The Italian Doctor's Proposal. Kate Hardy

grinned. ‘Lucy, your eyes go all schoolmarmy when you’re annoyed about something.’

      Did they? She’d never realised she was so transparent.

      ‘You are to me,’ he said softly, and she realised she’d spoken aloud.

      ‘Nonsense,’ she said crisply.

      ‘So what am I doing wrong?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Explain the schoolmarmy look, then.’

      Well, he was asking for it…‘You’re right about the staff on River. They’re a nice bunch and I’d hate to see them hurt,’ she informed him.

      ‘You think I’d hurt them?’ He frowned. ‘Why?’

      ‘You have a reputation.’

      He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, not that Italian playboy stuff again! Lucy, I’m not a stereotype. Yes, I like to have fun—but I stick to the rules and no one gets hurt. Just take me as I am.’

      Her libido fluttered and she stamped on it hard. Don’t go getting any ideas, she warned it. ‘Yes, boss.’

      His lips thinned. ‘If you don’t believe me, ask yourself if your reputation’s deserved.’

      She didn’t need to ask him which reputation. She was all too aware of it. ‘My career’s important to me.’

      ‘But that doesn’t make you a cold fish.’

      She knew that. Her patients did, too. And as for the men she’d turned down—they just needed to grow up enough to realise they weren’t irresistible and it didn’t mean she was a challenge to be conquered. Her reputation didn’t bother her.

      ‘Or any less of a woman,’ Nic added softly, and her insides melted at the flash of sensuality in his eyes.

      This conversation was definitely straying onto worrying territory. She sat up straighter. ‘My private life’s just that.’

      ‘And so is mine.’

      ‘Good. Then we’re agreed.’

      He spread his hands. ‘Lucy, why are we fighting?’

      ‘Because…’ Her voice faded. She didn’t know why she was fighting Nic. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d rowed with a colleague. Bickering with Mal was different because it wasn’t personal and the SHO reminded her of one of her kid brothers, and she didn’t find Mal remotely attractive. Whereas Nic…

      No. Focus. Career first, last and always, she reminded herself.

      ‘Because I kissed you?’ His voice grew husky. ‘It was before I knew who you were. And, yes, I lost it a bit in my office this afternoon. I shouldn’t have done what I did and I apologise. What can I do to make it up to you?’

      Kiss me again.

      Lucy prayed she hadn’t said that out loud. She hadn’t meant to think it either. And it had better not have shown on her face.

      He took a sip of coffee, then broke off a piece of blueberry muffin.

      Since when had eating cake been sexy? Lucy tried very hard to stop looking at his mouth. Or remembering what his lips had felt like against her skin.

      ‘This is good,’ he told her.

      ‘Mmm.’ She took refuge in her own coffee. Though she’d lost her appetite for her blueberry muffin. It was too dangerous. She’d already had to yank her thoughts away from the idea of Nic feeding her morsels of cake as he—

      No!

      ‘Why are you so anti-relationship?’ Nic asked without warning.

      Lucy almost choked on her coffee. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘Being committed to your job doesn’t mean you have to spend your life alone,’ he said. ‘So what’s the real story?’

      ‘You’ve got a nerve!’

      ‘I just want to know what makes you tick. You’re my number two in the department,’ he reminded her. ‘The most important member of my team.’

      ‘All right, since you want to know.’ She folded her arms. ‘Both my parents are on their fourth marriages, all my brothers and sisters are divorced and I don’t see the point of wasting all that emotion when I could use the energy much more effectively in my work.’

      ‘Who says you’ll go the same way?’

      ‘Because there’s a pattern.’

      ‘You could be the one to change it.’

      She wasn’t. Jack Hammond was living proof. Not that she was going to tell Nic about him. Nobody at Treverro knew about Jack, and she wanted to keep it that way. ‘I’m not. And you’re in no position to lecture me, anyway.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘Has anyone lasted more than three dates with you?’ She waited for a moment. ‘If you have to think that hard about it, clearly not many have.’

      ‘You know when you meet the right one,’ he said.

      Lucy scoffed. ‘Come off it. Don’t the statistics show that one in three marriages end in divorce?’

      ‘Which leaves two in three that don’t.’

      ‘So you’re telling me you believe in happy-ever-after?’

      He nodded. ‘Since you believe in patterns, there’s one in my family. My parents had a holiday romance—they didn’t even speak the same language when they first met—but my father followed my mother back to England and they’ve been married for more than forty years. And they’re still in love. My sisters are both happily married—Gina for fifteen years and Sofia for twelve.’

      ‘So why aren’t you following their pattern?’

      ‘Because I’m waiting for the right one.’

      ‘And that’s your excuse for a trail of broken hearts?’

      ‘That’s an exaggeration, Lucy. Do you expect your date to propose to you at the end of the first evening?’

      ‘Of course not.’

      ‘Exactly. If I go out with someone, it’s to have a good time and we both know the rules right from the start. I’m not a heart-breaker—and you’re not frozen.’

      That look in his eyes was back. The one that made her insides smoulder. This really wasn’t fair. ‘What’s Nic short for?’ she asked, desperate to change the subject.

      ‘Niccolo.’

      ‘As in Machiavelli?’

      He grinned. ‘Yup. But I’m not manipulative.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘I didn’t manipulate you into telling me things. Just as I’m not going to manipulate you into bed.’

      That feeling flooding through her spine was not disappointment, she told herself. ‘Good,’ she said tightly. ‘So we know where we stand.’

      ‘I’m attracted to you, Lucy,’ he said softly. ‘Very. I’d like to get to know you better—a lot better—outside work. But you’ve made it clear you’re not interested, and I’m not going to push you into something you’re not comfortable with.’

      ‘Good,’ she said again, even though her heart was wailing You idiot! and doing the mental version of foot-stamping and hair-tearing.

      ‘So we’re colleagues. I’d like to think we can be friends, too.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Good.’ Nic finished his muffin. ‘Aren’t you going to eat yours?’

      ‘I’m