Playing With the Playboy's Sweatheart

Chapter Two

In her ideal world they would have*** on Saturdays, more out of obligation than necessity—occasionally on Tuesday if Emily was on a late shift the next day and there was nothing good on television.

‘You’re new?’ Hugh said.

‘Emily has been working here for a year now!’ Louise, the nurse who had warned Emily about him in the changing room, quipped. ‘How rude that you haven’t noticed her before.’

It was just a small exchange, a teeny bit of fun, but Emily felt a slight flutter of unease as his green eyes told her that he certainly had noticed!

‘Emily Jackson,’ she said.

Hugh certainly had noticed her—from her pale blue eyes to her creamy skin. He wanted to know if the dark curl that peeked from beneath her theatre hat came from long or short hair and Emily’s soft Scottish accent also had him curious.

‘How long have you been in London?’ Hugh asked. ‘It can be a bit daunting at first.’ He was about to suggest that he could show her around perhaps when she interrupted him with a slightly wry smile.

‘I guess it was at first but I’ve been living here for years now, so I’m completely undaunted.’

She had meant to shut him down but Hugh had merely smiled. ‘Really?’

Let the flirting begin, his eyes said.

Except Emily refused to go there.

Quite simply, he daunted her.

Hugh took a phone call and his face broke into a smile. He offered his congratulations and then told everyone the good news. ‘It’s a little girl and her name is Josie and she’s doing very well.’

‘How much did she weigh?’ Louise asked.

‘I forgot to ask,’ Hugh admitted, and then stood. ‘I’d better go—a hernia repair awaits me.’ He turned and smiled at Emily. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

‘Same,’ Emily said, and she smiled but, and Hugh couldn’t quite get it, there was something about her smile that he could not put his finger on. It was pleasant, friendly even and yet...he could not find the word.

* * *

The afternoon list flew by and Hugh was just about to head up to the wards to check on his postoperative patients when he found out about the hair beneath her theatre cap.

Emily’s hair was long, thick, dark and curly. Without the shapeless theatre scrubs Hugh also noticed a curvy figure dressed in jeans, a heavy jacket and long boots.

‘See you,’ Hugh said.

‘Have a good night.’ There was that smile again and Hugh found the word he was looking for.

Sparing.

It was an incredibly cost-effective smile—it did its job but no more than that.

Already he wanted more.

No doubt Emily had been warned about him, Hugh reasoned, because he had felt the coolness of her brush-off. Or perhaps she was already involved with someone?

Still, even with Emily’s best efforts to deny that he moved her, the sparks flew between them whenever they were in Theatre together. So much so that at a Christmas work party a few weeks later Emily was relieved when Gina, an anaesthetist, offered her a lift back to her flat from the party, though she warned Emily that she was leaving in fifteen minutes.

With that deadline in mind, knowing she had a legitimate reason to leave soon, when Hugh offered to get Emily a drink she didn’t refuse.

‘Just a small one,’ Emily said, handing him her glass. ‘I’m going soon and I don’t want to miss my lift.’

Hugh returned with her drink a short while later and an offer too. ‘I can give you a lift if you want to stay a bit longer.’

Emily shook her head. ‘I have to be up early—I’m going up to Scotland tomorrow.’

‘Have you got family there?’

‘My mum.’ Emily nodded. ‘And quite a bit of extended family too.’

‘Do you have family here in London?’

Emily nodded again. ‘When my parents broke up my dad moved to England...’ Emily hesitated; she didn’t want to remember that time, moving in with dad’s girlfriend Katrina and her daughter Jessica. It actually hurt to recall those events so she hurriedly glossed over them. ‘I used to come down a lot to visit.’

‘How much?’

‘Half the school holidays, but when I left school I moved permanently down here to do nursing.’