LITMIR.BIZ

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to go by, that’s exactly what he would do. But that didn’t matter any more. However many reasons there were to have nothing more to do with Greg, she was going with him next weekend. That was all there was to it.

       CHAPTER THREE

      JESS’S WARDROBE WASN’T large, but it was focussed. Plain skirts and trousers and an assortment of matching blouses for work. A tailored suit for interviews, a few pairs of jeans, ranging from new to falling to pieces, and tops, ranging from very warm to very summery. A dress, bought for a summer wedding, which she’d worn only once. Nothing seemed suitable for a visit to the house that Greg had inherited from his father, which sounded large—no, sprawling—and far grander than anything she was used to.

      Going out and buying something might have been an option, but she felt unequal to the task. New clothes would only serve to make her feel more uncomfortable anyway. Taking a little more care with her hair and make-up and choosing favourite pieces from her wardrobe would have to be enough.

      ‘You look nice. I like your scarf.’ He grinned as he took her coat and weekend bag, opening the passenger door of his car for her.

      It was the one thing she’d allowed herself to buy. A pretty lilac scarf that went with her plain grey trousers and sweater and the black leather jacket that she normally kept for best. Greg was wearing jeans and a warm, slightly battered, leather jacket but he had a knack of making scruffy look stylish. Sexy too, but Jess was trying not to think too much about that.

      ‘Do you want to put your jacket in the back? It’s a long drive.’ Greg had taken his own off and slung it on the back seat before getting into the car.

      ‘Yes. Thanks.’ She shrugged out of her jacket and he took it, draping it carefully over his.

      ‘Right, then.’ He twisted the key in the ignition. ‘Let me know if you get cold and I’ll turn the heat up.’

      By the time they reached the suburbs she was feeling hot and cold by turn. When they hit the motorway, her stomach began to lurch. What was she doing? She’d been so brave, so thoughtless in agreeing to come away with him. He was so much more than a nice guy and a good doctor. He was sophisticated, drop-dead gorgeous and far more than a girl like her could handle. She was sure to make a fool of herself.

      ‘You okay?’

      ‘Hmm? Yes, fine.’ Jess turned her head away from him, staring at the hard shoulder of the motorway.

      ‘Sure?’

      Cold perspiration began to form on the side of her brow. Suddenly she felt trapped, carried inexorably towards goodness only knew what. ‘Um. Actually, I do feel a little sick.’

      ‘Did you have breakfast this morning?’

      She hadn’t had time. She had been too busy fussing over her packing and her appearance and stressing about her trip with Greg. ‘Not really… ’

      ‘There’s motorway services a mile up ahead. We’ll stop there.’

      Just to swell the small fountain of misery that was bubbling up inside her chest, he helped her out of the car when they parked. And because standing made her head swim, she allowed him to. He kept hold of her until she was seated in the corner of the bleak, utilitarian cafeteria and then hurried to fetch toast and two cups of tea.

      ‘Feeling better?’ An awkward silence had only been rendered slightly more acceptable by having something to eat and drink.

      ‘Yes. I’m fine, just one of those stupid things.’

      He gave the throw-away line rather more consideration that it deserved. ‘I could try acupressure.’

      ‘Since when have you done acupressure?’ Suddenly there was something to talk about. Something they shared. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been getting into alternative medicine.’

      He grinned. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been getting into labels. There are lots of interesting techniques out there that bear quantitative investigation. When I was in the States, I met a guy who uses it to very good effect, in tandem with drug regimes.’

      ‘So you were working as a doctor in America?’

      ‘Just taking an interest.’ He steered deftly around the question. ‘Here, give me your arm.’

      ‘What, so you can experiment on me? In a café at motorway services?’

      ‘Well, I wouldn’t do it on a patient.’ She felt his fingers on her wrist, the thumb pressing firmly between the two bands of muscle that ran down the inside of her arm. ‘What do you think?’

      ‘Too many variables. I don’t know whether we can come to a definite conclusion.’ She was on steadier ground now. Jess ventured a smile.

      He chuckled quietly. ‘Do you think it matters which arm you do it on?’ He’d clearly decided she felt better and had switched to ruminating on variations to his technique.

      ‘I wouldn’t know. Here, you want to have a go?’ She held out her other arm.

      ‘Hmm. Probably a bit late now.’ He grasped her arm anyway and tried again. ‘How’s that?’

      ‘Feels… okay.’ Much, much better than okay. She was starting to tingle all over. Either he’d hit on a discovery that had eluded other medical practitioners for centuries or her body had decided that responding to his touch was a good idea. Great. A little warning might have been in order.

      ‘Jess, we’ve known each other for long enough… ’

      ‘Worked together.’ She corrected him quickly. Working together was one kind of knowing. This was another.

      ‘I’m not your boss any more.’ Something dark, like liquid promise, glowed in his eyes.

      ‘I suppose that makes things less complicated.’

      He grinned. ‘Yep. But I won’t pretend that I haven’t worked alongside you for more hours at a stretch than either of our contracts allows for. I’ve seen you exhausted, cranky, messy… ’

      ‘Thanks a lot!’

      ‘Fabulous, formidable… ’

      ‘Better.’ They both smiled at the same moment.

      ‘We’ve got past the point where we need to apologise for all our little foibles.’

      ‘You mean you have foibles?’ He did have a way of lifting her worries off her shoulders. Always had.

      He shrugged. ‘Well, when I said our foibles I was just trying to make you feel better about yours.’

      ‘Oh, so you think you don’t have foibles?’ Jess wrinkled her nose at him. ‘What about that famous charm of yours?’

      ‘Doesn’t seem to work on you.’

      ‘Works on everyone else.’

      ‘Can I help that?’

      ‘Oh, yeah, you can help it. And the love ’em and leave ’em… ’

      ‘It keeps things simple. Anyway, I’ve changed. The last person I loved and left was… ’ He frowned, as if consulting his memory and not quite believing the answer he got back.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘You, actually.’

      ‘Me! We didn’t… .’

      He leaned across the table towards her. ‘You don’t need to. It only takes a touch.’ He ran one finger down the back of her hand and Jess gulped, pulling her arm away.

      ‘So what about my foibles, then?’ Time to change the subject.

      ‘Your what?’ His gaze slid across her body, making her shiver.

      ‘Foibles. Pay attention.’

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