Paddington Children's Hospital Complete Collection. Kate Hardy

skitter of excitement whipped through her. There’d been a rumour going around that a charity in India was making overtures to the castle in regards to separating a set of conjoined twins. Being part of the multidisciplinary team from the planning stages through to the massive operation and postoperative care would be the chance of a lifetime.

      ‘Oh?’ she said, far more casually than she felt.

      ‘We’re giving a paper at the spring symposium.’

      A streak of surprise was followed by a trickle of dread. ‘We?’ She hated that it came out on a squeak.

      He nodded. ‘It’s the tradition across all the medical departments that the specialist registrar in his or her last year of their fellowship always gives a joint presentation with their consultant.’ He scratched his head and his brow furrowed. ‘Did I not mention this to you when you first arrived?’

      No! ‘You did not,’ she said, trying to sound calm. The dread was now spinning her stomach and sending out wave upon wave of nausea. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of it.’

      ‘Oh, well, not to worry,’ he said with a grin that held a modicum of contrition. ‘Lucky it’s quiet so we should meet tomorrow’s deadline.’

      ‘Tomorrow.’ Her screech of disbelief could have given a sulphur-crested cockatoo a run for its money. ‘But the symposium’s still weeks away.’

      ‘The papers are due tomorrow. The admin staff need time to print and bind them and prepare the handouts for the attendees.’

      ‘We can’t write a paper in a day.’ She hated the squeak in her voice.

      ‘Of course we can,’ he said with all the easy confidence of someone who’d never had to think twice about reading or writing. ‘Some of the best papers I’ve ever written have happened at that adrenaline-fuelled last-minute deadline.’ Memories filled his handsome face. ‘It’s such a buzz to pull an all-nighter and finish as the fingers of dawn are lighting up the city.’

      The very idea made her gag. ‘That’s not the way I work,’ she countered, desperately clutching at straws. ‘I mean, we don’t even have a topic.’

      ‘Of course we’ve got a topic,’ he said, sounding amused. ‘I wouldn’t do that to you.’

      ‘I guess I should be thankful for small mercies,’ she said sarcastically.

      ‘I’m sorry it slipped my mind, Claire. Your predecessor, Harry Banks, was supposed to write the paper, but as you know, he left us the moment things started looking rocky for the castle.’ His face filled with kindness. ‘I’m aware you like things to be ordered and just so, but believe me, stepping out of your comfort zone every now and then makes you feel alive.’

      Oh. My. God. He was serious. He honestly thought he was doing her a favour. Her heart thumped so hard she was sure he must hear it. ‘What’s the topic?’ she asked weakly.

      His face lit up. ‘Epilepsy surgery’s the most effective way to control seizures in patients with drug-resistant focal epilepsy. I’ve got all the data. It’s just a matter of assembling it and stringing it together with some well-chosen case studies. Don’t panic. Most people prefer to attend the summer symposium on the Continent. The spring one’s the smallest of the three. Think of it as a test run. If the paper’s well received there, we can work it up into something bigger for The Lancet. Too easy.’ He laughed. ‘Isn’t that what you Aussie’s like to say?’

      ‘Something like that,’ she said faintly. The task he was asking her to undertake would be a significant one for most people, but for her the short time frame made it monumentally huge. Hopefully, she could find a quiet corner in the library where she could spread out the data and work her way through it slowly and methodically. ‘I guess I better make a start, then.’

      ‘Excellent.’ He gave her warm smile. ‘Give me fifteen minutes to grab a quick shower and then meet me in my office.’

      No, no, no! Working alongside Alistair risked exposing her secret and she’d do anything to prevent that from happening. With a decisive movement that said all business, she pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘I’ll work in the library.’

      He tilted his head and gave her a long and questioning look. Somehow, despite feeling like a desert plant wilting under the intense scrutiny of summer noontime heat, she managed to hold his gaze.

      ‘It makes far more sense to work in my office,’ he said, breaking the long silence. ‘All the data’s on my computer and there’ll be far fewer interruptions and distractions there.’

      Fewer distractions? She stifled a groan. Her much-needed day of physical distance from Alistair North had just imploded and sucked her down with it. Now, she faced spending the working day with him in the close confines of his office. Every breath she took would carry his musky scent. The air around her would vibrate with his bounding energy and any inadvertent brush of shoulders or hands, which invariably happened when two people worked in close proximity, would only serve to remind her how amazing the strength of his toned muscles and the tautness of his skin had felt last night under her hands.

      All of it was one enormous distraction, but in relative terms, her irrational attraction was the least of her worries. Her biggest problem was the challenge of hiding the fact she found data analysis and large writing tasks difficult. Under extreme pressure, it was almost impossible. If her boss discovered that, it could jeopardise her scholarship. She swallowed hard. There was only one solution—she had to get creative and make sure he never discovered her secret.