So when the night comes that she’s not a client and I’m no longer on the clock—we’re locked and loaded and rearing to go.
The corners of Abby’s mouth quirk and I even get an eye roll. Nice.
“I’m aware of that, yes, thank you.”
I lean back. “Just making sure.”
“But we really must leave now if we’re going to be punctual,” Abby insists.
I tilt my head up to the still-dark sky, squinting into the misty drizzle and coming back with a face full of wet.
“It’s raining.”
Without a word, but still defiantly, Abby reaches back and pulls the hood of her perfectly practical brown poncho over her head. Then she tugs on the ties, knotting it tightly under her chin.
And a chuckle rolls up my throat.
Because she looks damn adorable—in her scrubs and rubber rain boots, with the snug hood highlighting her lovely face and lush lips, and the feisty challenge in her eyes.
I want to kiss the daylights out of her.
Right here on the wet pavement. I want to kiss her mouth while she moans into mine, and bite her neck, and whisper hot, dirty nothings in her ear until she’s soft and pliant and clinging to me.
But no matter how stupendous of an idea that is and no matter how much I want to . . . now’s not the time. Sometimes vows are a real pain in the arse—and the balls.
“You realize, it’d be more sensible to ride your bicycle when your family isn’t potentially under a threat of harm?”
“But that’s what I have you for. Unless you don’t feel you’re up to the task? I thought you’d jog along beside me the whole way, but maybe you don’t have the stamina?”
I lift an eyebrow.
“Attacking my manhood? Cheeky.”
She shrugs one shoulder.
“Whatever works.”
I nod. “I respect that.”
I mentally go through the route from here to the hospital.
“All right. But we stay away from the populated areas along the way. Follow me.”
Abby holds up her hand, shaking her head.
“Out of the question. I ride the exact same route each time.”
“Why?”
She gazes up into my face. “I know every pothole on the way, every bump in the road. There are no mishaps, because I know to avoid them. I know exactly what time we’ll arrive at the hospital. Riding the same route helps to begin my day on the right foot.”
“So it’s like a superstitious thing?” I wonder.
“It’s a repetition thing. Consistency. Routine breeds excellence.”
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.
“All right, we’ll take your route.” I jab a finger in her direction. “But . . . if we do get ambushed, after I heroically save your life . . . I’m definitely telling you I told you so.”
Abby swings one leg over her bike, looking extremely pleased with herself.
“Noted.”
CHAPTER SIX
Abby
“YOU REALLY WEREN’T JOKING WHEN you said you didn’t have time for dinner . . . or screwing, were you?”
For the last week that Tommy Sullivan has been guarding me, he’s had a front-row seat to the demanding, one-day-runs-straight-into-the-next existence of a surgical resident.
Ding
His mobile pings with an incoming message.
“No, I wasn’t.”
I’ve felt his eyes on me, following me, as I attended rounds, treated patients, spoke with supervisors, viewed surgeries in the observation suite and scrubbed in. He watched me run a jugular venous catheter in the emergency room, and later as I assisted in the delicate removal of a pipe impaled through a man’s chest that somehow missed any internal organs or arteries—a fascinating case.
His mobile pings again.
And he’s watching me now. His eyes heated with interest, at my flat, as I’m hunched over my dining table, beneath a bright spot lamp, snipping and suturing.
“What the hell are you doing again?” he asks.
I look up, momentarily distracted by the rich warmth of his voice.
“Practicing.”
His expression turns distasteful.
“On chicken’s feet?”
“Yes. The tendons in chicken’s feet are challenging to get to, but once you do, their consistency is very similar to humans’.”
He snorts. “If my mum were here, she’d make soup out of that. What else do you practice on?”
“Oh, let’s see—grapes, oranges, drumsticks, hogs—cadavers are best, but they don’t let us take them home.”
He grins. “But I bet you would if you could.”
I glance towards my kitchen, perfectly serious. “If I had freezer space for it, absolutely.”
He laughs then—full throated and amused.
“You are an odd bird, Abigail Haddock.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Ding goes his mobile once more.
“It doesn’t seem like you were joking either—when you said you were quite busy. I imagine running your own business and still working in the field yourself is time consuming.”
“It is.” He nods, glancing with a furrowed brow at his mobile screen.
Ding
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Yeah—sorry—it’s the Realtor for a flat I’ve been interested in. She says if I want to take a look at it, it’s now or never.” He slips his mobile in his trouser pocket. “But it’ll have to be never.”