not to get it wet for the next ten days or so. As we discussed, we’ll send you out an appointment in about six weeks for a top-up to prevent any fading, but if you experience any swelling or a rise in temperature between now and then, please speak to your doctor in case any infection should develop.’ All aftercare instructions were in the leaflets Mollie passed on but they were worth repeating when there was always that small risk of complication occurring.

‘I will. Thank you. I’m quite looking forward to some peace and quiet. Not to mention a bit of TLC. Even at sixty-three, I’m still considered the baby of the family.’ Carole rolled her eyes as she folded the information sheets for perusal later.

Although only the eldest by two minutes and sixteen seconds, Mollie understood that need to protect her little sister, too. Not that she’d been given much choice, with Talia having inherited their mother’s laissez-faire attitude to responsibility. Someone had had to step up and be the adult after their father abandoned them and, since Mollie was the one to blame for him leaving, that someone had been her.

The stress of her injuries and multiple surgeries had taken its toll on her parents financially and driven her volatile father to take out his frustrations on her mother and sister. If she’d done as she was told and kept away from that old building at the end of the road she would never have slipped and been ripped to shreds falling through that glass window and shattered the family. Trying to emulate Talia’s daredevil defiance had been an immature attempt to grab some of the local boys’ attention away from her pretty sister and had ultimately ruined her life and everyone else’s.

It was the guilt of being the catalyst for that escalating violence and eventual abandonment that had kept her at home looking after their broken-hearted mother and left her indebted to her sister. They’d paid the price for her actions and carried as many scars as she did.

There was a hard, sharp rap on the door—the kind she associated with medical emergencies or anxious family members impatient for news—which dragged her out of those dark memories and back into the present.

‘Come in,’ she shouted, half expecting to see a worried Mr Rogers keen for news on his wife’s progress. He attended all Carole’s appointments with her, even if he didn’t sit in on counselling sessions, and they always left holding hands. It was the kind of sweet relationship she wished her mother had found after their father had left, instead of the string of disastrous affairs she’d fallen into over the years, her confidence knocked into submission long ago. Perhaps if she had found that support in a partner life would’ve turned out so very differently for them both where Mollie wouldn’t have felt indebted to fill the role. She might even have harboured some small desire to find love herself if she’d seen evidence it existed. As it was she’d be happy simply to have some space of her own.

The door opened and there was a brief flutter of panic in her chest that it might have been one of her family members come to seek her counsel. It wouldn’t be the first time her mother had rolled up here, tear-stained and hungover after a row with her latest boyfriend, expecting her daughter to be sympathetic. Now that Talia was working in the nearby emergency department, there was every possibility she could turn up at any given moment, too.

Her relief when a beaming male figure strode into the room was short-lived. It wasn’t the kindly Mr Rogers, who made her hidden romantic sigh, but Ben Sheridan, Consultant Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeon at the clinic, who had the uncanny ability to make every nerve in her body tighten until she was sure one day they would all snap and leave her lying on the floor before him like a puppet with its strings cut.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Nurse Forrester, I just wanted to check up on my favourite patient.’ He breezed past her in a waft of spicy aftershave towards the now positively girlish Carole, who was blushing and waving away the flattery.

‘Sure. Don’t mind me.’ Mollie dropped the used cotton balls and antiseptic wipes into the bin, letting the lid slam shut in a pique of temper.

Her job in maintaining the link between patients and the health-care professionals meant their paths crossed regularly at the multidisciplinary team meetings where they discussed cases and recommendations for treatment. Those who’d witnessed him transform patients’ lives beneath his scalpel had declared him as a ‘brilliant young surgeon.’ It was a shame that with that brilliance also came a self-righteousness that he thought gave him a right to bawl her out when they’d had a difference of opinion over a patient’s treatment. She’d known the patient’s desire to keep as much of her own breast tissue as possible but Ben had pulled rank, insisting there was no option but to perform a complete mastectomy to remove all traces and possibility of cancer.

Whether he’d been correct in his judgement or not, it hadn’t given him the right to yell at her the way he had that morning. He obviously thought that being at the top of his field meant that no one else could question his decisions, but she was every bit as confident in her role as he was in his. She would never question that he was the expert when it came to reconstructive surgery but she knew the patients on a personal level and she reckoned that counted just as much when deciding on the best course of treatment to suit an individual’s needs.

Mollie didn’t often hold grudges but when it came to questioning her professional abilities she was willing to make an exception for Ben Sheridan.

When he came here, ‘checking up,’ her paranoia kicked in that he suspected there was a danger she might undo his good work during this final stage and that their conflict might turn out to be more than a one-off.

‘I’m fine, Doctor. Mollie here has been wonderful.’ Carole’s praise was a welcome affirmation to him that she knew what she was doing.

‘Good to know I left you in such capable hands.’ Ben nodded an acknowledgement Mollie was sure was nothing more than professional courtesy yet heat prickled her skin as that cobalt stare lit upon her. Those ever-watchful blue eyes contrasting against the near black, neatly groomed hair and dark beard made him an imposing figure. Not to mention a handsome one. Two factors that had an unsettling effect on her pulse.

‘It might seem like a lot to ask now, but the best thing you can do for yourself is to keep looking in the mirror and learn to accept these changes are part of everything which makes you the beautiful person you are.’ She kept her back to Ben while she gave Carole the pep talk, conscious he was here watching and listening.

There were so many reasons she felt uncomfortable around him, but it was the attraction she felt towards him despite their obvious personality clash that unnerved her most. He had a reputation among the nursing staff as much for his antics outside the operating theatre as inside it. It had been noted that he’d attended every hospital event in recent times with a different woman on his arm and appeared to lead a very interesting and varied personal life. Unlike her own.

She’d learned at an early age men usually preferred trophy girlfriends to scarred, damaged women with too many personal issues to stuff into a designer clutch bag, and had steered clear since.

Work, home, eat, sleep, repeat—that was her routine and she was happy as long as she was allowed to get on with it in peace.

‘Well, we’re all finished now...’

There’s no need for you to stick around, Ben...

Carole’s phone beeped with an incoming text message and Mollie bent down to retrieve her handbag from the floor to save her stretching for it.

