Chapter Five

Tom peered up at the windows of the three-storey block where Keira lived, holding his breath, expecting someone to open a window at any moment and tell him to get a quieter car.

No blinds twitched, so he jumped down from the Land Rover and strode over to the entrance door. Buzzing the intercom for number five, he crossed his fingers. Now this was odd. It was Saturday evening, and he was outside a girl’s house, waiting to take her on a date. Hell, he hadn’t done such a thing for years. There had been women, of course, in Papua. Most memorably, an Aussie doctor and a French volunteer worker. Both absolutely stunning and both wanted the same as him: good company, lots of fun and some great sex. This was just the same, wasn’t it?

“Tom. Is that you?”

No, it damn well wasn’t the same, he told himself…

He could almost hear the quaver in her voice, even over the dodgy intercom. Years of being a doctor, even a pretty hopeless one, had given him at least some skill at picking up the signals.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“You’d better come up, then.”

Hmm. She was being a bit short with him again: an even surer sign she was nervous. And so, he admitted, was he, because his conscience told him that he should not be doing this. For Keira’s sake and for his, he ought not to be starting anything that could remotely be called a relationship. Not when the morning’s post had brought details of his new tenure in Papua.

“Pleased to offer you a permanent position as medical director,” the stiff white letter had said. “We invite you to attend an orientation meeting at our London headquarters on…naming a date barely two months away.

He pushed open the door into the foyer and nearly tripped over a pushchair left parked in the hall. Even as he climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor, he knew he shouldn’t be here, starting something he could never finish, but he couldn’t stop himself. Something else kept telling him to seize the day and enjoy her sparky company, her sassy freshness, and perhaps, if he was very lucky, her warm, sweet body.

That was the bad part of him. The noble part, the truly honourable part, nagged at him to leave her well alone before either of them got hurt. But the bad part kept getting the upper hand. It kidded him that she wanted a fling, and worse, that he did too.

And the very bad part of him hoped she wouldn’t want to go out at all.

 

 

Wiping her hands on a tea towel, Keira heaved in a breath as she heard Tom’s heavy tread clunking up the uncarpeted stairs. She had no right to be worried. All she had to do was go out, keep her side of their bargain, and then she could tell him she didn’t want to see him again.

Too bad she was having great trouble believing that this evening was happening to her at all. While she’d been getting changed—smart jeans, a floaty top borrowed from Su, and her newest boots—she had wondered once or twice if she had signed up for a reality TV show and no one had let her in on the joke.

Distinctly average teachers in second-floor flats did not get asked on dinner dates by aristocratic doctors—not even as entertainment by bored and uptight ones.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, and she let out her captive breath, then jumped like a scared deer as the door knocker resounded with a sharp rap. She cursed as a clang reverberated round the flat. Her feet, tangled in a flex, had sent a metal lamp crashing into the floor.

“Hold on a moment!”

Through the wood, Tom’s muffled voice reached her burning ears. “Are you all right in there? What was that noise?”

“It’s fine! I just…er…bumped into something. Hold on.”

Dumping the lamp on the nearest surface, she flicked her tongue over her strawberry lip gloss, blew a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes and reached for the door knob.

“Keira, are you going to let me in or do I have to—”

As the door opened, an image exploded in her mind. You know that theory? The one about men looking better in morning suits than anything else?

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

In a pair of battered jeans, a plain white shirt and a tweed jacket like her grandfather used to wear, Tom was mind-blowingly sexy.

“Hi there, Keira.”

His voice was rough velvet, his lips warm as they met her cheek. The sharp tang of aftershave mingled with fruity lip gloss in her nostrils, and her skin prickled deliciously at the brush of coarse tweed against her arm.

Oh Lord, she thought as she mumbled out her “hello” and shut the door with shaky hands. How on earth was she ever going to get through an evening with him?

 

 

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to take the tube to Covent Garden?” she asked later as Tom bumped the car down the ramp of an underground car park in central London.

“Sorry?” he called. She was sure he was pretending he couldn’t hear her above the rattle of the diesel Land Rover.

