Her lips formed a small pout. ‘You did good today. Very good.’
He leaned in. ‘That’s because I am good.’
‘Now, that’s better. Rising up the scale, Mr Maitland—maybe an eight.’ Raw need flared behind her gaze. Her lips parted a little as she ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip.
This was dodgy territory.
Mixing business with pleasure was a definite no. Too much gossip, too much to live up to. Hell, he’d had enough of that.
And yet … there was something simmering between them. A tension building, an awareness they both acknowledged, if not with words then with those fleeting looks. Like a gathering storm, intense, alive with static.
Then the connection fractured as she frowned. ‘But I know all about men like you. Big-shot surgeon. Work too hard. No time for friends or relationships.’ She glanced at his hand. ‘No wedding band. No one to go home to—or you’d be there already. You just want something quick and hot and uncomplicated.’
And now she was stamping on a raw nerve. No woman had ever challenged him so blatantly. Pure lust fired inside him. He whispered in her ear. ‘You reckon you fit the picture?’
‘Not today. So if you don’t mind, I need a little privacy.’ She held her glass out to Bill. ‘Another one, please.’
Max didn’t want to ask why she was so intent on getting tanked. The woman was free to do what she liked. She certainly looked as if she could handle herself. In truth, the less he knew about her the better—that way things could stay strictly professional.
But his interest was way off the scale.
He wrapped his hand over her wrist, gently pulling the glass onto the bar. His fingers were drawn to her hand. He turned it over and rubbed her palm with his thumb. Checked for wedding rings. None. Good. The static jumped and buzzed around them at his touch. ‘Don’t you think you should be slowing down?’ And why did he care?
Her fingers shook free and the frown deepened. ‘Seriously? I’ve had four drinks. I can still walk, talk and count. No big deal. Don’t bust a gut over me. This is a once-a-year indulgence I allow myself. I’m having a ball, so don’t go spoiling my party.’
He wanted to ask why. Why once a year—what had happened? Why here? Why the hell had things aligned for him to bump into her today, when he needed something, as she’d so rightly said, hot and quick. With her it felt complicated already, not least because they were going to be colleagues. And there was that thing … that invisible tug between them. ‘Hey, I’m a transplant surgeon. Livers fail. I worry.’
‘Oh, sweetie. Don’t.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘Once a year. The rest of the time I’m a saint.’
‘Well, lucky I found you tonight, then. Your liver will be eternally grateful.’
‘Sure it will. But my brain will never forgive you.’ Gabby shook her head. The man was beyond irritating. Okay, she conceded, and not a little gorgeous with his dark messy hair, tight black jeans and startling blue eyes that drew her gaze every time she looked in his direction. They were a deep-set, mesmerising, intense blue framed by eyelashes bordering on illegally long.
Not to mention the way his white shirt clung to thick biceps and broad shoulders dragging her eyes to his body.
She tried to ignore the fire smouldering in her belly as he touched her hand.
But really? The man was rude and way too self-assured. Six feet plus of trouble.
His reputation went before him—first time she’d had an orientation that had come with a health warning—Max Maitland, legendary surgeon, serial heartbreaker.
If she hadn’t seen the softening in him at the mention of Jamie she’d have believed the hype—chalked him up as a self-centred charmer.
She had to admire him, though. He could spar as well as she could. But his ego was spilling out of that crisp cotton shirt. From previous ugly experience she’d erased over-confident and über-charming from the list of qualities she liked in a man. Nonna had been right about one thing, men just couldn’t be trusted.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Next time I need some advice from the fun police I’ll know who to call.’
‘And I’ll make sure I’m right there in my superhero outfit.’
‘I so did not need an image of you with your undies over your trousers.’ She shrugged, stifling a laugh, trying hard not to look at the way those jeans hugged his long legs. His perfect backside. Fascinating.
‘It’s the twenty-first century. We don’t do outfits like that anymore. I’ll let you into a secret …’ He finished his beer. ‘We transform.’
She mustered indifference, holding her laugh back. ‘I’m only interested if you transform me another mojito.’
‘A virgin mojito for sure.’ He motioned to Bill to bring an alcohol-free drink despite her protests. ‘Er … I still don’t know your name.’
‘You are very annoying.’ And damned gorgeous, and way off-limits. And all the things she’d been warned about. And funny and sexy, too, and there was that strange pull to him that she was trying to ignore. But they were going to be working together so he’d find out her name soon enough. ‘Charge Nurse Radley. Gabby, to my friends.’
‘Well, Gabby, pleased to meet you.’ He stuck out a hand. ‘Do you have any interesting secrets you’d like to share?’
Not even if hell froze over. She’d moved to Auckland to restart her life, not relive it. Freedom. At last. Space of her own. No one to tell her what to do.
She regarded his hand with as much disdain as she could muster. God, she’d met her match here. Most men had run a mile by now.
In another life this could be fun. He could be fun.
Dodging his question, she bristled. ‘Like I said, you don’t get to call me Gabby. I’m Charge Nurse Radley.’
‘Gabby. So that is Gabrielle? Gabriella?’ His grin widened as she stuck her tongue out. It was as if he knew exactly which buttons to press, and definitely how to tease. ‘Ah, Gabriella, your eyes give so much away. Nice name, and I’ll stick with Gabby, thanks.’
‘Are you this forward with everyone or is it just me?’
‘Considering it’s your first day in a new job, I’d have thought you’d want to make a good impression.’ He laughed, his chin jutting up. ‘Here’s a hint—you could make it easier for people to get to know you.’
‘I do, usually. Just not people like you.’ And not today, when she just wanted to be left alone. ‘Don’t worry, I can do professional and competent. Tomorrow.’
‘I can’t wait. Any more frostiness and we’ll need to increase the central heating. I’ll make sure I pack a scarf.’ He checked her half-empty glass and then his watch. His smile turned from friendly to insanely wicked. ‘Gabby, you’ve got the wrong impression of me. Or you’re delusional. Or drunk. Whichever, clearly you’re a danger to yourself. So, if you’re done, I’m taking you home.’
‘Whoa, buster. You are not.’ She’d had enough of people telling her what to do. ‘I’m not ready to go home …’ She paused.
Home? Where the heck was that? Certainly not the new shared flat she’d dumped all her boxes into yesterday.
Or Wellington, with its bittersweet memories and dark, dark corners.
But she’d determined not to think about any of that. Apart from tonight. The whole day had been exhausting—a new job, new people. A sweet baby fighting for his life. Piling a tumult of more emotions to the anniversary she kept, like a vigil, every year.
And