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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘JUST why,’ Alyssa asked the emergency department charge nurse, ‘would I want to win a night out with Sebastian Radley?’

‘The real question is, why wouldn’t you? Hmm, I think there’s something wrong here.’ Tracey took Alyssa’s hand and checked her pulse while looking at her watch. ‘Well, you’re definitely alive, and your pulse is normal.’ She made a show of taking Alyssa’s temperature. ‘No, that’s normal, too—so it can’t be delirium.’

‘Oh, stop it.’ But Alyssa couldn’t help laughing.

‘How about temporary insanity?’ Tracey suggested.

More like Alyssa would be insane to want to go out with Seb. ‘No. But I’ll give you a donation for the fundraiser anyway.’ Alyssa turned the key in her locker, fished out her purse, and took out some money. ‘Here. It’s for a good cause.’

Tracey raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s enough for three tickets.’

Alyssa shook her head. ‘I don’t want any, thanks.’

‘But, Alyssa, why not? I mean, the whole reason we’re selling tickets is to give everyone an equal chance of winning. If we’d done it as an auction, only the super-rich would be able to keep up in the bidding.’

Alyssa understood that. But there was one big flaw in Tracey’s plan. ‘Maybe some women don’t want to win a night out with Seb.’ Alyssa certainly didn’t.

‘Why? He’s charming, he’s witty, he’s TDH.’

Alyssa looked blankly at Tracey.

Tracey rolled her eyes. ‘Tall, dark and handsome. Honestly. Don’t you read the Lonely Hearts columns?’

‘I’m not that desperate,’ Alyssa said dryly.

Tracey winced. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, we all look through them and wonder and…Oh, forget it.’ She waved a hand dismissively. ‘I know I’m digging myself into a deeper hole here. Seriously, a night out with Seb is worth winning. He knows how to show a woman a good time.’

‘Only because he’s had plenty of practice.’ Alyssa raised an eyebrow. ‘In the six months he’s been at the Docklands Memorial, he must have dated every single woman in the hospital under the age of thirty-five.’

‘Maybe he’s just looking for the right one,’ Tracey suggested.

‘Maybe he’s the male equivalent of a right tart.’ And Alyssa definitely wasn’t interested in someone like him. She’d already learned that lesson the hard way, with Scott Cooper.

Tracey whistled. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

‘As a doctor, he’s fine.’ Thorough, decisive, charming enough to reassure their patients yet at the same time managing to remain detached. Alyssa admired that. It was the way she worked, too. ‘But as a date…no, thanks. He’s not my type.’

‘So what is your type, Alyssa?’ Tracey asked. ‘I can’t remember you ever going on a date in the three years you’ve worked here.’

Alyssa damped down the stream of impulses—to tell Tracey to mind her own business, to claim that she was gay, to say that she was looking for someone special and would know when she met the right one…Ah, it wasn’t fair to take out her bad mood on the charge nurse. Tracey meant well. But the truth was embarrassing, and Alyssa didn’t want any gossip about herself doing the rounds. Nobody at the Docklands Memorial Hospital knew about the mistake she’d made, and she intended to keep it that way.

And she didn’t repeat her mistakes. Ever.

Sebastian Radley might be charming, handsome and witty—and, yes, she’d admit that he was the sexiest man she’d ever met, with those slate-blue eyes and a mouth that was just designed for sin—but he was a walking disaster where relationships were concerned. Which made him a man to be avoided in her book.

‘Hey, I’m a busy medic. I don’t have time to date,’ Alyssa said lightly. She took a note from her purse. ‘Here you go. More hush money. Is that enough to stop you nagging me?’

‘Hmm,’ Tracey said, and smiled. ‘Thanks for supporting the fundraiser, anyway.’

And as Alyssa walked away, Tracey filled the registrar’s name neatly in on three ticket stubs. Alyssa Ward. Their registrar worked far too hard, in Tracey’s opinion, and needed to let her hair down. And Seb was just the man to help her do that.

Their consultant, on the other hand, needed to be a bit more serious, to realise that life wasn’t just party after party. And Alyssa was just the woman to help him see that.