He killed the engine, unfolded his long limbs from the driver’s seat and appeared at her door, ready to help her down. She looked around the car park and smiled. Nice. He’d slotted the thing between a Rolls Royce and a Porsche, either of which she guessed he could probably afford. The battered four-wheel drive suited him so much better.

They emerged into the bright lights of Drury Lane, weaving in and out of the tourists and theatre-goers on their way down Long Acre. Ahead, the piazza outside Covent Garden glowed and buzzed.

“Is this okay for you?” he called above the crowds. “Or would you have preferred to go for something more exclusive?”

She knew he was testing her, and she was ready.

“You mean somewhere like…” She paused, then named a restaurant she’d read about in a Sunday supplement, a ludicrously expensive place that overlooked the Thames and had a waiting list as long as your arm.

“I suppose that’s what I meant, yes.”

“Tom, this is…” What she wanted to say was, perfect. Wherever it was, she knew, somehow, it would be classy and welcoming. “The best Italian in London will be fine,” she assured him. “I think we both know I don’t do stuffy or chic, and besides, we wouldn’t have got a table at you-know-where.”

Not that Tom would have to wait. Somehow she knew he could have got exactly the spot he wanted just by mentioning his name—and somehow she knew he wouldn’t have tried.

They walked on as the Victorian ironwork of the old flower market came into view, already sparkling with Christmas lights, even with months to go to the holiday season itself. Around them, the buzz of people talking, laughing, drinking, seemed to seep into her very bones. Going out to dinner with Tom could turn her head if she didn’t know it was a fairy tale.

“Flower for your lady, sir?”

A woman blocked their path, holding out a red rose. Keira stifled a giggle. She was dressed like Eliza Doolittle in an Edwardian dress, black shawl and straw hat that went beautifully with her purple hair and nose studs. Seeing Tom dallying, she shot him a sharp look. Don’t you dare, it warned. Only she knew the truth. That what it really said was, “Don’t hurt me.”

“Perhaps later,” he said.

Perhaps never, thought Keira. Cheesy gestures like that weren’t her style, or rather they were for those couples who planned on sticking together slightly longer than the shelf life of a yogurt.

A gust of wind rippled across the piazza, making her shiver despite her coat. Tom placed a hand on her back to guide her past a bunch of tourists applauding a fire-eater.

The lights of the restaurant gleamed in the corner of the old flower market piazza. She hadn’t been there before, of course. Alex thought dining out on any occasion other than a birthday was a waste of money, and lately it had been out of the question cost-wise.

Warm air blasted from the door as Tom held it open.

“Mmm…” Her sense of smell went into overdrive as a dozen aromas filled her nose. Garlic, herbs, tomato, good coffee…

“Smells good, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does. I’m hungry.”

He smiled. “Then let’s get a table.”

Candles flickered on the tables, and the low buzz of conversation was punctuated with laughter from groups of friends partying. The place was packed, yet Tom had somehow managed to get a table in a quiet corner, almost out of sight of the other diners.

When she dropped her bag and then knocked a knife off the table, he collected both with quiet efficiency and reassured her it was his fault for being “a clumsy idiot”. For someone used to performing minor surgery in the rainforest, Keira somehow doubted it.

Her hands quivered as she handed the menu to the waiter.

Tom sat back, looking serious. “What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up, but I thought, perhaps, shall we make a pact before we eat?”

“What kind of a pact?”

“To make this evening a sarcasm-free zone. I won’t make any scathing remarks. You won’t lecture me on my manners.”

“That’s not a very good start…”

“Mea culpa. I’ll be model student from now on.”

The verbal foreplay was starting again. Keira felt the glow between her thighs and wished it would go away. Her jeans were tight. Tom’s were too, and oh, this had to stop.

“Tom…”

“Hmm,” he echoed, sitting up straight and looking at her with mock seriousness. She hung fire a moment as the waiter brought their drinks. Coke for Tom, wine for her.

“We need to—you—need to understand, this is so not a date,” she hissed when he’d finished filling her glass.

He set the bottle down on the table. “Two people having dinner together. They’re not related. At least not when I last checked the family tree. If it’s not a date, what is it?”

“A deal. A bargain. You came to speak to the children. I agreed to a meal, and what’s more, I’m paying. I want to thank you for visiting them.”

