The Doctor's Rebel Knight by Melanie Milburne Page B

tyre.
    Sergeant Jacob Hawke looked the sort of man who could do just about anything, like make her think thoughts she had no right to be thinking. Dangerous thoughts, thoughts of furnace-hot kisses and sensually stroking hands…
    ‘Forget about the parking fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll sort it out with Senior Constable Hank.’
    She looked back into his eyes, her lips feeling as if his dark-rimmed gaze had scorched the moist surface of her mouth. God knew what would happen if his lips touched hers, she thought, glancing at his mouth as the tip of her tongue quickly darted out to moisten her own. She would probably sizzle like a fried egg on a hot tin roof.
    ‘Er…that’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘But I don’t mind paying my dues, really. It’s the law, as you say, and I did staya bit longer than the time on the sign…or at least only a couple of minutes but I’m used to parking meters in the city so I guess things are different down…down…here…’
    Fran lost track of what she was saying. The cut on his cheek had stopped bleeding but she could see the slight swelling around his eye, a hint of a bruise already making its way to the surface of his tanned skin.
    ‘Um…would you like me to dress that for you?’ she asked. ‘It’s stopped bleeding but it probably needs cleansing to avoid infection.’
    ‘There’s no need,’ he said, removing his hand from hers. ‘I’ll see to it myself.’
    ‘Fine then,’ she said, readjusting her handbag strap on her shoulder as she stepped back from the desk on legs that felt like those of a string puppet’s. ‘I’m…er…sorry to have taken up so much of your time.’
    ‘Not at all.’
    There was a silence, broken only by the sound of the clock ticking on the wall behind Jacob’s desk.
    Tick.
    Tick.
    Tick.
    ‘Do you fancy a drink after work this evening?’ he asked.
    Fran blinked. ‘Um…pardon?’
    ‘A drink at the pub after work,’ he said. ‘You and me and two glasses, usually with something alcoholic in them, but it’s not mandatory—the alcohol, I mean.’
    She continued to stare at him. ‘You’re…you’re asking me on a…on a date?’
    His expression and his tone seemed to communicate a take-it-or-leave-it attitude, which irked her.
    The last thing she needed was a date with a man she didn’teven like. Attractive he might be, but unlike some of her peers she was not interested in casual dates to fill in the time. She could just imagine what he would expect from her at the end of the evening, but that was one game she wasn’t going to play. Perhaps he thought she was desperate for a date on account of her limp. When she’d first come out of hospital a workman had called out something rude to her as she’d hobbled past a building site on her crutches, and ever since she had struggled with her self-esteem, seeing every man’s interest as pity rather than genuine interest.
    Fran straightened to her full height which, without heels, meant she had to crick her neck to meet his gaze. ‘Actually, I am busy tonight,’ she said, and stood there, waiting for him to suggest the following night, but he said nothing.
    The ensuing silence throbbed for several seconds, as if an invisible finger had reached up and stopped the second hand on the clock.
    Fran felt the heat begin to crawl like a slow-moving tide from her neck to her cheeks. ‘Um…I’d better go,’ she said. ‘I apparently have patients waiting for me.’
    He gave a nod without saying anything, his arms now folded against his chest, his hips leaning against the filing cabinet, the gunbelt around his lean waist like a menacing third presence in the room.
    ‘Have a nice day, Sergeant Hawke,’ she said as she turned to leave.
    He didn’t say a word.
    Not a single word.
    Damn him.
    Triple damn him.
    Fran closed the door and walked past Nathan Jeffery with a stiff smile pasted on her face. ‘Have a nice day, Constable.’
    ‘You too, Dr Nin,’ he said with a friendly smile.