‘I’ll get it—’

‘Let me—’

Unfortunately Ben reached for it at the same time and accidentally grabbed her hand instead of the bag. The unexpected jolt from the touch of his skin on hers almost knocked her onto her backside.

She scrambled to her feet and let him do the honours, since the room suddenly seemed much too small to accommodate his sizeable frame along with hers and Carole’s.

‘That’s my husband. I should go and put him out of his misery and tell him we’re all finished.’

‘Great. I’ll say a quick hello while I’m here.’ Ben—seemingly eager to put some space between them, too—escorted Carole out of the door and let Mollie breathe a little easier.

‘I’ll see you in a few weeks’ time, Carole.’ The moment Mollie waved them off and shut the door, she collapsed back into her chair. A quick glance at her watch confirmed she had time before her next appointment to grab a break and regain her composure.

It was ridiculous that she should get so flustered when she knew she was damn good at her job, but he had that knack of upsetting the status quo around here. No matter how busy they were at the clinic, there was always that ripple of excitement accompanying a visit from Mr Sheridan, which was not reserved solely for her. Staff and patients alike lit up whenever he was around.

Some days it was like an episode of one of those awful reality shows where women competed against each other in the hope of winning the coveted prize of a date with the handsome star attraction. Thank goodness she had no inclination towards any man who treated women as nothing more than accessories. Her mother had paraded enough of those through her life to leave her immune. There seemed little point in adding a man to the list of people she had to worry about or who could cause her more pain, and no reason this man in particular should make her rethink that now.

There was another rap on the door but this time it opened before she’d even had time to reply.

‘I wanted to thank you—’ Just when she thought it was safe to relax, Ben popped his head around the door again and every fibre of her being tightened back to breaking point.

‘Er...no problem. It is my job, after all.’

It really didn’t require his personal attention. She did this every day of the week without waiting for his approval like an eager pupil expecting a gold star from her teacher for completing her homework.

Instead of ending the conversation and closing the door, he seemed to take it as an invitation to step back inside the room.

‘I don’t mean the tattoo. I’ve seen your work and have no doubt you’ve done a sterling job as usual. I’m talking about putting yourself forward for the dance competition. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and I appreciate—’

Mollie stopped tidying away her supplies as her world seemed to come screeching to a halt. ‘Pardon me?’

‘The fundraiser, for The Men’s Shed project? Your name was on the list of volunteers...’ The deep frown ploughed through his forehead gave no indication that this was a joke and yet Mollie had an uncontrollable urge to laugh. As if prancing about in sequins before an audience was anything she’d participate in willingly. The very idea was the stuff of nightmares for someone who was self-conscious enough about the way she looked. Never mind that she couldn’t actually dance, the last thing she needed was people judging her with a score card and a sharp tongue.

‘I think someone’s pulling your leg. Or mine.’ This was clearly someone’s idea of a joke and one made at her expense. Her carefully applied make-up and flair for vintage fashion might make it seem as though she were bursting with confidence but that was the trick. That hard shell had been carefully created to protect the fragile ego inside. A dance contest was actually so far out of her comfort zone she’d need a search and rescue team to find her way back from the spotlight.

‘Oh. You’d think people would know better than to mess around with a charity.’ Or to waste the time of a very busy surgeon whose frown had now deepened into more of a scowl and did nothing to stop the current shivers hurdling over her spine.

‘Sorry. Is this your project?’ Even though she was gasping for a cup of tea to settle her nerves, it seemed churlish to chivvy him out of her room now when he’d been sent on a wild goose chase on her behalf.

‘I volunteered to help raise funds but the dancing part was not my idea.’ He winced as though he’d been held at gunpoint and personally forced into tight hot-pink fabric. Now that was something she was sure a lot of people would pay good money to see, her included.

‘And what is this “Shed” exactly?’

‘It’s a community hub where elderly men can socialise and keep active. We need funds to renovate the place and I’d hate to see it fold when it’s already doing so much to help those who might otherwise be isolated from society.’ His ownership of the project and the financial problems it was having softened the hard edge of the man she’d encountered at that fraught staff meeting. It spoke volumes about his personal involvement and commitment, and somehow made him seem more human, more likeable than some of the other bigwigs who often paid little more than lip service to the charities they allegedly supported. Half the time Mollie wondered if it wasn’t more about raising their personal profiles and scoring extra points on their CVs than being charitable.

‘You can put my name down for a couple of tickets for the show. I’d be happy to make a donation.’ No matter how deserving a cause, Mollie would much rather watch than participate. She shouldn’t have much trouble convincing Talia to go as her plus one when she was always going on about her getting out and having some fun these days.

That was easier said than done when you weren’t the blonde-haired, blue-eyed twin with the perfect body and no discernible responsibilities.

‘I’ll be sure to get it in writing this time.’ His self-deprecating smile was unexpected, as was the warm glow that seemed to start in Mollie’s toes and spread steadily throughout the rest of her body.

A lot of the highly skilled, in-demand surgical professionals she’d come across in the workplace had a superiority complex the same size as their impressive list of qualifications and would have ranted and raved about wasting their time. She’d certainly seen evidence of his temper, which would be justified on an occasion where he’d been inconvenienced by some unknown prankster. His understanding that she was an unwitting participant in this made her feel a tad ashamed of her conjecture on his character formed from one emotionally charged disagreement, when that judgement was exactly what terrified her most. It was a shock to discover her greatest fear turned out to be her own biggest personal flaw.

She hated people making assumptions about her, that her tattoos or her clothes somehow defined her as weird, or, worse, that her dedication to her job and her family marked her as a loner. Yet she knew she had a habit of jumping to conclusions about people based on first impressions. It was a defence mechanism that she’d developed over the years to protect herself from anyone else who showed a proclivity towards violence to avoid any more nasty surprises further down the line.

A history including an abusive father, a supposed loving boyfriend who rejected her after seeing her scars for the first time and a series of partners who eventually lost patience when she couldn’t bring herself to sleep with them, made it difficult to trust anything other than her own instincts.

On this occasion she might be proven wrong, but although discovering the possibility Ben was a nicer guy than she’d imagined would explain his popularity with women who weren’t her, it didn’t make her any more willing to participate in this spectacle. She’d conned herself once into believing she should put herself at risk simply to gain the approval of a good-looking boy and paid the price. It would take more than a playboy surgeon to change her mind after all these years.

