Unwrapping the Neurosurgeon's Heart

‘Fine. Saskia did it,’ she bit out. ‘Now will you leave it alone?’

‘And you let her?’ he heard himself asking. Laughing.

‘I let her?’ Anouk folded her arms across her chest.

‘You let her decorate Resus? After the go you had at me for the bit of tinsel? Or did my words make you reconsider your rather military stance?’

Anouk scowled. He was obviously baiting her, so the last thing she should do was rise to it.

‘You think a lot of yourself, don’t you? And for the record, I don’t control Saskia.’

‘I never suggested you did.’ He grinned, beginning to enjoy himself now. ‘But she’s your best friend. I dare say she wouldn’t have done it if you’d asked her not to.’

She glowered, continuing to eye him silently, for several beats too long.

‘Fine,’ she conceded eventually, grudgingly. Rolling her eyes at him and sending a lick of heat straight through to his sex. ‘I thought it might be nice.’

‘Nice, huh?’

‘For the patients,’ she huffed. ‘You really do need to stop being so arrogant. I didn’t do it because you suggested it.’

‘Heaven forbid.’

He didn’t even attempt to conceal his chuckles.

‘In fact, like I said, I didn’t even do it at all.’

‘No, of course not. It was your friend. And I’m guessing you didn’t help her one bit.’

Her bristly demeanour gave her away, and Sol grinned broadly. It was nonsensical how much lighter and happier, Anouk made things—even when she was irritated with him she managed to flip some unseen switch to turn his day from aggravating to enjoyable.

Even when she was dealing with a casualty, he found his eyes lingered a fraction longer on Anouk. Something about her seeming to shine that little bit brighter than everyone else around her.

She was fascinating.

Which made her so much worse than simply hot.

Anouk had taken up residence in his head and was apparently claiming squatter’s rights. He couldn’t seem to eject her and the harder he tried, the deeper she seemed to insinuate herself.

Which left only one solution. A solution that he would never in his right mind have expected himself to consider, and that he couldn’t imagine any other woman in the world bringing him to.

The only way to stop himself from thinking about Anouk Hart was to convince her that they hadn’t finished what she’d started the other night. That they both wanted more. Which shouldn’t be too hard, given the sexual chemistry still crackling between them right now.

But he refused to lead her on. Just because he would be breaking his rule about second dates—not that it had been a proper first date, given that she hadn’t even let him take her to that ball—it didn’t mean he was offering her anything more. He wasn’t putting a relationship on the table.

Who are you trying to convince? The question popped, unbidden, into his head. Anouk or yourself?

He shoved it away for the nonsense it was, but its echo lingered, nonetheless.

He needed more of Anouk. He craved her. But it was clear that whatever madness—he flattered himself to think it was their intense attraction—had overcome her the night of the gala, she wasn’t going to let it get to her a second time. Not without a fight.

She’d pulled down the st

rait-laced shutters and set up the blockades of disapproval. But she didn’t quite manage to pull off forbidding with the same aplomb as before. There was a flash of memory in her expression, a spike of hunger in her glance.

He had no doubt that Anouk craved him every bit as much as he craved her. But her mind was trying to shut off all that her lush, rather wanton body was telling it.

Which meant that he was going to have to seduce her. Court her, as old Mrs Bowman would have said.