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Her Honourable Playboy
Kate Hardy


Resident Alyssa Ward is not pleased when she wins a date with emergency physician the Honorable Sebastian Radley. She's not looking for a relationship–especially not with a renowned womanizer like Seb. Then again, he is incredibly handsome–and it is only one date. Seb has never been one for settling down. But one date with Alyssa just isn't enough.And when she gives him some life-changing news, he reassesses who he really wants to be: every woman's Honorable playboy–or Alyssa's Honorable husband….









Her Honourable Playboy

Kate Hardy







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




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


‘JUST why,’ Alyssa asked the emergency department charge nurse, ‘would I want to win a night out with Sebastian Radley?’

‘The real question is, why wouldn’t you? Hmm, I think there’s something wrong here.’ Tracey took Alyssa’s hand and checked her pulse while looking at her watch. ‘Well, you’re definitely alive, and your pulse is normal.’ She made a show of taking Alyssa’s temperature. ‘No, that’s normal, too—so it can’t be delirium.’

‘Oh, stop it.’ But Alyssa couldn’t help laughing.

‘How about temporary insanity?’ Tracey suggested.

More like Alyssa would be insane to want to go out with Seb. ‘No. But I’ll give you a donation for the fundraiser anyway.’ Alyssa turned the key in her locker, fished out her purse, and took out some money. ‘Here. It’s for a good cause.’

Tracey raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s enough for three tickets.’

Alyssa shook her head. ‘I don’t want any, thanks.’

‘But, Alyssa, why not? I mean, the whole reason we’re selling tickets is to give everyone an equal chance of winning. If we’d done it as an auction, only the super-rich would be able to keep up in the bidding.’

Alyssa understood that. But there was one big flaw in Tracey’s plan. ‘Maybe some women don’t want to win a night out with Seb.’ Alyssa certainly didn’t.

‘Why? He’s charming, he’s witty, he’s TDH.’

Alyssa looked blankly at Tracey.

Tracey rolled her eyes. ‘Tall, dark and handsome. Honestly. Don’t you read the Lonely Hearts columns?’

‘I’m not that desperate,’ Alyssa said dryly.

Tracey winced. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, we all look through them and wonder and…Oh, forget it.’ She waved a hand dismissively. ‘I know I’m digging myself into a deeper hole here. Seriously, a night out with Seb is worth winning. He knows how to show a woman a good time.’

‘Only because he’s had plenty of practice.’ Alyssa raised an eyebrow. ‘In the six months he’s been at the Docklands Memorial, he must have dated every single woman in the hospital under the age of thirty-five.’

‘Maybe he’s just looking for the right one,’ Tracey suggested.

‘Maybe he’s the male equivalent of a right tart.’ And Alyssa definitely wasn’t interested in someone like him. She’d already learned that lesson the hard way, with Scott Cooper.

Tracey whistled. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

‘As a doctor, he’s fine.’ Thorough, decisive, charming enough to reassure their patients yet at the same time managing to remain detached. Alyssa admired that. It was the way she worked, too. ‘But as a date…no, thanks. He’s not my type.’

‘So what is your type, Alyssa?’ Tracey asked. ‘I can’t remember you ever going on a date in the three years you’ve worked here.’

Alyssa damped down the stream of impulses—to tell Tracey to mind her own business, to claim that she was gay, to say that she was looking for someone special and would know when she met the right one…Ah, it wasn’t fair to take out her bad mood on the charge nurse. Tracey meant well. But the truth was embarrassing, and Alyssa didn’t want any gossip about herself doing the rounds. Nobody at the Docklands Memorial Hospital knew about the mistake she’d made, and she intended to keep it that way.

And she didn’t repeat her mistakes. Ever.

Sebastian Radley might be charming, handsome and witty—and, yes, she’d admit that he was the sexiest man she’d ever met, with those slate-blue eyes and a mouth that was just designed for sin—but he was a walking disaster where relationships were concerned. Which made him a man to be avoided in her book.

‘Hey, I’m a busy medic. I don’t have time to date,’ Alyssa said lightly. She took a note from her purse. ‘Here you go. More hush money. Is that enough to stop you nagging me?’

‘Hmm,’ Tracey said, and smiled. ‘Thanks for supporting the fundraiser, anyway.’

And as Alyssa walked away, Tracey filled the registrar’s name neatly in on three ticket stubs. Alyssa Ward. Their registrar worked far too hard, in Tracey’s opinion, and needed to let her hair down. And Seb was just the man to help her do that.

