Izzy clarified, ‘No long-term woman.’
‘According to Alex, Isaac’s dating record is a month. Thirty days. That’s not enough to give anything a chance. I’ve heard of the kind of things he used to get up to with Alex and it’s not pretty. The man’s just a flirt. No self-respecting woman would want long term with him, anyway, not that he’d ever offer. I think watching his mother have failed marriage after failed marriage has put him off any kind of commitment.’ So said the ex–junior psychiatrist in her.
She watched him so comfortable there behind the bar with his colleagues, laughing and joking. The smart shirt accentuated the pecs of steel she’d seen this morning. Her mind drifted back to the tight boxers and her heart rate escalated. She swallowed another gulp of water to douse an unexpected heat rushing through her. God. Hot and bothered just by looking at a man. This never happened. Never. Was she eighteen again?
Ugh. She shuddered. She damned well hoped not.
‘There’s a funny vibe between you two. There’s always been a funny vibe, but it’s getting more vibrant.’
Bless Izzy and her wishful happyed-up thinking. ‘There’s no vibe.’
Her friend touched her arm. ‘Just be careful.’
This was the girl Poppy had known for ever. Only once had she ever kept a secret from her; every other single thing about their lives they had shared. Openly. Everything. And yet she didn’t want to tell Izzy about last night, about kissing Isaac and the weird sensations he was instilling in her. Didn’t want to confess about the hole she felt she had in her personal life and the inadequacies in her professional one. All of which could be fixed by one kind, considerate and caring man and a little sexperience. Isaac did not fit that bill.
But inside her head the only image was of naked shoulders peeking out of her sheets. Too-blue eyes teasing, hot breath on her neck, and tight black boxers. Always the black boxers.
Everything tingled. Every damned thing. ‘Me and Isaac? I don’t think so. Seriously.’
Izzy nodded. ‘You’re probably right—too close to home. Too weird after all these years. He’s definitely good to look at though.’
‘Says the married-woman-to-be.’
‘Hey, I’m getting married, not joining a convent.’ Izzy drained her glass. ‘I said be careful, I didn’t say don’t act on the vibe. You could always just have a little …’ her eyes widened ‘… fun.’
Sexual fun? She’d have to look that up in the dictionary.
A crash and the sound of breaking glass had them turning to look back to the bar. Isaac was holding a towel over one of the barmen’s hands. He turned to look at her directly, raised his eyebrows summoning her over. The day was rapidly spiralling into disaster. This was not how she’d planned to spend her holiday.
She stood, wishing that she’d chosen flower arranging instead of medicine as her vocation, then she wouldn’t need to be near him. Smelling him. Thinking about the black boxers. Ahem. Medical emergency?
She dragged on her game face. ‘Looks like I’m needed. Duty calls.’
Izzy stood, too, and grabbed her bags. ‘Do you want me to stay and help?’
‘No. I’ll be fine. You go. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Harry?’
‘Yes, but … I don’t want to leave you.’
‘Seriously, I’m a doctor, I can manage. You go, this could take a little time. See you later.’
‘Hey, thanks for coming over.’ Isaac looked at the grimacing man and then back to Poppy. ‘My friend Poppy, here, is a doctor, very handy to have around. Jamie’s my business partner and he’s just had a contretemps with a glass. Got a nasty cut—do you think it’ll need stitches? I’ve got a first-aid kit.’
Ignoring the thud-thud of her heart as she got closer to the one person she should have been far away from, she pulled back the towel and peered at the gash. ‘It’s pretty deep. Yes. Yes, it needs sutures and I don’t have anything with me. Your first-aid kit probably won’t do. You’ll have to go to A and E or a GP surgery, I’m afraid.’
Isaac walked the barman to the seating area out front. ‘Okay, Jamie, sit down, mate. I’ll call a cab and come with you.’
‘And close up the bar? Don’t be daft.’
Poppy shook her head, grasping the ‘get out of jail free’ card. ‘I can go with you if you like? This is my kind of territory. I might be able to fast-track you through.’
Jamie looked at them both in turn. ‘Er … seriously? I stopped needing a nanny in primary school. It’s a cut hand, is all. Just get me a taxi and I’ll sort the rest. It’ll leave you short for tonight though, Isaac. Sorry, mate.’
‘Not your problem. Just get it fixed. I’ll be fine.’
‘With the Christmas cocktail lesson starting in thirty minutes? You reckon? How about you call Maisie in?’
Isaac frowned. ‘She’s gone to Oxford with her boyfriend.’
‘Carl?’
The frown deepened. ‘At some uni event. No worries, I’ll be fine. I can manage.’
Jamie turned to Poppy, holding his hand close to his chest. Blood seeped through the towel, vivid red contrasting with his blanching complexion. He needed to be gone and quick. ‘I know this is a long shot, but I don’t suppose you have any bar experience, do you?’
Spend more time with the man she’d shared a bed with? And who her body appeared to want a repeat performance with. This time, with full body contact?
No way. ‘Me? No. Not really.’
Jamie’s shoulders slumped. ‘Just for a couple of hours until I get back, or Isaac can get reinforcements?’
She looked at them both staring at her. Jamie hopeful. Isaac not so much. But heck, she had nothing to do for the next few hours … days … and no one to do it with. She might as well stay and be of use to someone as sit at home with four-legged furry friends and a bent Christmas tree. ‘I … well, I could collect glasses and take orders, I suppose.’
Isaac looked less than thrilled but relieved. ‘Are you sure? Thanks. Most excellent. That would be a great help. I can teach the class, no problem, it’s just the serving I need a hand with.’ He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek that sent shock waves of lust shivering through her. This was such a bad idea. ‘You’re a star.’
‘I know.’
As they watched Jamie leave in the taxi, Isaac stepped closer, eyes twinkling. ‘You never know, Popsicle, you might learn a few things. Cocktails are my speciality. Especially virgi—’
‘No. Don’t say it. Don’t even go there.’ She stabbed a finger into that hard wall of muscle he had for a chest, resisting the sudden urge to fist his shirt and pull him closer and press her lips to his again—just to remind her what he tasted like. ‘I’m doing this because you looked after me last night. Because you’re letting me have the private room for my party. And because you bought a mousetrap. After this we’ll be even. But be warned …’ She fought the urge to either slap or kiss his now teasing, grinning face. ‘One mention of virgins, almost or otherwise, and I’m gone.’
‘ONE RED-HOT RUDOLPH, two Christmas Kisses and a Candy Cane Caipirinha, please.’ Poppy shook her head as she gave the order to Isaac. Two hours of cocktail chaos and she was still getting