Now she saw a shadow cross his face. His lips twisted. “As you wish. But I’ll buy the wine.”

“If it makes you feel better.”

He folded his arms. “Not a lot. But a little.”

“Okay. That’s agreed,” said Keira. “Now let’s—”

“Your bruschetta, madam. Sir, your carpaccio.” The waiter cut short their sparring. Tom topped up her glass, and she took a sip just for something to do with her shaky hands. She must remember not to go heavy on the wine. She toyed with her starter as he sipped his Coke and took a bite of the wafer-thin beef.

His hand brushed hers as he went to top up her glass again. His fingers were warm and strong, and the last time he’d touched her, they’d been cradling her bottom on the dance floor. Her nipples stiffened at the memory, and she looked down to see if they were visible through her borrowed top.

Oh bugger.

“So—when are you, um, going back to Papua?” she asked.

“Soon enough,” he muttered. “A few months.”

“For a year, this time.”

He covered his mouth and coughed. “No. Not this time.”

“Two years, then?” Suddenly her stomach rebelled against the food. She pushed her plate away.

Tom smiled, far too broadly. “Let’s not talk shop tonight, shall we?”

Well, that was pretty definite. The “back off” signals were reaching her loud and clear. Let’s try neutral: “What do you want to talk about, then?”

“I’d like to know about Keira Grayson. What she likes doing when she’s not educating young minds? What books she reads, what trashy films she watches a hundred times over, who she’d like to take to a desert island. Correction, which particular inept but stamina-filled medic she’d like to take…”

She couldn’t help but laugh, even though he had a nerve. Even though he kept trying to pour more wine, she laughed. As the waiter placed their main courses on the tablecloth, she realised she was dangerously close to having the best time she’d had since…well, maybe, ever.

Tom laughed too, just the way he had in her classroom, with a warmth and depth that suited him even better than his shabby chic jacket and jeans. In fact, she was enjoying herself so much she almost forgot to remind herself that, when the waiter brought the bill and she’d added the total to her expanding overdraft, and when Tom had dropped her back at the flat and waited for her to ask him in for coffee…when all that had happened, she would have to tell him she didn’t want to see him again and she couldn’t bear to get involved with someone who was about to leave the country, maybe not to return for years.

But not yet, thank God. They had a whole meal to get through first, a whole evening whose delicious pleasure had little to do with their meal.

“So, now you know all about Papua, thanks to your pupils,” he said, filling her wineglass. “And it’s your turn for confession. How did you end up at an urban primary educating small people? Or should that be corrupting them by asking me to visit?”

She toyed with her fork. “You haven’t corrupted them too much, although the tattoo was a bit of a shock. They haven’t stopped asking me about it since. You know we have a whole wall of tribal art pictures now, thanks to you.”

“Glad I’ve inspired something positive. But you’re not answering my question, Miss Grayson. Why did you become a teacher?”

“Ha!” She wished she’d stopped him pouring more wine into her glass. “It’s too embarrassing to say. It’s so corny.”

“I doubt it. And as for embarrassing, you’re forgetting something. As a doctor, I hear far worse admissions every day of the week. Being a primary school teacher hardly rates as a shocking confession.”

“It shows a shocking lack of ambition.”

“Utter rubbish!”

“Shhh!” hissed Keira, trying to stifle a giggle. “People are staring at us!”

They were, but then they had been all evening, especially the women. Keira suspected most of the smartly dressed and immaculately coiffed females were probably wondering why Tom was with the likes of someone like her. They weren’t to know, she reminded herself, that this wasn’t a date but her payment of her side of the bargain.

“Sorry, miss. I got rather overexcited. But I really wish you wouldn’t put yourself down. Being a teacher, or rather a good teacher, is a rare gift. In my opinion, that is.”

“Being a good one, maybe, but I’m not sure I am—not yet, anyway. Maybe by the time I’ve retired…”

“You’re a damn good one, Keira. I could see that from ten minutes with your pupils, let alone an hour. They respect you and they like you and you get the best out of them.”