Their consultant, on the other hand, needed to be a bit more serious, to realise that life wasn’t just party after party. And Alyssa was just the woman to help him see that.

In fact, Tracey thought, this fundraiser could fix a few problems. All she had to do now was have a little chat with Vicky Radley, Seb’s sister, who was joint co-ordinator of the fundraiser. If Tracey could get Vicky on her side, then the Docklands Memorial Hospital was just about to become a much more interesting—and much happier—place.



‘This was a really, really stupid idea,’ Seb informed his sister. ‘Remind me again. Why did I agree to do this?’

‘Because you just lur-r-rve your picture being in the papers, and the papers love you even more when you’re wearing your tux,’ Vicky said with a grin. ‘The Hon. Sebastian Radley raises money for emergency department equipment: you’re guaranteed tons of column inches with this one. Posh but caring. It’s a winner.’

‘Oh, ha.’ He scowled at her. ‘Why couldn’t I just have made a large donation to hospital funds?’

‘Because that’s not proper news—it wouldn’t have been enough to get the press off Charlie’s back. So he’d have ended up trying to sort things out with Sophie while the paparazzi was trying to bang her door down, and she’d have run a mile, instead of agreeing to marry him.’ Vicky shrugged. ‘It was the best idea I could come up with at short notice. And, may I remind you, you couldn’t come up with a better one. You went along with it.’

‘Hmm, well. You owe me for this. So does our big brother,’ Seb warned.

‘Relax,’ she soothed, making a last-minute adjustment to his bow-tie. ‘You look fantastic. If you weren’t my brother and the world’s biggest louse to women, I’d be tempted to buy a ticket myself.’

‘It was supposed to be a promise auction.’ Seb’s blue eyes narrowed.

‘It is, for everything else. But a night with you…Seb, this is a hospital. The debs can afford a bidding war—or, rather, their fathers can—but we need to give everyone a fair chance. That’s why we’re raffling you instead.’

‘If you’d kept it as an auction, you could’ve bid for me.’ He sighed. ‘I would have funded you to do it.’

‘You’d have bought yourself?’ Vicky snorted. ‘Oh, come on. Don’t expect me to believe that one. You love dating women. You live to party. This is you we’re talking about.’ She paused and gave him a speculative look. ‘Unless you’ve fallen in love and you’re going to settle down?’

‘Of course not. What do you think I am, stupid?’ Seb frowned ‘No. I just…Look, I hope those tickets made it clear it was one single night out and not a promise of wedding bells. And that there’s absolutely no possibility of an ongoing relationship.’

‘Seb, you’re the prize.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Everyone knows the rules.’

‘I’d prefer them spelt out, to be on the safe side.’

‘Too late. We’ve sold all the tickets. Just stop fussing, will you?’

‘I just hope you pick a ticket for someone matronly who’ll love being treated as a star for a night—a make-over, a limo, a swish meal out,’ Seb said, his mouth thinning. ‘And I’m never, ever, ever going to be suckered into doing anything like this again.’

Vicky waited a beat. ‘Seb?’

‘Yes?’

‘Stop being so grumpy, put a smile on your face, and go charm some money out of the crowd.’

Charm. It was what he was good at. And that was the point of tonight after all: raising money for hospital funds. He took a deep breath, and followed his sister’s instructions.

By the time he was halfway through the evening, Seb was enjoying himself hugely. He’d persuaded everyone to up their bids just that little bit more. He’d auctioned a professor as a household maid for a day, a charge nurse as a car valet for a week, three Indian head massages, six home-cooked dinners, one very staid head of surgery to wear a silly tie for a week, kisses—one of which he’d bought at an outrageously high price and claimed there and then on the stage, because the nurse who’d promised the kiss was seriously cute—several cakes, four make-overs, two leg-waxes and a case of champagne. The money was just pouring in for the hospital, and the room was humming with expectation and laugher and verve.

This was great. Maybe he shouldn’t have been a doctor after all. Maybe he should have been a TV presenter, with the crowds around him like this…Except there was a good chance he’d have ended up in his worst nightmare. Working with kids. Adults, yes; you knew where you stood with adults. But kids? If it was a choice between having his legs plucked—one hair at a time—and working with kids, Seb would choose the plucking. No hesitation.

He was on a high until his sister walked onto the stage with the ward’s charge nurse, Tracey Fry.

‘This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for,’ Vicky said. ‘Tonight’s raffle. A night out with the Honourable Sebastian Radley.’

There were cheers, whistles and catcalls. Seb felt his face heat and started calculating the chances of the earth opening up and swallowing him.

