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      Esme shook her head. She might need her ears checked. Did Max Kirkpatrick just say he wanted to touch her?

      An image pinged into her mind. Ice skating by moonlight. Her mittened hand in his bigger, stronger hand. The two of them skating away beneath the starlit sky until he pulled her to him and… She screwed her eyes shut and forced the image back where it had come from.

      ‘Email? Phone?’ he prompted.

      Oh. Right. That kind of contact. She handed him a card. ‘From here it’s pretty easy. We’ll do two video calls with you and the patients once you’ve picked them.’

      ‘For what purpose?’

      ‘It’s how we introduce the dogs to the patients before training at Heatherglen gets under way. It gives me a good feel for who they are before they arrive. If you could take part in the calls, that would be greatly appreciated.’

      ‘Why do you need me?’

      Esme bridled. If he was going to persist in questioning every single thing she said and did, she was right to keep him away from Heatherglen. ‘If a couple of video conferences and formal wear is too much of a sacrifice to secure two free, incredibly talented service dogs for patients who would normally have to wait years to receive one… I completely understand.’ She gave him her most nonchalant smile, hoping it disguised just how intense she was finding all of this. The penetrating looks. The pointed questions. The downright yumminess of him. The last time someone had had this visceral effect on her… Oof… She shuddered as she felt Max’s dark eyes continue to bore into her.

      ‘Why do I need formal wear for a conference call?’

      ‘It’s for the Christmas ball. You’re req—’ She stopped herself from saying required. She didn’t like being bossed around and had the very clear impression he didn’t either. ‘It’s really useful if the founder of the charity comes along and speaks with the donors.’

      ‘Schmooze, you mean.’ A flash of a smile appeared. ‘You might want to reconsider that. It’s not really my forte.’

      ‘So I noticed,’ she said dryly.

      He laughed and once again that strangely comfortable feeling she got from banter with him made the day seem a bit less cold.

      ‘I can pick any patients I want?’ He asked.

      ‘Doctor’s choice.’ She nodded. ‘The harder the better.’

      Her eyes dropped to just below his waist.

      Oh, good grief.

      Work. She should think of work. Work was not sexy. Complicated patients to match to hard-working service dogs. Also not sexy. Big brothers. They definitely weren’t sexy. Work, complicated patients and big brothers. Okay. Her heart rate began to decelerate. She liked bringing in clients Charles knew nothing about. He was far too serious for his own good and this was her annual chance to pop a little spontaneity into his life. And her own.

      She followed his gaze as it drifted across to the hospital, his mind obviously spinning with options.

      She got the feeling he was going to test her. Good. Maybe this would be the year that signing over the proceeds from the charity ball gave her back that magical feeling she’d lost all those years ago when her brother had been killed in action, she’d married a hustler and just about everything else in her life had imploded.

      ‘You’re not going to bend on the Christmas ball thing, are you?’ A smile teased at the corners of his mouth.

      ‘Nope!’ She grinned. ‘And let me know if you don’t have a tuxedo. You’ll need one for the ball.’ She gave him what she hoped was a neutral top-to-toe scan. ‘You’d probably fit into one of my brother’s if you don’t have one. I’m sure we could stuff socks in the shoulders if you don’t fill it out.’

      What was she on? He’d make a fig leaf look good. Which was an image she really shouldn’t let float around her head quite as gaily as it was.

      ‘If I go formal, I wear a kilt, thank you very much.’

      A kilt! Yum. She had a weakness for a Scotsman in formal kilted attire. Her brain instantly started undressing and redressing him. What she saw she liked very much. Too much. Was it too late to uninvite him to the ball as well?

      Yes. Yes, it was. Besides, as much as seeing Max Kirkpatrick in a kilt could very well tip her into the danger zone of dating outside her brother’s ‘pre-approved’ choices…she needed him. The donors loved hearing about the charities from the founder.

      ‘A kilt will do very nicely,’ she said primly.

      He gave her a sharp sidelong glance as if he’d been following her complicated train of thought, then took a step back and said, rather formally for someone who’d just been flinging about witty banter, ‘In which case, Ms Ross-Wylde, I’d be delighted to accept your offer to participate in two phone calls and the ball.’

      It was a pointed comment. One that made it clear he’d understood loud and clear she hadn’t asked him up to Heatherglen. A wash of disappointment swept through Esme so hard and fast she barely managed to keep her smile pinned in

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