‘Well, good luck with it.’ She gave him his cue to leave so they could both get back to work and forget this little incident ever happened.

* * *

‘Right. Sorry for wasting your time.’ Ben backed out of the room and only just managed to refrain from swearing in the busy corridor. That hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d planned. Although he’d been glad to see Carole in good spirits after her surgery his visit to the clinic had left him with more problems than he’d arrived with. Now he was one dancer short for his fundraising event and, in particular, the one he’d seen himself paired with—The Ice Queen. Someone’s idea of a joke was going to cost him time tracking down a new volunteer, not to mention peace of mind.

When he’d seen Nurse Forrester’s name on the list for the forthcoming competition he’d thought she’d finally forgiven him for that outburst the other week. Things had been a bit strained between them since he’d lost his temper and, though he was embarrassed about it, he couldn’t explain his mood without coming across as unprofessional. It didn’t matter how little sleep he’d had or how rough his night had been at home, he should never have brought it into the workplace with him. His private life was no one else’s business.

Having her back onside would also have produced the ideal solution to his search for a partner. Although he’d never heard anything but praise from their shared patient list, never witnessed anything other than professionalism when they’d worked together, he’d heard the locker room talk about The Ice Queen from porters to surgeons who’d tried to secure a date with the pretty brunette and been shot down mid-chat-up. For those delicate male egos who weren’t used to being turned down, they’d somehow managed to turn her lack of interest in them into a character assassination and something she should be castigated for rather than a comment on their own arrogance or shortcomings.

Her involvement would’ve curtailed any further rumours about his alleged philandering or romantic ideas towards, or from, a woman whose smile faltered any time he paid a visit to shared patients. He’d even felt her flinch today when they’d happened to come into close proximity and almost sympathised with those she’d shown her obvious contempt for in the past. She didn’t know him any more than he knew her and, though it would be easy to believe those rumours that she hated men, he knew not to take the gossipmongers at face value.

Despite the lack of chemistry required for a dance partnership, this would’ve provided him with an uncomplicated route to the finish line of this fundraising born out of necessity rather than a desire to strut his stuff on a public dance floor.

His mobile phone vibrated in his pocket and he made a quick dash for the exit to answer it to avoid disturbing the clinic any further. Thankfully the noise of running car engines and nearby construction drowned out the profanity that did slip out of his mouth this time when he saw who it was calling, because it meant there was undoubtedly another catastrophe happening at home.

‘Is everything all right, Grandad?’

‘Someone’s stolen my glasses. I think it’s that woman who comes here every morning.’ Unfortunately, as had become the custom, the phone call was not to check in with Ben but to launch another accusation about the carer who came in to make his grandfather’s meals when he was at work. He was sure she’d no more stolen his glasses today than she had sewn up the cuffs of his cardigan when he couldn’t get it on last week. The truth was Hugh Sheridan was getting old, and struggling to live with this cruel illness more every day, even if neither of them were ready to acknowledge it yet.

He’d lost so much weight due to the meals he’d forgotten to eat, or the out-of-date food he’d sickened himself with, it had become apparent he could no longer look after himself, but it had been a job for Ben to get him to move into his apartment where he could keep an eye on him. In the end he’d had to convince him he wanted the company, not that he believed his grandfather was a danger to himself. The move had been the final nail in the coffin of his relationship with Penny and everyone else who was afraid they might be expected to play nursemaid to a septuagenarian.

Even his own parents had abandoned them, because it suited them and their jet-set lifestyle to let Ben assume the role of carer. Not that he’d expect anything more from people who’d given up on their son so easily. They would’ve been as happy to pack his grandfather off to an old people’s home as they had been to send their wayward child away without a second thought about why he’d fallen in with a bad crowd. It was easier on their consciences to absolve themselves of any responsibility other than a visit on special occasions or the odd phone call than to examine their own failure as parents.

Underage drinking, graffiti...vandalism had all seemed like harmless fun in the company of the wrong crowd, as had defying his parents, until he’d pushed them to breaking point. He saw now his actions had shown a desperate need for someone to provide boundaries and guide him in the right direction when he’d been too easily seduced by the idea of rebellion. An unheeded cry for help. It had taken the faith and courage of his grandparents to see that there was someone worth saving beneath that troublesome exterior when not even his parents had been convinced.

Although he maintained some semblance of a relationship with them, it was always at the back of his mind that they might still be waiting for his illustrious career to come crashing down around him in another fit of self-destruction. Despite turning his life around, there was a distance between them that suggested they were afraid to become too proud of him in case the day ever came when they’d get the chance to say, ‘See, we knew he was a wrong ’un.’

Regardless of his career success, they justified their absence from his life by pointing out he didn’t have any children for them to come back for. As if they would have been any more attentive to grandchildren than to their only son. Deserting him when he was in need of their help now as an adult didn’t hurt any less than it had as a teenager, it merely reinforced the belief he wasn’t important enough in their lives to deserve time out of their busy schedule. It had been just him and his grandfather for some time now.

They were the only tie he still had to that old life and perhaps that was the reason he kept them at arm’s length, too—they were a reminder of times that didn’t make him particularly proud of himself and were a far cry, hopefully, from the respected man he’d become. He didn’t blame his parents for becoming exasperated with their son’s behaviour, he knew now how stressed they must have been, but neither did he credit them with any part of his success since. That was reserved for the man who was currently wandering his apartment in search of more misplaced personal items.

‘That’s Amy, remember? She comes to help out when I’m at work.’ It had been getting harder by the day to juggle his time here at the hospital and at home and she’d been a godsend as far as Ben was concerned. At least now he could go into Theatre with the knowledge there’d be someone to check that the apartment hadn’t burned down in his absence. His grandfather was becoming more and more forgetful, as well as belligerent, as the cruel spectre of dementia hovered around him.

There was an unintelligible grumble on the other end of the line suggesting he didn’t entirely trust his grandson’s version of events. As though there were collusion going on between the two of them to gradually steal his belongings and sanity piece by painful piece.