The odds weren’t good.

‘And the winning ticket is…’ Vicky had even managed to dredge up a drum roll from somewhere as she turned the tumbler on the drum full of tickets. Oh, he’d pay her back for that.

Tracey opened the little hatch at the top and reached into the drum. She made a big show of digging in deep. And an even bigger show of waving the folded ticket to the crowd.

He’d make her pay, too. Couldn’t they just get this over with?

Tracey unfolded the ticket. ‘Number 457,’ she announced.

There was a rustling of tickets and a general murmuring of disappointment.

Please, please, let it be someone who’d take the whole thing at face value and wouldn’t expect his undying love, Seb begged silently.

‘Alyssa Ward,’ Tracey called.

Alyssa Ward? Seb tried to put a face to the name, and failed.

‘Um, Alyssa’s not able to be here tonight,’ Tracey said.

She wasn’t here? But…Oh, she must be on duty, Seb realised. Night shift.

‘So I’ll tell her the good news in the morning,’ Tracey added.

‘Fix,’ someone called teasingly.

Fix? Sebastian didn’t like the sound of that. What did they mean, fix?

‘The ED can’t possibly win Seb for a night. He’s staff!’ someone else called.

Tracey just laughed. ‘That’s the luck of the draw. Over to you, Seb.’

He smiled sweetly and pretended to be delighted, and finished auctioning the last few promises. All the while, his mind was ticking over. Alyssa Ward? ED—emergency department—staff?

Ah, yes. Alyssa Ward. Their very serious and quiet registrar. He’d worked with her for six months now and still barely knew her. Although she came on team nights out, she always seemed to be sitting at the opposite end of a very long table. Almost, he thought, as if she was avoiding him—but, then again, if she wanted to steer clear of him, why would she have bought a ticket to win a night out with him?

Completely illogical. But that was women for you—his sister excepted. Vicky, Seb thought, was completely logical.

Well, at least he wouldn’t have to face Alyssa in the morning. He was on a late—and as she must be on nights, they wouldn’t be in the department at the same time. Which would give him a few hours to find out more about her and decide how to play this.

It was one date. And it wasn’t even a date date. It was going to be fine.

So why did he have this uneasy feeling prickling the back of his neck?



‘You are going to need full body armour before you go out there,’ Fliss told Alyssa, laughing, as Alyssa walked into the ED staffroom and headed for the coffee-machine.

‘Full body armour? Why?’

‘Because every woman in the hospital’s out for your blood today.’

‘What?’ Alyssa frowned at the nurse. ‘Sorry, Fliss, you’ve lost me completely.’

‘You won. Last night.’

Were they in a parallel universe or something? ‘Won what?’

Fliss groaned. ‘You definitely need that coffee to wake you up, Alyssa. You won the night out with Seb.’

Alyssa shook her head. ‘Not me. I didn’t buy a ticket.’

Fliss raised an eyebrow. ‘You must have done. Otherwise how could you have won?’

Alyssa folded her arms. ‘I didn’t buy a ticket. I gave Tracey a donation.’

‘Enough to buy several tickets,’ Tracey said, overhearing them and coming to join them. ‘So I put your name on a couple of tickets for you. One of them just happened to be the winner.’

Alyssa’s lip curled. ‘Well, I’m more than happy to donate the prize to somebody else.’



Seb, who’d overheard the last part of the conversation, stopped dead in the corridor. Hang on. Alyssa Ward was supposed to be on night shift—wasn’t she?

No. He’d assumed it. Assumed that anyone who’d bought a ticket would have been there to collect her prize, unless she happened to be on duty.

Not only had someone else bought the ticket for Alyssa, she didn’t want the prize.

And that rankled.

Seb might not want to settle down, but he knew how to give someone a good time. He’d taken Vicky’s advice about what to offer. A make-over, dinner in a swish restaurant and good tickets to see a show. What wasn’t to like about that?

Clearly, he was the sticking point.

He frowned. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had refused to go out with him. Actually, he didn’t think anyone ever had. This was a first. And he didn’t like it one little bit.

So he was going to find out what the problem was. Here and now.

‘Why?’ he asked, walking into the staffroom. ‘Do I have a personal hygiene problem or something?’

At least Alyssa had the grace to blush. ‘No. I just don’t go out on dates.’

Oh, so that was it. And even though he should have been pleased—he hadn’t wanted the winner to get the wrong idea and think it meant the beginning of a relationship—her reluctance stung him even more. ‘This isn’t a date,’ he corrected. ‘It’s a night out, the prize for a fundraiser. A one-off.’ And he was annoyed enough to add, ‘Oh, and it’s tonight.’