“Well, I suppose, it’s just what I’ve always wanted to do,” she said. “Ever since I was a little girl.” Her eyes lit up at a half-forgotten memory “You know what? Mum used to find me—I couldn’t have been more than five—with my dolls and teddies in a circle, and me telling them all what to do. I’d make little exercise books and put the bad toys in the naughty corner if they didn’t do as they were told.”

She couldn’t resist that one, and Tom duly grinned. Hmm… She’d threatened him with that punishment. Then again, it might be fun, just her and Tom, him having to do as he was told. Exactly as he was told. Wearing nothing but his black silk boxers.

Or nothing at all.

He was watching her, an eyebrow raised inquiringly.

She shifted on her seat. “Mum always did say I was a bossy boots.”

“To be honest, I was just a tiny bit in awe of you myself.”

“Now I know you’re talking rubbish. I can’t imagine you being scared of anyone.”

“Ah—now that’s just where you’re wrong. We had a particularly terrifying French mistress at school. I was always in trouble with her. She sent me on a five-mile run once just because I slipped a live toad in her briefcase…”

They were attracting the attention of the other diners, but she couldn’t help laughing out loud. It was the image of the prim mistress opening her bag in the middle of a vocabulary test.

She summoned up her sternest voice. “I’d have sent you on a ten-mile run and called your parents in for a chat too.”

“Unfortunately, my parents lived two hundred miles away. It was a boarding school, you see. No parents to call. Not unless you did something really bad. And I have to admit, the cross-country run was awful enough. Mrs. Larchwood had me woken at six a.m., and I had to do it without breakfast. Charlie—my brother—had to beg me some cold toast from the refectory. I was nearly fainting by lunchtime, but I was lucky not to get six of the best on that occasion.”

Keira was shocked. “It sounds awful!”

“It wasn’t all bad. Not brutal or anything like that, and you’re spot on, it did serve me right. I should never have subjected the toad to an experience like that.”

She had to hold her napkin up to her mouth to cover her giggles.

“So,” he went on. “Your mother encouraged you to be a teacher, did she?”

“Oh yes. She was all for it. She knows how much I like helping the kids to find out new things about their world. And I love giving them the confidence to go for their dreams. Thanks, by the way, for what you said to them about becoming a doctor.”

“I had worried it was rather naïve of me, to be honest,” he admitted ruefully. “Not everyone has my…well, let’s just call them advantages in life. So, what do you get up to besides work? Bungee jumping? Sumo wrestling?” he asked. She held her hand over her mouth. He’d got her giggling like one of the girls in Year Five. “A boyfriend?”

Oh.

Well, that was a cure for the giggles. He was still smiling, but it wasn’t touching his eyes.

“That was pretty direct.”

“I like to get straight to the point,” he said.

She struggled to get her spaghetti onto her fork.

“Keira…”

The metal slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table.

“Oh blast. Sorry.”

Tom’s fingers fluttered over her wrist. “Have I upset you?”

“No.”

“But you don’t want to talk about boyfriends? Allow me,” he said, rescuing the fork from the table and expertly twirling a hank of spaghetti onto it. He leaned closer, his eyes so intensely blue and so full of sensual promise that she wanted to melt.

“Open wide.”

A wisp of steam rose from the food. Keira parted her lips, anticipating the feel of the slippery pasta on her tongue. Skillfully, Tom slid the laden fork into her waiting mouth. A dozen flavours and textures exploded against her taste buds.

“Nice?”

“Umm…”

A stray strand of spaghetti had escaped the corner of her mouth. Should she suck it in or push? Sucking would involve slurping noises, so she pushed the strand back between her lips with a fingertip.

Tom speared a prawn from his risotto and smiled as she chewed while trying not to squirm discreetly against her chair. If he only knew what her pelvic floor muscles were up to at this moment…

He pointed to her hand with his knife. “There’s sauce on your finger.”

“Oh dear…”

She glanced down. A bead of creamy juice had smeared the tip of her nail.

“You’re right. I’ll wipe it off…”

“I’ll do it.” Gently, slowly, he took her hand in his and lifted. Leaned over the table and…no, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t—ooohhh.

