her nose at him, leaning forward wickedly so nobody could hear. ‘No way are you Hunky. That’s reserved for the Italian god named Luca.’ Her eyes fell on Luca, standing talking to one of her nurses. She whispered in Brad’s ear, ‘Have you noticed how he keeps checking out his own reflection in those highly polished Italian shoes of his?’
Brad’s shoulders started to shake.
She prodded him on the shoulder. ‘No. With that excuse of a haircut and that strange earring, you’re definitely Funky.’ She pointed at his ear. ‘What is that anyway?’
Her head came forward, her nose just a few inches off his ear as she studied the twisted bit of gold in his ear. ‘Is it a squashed kangaroo? Or a surfboard?’
‘Neither.’ He grinned at her, turning his head so their noses nearly touched. ‘Believe it or not, it used to be a boomerang. My mum bought it for me when I was a teenager and I won a competition.’ He touched it with his finger. ‘It’s a little bent out of shape now.’
Her face was serious and he could smell her per-fume—or her shampoo. She smelled of strawberries. A summer smell, even though it was the middle of winter in Glasgow. He was almost tempted to reach out and touch her chestnut curls, resting just above her collarbone. But she was staring at him with those big chocolate-brown eyes. And he didn’t want to move.
If this was the Dragon Lady of the medical receiving unit, he wondered if he could be her St George and try to tame her. No. That was the English patron saint and he was in Scotland. He’d learned quickly not to muddle things up around here. The Scots he’d met were wildly patriotic.
Her face broke into a smile again. Interesting. She hadn’t pulled back, even though they were just inches from each other. She didn’t seem intimidated by his closeness. In any other circumstances he could have leaned forward and given her a kiss. A perfect example of the sort of distraction he needed.
‘Come to think of it, though …’ She glanced up and down his crumpled clothes. How could she ever have thought he reminded her of Bobby? Bobby wouldn’t have been seen dead in crumpled clothes. He’d always been immaculate—Brad was an entirely different kettle of fish. ‘If you keep coming into my ward dressed like that, I’ll have to change your name from Funky to Skunky.’
Brad automatically sat backwards in his chair, lowering his chin and sniffing. ‘Why, do I smell? I was on call last night and I haven’t been in the shower yet.’ He started to pull at his scrub top.
She loved it. The expression of worry on his face. The way she could so easily wind him up. And the fact he had a good demeanour with the patients and staff. This guy might even be a little fun to have around. Even if he was from the other side of the world.
She shook her head. ‘Stop panicking, Brad. You don’t smell.’ She rested her head on her hands for a second, fixing him with her eyes. Mornings on the medical receiving unit were always chaotic. Patients to be moved to other wards, new admissions and usually a huge battery of tests to be arranged. Sometimes it was nice just to take a few seconds of calm, before chaos erupted all around you.
He reached over and touched her hand, resting on top of the off-duty book. The invisible electric jolt that shot up her arm was instantaneous.
‘I could help you with those. The last place I worked in Australia had a computer system for duty rosters.
You just put in the names, your shift patterns and the requests. It worked like a charm.’
Her eyes hadn’t left where his hand was still touching hers. It was definitely lingering there. She’d just met this guy.
‘You’re going to be a pest, aren’t you?’ Her voice was low. For some reason she couldn’t stop staring at him. It didn’t help that he was easy on the eye. And that scraggy hair was kind of growing on her.
He leaned forward again. ‘Is that going to be a problem?’ His eyes were saying a thousand different words from his mouth. Something was in the air between them. She could practically feel the air around her crackle. This was ridiculous. She felt like a swooning teenager.
‘My gran had a name for people like you.’
He moved even closer. ‘And what was that?’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Handsome? Clever? Smart?’
She shook her head and stood up, straightening her tunic. ‘Oh, no. It was much more fitting. My gran would have called you a “wee scunner”.’
His brow wrinkled. ‘What on earth does that mean?’
‘Just like I told you. A nuisance. A pest. But it’s a much more accurate description.’ She headed towards the duty room, with the off-duty book in her hand. She had to get away from him. Her brain had taken leave of her senses. She should have taken Lucy up on that offer of tea.
Brad caught her elbow. ‘Actually, Cassidy, about your duty room …’
He stopped as she pushed the door open and automatically stepped inside, her foot catching on something.
‘Wh-h-a-a-t?’
CHAPTER TWO
CASSIDY stared up at the white ceiling of her duty room, the wind knocked clean out of her. Something was sticking into her ribcage and she squirmed, causing an array of perilously perched cardboard boxes to topple over her head. She squealed again, batting her hands in front of her face.
A strong pair of arms grabbed her wrists and yanked her upwards, standing her on the only visible bit of carpet in the room—right at the doorway.
Brad was squirming. ‘Sorry about that, Cassidy. I was trying to warn you but …’
He stopped in mid-sentence. She looked mad. She looked really mad. Her chestnut curls were in complete disarray, falling over her face and hiding her angry eyes. ‘What is all this rubbish?’ she snapped.
Brad cleared his throat. ‘Well, actually, it’s not “rubbish”, as you put it. It’s mine.’ He bent over and started pushing some files back into an overturned box. They were the last thing he wanted anyone to see.
Her face was growing redder by the second. She looked down at her empty hand—obviously wondering where the off-duty book she’d been holding had got to. She bent forward to look among the upturned boxes then straightened up, shaking her head in disgust.
She planted her hands on her hips. ‘You’d better have a good explanation for this. No wonder you were giving me the treatment.’
‘What treatment?’
She waved her hand in dismissal. ‘You know. The smiles. The whispers. The big blue eyes.’ She looked at him mockingly. ‘You must take me for a right sap.’
All of a sudden Brad understood the Dragon Lady label. When she was mad, she was mad. Heaven help the doctor who messed up on her watch.
He leaned against the doorjamb. ‘I wasn’t giving you the treatment, as you put it, Cassidy. I was trying to connect with the sister of the ward I work in. We’re going to have to work closely together, and I’d like it if we were friends.’
Her face softened ever so slightly. She looked at the towering piles of boxes obliterating her duty room. ‘And all this?’
He shot her a smile. ‘Yes, well, there’s a story about all that.’
She ran her fingers through her hair, obviously attempting to re-tame it. He almost wished he could do it for her. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve moved in.’
He laughed. ‘No. It’s not that desperate. I got caught short last night and was flung out of my flat, so I had to bring all my stuff here rather than leave it all sitting in the street.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean, you got caught short? That sounds suspiciously like you were having a party at five in the morning and the landlord threw you out.’
Brad