Tempted By Mr Off-Limits. Amy Andrews

terrible time in their lives—even just a little—became paramount.

      They were going to have to live on, after all, and how the hospital process was managed had a significant bearing on how they coped with their grief.

      ‘Loved ones don’t say no out of spite or grief or even personal belief, Hamish. They say no because they’ve never had a conversation with that person about it. And if they’ve never specifically heard that person say they want their organs donated in the event of their death. They...’ Lola shrugged ‘...err on the side of caution.’

      It was such a terrible time to have to make that kind of decision when people were grappling with so much already.

      ‘I know, I know.’ He sighed and he sounded as heavy-hearted as she’d felt when her patient’s wife had tearfully declined to give consent for organ donation.

      ‘Which is why things like Herd Across the Harbour are so important.’ Lola made an effort to drag them back from the dark abyss she’d been trying to step back from all night, turning slightly to face him, the railing almost at her waist. ‘Raising awareness about people having those kinds of conversations is vital. So they know and support the wishes of their nearest and dearest if it ever comes to an end-of-life situation.’

      She raised her glass towards him and Hamish smiled and tapped his beer bottle against it. ‘Amen.’

      They didn’t drink, though, they just stared at each other, the blue of his eyes as mesmerising in the night as the perfect symmetry of his jaw and cheekbones and the fullness of his mouth. They were close, their thighs almost brushing, their hands a whisper apart on the railing.

      Lola was conscious of his heat and his solidness and the urge to put her head on his chest and just be held was surprisingly strong.

      When was the last time she’d wanted to be just held by a man?

      The need echoed in the sudden thickness of her blood and the stirring deep inside her belly, although neither of them felt particularly platonic. Confused by her feelings, she pushed up onto her tippy-toes and kissed him, trapping their drinks between them.

      She shouldn’t have. She really shouldn’t have.

      But, oh...it was lovely. The feel of his arms coming around her, the heat of his mouth, the swipe of his tongue. The quick rush of warmth to her breasts and belly and thighs. The funny bump of her heart in her chest.

      The way he groaned her name against her mouth.

      But she had to stop. ‘I’m sorry.’ She broke away and took a reluctant step back. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

      His fingers on the railing covered hers. ‘Yeah,’ he whispered. ‘You absolutely should have.’

      Lola gave him a half-smile, touched by his certainty but knowing it couldn’t go anywhere. She slipped her hand out from under his, smiled again then turned away, heading straight to her room and shutting out temptation.

       CHAPTER TWO

      BUT LOLA COULDN’T SLEEP. Not after finishing her glass of wine in bed or taking a bath or one of those all-natural sleeping tablets that usually did the trick. She lay awake staring at the ceiling, the events of the shift playing over and over in her head.

      Her patient’s wife saying, ‘But there’s not a scratch on him...’ and his daughter crying, ‘No, Daddy!’ and his teenage son being all stoic and brave and looking so damn stricken it still clawed at her gut. The faces and the words turned around and around, a noisy wrenching jumble inside her head, while the oppressive weight of silence in the house practically deafened her.

      She felt...alone...she realised. Damn it, she never felt alone. She was often here by herself overnight if Grace was at work or at Marcus’s and it had never bothered her before. She’d never felt alone in a city. But tonight she did.

      It was because Hamish was out there. She knew that. Human company—male company—was lying on the couch and she was in here, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. And because it wouldn’t be the first time she’d turned to a man to forget a bad shift, her body was restless with confusion.

      Was it healthy to sex away her worries? No. But it wasn’t a regular habit and it sure as hell helped from time to time.

      Lola had no doubt Hamish would be up for it. He’d been flirting with her from the beginning and he’d certainly been all in when she’d kissed him on the balcony. The message in his eyes when she’d pulled away had been loud and clear.

      If you want to take this to the bedroom, I’m your guy.

      And if he hadn’t been Grace’s brother, she would have followed through. And not just because she needed the distraction but because there was something about Hamish Gibson that tugged at her. She’d felt it on the bridge this morning and at the bar.

      It was no doubt to do with his empathy, with his innate understanding of what she’d witnessed tonight. She didn’t usually go for men who came from her world, particularly in these situations. Someone outside it—who didn’t know or care what she’d been through—was usually a much better distraction.

      Someone who only cared about getting her naked.

      Who knew familiarity and empathy could be so damn sexy? Who knew they could stroke right between your legs as well as clutch at your heart?

      Lola rolled on her side and stuffed her hands between her thighs to quell the heat and annoying buzz of desire. Wasn’t going to happen. Hamish was Grace’s brother. And she couldn’t go there. No matter how much she needed the distraction. No matter how well he kissed. No matter the fire licking through her veins and roaring at the juncture of her legs.

      Lola shut her eyes—tight.

      Go to sleep, damn it.

      * * *

      At two o’clock in the morning, Lola gave up trying to fight it. Grace wasn’t here—she’d texted an hour ago to say she was staying at Marcus’s—and Hamish would be gone in the morning.

      What could it hurt? As long as he knew it was a one-off?

      Decision made, she kicked off the sheet and stood. She paused as she contemplated her attire, her underwear and a tank top. Should she dress in something else? Slip on one of her satiny scraps of lingerie that covered more but left absolutely nothing to the imagination? She’d been surprised to learn over the years that some guys preferred subtlety.

      Or should she go out there buck naked?

      What kind of guy was Hamish—satin and lace or bare flesh?

      Oh, bloody hell. What was wrong with her? Had she lost her freaking mind? Hamish was probably just going to be grateful for her giving it up for him at two in the morning and smart enough to take it any way it was offered. She was going to be naked soon enough anyway.

       Just get out there, Lola!

      Quickly snatching a condom out of the box in her bedside drawer, she headed for her door, opened it and tiptoed down the darkened hallway. Ambient light from a variety of electrical appliances cast a faint glow into the living room and she could make out a large form on the couch. She came closer, stepping around the coffee table to avoid a collision with her shins, and the form became more defined.

      He’d kicked off the sheet, which meant Lola could see a lot of bare skin—abs, legs, chest—and she looked her fill. A pair of black boxer briefs stopped her from seeing everything and his face was hidden by one bare arm thrown up over it. The roundness of his biceps as it pushed against his jaw was distracting as all giddy up.

      As was the long stretch of his neck.

      It was tempting to do something really crazy like run her fingers along that exposed,