Soft, warm lips closed around her index finger and sucked. The pressure surprised her and sent her into a kind of sensual shock. Her body zinged as he tasted her skin. His tongue lingered, circling her finger to lick up every last drop. Her thighs hummed with pleasure as he pulled his mouth away and laid her hand gently on the cloth. She asked herself as his eyes glittered in the candlelight, could a woman melt from lust?

He reached for her spoon. “More?”

“Um…” Oh bugger, her vocabulary had sunk to Stone Age level tonight.

“I’ll assume that’s a yes… I think we’ll try a bit of juice this time.”

Pushing her chin forward, Keira opened her lips as he held out the spoon. Hard metal gave way to velvet richness as the creamy liquid slid onto her tongue, filling her mouth with juice.

Tom’s voice, deep and sexy, rumbled out one word.

“Swallow.”

Her thighs were glued together as the sauce trickled down her throat. She thanked the stars for a private table as Tom shot fire through her loins without even touching her.

“Do you think you’ll be able to manage a dessert?” he asked as she lapped a bead of sauce from her lips. “Only I hear they do an amazing tiramisu.”

Her throat was tight as she answered. “Tom, right at this moment, I don’t know if I can manage another mouthful.”

Scooping up a forkful of risotto, he smiled. “We’ll see, shall we?”

No dessert, vowed Keira. Absolutely no chocolate, cream or alcohol of any kind.

She’d given up on the pasta before he’d cleared his plate. He tried to top up her glass again too, but this time, she flattened a hand over it. “No thanks,” she said firmly, trying to get a grip. The waiter took the plates away, and she gulped down a glass of mineral water. Time to be serious. Anything to distract him from any more food foreplay. He would seduce her without even taking a stitch off if she wasn’t careful.

“Tom…”

“Um?” he asked innocently.

“It’s your turn to confess now.”

Sitting back, he folded his arms across his chest and let a frown crease his brow. “Now this sounds serious.”

“Why did an earl’s son become a doctor?”

The embarrassed silence and more attempts to refill her glass told her all she needed to know.

“Tom?”

He exhaled hard as if he was about to deal with a really difficult case. Then a smile quirked his lips. “Exactly the same reason as you. Wanted to ever since I can remember. And you know, I used to practise too. On other kids, though, not my toys…”

“You are joking!”

“Yes, but I had you going there for a moment, didn’t I?”

“You are impossible!” she hissed, smacking him lightly on the hand.

“I’ll be impossible again, if you keep that up.”

“Don’t try and distract me. I’m not fooled. The kids do it when they don’t want to tell me stuff. Tell me what it was like out there—working in the rainforest? I mean, I can’t imagine.”

“It’s such a huge country, you really can’t generalize. There are medical facilities in the main centres and absolutely non-existent in the isolated areas, and you can’t get to those except by plane. In our village, we’re lucky. We have a base where we hold clinics, and we run medic training courses in the town so the people can develop their own medical service. I’m surprised you haven’t heard more about it from Carrie.”

“She’s talked about it a little, but the past few months all I’ve heard about is the wedding. She and Matt are besotted.”

“I can see that. They’re well suited.” The waiter came with their coffee, and Tom paused.

“Please tell me more about your work. I’d rather hear it from you,” said Keira, desperate to find out more about a life so far from hers.

“I think I’ve probably said enough already. Surgical procedures, however minor, are hardly a fit topic for a dinner date. Good espresso, by the way.”

“It’s not a date,” said Keira, laughing as he held his cup under her nose. “It’s a bargain, and I’m not squeamish.” This was a lie, actually. She had almost fainted when she’d taken her mum for her breast cancer biopsy. Even the smell of the hospital had made her feel light-headed.

Tom caught the waiter’s attention. “Believe me, you do not want to know more. Squeamish or not.”

“What about your friends, then?” she asked, unwrapping an almond biscuit. “The ones I saw in the picture.”

“That was just a bit of fun. It was a long time ago.” If she wanted to see his reaction, she didn’t get one, and that said everything. He simply smiled and signaled to the waiter.

“Would you like the bill, sir?”

“Yes, please.”

Keira shook her head. “No, let me.”

“I’ll get it. In fact, I’ll come to the bar and pay it with my card.”