To his surprise, she didn’t back down. ‘What if I’m busy?’

‘Then you can reschedule.’

‘I think, Mr Radley, you can reschedule. Or go on your own.’ She looked at him, unsmiling, and put her undrunk coffee down on the table. ‘Don’t ever try to boss me around again.’

Fliss whistled. ‘That’s put you in your place,’ she said as Alyssa walked off.

Maybe, Seb thought. He’d barely noticed Alyssa Ward before. She was just the quiet, studious registrar he’d worked with a few times—efficient, pulled her weight, good with patients, did her job without complaining, yada yada yada. She always wore plain dark trousers and a cream shirt underneath her white doctor’s coat, and he’d barely registered that she was female. She was a professional colleague, that was all.

And he certainly hadn’t noticed that stubborn streak. It was an overworn cliché, but maybe her chestnut hair had something to do with it. And maybe she was only quiet because she knew that she had a temper and needed to keep a tight rein on it.

Which made Alyssa Ward a very interesting proposition.

Hmm. They’d have that night out tonight. And he was going to pull out all the stops.



Later that day, Seb had the case from hell. Resus was quiet for once, so he took his fair share of working through the cubicles.

Which meant Seb had to deal with the four-year-old boy who’d caught himself in his zip.

Great, he thought when Mel on Reception handed him the notes. Why couldn’t he have had a difficult geriatric, or the six-foot-six body-builder who’d been in a fight and was still drunk and stroppy? But no. He got the kind of patient he found hardest to handle. A kid.

Seb was hopeless with kids. Always had been. Thank God he’d never have to have any of his own. He was only the spare and not the heir to Weston—with any luck, Charlie and Sophie would make a baby really soon and let him off the hook completely.

The little boy was crying and the mum was clearly panicking. Seb switched on his professional smile. ‘Come through here with me. We’ll soon have him sorted out.’

‘He wanted to get dressed himself. I turned my back for two seconds and, and…’

‘It’s OK. It happens a lot. Little ones forget to put their underpants on, try to get dressed too quickly and catch a bit of skin in the zip.’ Oh, please, please, make the boy stop crying. Seb hated the sound of children crying. It went right through him—it was far worse than the sound of chalk squeaking on a blackboard.

‘But the zip’s jammed! I can’t undo it,’ the woman said. Her face turned bright crimson. ‘And it’s his willy! What if it causes…well…problems?’

‘It won’t,’ Seb soothed. ‘Trust me, I won’t have to do any surgery. I’ll give him something to numb the pain so I can manipulate the zip without hurting him any more. Sometimes mineral oil will do the trick—otherwise I’ll need to cut the zip, if that’s all right?’

‘I don’t care—I hate the things anyway. His grandmother bought them because she says he looked too scruffy in the pull-up joggers he normally wears. She said he ought to have proper trousers, like they had when my husband was small.’

‘Mothers, eh?’ Seb said, smiling wryly. Your own mother was meant to be nice and the mother-in-law was from hell. Given what his mother was like, he never wanted to test that theory. The woman who was worse than Mara hardly bore thinking about.

And the kid was still crying. Oh, hell. He hated this. And his attempts at jollying the little boy along clearly weren’t working. He needed help. A nurse. Someone who was better with kids than he was. ‘I’m just going to get the kit I need. Back in two seconds,’ he said, and left the corridor with relief.

The first member of staff he met, he’d beg for help.

He almost—almost—revised that idea when he met said member of staff. But he could still hear the little boy crying. He had to go for the lesser of two evils. And Alyssa Ward was at least cool and calm. She’d be far better with the kid than he was.

He switched to charm mode. ‘Alyssa, can I borrow you for a moment, please? I need your help.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

‘Little boy with a zip problem. I need someone to distract him while I do the necessary.’ Please, please, let her say yes. Please, let her like kids. Please, let her help me.

She shrugged. ‘OK.’

His smile, this time, was genuine. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it. Cubicle five. I’m just going to get the lidocaine, mineral oil and cutters.’

By the time he returned—only a few moments later—the little boy was sitting on Alyssa’s lap and she was telling him a story. The child was still crying, but he was more interested in the story—something about a train and a dinosaur. Alyssa was a natural, Seb thought.

And then the lightbulb pinged. Of course. Question: why wouldn’t you want a swish night out? Answer: when you were married with a small child.

He glanced automatically at her left hand. No wedding ring. Either she didn’t wear it at work for hygiene reasons, or she wasn’t married but was still committed.