‘Have you checked the bathroom window sill? Sometimes you leave them there.’ Or actually in the bath, where he’d found the TV remote control last night.

‘I didn’t leave them anywhere. She’s taken them.’ His grandfather adamantly continued his protest without considering any alternative reason for the disappearing spectacles. It was this continual forgetfulness and paranoia that was hard to get used to but, thankfully, the good days still outnumbered the bad. The man who’d practically raised him was still more present than this somewhat more difficult version, or his parents. With Amy’s added help, they were able to function as normally as could be expected.

However, it didn’t take a medical professional to understand this wasn’t an illness that would be miraculously cured. There was little even a skilled surgeon could do to prevent dementia taking hold of a beloved family member except help him cling onto his independence and dignity as long as possible. And perhaps help him find any misplaced personal possessions. The least he could do for the man who’d given him a second chance when no one else would.

‘Do you want me to come back and help you find them?’ He checked his watch. Now that he wouldn’t be discussing dance steps or music choices he had a little time before his next appointment. Although that time could’ve been better utilised answering the hundreds of emails he received every day, half an hour retracing his grandfather’s steps around the apartment would probably put both of their minds at rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Even if it was a stark contrast to the one he’d imagined.

‘No. You’re busy, son. There are a lot of people depending on you... I don’t know who she thinks she is just letting herself in here when she feels like it...’ Sometimes it was hard to tell if the moment of lucidity had passed or he was just having a bad-tempered rant because his independence was being compromised.

‘I’m not due back in surgery for a while. I can spare ten minutes to see if I can help you find these glasses.’ He’d make a call to Amy, too, to apologise for any extra rudeness she might have encountered on this morning’s visit, although her previous experience of caring for elderly patients seemed to make her quite impervious to her charge’s changeable moods.

‘Why would I need help finding my glasses? Sure, they’re right here in my pocket where they always are.’ The gruff denial that he needed help ended the call abruptly and left Ben standing outside the hospital contemplating whether or not to go back inside.

It was these divided loyalties that tested every area of his life, as well as those around him. He’d already had one relationship disintegrate under the pressure of his responsibilities as a carer and, though he’d had a few dalliances since, his love life wasn’t any more of a priority than a dependent elderly relative was for those he’d dated. The reputation he’d acquired of being a ladies’ man wasn’t surprising since he still enjoyed female company, but unjustified, when any notion of a relationship barely lasted beyond dessert.

He fished his car keys from his pocket and strode towards the staff car park. It wouldn’t do any harm to call back home for five minutes and make sure all was well. His hunt for a partner came second to the needs of his grandfather. As did everything else in his personal life.

Mollie Forrester would’ve been the perfect answer to getting him out of the dance competition pickle he’d found himself in and he wondered if there wasn’t still time to talk her around.

After all, he wasn’t one to walk away at the first sign of trouble.


CHAPTER TWO (#u7989cb8f-5784-5cb9-a74d-a86441441ba6)

‘SO, WHAT ARE your plans for the weekend?’ Talia queried once she’d swallowed the large bite she’d taken of her chicken salad sandwich. Her appetite certainly seemed to have improved since her return and Mollie was pleased in that motherly way that she was eating properly instead of skipping meals as she’d often been prone to doing before heading out for an evening of partying. These days she was more likely to be found at night propping up the other end of the sofa from her sister watching TV.

‘Um...laundry, decluttering my wardrobe, washing my hair...’ She’d neglected to mention Ben Sheridan’s strange visit or they would’ve spent the rest of their short meal break together arguing about how she shouldn’t have turned him down and how she would live the rest of her days as a dried-up old spinster full of regret.

‘Sounds like a riot.’ Talia rolled her eyes, apparently unimpressed by the proposed itinerary.

‘That doesn’t mean you have to stay in, too. There’s nothing stopping you from going clubbing or whatever it usually is you do in your time off.’ Mollie had never been one for the party circuit where copious amounts of alcohol and rash decisions often went hand in hand. Not since she’d suffered the ugly fallout of her previous poor judgement. Talia had done enough living for the both of them, even if the pace of her partying seemed to have slowed in the weeks since she’d come home from her travels.

Although it was Mollie who’d encouraged her to spread her beautiful butterfly wings when the job opportunity abroad had arisen at the end of their nurse training, she hadn’t realised the lonely life she’d condemned herself to in the process. She’d wanted to give Talia a new start, a new life away from the cruel childhood memories of home, but it had only been the start of a series of posts that had taken her all around the world and further and further away.

At least, until recently. Whatever had happened during those years of ‘finding herself’ and working the wanderlust out of her system, she was now pushing Mollie to explore her independence a little more, too. If Talia truly had returned as the more contented adult she claimed to be, not only did it mean having someone to share the problems at home, it would alleviate some of Mollie’s guilt from the past and offered her a slice of freedom she hoped hadn’t come too late to enjoy.

‘I’ve had my fun, Moll, and my time away has made me realise how unfair it was to leave you holding the fort back here with Mum all this time. I haven’t been much of a sister to you.’ It was an unexpected acknowledgement of her sometimes selfish behaviour, but Mollie didn’t hold a grudge when they hadn’t had the best role models in life from whom to take their cue.

‘I wouldn’t change you for the world.’ She gave her sister a friendly nudge with her shoulder.

There had been times, when she was consoling her mother after her latest heartbreak or trying to untangle her messy finances, when she’d wished her sister had been around to share the burden, but she also admired Talia’s free spirit. At least one of them had had the courage to put herself out there.

‘Well, it’s your turn now. I’m here to help out a bit more and give you the freedom you deserve. Which reminds me, weren’t you supposed to be going flat hunting at some point?’

‘I’m looking into it.’

‘Good. Mum and I have relied on you too much over the years to be the sensible one. You need to get out and have a bit of fun.’ Talia flicked the crumbs off her lap onto the grass for the sparrows hopping nearby.

‘I don’t know what’s brought on this sudden interest in my personal life but there’s no need to worry. I really have enough to keep me occupied in between shifts.’

‘Oh, yes, laundry and decluttering wardrobes are so much fun.’ There was no mistaking the sarcasm coming from a woman who’d probably done neither in her lifetime.

