LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER TWO

      HOWEVER, when Jodie arrived at the small Italian restaurant at a quarter past eight—‘just in time for the last garlic dough ball,’ as Fiona commented with a grin—Sam Taylor was sitting at one end of the long table. Opposite the only spare chair, she realised with dismay. Wearing plain black trousers and a matching cotton round-neck sweater—trust him to do the Man in Black routine.

      And it looked even better on him than she would have guessed.

      Ignoring the rapid pounding of her heart, she sat down and gave him her most professional smile. ‘Hi. So you made it.’

      He nodded.

      Not going to make it easy for me, are you? she thought crossly. ‘Has everyone ordered?’

      ‘Yes, and we ordered for you,’ Mick Salmond, one of the few male nurses from the paediatric ward, told her. ‘Your usual. Margherita with mushrooms, black olives, Dolcelatte and avocado.’

      ‘Cheers. You’re a mate.’ She wrinkled her nose at him.

      ‘Avocado? On pizza?’ Sam lifted one eyebrow.

      For the first time, Jodie saw amusement in his eyes. And suddenly that rainy Wednesday morning was gone: in its place was a sultry silver. And although his mouth wasn’t smiling widely—just a tiny lift at one corner—it had lost that vulnerable look. Instead, it looked…kissable.

      Her mouth went dry. No. Absolutely not. No way was she going to start thinking of Sam Taylor in those terms.

      Drop-dead gorgeous or lame duck? That was what her brother would have asked if she’d told him she’d been stupid enough to invite the consultant on their Thursday night pizza run—reasoning that either Sam was drop-dead gorgeous and someone had dared Jodie to do it, or he was another of Jodie’s lame ducks. Earlier today, she’d have said lame duck. Now she wasn’t so sure.

      To cover her confusion, she nodded to the jazz band, a trio of singer-pianist, double-bass player and drummer, who were setting up for the night’s session. ‘They’re very good.’

      ‘So I’ve been told.’

      She grabbed a bottle of red wine from the table and poured herself a glass, then took a large sip. ‘Mmm, that’s better,’ she said in satisfaction.

      ‘It’s the one you discovered last month,’ Fiona told her. ‘The Sicilian job.’

      ‘Trust a woman to find a wine that tastes of chocolate,’ Mick said, rolling his eyes. ‘It was on the “Specials” board. “Red wine with a chocolate finish.” And she was in charge of ordering, that night, so we didn’t get any choice.’

      ‘Come on. You know you like it. Anyway, red wine and chocolate are good for you. You’ve read the studies in the Lancet.’ Jodie grinned broadly.

      General hooting greeted her words.

      ‘And then there’s that study on pleasure. People who enjoy themselves have better immune systems. It’s all to do with SIgA.’

      ‘Enough of the lectures, Jo-jo.’ Mick ruffled her hair. ‘And, please, don’t anyone mention the P-word.’

      ‘The P-word?’ Sam asked, mystified.

      ‘P-l-a-y.’ Mick spelled it out in phonics, amusing Jodie even more. ‘She’s writing some article or other for the British Medical Journal about the importance of play in paediatrics, how it helps children get better.’

      ‘So that’s why you spend all your free time on the ward, playing with certain patients?’ Sam asked.

      She flushed. ‘Yes. No. I just enjoy my work, that’s all.’

      The pizzas arrived, diverting everyone’s attention. Jodie had eaten three mouthfuls before she realised that Sam was staring at her. ‘What?’ she asked.

      ‘I can’t believe you’re actually eating that.’ He made a face.

      ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’ Jodie cut another piece, making sure there was a slice of avocado on it, and speared it with her fork. ‘Here,’ she said, reaching over towards him.

      Again, there was that silvery glint in his eyes and he bent his head to taste the pizza, his gaze locking with hers. Jodie’s mouth went dry again. She hadn’t eaten since a snatched half a sandwich for lunch, so the wine must have gone to her head. What was she doing, feeding him from her fork? And what must he think of her?

      Embarrassed, she almost snatched her hand back.

      ‘Better than I expected,’ he said.

      She could feel her face burning. Was he referring just to the pizza, or to her, or to the evening? And, come to think of it, why was he here? True, she’d pretty much steamrollered him into it on the ward—but he could have just not turned up and made an excuse the next morning.

      Jodie decided to take refuge in her pizza. Maybe when she had some good, solid carbohydrates inside her, she might start thinking more clearly.

      ‘What made you decide on paediatrics?’ Sam asked, startling her into looking up at him.

      ‘I like children,’ she said simply.

      ‘But you’re not married, not planning any of your own?’

      Jodie’s eyes narrowed. Why was he asking? So he could decide not to recommend her for promotion, since she didn’t have any real commitment to her job—she was going to give up work to have kids and waste all her years of training?

      No, of course not. He wasn’t one of the old school, the sort who couldn’t help discriminating against young female doctors. He treated everyone on the ward alike—polite and distant. He was just trying to make conversation. It wasn’t his fault he’d touched on her sore point. Three months ago, her ex-boyfriend Graham had told her she spent too much time on her career and he wanted to start a family almost as soon as they were married. Not that he’d

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