In fact, Tracey thought, this fundraiser could fix a few problems. All she had to do now was have a little chat with Vicky Radley, Seb’s sister, who was joint co-ordinator of the fundraiser. If Tracey could get Vicky on her side, then the Docklands Memorial Hospital was just about to become a much more interesting—and much happier—place.

‘This was a really, really stupid idea,’ Seb informed his sister. ‘Remind me again. Why did I agree to do this?’

‘Because you just lur-r-rve your picture being in the papers, and the papers love you even more when you’re wearing your tux,’ Vicky said with a grin. ‘The Hon. Sebastian Radley raises money for emergency department equipment: you’re guaranteed tons of column inches with this one. Posh but caring. It’s a winner.’

‘Oh, ha.’ He scowled at her. ‘Why couldn’t I just have made a large donation to hospital funds?’

‘Because that’s not proper news—it wouldn’t have been enough to get the press off Charlie’s back. So he’d have ended up trying to sort things out with Sophie while the paparazzi was trying to bang her door down, and she’d have run a mile, instead of agreeing to marry him.’ Vicky shrugged. ‘It was the best idea I could come up with at short notice. And, may I remind you, you couldn’t come up with a better one. You went along with it.’

‘Hmm, well. You owe me for this. So does our big brother,’ Seb warned.

‘Relax,’ she soothed, making a last-minute adjustment to his bow-tie. ‘You look fantastic. If you weren’t my brother and the world’s biggest louse to women, I’d be tempted to buy a ticket myself.’

‘It was supposed to be a promise auction.’ Seb’s blue eyes narrowed.

‘It is, for everything else. But a night with you…Seb, this is a hospital. The debs can afford a bidding war—or, rather, their fathers can—but we need to give everyone a fair chance. That’s why we’re raffling you instead.’

‘If you’d kept it as an auction, you could’ve bid for me.’ He sighed. ‘I would have funded you to do it.’

‘You’d have bought yourself?’ Vicky snorted. ‘Oh, come on. Don’t expect me to believe that one. You love dating women. You live to party. This is you we’re talking about.’ She paused and gave him a speculative look. ‘Unless you’ve fallen in love and you’re going to settle down?’

‘Of course not. What do you think I am, stupid?’ Seb frowned ‘No. I just…Look, I hope those tickets made it clear it was one single night out and not a promise of wedding bells. And that there’s absolutely no possibility of an ongoing relationship.’

‘Seb, you’re the prize.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Everyone knows the rules.’

‘I’d prefer them spelt out, to be on the safe side.’

‘Too late. We’ve sold all the tickets. Just stop fussing, will you?’

‘I just hope you pick a ticket for someone matronly who’ll love being treated as a star for a night—a make-over, a limo, a swish meal out,’ Seb said, his mouth thinning. ‘And I’m never, ever, ever going to be suckered into doing anything like this again.’

Vicky waited a beat. ‘Seb?’

‘Yes?’

‘Stop being so grumpy, put a smile on your face, and go charm some money out of the crowd.’

Charm. It was what he was good at. And that was the point of tonight after all: raising money for hospital funds. He took a deep breath, and followed his sister’s instructions.

By the time he was halfway through the evening, Seb was enjoying himself hugely. He’d persuaded everyone to up their bids just that little bit more. He’d auctioned a professor as a household maid for a day, a charge nurse as a car valet for a week, three Indian head massages, six home-cooked dinners, one very staid head of surgery to wear a silly tie for a week, kisses—one of which he’d bought at an outrageously high price and claimed there and then on the stage, because the nurse who’d promised the kiss was seriously cute—several cakes, four make-overs, two leg-waxes and a case of champagne. The money was just pouring in for the hospital, and the room was humming with expectation and laugher and verve.

This was great. Maybe he shouldn’t have been a doctor after all. Maybe he should have been a TV presenter, with the crowds around him like this…Except there was a good chance he’d have ended up in his worst nightmare. Working with kids. Adults, yes; you knew where you stood with adults. But kids? If it was a choice between having his legs plucked—one hair at a time—and working with kids, Seb would choose the plucking. No hesitation.