‘You forgot the hair washing—’ The truth was it suited Mollie to be so caught up in the mess at home when it always provided an excuse for her not to go out after work for drinks with her colleagues or those awful blind dates people kept trying to set her up on. There was no pressure to look or act a certain way when she was in her comfort zone, behind closed doors.

‘Well, I’ve organised something much more exciting to fill your time.’ There was something ominous in Talia’s tone as she tidied away the remnants of their al fresco lunch on the strip of greenery surrounding the hospital intended to give the illusion they were somewhere more tranquil than central London.

‘What have you done?’ Since her sister’s idea of fun usually involved high-octane, pulse-racing pursuits, she automatically went on meerkat alert, watching and listening for danger coming so she could take appropriate action.

‘I put your name down for that dance competition they’re doing. I thought a bit of excitement would do you good.’

The casual manner in which Talia tossed the information to her gave no credence to the chaos unleashed with those few words. Mollie could almost hear the ping as her nerves finally gave way with the implications of her sister’s actions. That image of a scowling surgeon once he’d realised his valuable time had been wasted came to mind and sent shudders across her skin. She might’ve had the upper hand then, when she was the innocent party, but his patience might not accommodate a meddling sister. The custom in this sort of situation had always been for Mollie to take the flak anyone directed at her sibling. Such was the burden of guilt.

‘Why would you do that?’ Her voice reached soprano level as she fought to understand what would make her sister carry out such an act of stupidity when she’d only just secured her own position in the hospital.

‘Because I knew you wouldn’t,’ Talia answered with a huff, as if that excused everything. Perhaps she hadn’t done as much growing up as hoped.

‘That’s because it’s the last thing on this earth I would ever want to do.’ Her temperature was steadily rising along with her heart rate.

‘Gowns and glitz...what’s not to love?’

‘Er...a load of people staring at me.’ The very idea of shuffling around the dance floor in one of those flouncy ballroom dresses was already bringing her out in a cold sweat and that was before they even acknowledged the fact that she couldn’t dance.

Talia had never really understood Mollie’s anxiety about her appearance, probably because she’d never confided in her about how much it had affected her. It had been easier to simply accept the ‘boring twin’ tag than attempt a mature conversation on a painful subject.

‘It’s only a bit of fun and, you know, there are all those sexy young doctors for you to tango with...’ Male attention had always been Talia’s solution to any worries and Mollie had never corrected her when she assumed the one disastrous serious relationship she’d forayed into was the reason she preferred the single life. While it had contributed, her ex’s horrified reaction to seeing her naked body, pretattoos, had plunged the dagger into what little left there had been of her self-confidence. There was no way she was tangoing with anyone, fully clothed or otherwise.

‘If you’re so keen, why didn’t you volunteer?’ There hadn’t been any sign of a significant other, nor had Talia shown any interest in venturing into the dating pool herself lately, which was so unlike her. Mollie was sure there’d been some sort of heartbreak behind her sudden desire to come home, not that she’d admitted it so far except to say things hadn’t worked out the way she’d planned.

‘I’m still a newbie around here. I doubt I’d bring in the money a well-established, well-respected specialist nurse could raise for a good cause.’

Flattery didn’t work with Mollie—compliments of any kind always made her suspicious when she was so aware of her every flaw—but she could see Talia’s intentions had been honourable. If there was one thing Mollie would always prioritise over her own comfort it was her sister’s welfare. She was still a newbie and Mollie didn’t want her new start jeopardised because she’d unintentionally ticked off senior staff. It could be easily rectified and they both knew it was only a matter of time before she caved and did whatever her sister wanted anyway. Her part in this well-rehearsed dance was to at least make a half-hearted protest so she didn’t seem like a complete pushover.

‘Do not ever volunteer me for anything else again.’ She knew Talia was only trying to help in her own way and didn’t want to discourage her from future endeavours—as long as it didn’t include putting her forward for things without her express consent first—but it was going to take all the courage she could summon to face Ben Sheridan and tell him there’d been a mix-up and she would be taking part after all.

That conversation wasn’t the only issue liable to keep her awake at night. Dancing would leave her exposed in ways she’d avoided for over a decade.

* * *

Tracking down a surgeon was no mean feat in a busy hospital. Mollie couldn’t even be sure he was here when he was in such high demand around the country. She’d refrained from having someone page him, doubting she could justify this as an emergency even if it was to her. She wouldn’t be able to relax until she’d sorted this mess out. Although, confirming her participation in the competition was merely going to create another problem for her to obsess over and direct her anxiety down another path.

By the end of her shift and numerous phone calls to the relevant departments it eventually became apparent that he was no longer in the building.

‘Try The Shed,’ was the general advice forwarded by those staff members who took an interest in his private life.

She could’ve waited until the next day to ask him to reinstate her place in the competition but when further enquiries, and a quick internet search, revealed The Shed was only two stops away on the Tube she decided to rip the sticking plaster off as quick as possible.

Just because she’d taken time to change and refresh her make-up before leaving work it didn’t mean she was making an extra effort for a certain surgeon. She wanted the protection of her most effective armour before going into battle.

Her vintage style was an acquired taste for some, but it had never been intended for anyone else’s benefit other than her own. That fifties’ retro look had seemed so glamorous to a young girl who’d struggled to accept her disfigured body and, after the accident, she’d adopted it in an attempt to project that confident image she so envied. She was grateful her face hadn’t been left permanently scarred in the accident and she liked to make the most of her best asset to take the focus off those areas she constantly worried about. The moment she painted on that bright red lipstick and winged black eyeliner she at least looked as though she were ready to tackle the outside world even if she was quaking on the inside.

It was only when she turned the corner towards the slightly run-down row of commercial buildings that she wobbled ever so slightly in her navy-and-white polka-dot platform shoes. Far from the glorified outhouse she’d pictured in her mind, ‘The Shed’ was housed on glass-fronted shop premises with the man she’d come to see visible through the window, or at least the bottom half of him encased in paint-splattered tight denim standing at the top of a ladder. The sight made her question if she was doing the right thing by encroaching on his personal time when he was clearly no longer in professional doctor mode. When she stopped to think about it she wouldn’t have appreciated him turning up at her house unannounced.

