Charlotte Hawkes – Unwrapping The Neurosurgeon's Heart (страница 8)

‘You still feeling sick?’ Anouk frowned.

‘Yeah.’ Saskia pulled a rueful face but Anouk didn’t miss the flush of colour staining her cheeks.

If she hadn’t known better she might have suspected that Saskia was pregnant. But that surely wasn’t possible? Up until ten months ago Saskia had been engaged and, for all Saskia’s confidence and effervescent personality, Anouk knew her ex-fiancé had been only the second man her friend had ever slept with.

But he hadn’t been as loyal, and Anouk had never really taken to him. Whenever she’d looked at him she’d seen yet another playboy—just like her mother’s lovers.

Just like Sol, a voice whispered in her head.

‘Relax.’ Saskia nudged her gently. ‘Enjoy your drink.’

‘I don’t really like...’ Anouk began, but her friend shushed her.

‘You do tonight.’

Anouk balked.

She still wasn’t sure what had happened at that nightclub. She had the vaguest memory of starting to relax and trying to have a little fun, and then a sense of panic. After that it wasn’t clear, but she’d ended up back home, in her own bed, alone.

Safe.

The popping bubbles looked innocuous enough—fun, even—but all Anouk could see was her mother, downing glasses and popping pills. Had anything else passed her lips in those final few years?

‘One glass doesn’t make you your mother.’ Saskia linked her arm through Anouk’s, reading her mind.

Anouk offered a rueful smile.

‘That obvious, huh?’

‘Only to me. Now go on, forget about your mother and enjoy this evening. You and I both deserve a bit of time off, and, anyway, we’re supporting a good cause.’

‘We are, aren’t we?’ Anouk nodded, dipping her head and taking a tentative sip.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. In fact, it was actually quite pleasant. Not the cheap plonk, at least, with no bitter aftertaste. Including that of her mother.

Sighing quietly, Anouk finally felt some of the tension begin to uncoil within her.

This was going to be a good evening. She was determined to enjoy it.

‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming after all.’

His voice was like a lightning bolt moving through her, pinning her to the spot. Her mouth felt suddenly dry, and even her legs gave a traitorous tremor beneath the gorgeous blue fabric.

Gathering up all her will, Anouk made herself turn around, even as Saskia was sliding her arm from Anouk’s and greeting Sol as if they were good friends.

Then again, they were. Saskia had been at Moorlands General for years. Admittedly a much nicer hospital than Moorlands Royal Infirmary, where she herself had trained. Why hadn’t she made the transfer sooner?

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she only just caught Saskia murmuring something about going to check the seating plan, too late to stop her friend from slipping away into the faceless crowd.

And just like that she was alone with Sol.

As if the couple of hundred other people in the place didn’t even exist.

It should have worried Anouk more that she felt that way.

‘You look...breathtaking.’

Ridiculously, the fact that he had to reach for the word, as though it was genuine and not some well-trotted-out line, sent another bolt of brilliant light through her.

And heat.

So much heat.

Which was why he had a reputation for being fatal. He was the Smoking Gun, after all.

She would do well to remember that.

‘You thought I wasn’t coming?’ she made herself ask, tipping her head to one side in some semblance of casualness.

‘I did wonder.’

Some golden liquid swirled about an expensive-looking, crystal brandy glass in his hand. But it was the bespoke suit that really snagged her attention. Expensively tailored, it showcased Sol to perfection with his broad shoulders and strong chest, tapering to an athletic waist. The crisp white shirt with the bow tie that was already just a fraction too loose suggested a hint of debauchery, as though he was already on the brink of indulging where he shouldn’t.

With her?

She went hot, then cold, then hot again at the thought. It was shameful that the idea should appeal so much. The simmering heat seemed to make her insides expand until she feared her flesh and bones wouldn’t be able to contain her. He was simply too...much.

He isn’t your type, she told herself forcefully. Only it didn’t seem as though her body wanted to listen.

‘I thought perhaps I could introduce you to some people.’

‘Oh.’ That surprised her. ‘Is that why you came over, then?’

He hesitated, and then offered a grin that she supposed was meant to look rueful but just looked deliciously wicked instead.

‘Not really.’ He made it sound like a confession yet he deliberately didn’t elaborate and Anouk wasn’t about to play into his hands by asking him.

‘I see,’ she lied.

‘Do you indeed?’ he murmured. ‘Then perhaps you might explain to me why I couldn’t resist coming over here the instant I saw you walk in.’

Her chest kicked. Hard. It didn’t matter how many times she silently chanted that he couldn’t affect her, Anouk realised all too quickly that she was fighting a losing battle. She had no idea how she managed to inject a disparaging note into her voice.

‘Does that line usually work?’

‘I don’t know, I’ve never used it before. I’ll tell you next time I try.’

She bit her tongue to stop herself from asking when that next time would be. He was clearly baiting her, but what bothered her was that it was working.

‘Besides...’ his eyes skimmed her in frank, male appreciation, and everywhere his eyes moved she was sure she nearly scorched in response ‘...if I hadn’t come over then some other bloke would have. You’re much too alluring in that gown.’

‘But not out of it?’ she quipped.

His eyes gleamed black, his smile all the more wolfish. Too late, Anouk realised what she’d said.

‘Is that an invitation? I have a feeling I would be breaking quite a few harassment in the workplace rules if I admitted to imagining you out of that dress.’

‘I mean... I didn’t mean... That isn’t what I intended.’

‘Then be careful what you say, zolotse, you can build a man up too quickly otherwise.’

‘Zolotse?’ she echoed. It sounded... Russian, maybe?

‘Zolotse,’ he confirmed.

It was the way his voice softened on that word—as if he hardly knew what he was saying himself as he moved closer, his body so tantalisingly close to hers and his breath brushing her neck—that sent a fresh awareness singing through her veins. It made her forget even to draw breath.

Her mind struggled to stay in control.

‘You don’t intend to elucidate?’ She barely recognised her own voice, it was so laced with desire.

‘I do not,’ he muttered.

Now that she thought about it, Sol and Malachi both had a bit of a Russian look about them. But if they were Russian then it was something Sol didn’t share with many other people. Certainly it wasn’t common knowledge around the hospital.

Which only made her feel that much more unique.

Dammit, but the man was positively lethal.