He was on a high until his sister walked onto the stage with the ward’s charge nurse, Tracey Fry.

‘This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for,’ Vicky said. ‘Tonight’s raffle. A night out with the Honourable Sebastian Radley.’

There were cheers, whistles and catcalls. Seb felt his face heat and started calculating the chances of the earth opening up and swallowing him.

The odds weren’t good.

‘And the winning ticket is…’ Vicky had even managed to dredge up a drum roll from somewhere as she turned the tumbler on the drum full of tickets. Oh, he’d pay her back for that.

Tracey opened the little hatch at the top and reached into the drum. She made a big show of digging in deep. And an even bigger show of waving the folded ticket to the crowd.

He’d make her pay, too. Couldn’t they just get this over with?

Tracey unfolded the ticket. ‘Number 457,’ she announced.

There was a rustling of tickets and a general murmuring of disappointment.

Please, please, let it be someone who’d take the whole thing at face value and wouldn’t expect his undying love, Seb begged silently.

‘Alyssa Ward,’ Tracey called.

Alyssa Ward? Seb tried to put a face to the name, and failed.

‘Um, Alyssa’s not able to be here tonight,’ Tracey said.

She wasn’t here? But…Oh, she must be on duty, Seb realised. Night shift.

‘So I’ll tell her the good news in the morning,’ Tracey added.

‘Fix,’ someone called teasingly.

Fix? Sebastian didn’t like the sound of that. What did they mean, fix?

‘The ED can’t possibly win Seb for a night. He’s staff!’ someone else called.

Tracey just laughed. ‘That’s the luck of the draw. Over to you, Seb.’

He smiled sweetly and pretended to be delighted, and finished auctioning the last few promises. All the while, his mind was ticking over. Alyssa Ward? ED—emergency department—staff?

Ah, yes. Alyssa Ward. Their very serious and quiet registrar. He’d worked with her for six months now and still barely knew her. Although she came on team nights out, she always seemed to be sitting at the opposite end of a very long table. Almost, he thought, as if she was avoiding him—but, then again, if she wanted to steer clear of him, why would she have bought a ticket to win a night out with him?

Completely illogical. But that was women for you—his sister excepted. Vicky, Seb thought, was completely logical.

Well, at least he wouldn’t have to face Alyssa in the morning. He was on a late—and as she must be on nights, they wouldn’t be in the department at the same time. Which would give him a few hours to find out more about her and decide how to play this.

It was one date. And it wasn’t even a date date. It was going to be fine.

So why did he have this uneasy feeling prickling the back of his neck?

‘You are going to need full body armour before you go out there,’ Fliss told Alyssa, laughing, as Alyssa walked into the ED staffroom and headed for the coffee-machine.

‘Full body armour? Why?’

‘Because every woman in the hospital’s out for your blood today.’

‘What?’ Alyssa frowned at the nurse. ‘Sorry, Fliss, you’ve lost me completely.’

‘You won. Last night.’

Were they in a parallel universe or something? ‘Won what?’

Fliss groaned. ‘You definitely need that coffee to wake you up, Alyssa. You won the night out with Seb.’

Alyssa shook her head. ‘Not me. I didn’t buy a ticket.’

Fliss raised an eyebrow. ‘You must have done. Otherwise how could you have won?’

Alyssa folded her arms. ‘I didn’t buy a ticket. I gave Tracey a donation.’

‘Enough to buy several tickets,’ Tracey said, overhearing them and coming to join them. ‘So I put your name on a couple of tickets for you. One of them just happened to be the winner.’

Alyssa’s lip curled. ‘Well, I’m more than happy to donate the prize to somebody else.’

Seb, who’d overheard the last part of the conversation, stopped dead in the corridor. Hang on. Alyssa Ward was supposed to be on night shift—wasn’t she?

No. He’d assumed it. Assumed that anyone who’d bought a ticket would have been there to collect her prize, unless she happened to be on duty.