He began to descend the ladder and her chance for escape vanished as he spotted her through the window and waved her in with one hand while balancing a paint tray and paintbrush in the other.

‘Mollie!’ The sounds of hammering and drilling ceased as he announced her entrance to the room full of volunteers.

‘Hi,’ she mumbled, trying to block out all the eyes trained on their exchange.

The sudden turnaround on her decision to take part might cause him even more inconvenience and she’d no idea how this news was going to be received. With any luck he’d already picked up another partner since they’d last spoken, all this worry was for nothing and they could go back to being members of staff whose paths occasionally crossed during the course of their mutual patients’ treatment.

‘What brings you here? The sudden urge to brush up on your carpentry skills or add your name to our list of volunteers?’ The friendly welcome was a far cry from the prickly atmosphere that had developed between them at work and took Mollie by surprise. If he was disturbed by her sudden appearance he hid it very well as he guided her away from the centre of attention towards the back of the room, leaving everyone else to go back to their woodwork and chat.

‘Er...maybe next time. Although I’m not entirely sure what I could do to help.’ Seeing him sacrifice what little time he probably had free on his busy schedule guilt-tripped her into suggesting she might be talked into a second visit. One that would see her rolling up her sleeves and getting dirty, no less.

‘Every little helps. I can’t say my own skills go beyond touching up the paintwork every now and again but I try. As you can see.’ He gave an apologetic nod towards his emulsion-covered attire, which drew Mollie’s attention to the faded grey T-shirt stretched tight across his broad chest. It left much less to the imagination than the loose cotton shirt he’d been wearing earlier. Probably for health and safety reasons when that small patch of smooth skin showing through the sizeable rip in the shoulder seam was so distracting.

She forced herself to maintain eye contact. ‘It looks great. Fresh.’

‘We’re expecting the dance competition to bring us a lot of interest in the local press so we’re trying to spruce the place up. We want any potential donors or sponsors to see the potential in keeping this going for the community.’

She could see that they were all working hard to make a good impression on those who held The Shed’s sustainability in the folds of their wallets, as there was as much cleaning going on around here as there was woodworking. That urge to offer her help became too great for her conscience to ignore.

‘Perhaps I could come back some time and paint a mural on the wall to brighten things up a bit?’ She was already thinking of how she could add trailing vines and other elements inspired by nature to give the workspace more colour and character and make it seem more homely and less clinical. If he was willing to offer an olive branch there was no reason she couldn’t do the same.

‘That would be amazing! Thank you.’

‘The reason I actually came here—’ She tried to steer them back towards the purpose of the visit before she ingratiated herself any further into this little group.

‘Would you like a tour?’ In his delight at having secured another member into their army, he apparently didn’t seem to care about why she was here and only that the enchantment of watching their endeavours would keep her here.

Before she could decline he’d rested his hand in the small of her back and was gently manoeuvring her towards the source of the noise hammering away in the background. Even though he was touching a part of her body that didn’t usually cause her any discomfort—untarnished by jagged reminders of the accident—that slight contact made her skin burn with the same self-awareness. It was a long time since anyone had laid a hand on her but she was going to have to get used to it if she was expecting to take up ballroom dancing.

‘This is Tom, our man in charge.’

He seemed oblivious to the tingling sensation he was causing to ripple across her skin as he introduced her to the older man in the navy coveralls and safety glasses. In the end she had to take a step away to break the contact under the guise of saying hello to Tom, who was planing long lengths of wood at the back of the shop.

Ben continued with the tour to show her the fruits of their labour lining the walls. ‘The men start off with small projects, such as planters and bird boxes, which they go on to sell and raise funds for more materials, but the experts like Tom here have progressed to things like dog kennels and tables. We even recycle the offcuts of timber and bag them up for firewood to help with the costs. We don’t like to waste anything here.’

Including time, Mollie suspected, which brought her back to the reason she’d spared some of hers to come here tonight. ‘I’m very impressed with the whole set-up but I actually came here to tell you I’ve had a change of heart over the dance competition. I am going to take part after all. If it’s not too late to re-register my interest?’

She didn’t enjoy portraying herself as indecisive or as flaky as some of her family members when she’d always prided herself on being the reliable one. This turnaround only hours after denying all knowledge of her addition to the list of competitors could seem as though she was just being contrary this afternoon because he’d interrupted her clinic.

He raised an eyebrow but thankfully didn’t question the change of heart. ‘Not at all. It saves me having to strong-arm a reluctant replacement to make up the numbers.’

Somehow she doubted he’d have trouble trying to persuade anybody to do anything. If she’d waited until tomorrow to tell him there would probably have been a queue of women waiting to take her place in his good books. It was the sound of her sister’s voice in her head telling her she needed to get a life of her own that stopped her from backing out again. She might’ve made the mistake in thinking he cared about who took part in this competition but Talia was probably right—it would do her good to do something out of her usual routine.

‘So, is there an information day or something where the couples will be announced?’ Now she’d committed to taking part she was keen to know the finer details, and her mother had forced her to watch enough of those dancing shows to know it was a big deal to find out who you were paired with. Okay, she doubted there were any celebrities in the mix, but she was sure they’d create something of a buzz to kick-start the interest in tickets for the event. Although she wasn’t eager to get up close and personal with her colleagues any time soon, it might put her mind at rest if the other half of her team had some sort of dance experience. She didn’t want to be the joke act of the competition, literally being dragged around the floor with all the grace of a baby elephant.

‘We did the launch this afternoon. That’s why I came looking for you...’ He shrugged an apology but Mollie was happy to have dodged whatever spectacle had taken place. She wouldn’t be so lucky next time.

‘Sorry. I really didn’t mean to mess you around.’ It was Talia who should be taking the heat for this and standing here hanging her head in shame, not her. She might have covered for her sister’s screw-ups when they were kids but, as she was professing to be a grown-up now, this was the last time.

‘No harm done.’ Either the paint fumes had got to him or he was genuinely a much more relaxed man outside work, because he didn’t appear fazed at all by the inconvenience.

Mollie, on the other hand, had spent every second since clocking off having this conversation in her head, imagining being forced to make a grovelling apology while his temper exploded again like Bonfire Night fireworks. Now she was wondering if she should have worried at all and simply left things alone.