Well, that was an easy one. He’d arrange a babysitter, and she could still have the night out—but with her partner instead of him.

And he could go partying without having to worry about not fulfilling the terms of his promise.

Sorted.

He painted iodine onto the little boy’s skin, then slipped in some lidocaine. As the numbing action began to work, the child’s sobs diminished and he even started to talk back to Alyssa, asking her bits about the story.

Not wanting to break the peace, Seb quietly told the mother exactly what he was going to do and then worked swiftly in silence. He covered the area in mineral oil—it wasn’t enough to make the zip move, so he was going to have to cut the slide. Alyssa was still distracting the little boy, which was good—it meant the child wouldn’t worry about the orthopaedic pin cutters which Seb had brought with him.

There was one nasty moment when Seb thought he was going to have to try the other way—using heavy-duty towel clamps on either side of the zip slide and twisting the thing apart—but then the fastener slid apart, releasing the little boy’s skin.

Result.

He pulled the exposed zipper teeth open, cleaned the crushed skin and applied some ointment.

‘Has your little boy had his tetanus injection?’ he asked.

The woman nodded, looking relieved.

‘That’s good. Now, he’s going to be a bit sore for a while, but there won’t be any lasting damage. If you’re worried about anything at all, call your GP or come back here and we’ll take a 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 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.’

The driver gave Seb another scared look, and Alyssa nudged Seb. Hard.

‘I’ll check on your mates,’ Seb said quietly. ‘You hang on in there. Alyssa’s going to look after you.’

‘What’s your name?’ Alyssa asked.

‘Gavin. My mates call me Gaz.’

‘I’m Alyssa. I’m a doctor, too. I’m going to try and help you.’

‘I’m so scared!’

He couldn’t be more than eighteen, Alyssa thought. ‘It’s OK, love. We’ll get you out of there. Can you tell me where it hurts?’

‘My arm.’

‘Anywhere else?’

‘No.’

This wasn’t good. From the state of the car, Alyssa knew Gaz’s legs had to be crushed. If they weren’t hurting, that was a bad sign: it meant there could be severe nerve damage.

‘You said you were stuck. Where are you stuck—your arm, your legs?’

‘My legs.’

Probably his feet were jammed underneath the pedals. ‘Can you move your left foot for me?’ she asked.

Gaz began to shake. ‘No.’

‘How about your right?’

‘No. I can’t feel anything.’ Then his eyes widened as realisation hit him. ‘Oh, God, I can’t feel my legs!’

‘It’s OK,’ Alyssa soothed, knowing it was very far from OK. If this was a crush injury, the chances were that Gaz was already bleeding to death—or that the pressure of the car against his legs had stopped the blood flow. Which meant that the second they cut him out and the pressure was released, he’d start to bleed heavily. As it was, there was a risk of compartment syndrome, where his blood would compress the nerves and muscles and the blood wouldn’t go through the tissues properly—so he could end up with a lot of dead muscle tissue.

If he survived that long.

Don’t think about that, she reminded herself. Concentrate on saving him, not on the poor odds. Go through the drill. ABCDE. Airway fine—obviously no obstruction because Gaz could talk. Breathing fine—no pallor, no blueness around the lips, no rasping. Not a tension pneumothorax at this stage, then, though she’d need to keep a close eye on him and act the second she noticed any of the signs. Circulation was the one she was really worried about: if Gaz had a large external haemorrhage, it was going to be hard to staunch it.

But the streetlights weren’t enough to show her what she needed to know. ‘Seb, can I borrow your torch a minute?’ she called. At the same time, the rest of the mnemonics were going through her head. Disability—Gaz was awake and responsive, so neurological worries could be put aside for now. Exposure—well, they couldn’t move him until the fire brigade cut him out, so no point in worrying about that one.

Airway, breathing—her breath hitched—circulation.

Seb appeared with the torch. Alyssa shone it into the car. The light told Alyssa that what she’d most feared wasn’t there: no dark patch of blood spreading across Gaz’s seat.

If only the ambulance and fire crew would get here. Like yesterday.

‘Are my mates OK?’ Gaz asked.

‘Hold on there a second, and I’ll check with Seb,’ she said, and pulled Seb away from the car. ‘We need to get him out of there, fast. I’m not sure if we’re going to have time to get him cut out of the car.’

‘Bad haemorrhage?’

‘No, but probably crush syndrome.’

‘So the second we move him, he’s going to crash,’ Seb said.