Not only had someone else bought the ticket for Alyssa, she didn’t want the prize.

And that rankled.

Seb might not want to settle down, but he knew how to give someone a good time. He’d taken Vicky’s advice about what to offer. A make-over, dinner in a swish restaurant and good tickets to see a show. What wasn’t to like about that?

Clearly, he was the sticking point.

He frowned. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had refused to go out with him. Actually, he didn’t think anyone ever had. This was a first. And he didn’t like it one little bit.

So he was going to find out what the problem was. Here and now.

‘Why?’ he asked, walking into the staffroom. ‘Do I have a personal hygiene problem or something?’

At least Alyssa had the grace to blush. ‘No. I just don’t go out on dates.’

Oh, so that was it. And even though he should have been pleased—he hadn’t wanted the winner to get the wrong idea and think it meant the beginning of a relationship—her reluctance stung him even more. ‘This isn’t a date,’ he corrected. ‘It’s a night out, the prize for a fundraiser. A one-off.’ And he was annoyed enough to add, ‘Oh, and it’s tonight.’

To his surprise, she didn’t back down. ‘What if I’m busy?’

‘Then you can reschedule.’

‘I think, Mr Radley, you can reschedule. Or go on your own.’ She looked at him, unsmiling, and put her undrunk coffee down on the table. ‘Don’t ever try to boss me around again.’

Fliss whistled. ‘That’s put you in your place,’ she said as Alyssa walked off.

Maybe, Seb thought. He’d barely noticed Alyssa Ward before. She was just the quiet, studious registrar he’d worked with a few times—efficient, pulled her weight, good with patients, did her job without complaining, yada yada yada. She always wore plain dark trousers and a cream shirt underneath her white doctor’s coat, and he’d barely registered that she was female. She was a professional colleague, that was all.

And he certainly hadn’t noticed that stubborn streak. It was an overworn cliché, but maybe her chestnut hair had something to do with it. And maybe she was only quiet because she knew that she had a temper and needed to keep a tight rein on it.

Which made Alyssa Ward a very interesting proposition.

Hmm. They’d have that night out tonight. And he was going to pull out all the stops.

Later that day, Seb had the case from hell. Resus was quiet for once, so he took his fair share of working through the cubicles.

Which meant Seb had to deal with the four-year-old boy who’d caught himself in his zip.

Great, he thought when Mel on Reception handed him the notes. Why couldn’t he have had a difficult geriatric, or the six-foot-six body-builder who’d been in a fight and was still drunk and stroppy? But no. He got the kind of patient he found hardest to handle. A kid.

Seb was hopeless with kids. Always had been. Thank God he’d never have to have any of his own. He was only the spare and not the heir to Weston—with any luck, Charlie and Sophie would make a baby really soon and let him off the hook completely.

The little boy was crying and the mum was clearly panicking. Seb switched on his professional smile. ‘Come through here with me. We’ll soon have him sorted out.’

‘He wanted to get dressed himself. I turned my back for two seconds and, and…’

‘It’s OK. It happens a lot. Little ones forget to put their underpants on, try to get dressed too quickly and catch a bit of skin in the zip.’ Oh, please, please, make the boy stop crying. Seb hated the sound of children crying. It went right through him—it was far worse than the sound of chalk squeaking on a blackboard.

‘But the zip’s jammed! I can’t undo it,’ the woman said. Her face turned bright crimson. ‘And it’s his willy! What if it causes…well…problems?’

‘It won’t,’ Seb soothed. ‘Trust me, I won’t have to do any surgery. I’ll give him something to numb the pain so I can manipulate the zip without hurting him any more. Sometimes mineral oil will do the trick—otherwise I’ll need to cut the zip, if that’s all right?’

‘I don’t care—I hate the things anyway. His grandmother bought them because she says he looked too scruffy in the pull-up joggers he normally wears. She said he ought to have proper trousers, like they had when my husband was small.’

‘Mothers, eh?’ Seb said, smiling wryly. Your own mother was meant to be nice and the mother-in-law was from hell. Given what his mother was like, he never wanted to test that theory. The woman who was worse than Mara hardly bore thinking about.

