‘Look, Eli,’ she said after he had handed in his report and she walked with him across the ambulance forecourt towards the street, ‘I may be new to this job, but I worked in A and E for seven years. I know all about the people who could quite easily have gone to their GP instead of the hospital and, believe me, I’m not going to be marking either you, or ED7, down because so many of tonight’s calls weren’t even code greens.’
‘I’m not thinking about the people we picked up tonight,’ he said impatiently.
‘Then what’s with the moodiness?’ she demanded. ‘I know you don’t like number crunchers—’
‘It’s got nothing to do with your job,’ he interrupted. ‘It’s…’ He shook his head. ‘Personal.’
Personal? She stopped dead on the pavement outside the station, and gulped. He wanted to talk to her about something personal? She didn’t think she was ready for ‘personal,’ not when his deep blue eyes were fixed on her, making her feel warm and tingly all over, but he was waiting for her to answer so she nodded.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Spill it.’
‘What you were saying earlier about your flatmates…I think you should know I’m taking a break from dating.’
Of all the things she had been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it, and she stared at him, bewildered.
‘And you’re telling me this because…?’ she said in confusion, and for a moment he looked a little shamefaced, then a slightly crooked smile appeared on his lips.
‘I just thought you should know, in case you were concerned I might hit on you, or were hoping…well…you know.’
She straightened up to her full five feet.
‘I was hoping what?’ she said dangerously.
‘Oh, come on, Brontë,’ he declared, ‘it’s common knowledge I like women, and they like me.’
She opened her mouth, closed it again, then shook her head in outraged disbelief. ‘So you’re saying I…You think that I…Sheesh, when they were handing out modesty, you sure were right at the back of the queue, weren’t you?’
‘Brontë—’
‘Believe it or not, Mr Munroe,’ she continued furiously. ‘Whatever charms you supposedly possess leave me completely cold, and if you had attempted—as you so poetically phrased it—to hit on me, you would have required the immediate services of a dentist. You are not my type. You never were, never will be. And even if you were my type,’ she could not stop herself from adding, ‘I’m taking a break from dating myself.’
‘Why?’
Damn, but she’d said too much as she always did when she was angry, but she had no intention of revealing any more, and she swung her tote bag high on her shoulder, only narrowly missing his chin.
‘I,’ she said, her voice as cold as ice, ‘am going home to get some sleep, and you…As far as I’m concerned, you can go take a running jump off Arthur’s Seat as long as you’re back here this evening to do your job.’
‘Brontë, listen—’
She didn’t. She turned on her heel, and strode off down the street, because she knew if she didn’t she would hit him.
The nerve of the man. The sheer unmitigated gall. Implying she might be interested in him, suggesting she might have difficulty keeping her hands off him.
He’s right, though, isn’t he? a little voice laughed in her head, and she swore under her breath. No, he wasn’t. He was smug, and arrogant, and opinionated.
But he has gorgeous eyes, hasn’t he?
He did. He had the kind of eyes to die for, and thick black hair which just screamed out to be touched, and as for his broad shoulders…
Hell, but having to work along side Elijah was like being on a diet in a cake shop. You knew he was bad for you, you knew you would deeply regret it, and yet, despite all of that, you were still tempted.
Which didn’t mean she was going to give in to temptation. She only had to work with him for another six nights, and not even she could make a fool of herself in that amount of time. And she had no intention of making a fool of herself. She’d done it far too often in the past, and to even consider it with a man who had a reputation like Elijah Munroe’s…
‘No way, not ever,’ she said out loud to the empty Edinburgh street.
Chapter Two
Tuesday, 10:07 p.m.
‘I DON’T care how you do it, or who you have to upset, but I am not going out with Brontë O’Brian again!’
‘Eli, we went through all this yesterday,’ George Leslie protested. ‘There is no one else I can put her with, and if I pull out one of the other guys just to accommodate you, there will be hell to pay.’
‘Why can’t she work days?’ Eli argued. ‘She could work days with Luke. He’s a trauma magnet, can’t leave the station without falling over multiple pile-ups, and I’m sure that would keep Ms O’Brian’s employers happy.’
‘I suggested she work days when I first heard she was coming,’ his boss replied, ‘but her employers were insistent she did nights.’
‘And we all know what that means,’ Eli said irritably. ‘They think the worthy Edinburgh folk will be all tucked up tight in their beds at night, so we’ll have minimal callouts, and they can use that as an excuse to make some of us redundant.’
‘That’s my guess.’ George nodded.
‘Charlie Woods,’ Eli said. ‘He owes me a favour. I’m sure he’d be prepared to swap—’
‘Except his wife is due to give birth any day now,’ George interrupted. ‘Eli, can’t you just live with it? Ye gods, you’ve already done one night, you only have another six to go.’
‘You don’t know what she’s like,’ Eli declared. ‘She’s pig-headed, opinionated, always thinks she’s right—’
‘Sounds a bit like you.’ George grinned.
‘I am nothing like her,’ Eli snapped. ‘George, I want out. There has to be a way for you to get me out of this, or I swear…’
‘You’ll do what?’ his boss demanded with clear exasperation. ‘Walk out on me? Throw your career down the toilet? For heaven’s sake, man, I am not asking you to bond with her, be her best friend forever. All I’m asking is for you to be civil, pleasant, and do the job you’re paid for.’
‘But—’
‘And can I point out it’s not just your job on the line if we get a lousy report,’ George continued, his normally placid face bright red. ‘It’s everyone’s job, so get a grip of yourself, a smile on your face, and be nice.’
Which was easy for George to say, Eli thought as his boss strode away. He didn’t have to work with the damn woman. He didn’t have to sit beside an interfering know-it-all who was constantly sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted, and making snide comments about his dating habits.
And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? a small voice whispered in his head. It’s got nothing to do with her as a person. It’s because of what she said about her flatmates, implying you were some sort of low-life.
With a muttered oath he kicked out at one of his ambulance wheels angrily. Hell’s teeth, but what right did she have to judge his dating habits? It wasn’t as though he had ever deceived anyone. It wasn’t as though he had ever lied. He had