‘We are not going to lose him,’ Alyssa said in a fierce whisper. ‘I’m going to try and keep him talking. He wants to know about his mates.’

‘Tell him that one of his mates was knocked out briefly so he needs to go in to be assessed, and the two in the back have whiplash and will be fine. I’ll check the lorry driver and I’ll be back.’

Alyssa went back to Gaz, who’d grown paler and more frightened. She held one of his hands. ‘OK. Seb says your mate in the front was knocked out, so we’ll check him over at the hospital. The two in the back have got whiplash but they’ll be fine—they just won’t be up to going clubbing or playing football for a couple of weeks. Seb’s checking the lorry driver, but he managed to get out of the lorry all right.’

‘Oh, God. He must be so mad with me.’

Yeah. And he’d be giving a statement to the police. So if Gaz had stolen the car and gone joy-riding, the police would throw the book at him. But that was the least of their worries right now. ‘It’s OK,’ she soothed. ‘The fire brigade is on its way and we’ll get you out of there.’

He shivered. ‘I’m cold.’

‘Hang on in there, Gaz. Do you want me to call your mum?’

‘I can’t reach my phone.’

‘It’s OK, I’ll use mine.’

‘I’m so scared,’ he whispered.

‘I know, love. I would be, too. But the lorry’s stable and it’s not going to fall on you, and the fire brigade will cut you out and lift the car off you. I’ve seen it lots of times before.’ And she’d coped as part of the trauma team in a major motorway pile-up. Several times. But this…this was different. It felt personal somehow. ‘Tell me your mum’s number and I’ll get her for you.’

But when Gaz had finished dictating the number and Alyssa had made the connection, the network message informed her that ‘this person’s mobile phone is switched off’.

‘She’s gone out, then,’ Gaz said. ‘Am I going to die?’

That depended on the crush injuries, but if she told him that, he’d panic. She needed to keep him as calm as possible. If he panicked, it would send his blood pressure up and cause more problems. ‘I hope not. How old are you, Gaz, twenty?’

‘Eighteen. Passed my test last week—first time,’ he added, with a hint of pride in his voice. ‘My old man bought me the car.’

So the lorry-driver had been wrong. Gaz wasn’t a joy-rider. Good. ‘Do you want me to call him, or is he with your mum?’

Gaz shook his head. ‘He doesn’t live with my mum. Never has. And he only bought me the car ’cause he thought it might stop her going on about the child support he owes her and never paid.’

Oh, yeah. She knew all about that one. A dad who didn’t give a damn and thought he could buy his way out of his responsibilities. Her teeth gritted.

‘I’m not going to walk again, am I?’ he asked.

‘Until we get you out of there, we can’t assess the damage,’ she hedged.

To her relief, before Gaz could ask the crunch question again—was he going to die?—the fire brigade arrived.

‘Don’t leave me,’ Gaz begged. ‘Please, don’t go.’

‘Of course I won’t. But I might have to get out of the way for a few minutes while they cut you out, OK?’

He nodded weakly. Seb had clearly briefed the fire brigade. When they asked her to move aside, she went over to where he was briefing the paramedics and gave them Gaz’s obs.

‘We’ve done all we can here,’ Seb said, when she’d finished.

Alyssa shook her head. ‘Gaz is panicking like hell. He asked me not to leave him. So I’m staying.’ She bit her lip. ‘As soon as they’re ready to take that car off him…’

‘Hey. There’s still a chance. A small one, but there’s still a chance.’

Not much of one, and they both knew it.

‘I said I’d get his mum for him.’ Alyssa hit the redial button on her phone. Ten seconds later, she cut the call. ‘Her phone’s still switched off.’ She turned to the paramedics. ‘The driver asked me to stay with him—he’s pretty scared. Can I go with you and hold his hand? It’ll help keep him calm. Plus, I’m a doctor in the ED at Docklands Memorial, so I can help out in the back as well.’

To her relief, they agreed.

‘I’ll meet you at the hospital and take you home,’ Seb said.

She shook her head. ‘Don’t put yourself out.’

‘Alyssa, don’t argue. I’m not going to see you stranded at the hospital or having to wait hours for a taxi.’

Both were distinct possibilities—possibilities she didn’t relish—so she wasn’t going to argue with him. ‘Thank you.’

She went over to the paramedics and held Gaz’s hand as they strapped him to a spinal board. They soothed him, but Alyssa had noticed the momentary tightening of their faces before they’d masked their expressions. They didn’t think he had much chance either.

‘I tried your mum again but couldn’t get her,’ she said softly.