‘If you could give me the details of whoever my partner is, I’ll be on my way.’ A name or a number would be sufficient so she could go and collapse into a puddle of nervous exhaustion at home and let him get on with his second job here.

‘That’ll be me.’ He carried on cleaning his paintbrushes on the dirty rag he’d pulled from his pocket and no one would ever have guessed he’d just turned her world upside down.

‘You?’ She waited for him to burst out laughing and tell her he was only joking, and that actually John, the elderly porter at the clinic, was her real partner. That would have been preferable to the thought that she was expected to spend the next weeks grinding up against the hospital hunk when the mere brush of his hand at her back had her jumping as if she’d been scalded.

‘That’s not going to be a problem, is it?’

Yes, it was going to be a problem! She could scarcely be in the same room as him without getting all hot and bothered and frustrated at herself for finding him attractive despite all those qualities that normally made her want to run in the opposite direction. Not only was he rumoured to be the workplace Lothario, but she’d seen him when things didn’t go his way and she had no intention of inviting another volatile man into her life. She didn’t want to be fooled like her mother and get hurt as a result.

Although none of what had happened tonight was making any of this easier for her. She didn’t need to see a softer guy who did charity work and didn’t get upset when she changed his plans at the last minute—that wasn’t going to help her get over this nonsensical crush that made her pulse race every time their paths crossed. Neither was spending countless hours of rehearsal time pressed cheek to cheek and everything else up against him, but what choice did she have now? It was going to be pretty obvious the issue she had was a personal one if she pulled out now, and not the one he would probably assume. Retreating from the situation was just going to lead to more friction at work, since there was no way she could tell him the real reason she didn’t want to be paired with him. She was in a no-win, no-escape-from-this-attraction situation. All she could do was hope it would end once the pressure of the competition claimed her attention.

‘No. Of course not. I’m looking forward to dancing with you.’ The lie burned her tongue. Her scars already felt as though they were shining out from beneath the tattoos, declaring her damaged goods in comparison to the numerous beauties he’d been linked to in the past.

She could imagine twirling around the floor, the raised skin where she’d been sewn back together mapping out the story of her life beneath his fingertips and making him recoil in disgust. It wouldn’t be the first time a man had rejected her because of the way she looked, although she’d sworn it would be the last time anyone would have the opportunity to get that close. The dent in her confidence had been partially repaired with the magic of a tattoo needle, but even that only managed to disguise the trauma her body had gone through from a distance.

‘Dancing? Who’s dancing?’ One of the elderly gentlemen who’d been pottering around nearby now sidled up to engage in the conversation.

‘We’re just talking about the competition, Grandad. This is Mollie, from work. She’s going to be my partner. Mollie, this is my grandfather, Hugh Sheridan.’ There really was no need for Ben to make the introduction as the family resemblance was obvious. Although the hair was a lustrous snowy white and the brilliant blue eyes surrounded by deep laughter lines, Mr Sheridan senior was basically an older version of his grandson.

‘Nice to meet you, Hugh.’ She reached out her hand to greet him but, rather than shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and dropped a kiss there instead.

‘Lovely to make your acquaintance, Mollie.’

The old-fashioned flattery brought a flush to her cheeks and it was easy to see where Ben had inherited his charm from.

‘I taught Ben everything he knows,’ he said, with that same twinkle in his blue eyes she’d seen in his grandson’s on her arrival.

‘I’m sure you did.’ There was probably a Sheridan Handbook for Seducing Women tucked somewhere between the family photos, she surmised, given how easily she’d already fallen for their routine.

‘I was quite the mover in my day.’ As if to prove the point, he tugged Mollie towards him, put her hand on his shoulder and began to sway. With one hand gently resting at her waist, he whisked her around the floor, moving so quickly it stole her breath away. He was such a strong lead, so adept, it didn’t seem to matter she didn’t know the steps to whatever song he was humming. Ordinarily she would’ve been mortified by the display they were putting on for the others in the room, but there was something reassuring in the confidence of her partner’s steps that put her at ease. If Ben had indeed inherited his grandfather’s skills as well as his looks, they might actually be able to salvage something of this shambles.

* * *

‘Put her down, Grandad.’ Although Ben was always delighted to see his grandfather having fun and being his old smooth self, he didn’t want it to be at the expense of Mollie’s comfort levels.

He’d been afraid to question what had prompted her decision to take part again for fear of scaring her off when she was clearly already skittish about participating. After their previous run-in it was a big step for her to seek him out here, especially when she’d so vehemently denied entering the competition in the first place. He certainly didn’t need his grandad scaring her off again. Not everyone responded well to having him around.

Hugh spun Mollie out with a final flourish that sent her off balance in her peep-toe spotty wedges and forced Ben to step in before she clattered into the nearby metal shelving.

‘Sorry,’ Mollie mumbled into his chest as she collided into him, her hands warming the skin beneath his T-shirt. He was lost in those eyes staring up at him, shifting from green to blue like the ever-changing tides. He’d always thought her pretty but seeing her up close like this, away from the work environment, he was free to appreciate the beauty of her quirky style. Not only did she look like one of those sexy fifties’ pin-ups, but she emitted that same look-but-don’t-touch vibe. Especially when she was pushing away from him and putting as much distance between them as possible. A detail that could prove awkward for the purposes of her visit.

‘You’ll have to work on your showmanship if you want high scores from the judges. They like a bit of flair.’ His grandfather was oblivious to any discomfort he’d caused as he went on to critique his unsuspecting dance partner.

‘I’ll remember that.’ Mollie humoured the comment with a smile and retrieved her red and black, cherry-embossed bag from the floor where it had fallen in the melee. She brushed the sawdust off it and Ben hoped it wasn’t one of those designer pieces that cost more than a small car.

‘Gran and Grandad were ballroom champions in their day. They were the ones who taught me to dance.’ It had been an attempt to instil some discipline and respect into their wayward grandson. Like any sullen teen, he hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but now those steps reminded him of that precious time he’d spent with people who’d loved him and genuinely wanted the best for him.