And the kid was still crying. Oh, hell. He hated this. And his attempts at jollying the little boy along clearly weren’t working. He needed help. A nurse. Someone who was better with kids than he was. ‘I’m just going to get the kit I need. Back in two seconds,’ he said, and left the corridor with relief.

The first member of staff he met, he’d beg for help.

He almost—almost—revised that idea when he met said member of staff. But he could still hear the little boy crying. He had to go for the lesser of two evils. And Alyssa Ward was at least cool and calm. She’d be far better with the kid than he was.

He switched to charm mode. ‘Alyssa, can I borrow you for a moment, please? I need your help.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

‘Little boy with a zip problem. I need someone to distract him while I do the necessary.’ Please, please, let her say yes. Please, let her like kids. Please, let her help me.

She shrugged. ‘OK.’

His smile, this time, was genuine. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it. Cubicle five. I’m just going to get the lidocaine, mineral oil and cutters.’

By the time he returned—only a few moments later—the little boy was sitting on Alyssa’s lap and she was telling him a story. The child was still crying, but he was more interested in the story—something about a train and a dinosaur. Alyssa was a natural, Seb thought.

And then the lightbulb pinged. Of course. Question: why wouldn’t you want a swish night out? Answer: when you were married with a small child.

He glanced automatically at her left hand. No wedding ring. Either she didn’t wear it at work for hygiene reasons, or she wasn’t married but was still committed.

Well, that was an easy one. He’d arrange a babysitter, and she could still have the night out—but with her partner instead of him.

And he could go partying without having to worry about not fulfilling the terms of his promise.

Sorted.

He painted iodine onto the little boy’s skin, then slipped in some lidocaine. As the numbing action began to work, the child’s sobs diminished and he even started to talk back to Alyssa, asking her bits about the story.

Not wanting to break the peace, Seb quietly told the mother exactly what he was going to do and then worked swiftly in silence. He covered the area in mineral oil—it wasn’t enough to make the zip move, so he was going to have to cut the slide. Alyssa was still distracting the little boy, which was good—it meant the child wouldn’t worry about the orthopaedic pin cutters which Seb had brought with him.

There was one nasty moment when Seb thought he was going to have to try the other way—using heavy-duty towel clamps on either side of the zip slide and twisting the thing apart—but then the fastener slid apart, releasing the little boy’s skin.

Result.

He pulled the exposed zipper teeth open, cleaned the crushed skin and applied some ointment.

‘Has your little boy had his tetanus injection?’ he asked.

The woman nodded, looking relieved.

‘That’s good. Now, he’s going to be a bit sore for a while, but there won’t be any lasting damage. If you’re worried about anything at all, call your GP or come back here and we’ll take a look.’

‘Thank you.’

He smiled. ‘Hey, I just did the easy part. Alyssa did the tough bit.’ And he really meant it. She’d done the thing he found more difficult than anything else: she’d calmed the little boy right down.

‘Thank you, both of you.’

Alyssa brought her story to a swift conclusion, but before she could follow the patient out of the cubicles Seb said softly, ‘Alyssa?’

‘Mmm-hmm?’ She looked faintly wary.

‘Thank you for bailing me out.’

‘Kids worry you?’

Was it that obvious? ‘I’m just…I don’t have the rapport with them that you clearly do.’

‘No problems.’

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were…well, married with kids. Of course you won’t want a night out on the town with me. But you won the raffle fair and square, so I’m more than happy to pay for a babysitter as well as the rest of it, so you and your husband can have a night out together.’

She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not married.’

‘Partner, then.’

Her green eyes glittered. ‘And I don’t have children. It’s just part of my job.’

Hell, she was back to freezing him again. And he didn’t like the way she was looking at him. Kind of, well, as if she despised him. And it was irritation that made him say something he knew was seriously stupid, even as he spoke the words. ‘Then, if you’re free, let’s get it over with. Tonight. I’ll pick you up at half seven.’

Without giving her the chance to say no, he went to find his next patient.

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