‘If I d…If I don’t make it,’ he choked, ‘will you tell her I love her and I’m sorry?’

She forced the tears back. No time for emotion now: she had to be a professional. And if she told him the truth, what would it achieve? She’d just make his last few minutes as miserable as possible. ‘Sure, but you’ll be able to tell her yourself.’If she could get Gaz’s mum on the phone. ‘We’re getting you out of there.’

‘Will you go with me in the ambulance?’

‘Of course I will.’

And then it was the bit she was dreading. They lifted the car off Gaz, applied direct compression to his crushed legs and rushed him into the ambulance.



Seb finished giving his witness statement to the police, then climbed back into his car and drove to the hospital. Thank God he’d thought straight enough to ask which hospital they were going to rather than just assuming it was the nearest one.

He hadn’t planned tonight to be like this at all. It should have been fun, a night out, a good meal, and nothing more than that.

And the whole thing had turned into a nightmare. If they’d left five minutes sooner or five minutes later, Gaz and his mates wouldn’t have seen the E-type and behaved so stupidly. Probably egged each other on: Go on, Gaz, you can take it, give it some va-va-voom!

And Gaz wouldn’t be in the back of an ambulance right now with crushed legs—legs that might well have to be amputated.

If the kid even made it to the hospital.

Alyssa had been amazing. Cool, calm, collected and kind—she’d done all the right things in the right order. She hadn’t even worried about the fact that doctors’ professional indemnity insurance didn’t cover them at the scene of an accident, unless they were there on a shout as part of their job. And she’d cared enough to go with a frightened teenager in the back of an ambulance, holding his hand and reassuring him.

There was a hell of a lot more to Alyssa Ward than met the eye. And Seb found himself wanting to know more.

Seb parked the car and headed straight for the emergency department. Alyssa was sitting in the reception area, talking to a policeman—clearly giving him a witness statement.

He waited until she’d finished and walked over to her. She looked drained and miserable—drained because she’d done so much to keep their patient going, and miserable because she wasn’t staff and could do absolutely nothing to help the boy now. He knew exactly where she was coming from, so he wrapped his arms round her and held her close.

‘He’s in Resus. Critical,’ she said, her voice shaking.

‘Hey. You got him here. That’s a hell of a lot better than we hoped for.’

‘He’s only eighteen, Seb. He made a stupid mistake, yes, but he’s so young!’

‘I know.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I feel bad now. I was going to chase after him and yell at him.’

‘Maybe if someone had done that before…’She added bitterly, ‘His dad didn’t bother to stick around and help guide him. What the hell is wrong with men?’

Seb knew that wasn’t a dig aimed at him—he had a feeling it went far deeper than that. Did Alyssa have issues with her father? Then again, he thought wryly, they couldn’t be much worse than his own issues with his mother.

He said nothing, just held her until she’d calmed down enough to pull away.

‘Before you say it,’ he said softly, ‘that was a professional hug. That was a “we’ve got a patient critically ill in Resus and it’s a bad day” hug from one doctor to another. An “I know how you feel because I’ve been there” type of thing. No strings, no expectations.’

She didn’t say anything, but the hard look in her eyes softened.

Did she really think he was that much of a louse—that he’d see she was emotionally drained and use it as a lever to get her into bed? Is that what everyone else in the hospital thought of him?

Suddenly, Seb didn’t like himself very much.

‘Look, you can’t do anything else for him now. We’re not staff—not here,’ he said. ‘Let’s call it a day. Go home, get some rest. And ring in tomorrow.’

‘And they’ll tell me he’s “comfortable”. Patient confidentiality,’ she said bitterly.

‘Explain who you are. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll lean on the consultant for you,’ he said.

She didn’t look convinced. ‘Alyssa, if you stay here all night, he might still be critical in the morning,’ he said gently. ‘You need to get some rest. Come on.’

They drove back to her flat in silence.

‘Thank you for tonight,’ she said stiltedly.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘The accident wasn’t your fault.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

She frowned. ‘What, then?’

She already thought the worst of him, so she may as well know the truth. ‘This night out was supposed to be a make-over for you, dinner and a show. Except it annoyed me that you were throwing it back in my face—so I decided on the spur of the moment to make you go out with me tonight. Which meant I didn’t have time to get tickets for a show or organise a make-over.’



That was the last thing she’d expected from him. A confession—and an apology. Despite her misery—and the fact that she felt so very, very cold—she smiled. ‘You’re admitting to being a spoiled brat and having a temper tantrum?’

‘Yep.’ A hint of dimple. ‘Forgive me?’