In the beginning Ben had thought engaging him in the fundraising efforts was a good idea since they were dealing with two areas very close to his heart. After this display he was beginning to think his involvement might turn out to be more detrimental than beneficial to the cause. Still, he wasn’t doing this to win any glitter-ball trophies. At least here, under supervision, his grandfather was still made to feel useful, undertaking the less perilous tasks of sanding down the wood.

‘Perhaps you’d be able to show us a few pointers when the time comes?’ It was refreshing to find Mollie offering to involve his grandfather in the proceedings when so many often regarded him as a nuisance. Including his ex, Penny, who’d seemed to regard him as competition for Ben’s attention.

That simple acceptance had his grandfather grinning from ear to ear. ‘I like this one, son. She’s much nicer than that last one.’

The slap he gave Ben on the back before he walked away whistling almost knocked the air from his lungs. It was as close to a compliment as anyone could get from him. These days he wouldn’t be long making his opinion known if he found fault with anyone. Another reason he and Penny had found it impossible to even be in the same room together. He’d frequently commented on his dislike for her and Ben wasn’t altogether convinced it had solely been down to his condition. With hindsight he’d concede her actions at times could’ve been considered selfish, especially when she’d given him the ultimatum between choosing her or his grandfather—a contest she could never have hoped to win. Ben owed him too much, loved him too much, to throw him on the scrapheap without a second thought.

Unfortunately, this unconventional introduction left him having to make an explanation to his work colleague about a part of his life he tried to keep private. He did his best to keep the details of his grandfather’s decline in health since his retirement out of the public domain, but that secrecy had left Ben’s own personal life open to speculation and exaggeration. A price he was more than willing to pay to preserve the reputation his grandfather had built over the years as an eminent local GP.

‘Sorry about that. He didn’t get along with my ex.’

‘She didn’t like dancing?’ The droll reply managed to make him laugh and he appreciated the attempt to remove some of the awkwardness of having to discuss his personal life with her. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d taken great delight in hearing about his failed relationship when he hadn’t been the nicest person to her in the past, but it obviously wasn’t in her nature to be malicious. It gave him hope that, whatever personal issues were uncovered during their time together in preparation for this competition, she wouldn’t try to use them against him. Plus, that sense of humour he hadn’t known she possessed might actually help make this experience less of a chore for them both.

‘Not a fan of Hugh Sheridan’s in general.’ It occurred to Ben that he’d had no idea if Penny enjoyed dancing or not. In their eighteen months together he couldn’t remember a time when they’d actually done it for fun. They’d attended all the usual evening functions together that demanded their attendance as representatives of the hospital, but she had always seen them as a way to make connections rather than an excuse to cut loose on the dance floor with him.

‘Ah. Do you two come as a package deal?’

‘Something like that.’ He was reluctant to get drawn into the whys and wherefores of it all now, when the two of them were just beginning to get along. Any difficulties would probably make themselves apparent in time anyway and she’d realise why no other woman was willing to stick around for long. The very fact she was still here after that display was already an improvement on recent records.

‘Well, uh, I look forward to dancing with both of you. Just tell me when and where.’ She slipped her bag up over her shoulder and made a move to leave. Ben should have realised a young, beautiful woman had somewhere else to be. Not everyone spent their free time socialising with pensioners and volunteering manual labour. She’d look more at home sipping cocktails in an exclusive wine bar or whizzing along the coast in a convertible car than she did here in the grime and chaos of The Shed, but he wasn’t ready for her to go.

They’d had that run-in at work but he liked that she’d challenged him, questioned how every course of treatment would affect her patient personally; it showed she cared. He’d slipped up that one time, becoming more confrontational than usual after a rough night trying to get his grandfather settled, but, now she was here laughing and joking and shedding that frosty image she unknowingly projected at work, he couldn’t wait to start the lessons. It would do him good to be around someone younger for a change and remind him he hadn’t totally surrendered his right to fun in order to look after those who needed him.

‘We have a room upstairs we hire out for meetings and classes. No one’s using it for the next few weeks so I thought it would be perfect for rehearsals.’ It also meant he could split his time between The Shed and dance rehearsals without having to go home in between.

‘Sounds good. We can compare work rotas and figure out a schedule but I’m free tomorrow night unless any emergencies arise.’

‘Me, too.’

‘So I guess that means it’s official then... We’re doing this.’

He could see Mollie’s apprehension in the way she was biting her lip and nibbling off a patch of that bright red lipstick until she was starting to make him nervous about the extra commitment he was taking on here, too.

‘In that case I’ll see you same time tomorrow then, partner.’

She stopped worrying her lip long enough to smile at him; an acceptance that no matter what challenges lay ahead they were in this together. In that moment he was prepared to clear his entire schedule to make time for her. And the competition.


CHAPTER THREE (#u7989cb8f-5784-5cb9-a74d-a86441441ba6)

MOLLIE HAD HAD a full twenty-four hours to obsess over the prospect of spending the evening ahead with Ben. That included several hours’ sorting through the entire contents of her wardrobe deciding on what to wear. From all those eighties’ dance movies she’d seen, the uniform for practice was supposedly a leotard and leg warmers, but that was a step too far out of her comfort zone and might have attracted more than a few curious glances on the Tube.

Instead, she’d opted for a pair of red Capri pants and a red and white checked shirt for ease of movement. She’d had the foresight to tie her hair up in a scarf tonight and donned a pair of rubber-soled baseball pumps in case she slipped, having seen how dusty the premises were last night. Outwardly, at least, she thought she looked the part, while the cha-cha-cha was going on in her stomach.

For anyone who didn’t know better, they could’ve been forgiven for thinking she’d been getting ready for a first date. She shrugged off the ridiculous notion, putting it down to the teasing she’d endured from her sister over the subject. In the short time she’d been at the hospital even she knew about Ben’s reputation as a ladies’ man and seemed to think that was a cue for Mollie to throw herself at him. As if some ill-advised affair orchestrated with a work colleague would erase all traces of her painful past.

It was silly to be thinking about this as anything more than a show-mance, a pretend partnership they were hoping would impress the dance judges and those willing to pay to see the spectacle. If only someone would tell that to her flip-flopping stomach and pounding heart, which were insisting this could be the beginning of some passionate love affair. That was as likely as this being the start of a glittering dance career, but sometimes it was nice to fantasise that the impossible could happen.




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