“But we agreed to go halves!” It was too late, as Tom was on his feet, following the waiter to the till at the bar. Well, of all the nerve. He was so high-handed, and she realised he’d managed to avoid talking about the people in the picture again. Neat. Fumbling in her purse for some cash, she made a quick estimate of how much they’d spent.

Tom returned with her coat to find her holding out some notes.

“Don’t go there, please,” he said politely.

“You’re a sexist pig. You know that, don’t you?”

“You’re probably right. And there’s worse.”

Keira pursed her lips. “What could be worse?”

“I’m an unrepentant sexist pig, and besides, I don’t get the chance to do this very often.”

“What? Be a sexist pig?”

“Take someone out to dinner.”

She stuffed the cash back in her bag. She wished he wouldn’t do that…make her feel like, well, that he really liked her company, saw her as more than an amusing sexual diversion. Which was ridiculous, of course. This was just a one-off. He was brilliant, rich and gorgeous and, above all that, could be leaving the country in a matter of weeks. Put like that, she should be laughing out loud in derision.

As he held her coat, she realised the bubble had burst. Why had Tom ever come into her life and made her feel like this?

“May I?”

“Why, do you want to borrow it?”

“Touché,” he acknowledged, but he still held her coat. She cursed herself for her sharp tongue and for the annoying tingle of pleasure that shot though her body as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. What’s more, he held out his arm for her as they stepped into the crisp night air.

What’s more, she took it. Just as a favour, out of pure politeness, she told herself, as she let Tom guide her in the direction of the car park. The piazza was still heaving with people. The fire-eater was still on his unicycle, breathing flames above the heads of the crowd. The smell of a dozen different foods, spicy and sweet, exotic and familiar, mingled in the crisp air and filled her nose with pleasure. She licked her lips, tasting almonds and coffee. Did Tom taste of that too?

A shiver ran through her.

“Cold?”

She shook her head. Not cold but hot. Hot as if the fire-eater had caught her naked skin with a lick of flame. Hotter now that Tom had pulled her arm tighter into his. How right it felt. For a little while, why shouldn’t she pretend it could last more than a night?

“Excuse me a moment.”

Oh. He’d let her arm go and melted into the crowd somewhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a near-naked guy painted silver from head to toe. He looked like a Greek statue…and he must be absolutely freezing. She dropped some coins in his hat, and he winked at her.

“Here you go, miss.”

She turned to find Tom holding out one of the cellophane-wrapped roses from the purple-haired flower seller. Damn it, it was such a corny thing to do—so why did her heart start beating like she was on the unicycle?

“Your Cockney accent is terrible. You know that.”

He thumbed his forehead. “Sorry, miss.”

“Tom! Stop it…”

The rose smelled of… She kidded herself it had a deep, lingering perfume. In reality, it didn’t smell of much at all, just tickled her nose as she sniffed the velvet petals. Alex had once told her that all trace of scent was bred out of flowers these days. Made them last longer, he said.

She didn’t care what Alex had said. She cared what Tom had done.

“Thank you.”

“It’s a pleasure.” As he smiled back at her with sparkling eyes, he made her feel that it really was.

Now his strong arm was around her back, tucking her against him again. For a few minutes as they walked to the car, she let herself believe there was only the two of them. Just her and Tom, strolling through thousands of people in the heart of this big city. For those few precious minutes, she let herself savour the warm tide of pleasure and security that washed over her. It had been a long time since she’d felt like that; certainly those last few months with Alex had held the opposite of security. She’d spent most of the time strung as tight as a guitar string and walking a tightrope.

He’d only hit her once. Once should have been enough, but she’d done what she’d sworn she’d never do with any man: given him a second chance. Alex was different, she’d told herself like a fool. He’d lashed out when he was tired and worried about work, and afterwards he’d been so contrite. They’d been together for a year then, so she’d reasoned that surely the relationship had been worth a second chance?

As it turned out, it hadn’t.

“Okay?” Tom was watching her, the door to the Land Rover open.

Her attention snapped back to him. She felt a tiny pain in her fingertip and realised one of the thorns from the rose stem had pierced the cellophane wrapper and pricked her finger.

Tom smiled, clearly oblivious to it. “Shall we go? Your carriage awaits.”