And then she realised what he was doing. Charming her. She’d say yes; he’d ask for a kiss to prove it; and, the next thing she knew, she’d be inviting him in for coffee. No—worse than that. She’d be inviting him in for sex. Partly because she found him attractive, and partly because, after the accident they’d just helped to deal with, she needed to celebrate life.

Hell. Not this way. Not a one-night stand with Seb Radley.

‘Nothing to forgive,’ she said, and unclipped her seat belt. ‘Thank you for dinner.’

‘My pleasure.’ His expression was odd, unreadable.

‘Goodnight,’ she said, and climbed out of the car before he could come round and open the door for her.

As if he guessed why, he stayed put and didn’t suggest seeing her to her door. Though she noticed that he waited until she’d unlocked her door, switched on her light and closed the door again behind her before he pulled away. Politeness? Genuine concern? Or just hoping that she’d change her mind and make an offer?

She wasn’t sure which. Maybe a bit of all three.

One thing she was sure about. Sebastian Radley had the power to unsettle her, if she let him. So she’d keep her distance in future.




CHAPTER FOUR


SEB couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the accident—he’d seen far worse in the emergency department. Years of working in emergency medicine had taught him that you couldn’t save everyone: you did your best and accepted everything else.

No, it was Alyssa.

She was the first woman he could remember not being able to charm. Which in itself was annoying. And then there was the fact that she’d been sharp enough to guess that he was hiding something. She was hiding something herself, too, he thought—maybe a past relationship, and definitely issues with her father.

Ah, hell. He had to get her out of his head. He wasn’t in the market for a long-term relationship, and Alyssa wasn’t the type who was up for something short term. She didn’t even like him very much.

What he needed was a distraction. Preferably blonde and cute, with an hourglass figure. Tomorrow, he’d start looking.



‘How did it go, then?’ Tracey asked. ‘Did you have a good time?’

‘It was OK,’ Alyssa said coolly.

‘A night out with Sexy Seb, just OK?’ Fliss asked. ‘Come off it! Where did he take you?’

‘Dinner.’ At Fliss’s uncompromising stare, Alyssa added, ‘In a restaurant overlooking the Thames.’

‘What did you have?’ Tracey asked.

Alyssa chuckled and added milk to her coffee. ‘What is this, an interrogation? I had chicken livers, monkfish and lemon posset. And the food was very nice.’

‘And?’ Fliss prompted.

‘And that’s it.’

‘Seb just took you home?’ Tracey sounded disappointed.

‘Actually, we ended up in the emergency department at Albert’s.’

‘What? Are you all right?’ Fliss asked.

‘Yeah. Fine. We stopped to help at an accident.’ Alyssa’s jaw tightened. ‘Teenager, just passed his test, went through a red light and hit a lorry. Crush injuries.’

Tracey winced. ‘Please, don’t. That makes me think of Michael.’ Tracey’s son was seventeen and driving her crazy with requests to put him on the insurance for her car and take him out between driving lessons. ‘Did he make it?’

Alyssa grimaced. ‘He was critical last night. I rang this morning and—after I’d explained who I was and that it was discussing a joint patient, not breaking confidentiality—the hospital said he had a good chance, but he’s lost both legs. Poor kid.’

‘That’s a hell of an end to an evening. Maybe you ought to make another date, to make up for it,’ Fliss suggested.

‘I don’t want to go out with Seb.’ He was an excellent doctor, and he had a good heart—the fact that he’d met her at the hospital last night instead of making her find her own way home proved that. But she also knew his reputation. Seb didn’t do more than one date—a date that usually ended up in his bed. And Alyssa didn’t want to be a notch on his bedpost. ‘And just stop trying to matchmake, you two,’ she added, trying to keep her tone light. ‘It’s not going to work. For a start, Seb likes leggy blondes and I’m not one.’

‘Nothing that a bit of peroxide couldn’t fix,’ Tracey said with a grin. ‘My Kelly’s nearly finished her hairdresser and beautician training. Just say the word and I’ll send her over. In fact, she could do you hair extensions, so you could do the “tossing your hair over your shoulder” bit.’

‘No. Absolutely not,’ Alyssa said, laughing. ‘I’m fine as I am. But thanks for the offer. I think.’

She was still smiling when she went to cubicles to see her first patient. As if she’d have a second date with Seb. The first one had only been because of a raffle ticket. They had nothing in common, apart from a career in medicine. Oh, and maybe the same taste in puddings—but that was it. Plus, Seb never did more than one date. And she was happiest on her own anyway.




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