Anne Fraser - Top-Notch Men!

‘No hot date tonight?’

‘I have a date with a good book and a glass of Pinot noir,’ she answered. ‘That’s about as hot as it gets in my life right now.’

‘You could always throw a vindaloo curry in there somewhere to turn up the heat a bit,’ Bethany suggested with a smile.

‘What a great idea,’ Allegra said, as she dragged herself to her feet. ‘The last thing I want to do is cook. Take-away, here I come.’

The Indian restaurant not far from her apartment had a small waiting area for customers waiting for their take-out orders. Allegra sank gratefully into a vinyl chair once she’d placed her order and picked up a magazine that was at least two years out of date, flicking through it absently.

Once her number was called she collected her meal and made her way out to the street, but had only gone a few paces when she saw a very familiar figure heading her way.

Joel looked down at the container in her hand. ‘Great minds think alike, it seems,’ he said. ‘What did you get?’

‘Beef vindaloo.’

‘Enough for two?’

‘No.’

‘Pity,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll have to go and order my own.’

She pursed her lips for a moment. ‘I suppose I could make it stretch, but only if you’ve got a decent bottle of wine.’

He gave her a smile that melted her instantly. ‘I’ll go and get one from the bottle shop and meet you back at your place. Is there anything else you need?’

Only my head read , she thought as she returned his smile with a tentative one of her own. ‘No, the wine will be fine.’

Allegra answered the door a short time later and he held out the bottle for her to inspect. ‘Mmm …’ She peered at the label. ‘Last Hope Ridge, a ‘98 Merlot. Not a bad vintage. You have good taste.’

‘In some things,’ he said, looking down at the soft curve of her mouth.

Allegra felt her senses spring to attention at the smouldering heat in his dark gaze as it returned to hers, her skin feeling tight and overly sensitive, as if preparing itself for his touch.

‘So I take it internet dating didn’t work out?’ she said, surprised her voice sounded so normal when her breathing was all over the place.

‘I was seriously thinking about it,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘But I wasn’t sure if you’d cast a spell on me earlier today so that I would end up with some wacko woman intent on having her wicked way with me.’

‘I do not cast spells,’ she said, trying to sound cross and indignant, but it didn’t quite work, with him smiling at her so disarmingly.

‘Yes, you do,’ he said, tugging her closer, his hands on her hips. ‘You’re doing it right now.’

‘That’s totally ridiculous,’ she gasped as his lower body came into contact with hers. ‘I wouldn’t know the first thing about magic … and all that … stuff …’ She swallowed as he brought his head down, his warm breath caressing the surface of her lips.

‘What about this stuff?’ he asked, as his mouth brushed hers.

‘That’s not magic …’ she breathed into his mouth.

‘What is it, then?’ he asked, his warm breath mingling with hers.

‘It’s … madness …’ she said, kissing him back softly, her lips clinging to his. ‘Total madness …’

‘It’s not madness,’ he growled as he pulled her even closer. ‘It’s desire.’

‘Lust,’ she corrected him. ‘It’s good old-fashioned lust. It will go away if we ignore it.’

‘How do you suggest we ignore it?’ he asked, nibbling gently at the soft underside of her neck.

‘Um … we could try some other activity …’ She shivered all over as the tip of his tongue briefly entered her ear.

‘What did you have in mind?’ He grazed her top lip with the masculine and totally irresistible rasp of his tongue. ‘Scrabble?’

‘I cheat at Scrabble,’ she said, sagging against him as he found her bottom lip and stroked it with his tongue, back and forth until her lip began to swell with need. ‘I make up words and I always win.’

‘I’d never let you get away with it,’ he warned softly, as his mouth hovered over hers.

‘No one’s beaten me yet.’ Her breath mingled intimately with his, making her stomach feel hollow.

‘I like the sound of being the first to conquer you,’ he said, pressing his mouth to hers in a scorching, probing kiss that left her totally breathless. Her arms wound around his neck as she rose on tiptoe to get even closer to him, her fingers delving into the thick black pelt of his hair, her body soft against his hardness, her legs feeling unsteady and trembling with desire.

He lifted his mouth from hers after endless minutes, his dark eyes alight with rampant need as they locked on hers. ‘We should eat before this gets out of hand. We’ve both had a long day and we’re not thinking with our heads here.’

‘You’re right,’ she said, unwinding her arms from his neck and stepping back from him. ‘Besides, I need to get an apology out of the way.’

‘What do you need to apologise for?’

‘Patrick told me you had only asked me out to keep me away from the unit. I was angry with you for exploiting me without checking to see if what he’d said was actually right.’

‘I see.’

‘He apologised for it earlier this evening. He’s going through a rough time in his personal life.’

‘And here I was thinking it was my kisses that finally convinced you of my motives,’ he said, with a wry twist to his mouth.

‘Your kisses are definitely very convincing,’ she admitted, lowering her eyes from the steadiness of his. ‘But … but aren’t we rushing things a bit?’

‘What do you mean?’

She raised her eyes back to encounter his unwavering dark brown gaze. ‘We may be attracted to each other physically, but we’re poles apart professionally. You have issues with my study and I have issues over your decision to withdraw life support on Tommy Lowe. This is never going to work between us.’

‘Come on, Allegra.’ His tone became impatient. ‘You know the routine with head injuries. Once the patient is declared brain dead by the neurosurgeon we have no choice but to advise the relatives to consider withdrawing life support. It’s not fair to the patient or the relatives to let them hang in limbo for no gain.’

‘Tommy is a young child,’ she countered. ‘Numerous studies have demonstrated the possibility of recovery after more prolonged support in children.’

‘Yes, but exactly what sort of recovery are we talking about?’

‘A full recovery, of course.’

He let out a short rough expletive. ‘You really are off with the fairies, aren’t you? Damn it, Allegra, you know there are degrees of recovery in these sorts of cases. Tommy could end up permanently disabled, either physically or intellectually or, God help him, both. He’d be totally dependent on his father or his mother if she survives. What sort of life is that for any of them?’

‘He’d be alive, that’s all that matters to a parent,’ she argued.

‘Is it?’ he asked, his eyes glittering with some indefinable pent-up emotion she couldn’t quite recognise.

‘Of course it is! Losing a child is the most devastating thing that can happen to a parent. The grief is total and all-consuming.’

‘So is the grief of being totally responsible for a child who will never grow up, either physically or mentally,’ he said, grasping her by the upper arms, his fingers biting into her tender flesh. ‘Have you thought about that any time in your fairy-dust study? Have you ever interviewed the relatives of a child who didn’t get your magical full recovery? Have you asked them what it’s like to have to change their adult child’s nappy several times a day, to spoon food and drink into them while most of it dribbles down their chin? Have you asked them what it’s like to lie awake at night, listening to their child uttering screams and cries that no physical comfort or words will ever ease? Have you asked them what it’s like for the rest of the family, their marriage, and all their other relationships? Have you?’