Second Chance with His Army Doc

Less of a man, more of a mountain, yet unequivocally male. Bridget was fairly certain she heard a collective sigh of appreciation from the female contingent of the entire club. Or maybe that was just her?

And she hated herself for it. It was so not her to lust over a man. Any man. But certainly not one who was also the brother

of the closest thing Bridget had had to a best friend since she’d been a kid. Certainly not one with whom she was going to be working—out in the middle of nowhere on the African continent—for the next three months.

Well, not working with exactly. But close enough. Which was why, no matter how insane her body was going right now, she didn’t fancy him. She refused to.

Yet what was to be done when everything about him, from that crop of short yet deliciously tousled dirty-blond hair down to the jaw—so square that a carpenter could have used it to take perfect right angles—was stunning? Not to mention those Baltic-blue eyes that seemed to peer into her very soul, holding her own and making it feel as though her entire face was on fire.

She couldn’t move, could barely even breathe. She had no idea how she managed to wrest her gaze away, but suddenly it was dropping. Down over those broad, strong shoulders to which the fitted shirt clung so lovingly, and did absolutely nothing to disguise, and over the indisputably defined chest as it tapered to the sexiest set of male hips she imagined had ever existed.

She couldn’t look down any further. She didn’t dare. And so they lingered there—shamefully—somewhere around his belt buckle.

Fleetingly, Bridget considered making her escape. Rushing for the Ladies’ to douse herself with some much-needed cold water. Naturally, it was that exact moment that her friend chose to introduce the two of them.

‘Bridget, this is my brother, Hayden. Hayd, meet Bridget Gardiner, who I’ve been telling you about. Though she’s off limits, right?’

More heat—if it was even possible—rushed to Bridget’s face, even as her mouth became too parched to begin to respond. Not that it mattered, as Hayden was already speaking, his rich, deep, yet slightly wry tone doing...things to Bridget’s insides.

She needed to get a grip. Draw on some of that strength she always had in one of those refugee camps in the middle of some foreign country.

‘Thank you, Mattie...’ the low, rich voice rolled through her, despite the deep pulse of the nightclub bass line, leaving her altogether too...aware of her own body ‘...for making it sound as though I pounce on every friend you introduce me to. And, Bridget, I’ve heard a fair bit about you. It’s a pleasure.’

He held his hand out, the movement breaking her stare, and she snapped her eyes back up in an instant.

His blue eyes glittered. All-knowing. Clearly amused.

Her flush intensified as she thrust out her hand to his proffered one, shaking it clumsily. She’d never, never reacted to anyone like this. She’d thought it was something reserved for films, or books. But, lord, how Hayden positively oozed authority. And power.

It was...intoxicating.

You can resist him. You can resist him... Bridget began to chant it furiously to herself, like some kind of new mantra.

As if she would actually need to try.

As if Hayden would even look twice at a woman so quiet that she could make wallflowers look like prima donnas.

But, then, that was what happened when you’d spent the first thirteen years of your life gliding around the most glittering, monied, social circles, only for absolutely everything to tumble down in the most shameful way when your father had got arrested for fraud.

Was it any wonder, then, Bridget thought, not for the first time, that she’d spent the next thirteen years making herself as inconsequential and invisible as possible, fighting to shake off those associations?

Only now, right at this minute, standing in the spotlight of Hayden’s stare, she didn’t feel inconsequential or invisible, or gawky and out of step. Instead, she felt raw. Wobbly. Naked.

And a raft of other things she couldn’t—or didn’t want to—identify.

Get a grip.

‘Hayden.’ Thrusting her hand out to take his proffered one, she wasn’t prepared for the jolt of electricity that zapped right through her, from the tips of her fingers right to her core. Right...there. Bridget was frankly astounded that she managed to make her voice sound remotely normal. ‘Likewise.’

‘Call me Hayd. Everyone does.’

Hayd. Even his name sang a new song inside Bridget’s head. It should have been laughable but instead, shamefully, she found that she was entranced.

‘I don’t think you pounce on every friend I introduce to you,’ Mattie’s firm, all-too-shrewd voice cut in. ‘Just those who have something about them.’

‘I take it she’s always this complimentary about me?’ Hayden... Hayd turned to Bridget with raised eyebrows, but the twitch of his mouth was almost mesmerising.

It was all she could do not to let her legs crumple. They were certainly shaky enough.