The Heart Consultant's Lover. Kate Hardy

      ‘My car decided not to start the day of the interview. Seb took pity on me and lent me the Roadster—on condition there wasn’t so much as a speck of dust on it when I got back.’

      Was that a glint of mischief in her eyes? He couldn’t tell. ‘You believe in straight talking, don’t you?’

      ‘It makes life simpler.’

      He nodded. ‘OK. Then you may as well know that I went for this job, too.’

      ‘And you think I got it because I’m Ralph Turner’s daughter.’

      ‘I didn’t say that.’

      ‘But it’s what you’re thinking.’ She shrugged. ‘I got the job because of what I can do, not for who I am.’

      ‘On the round, you sounded as if you knew what you were talking about.’

      ‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she said dryly.

      ‘And that came out badly. I didn’t mean it like that.’ He sighed. ‘We’ve got off to a bad start.’

      ‘Look, I’m sorry you didn’t get the job, but I hope it’s not going to cause us problems working together. From my point of view, I get a special reg who knows exactly what he’s doing. From your point of view, I’m not going to change the way you work—and you can get on with being a doctor and leave the hospital politics to someone else. So, let’s start again. Perhaps, this time, we can do it on first-name terms.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Miranda Turner. Pleased to meet you, Jack.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you, Miranda.’ Jack took her proffered hand. ‘I’ve seen your re´sume´. If that didn’t convince me, the ward round proved you know your stuff.’

      She didn’t push for a grovelling apology, he noticed. She just gave him a quick smile. ‘Thanks.’

      Jack refused to acknowledge the beat his heart had just missed. Nothing was going to happen between them. They were colleagues and that was it. And even if Miranda hadn’t been the professor’s daughter, he’d already learned his lesson with Jessica. The hard way. ‘I’ll ring Jordan Francis—he’s our theatre manager, if you haven’t met him yet—and see if he can fit us in tomorrow.’

      ‘If Imogen agrees,’ Miranda added. ‘We need to talk to her great-niece as well. I don’t want to send her home without any support.’ Not after what had happened to May. ‘Perhaps there’s someone else in the family who can help. Or maybe Imogen could stay in a convalescent home short term, then we can arrange to get someone to look in on her at set times when she comes home and take her dog for a walk.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Speaking of which, I need to phone the kennels.’

      By the time they’d finished writing up their notes, Jack had booked theatre time and Miranda had reassured Imogen that Floss was fine, it was nearly lunchtime.

      ‘So, are you having lunch with your father?’ Jack asked.

      ‘You must be joking!’ Was that a look of horror on her face or was it his imagination? When he looked again, her expression had been carefully schooled into neutral. ‘I doubt if he’d have time.’

      ‘On your first day?’

      She shrugged. ‘Would you expect him to have lunch with any other consultant on their first day?’

      ‘Well—maybe not. But you’re his daughter.’ If he’d been in her position, his mother would have had lunch booked from the word go. His father…Well, Jack tried not to think about his father. But any normal father would make sure she’d settled in OK, surely?

      ‘Here I’m a doctor. Family doesn’t come into it.’

      Was she upset about that? Or was she the one who’d insisted on it? Jack couldn’t quite work her out. ‘So what are you doing?’

      ‘I thought I’d go for a walk, get some fresh air. Maybe grab a sandwich.’

      He shrugged. ‘I’m off to the canteen in twenty minutes, if you want to join me.’

      ‘Are you being nice, or do you mean that?’

      He couldn’t help smiling. ‘You’re right. You do believe in straight talking.’

      ‘And?’

      It took him a bit by surprise, but… ‘I meant it.’

      ‘Good. You can tell me what not to pick in the canteen. And, as it’s my first day, it’ll be my shout.’

      ‘You’re on.’

      Miranda sneaked a glance at Jack as she drank her coffee. Now they’d cleared the air, there was a good chance they’d have a decent working relationship.

      And that’s working, Miranda Turner, she emphasised to herself. Yes, Jack Sawyer was attractive, with intense dark eyes, dark hair, pale olive skin and the kind of smile that made her heart beat a little bit faster. Yes, he had a beautiful mouth, generous and soft. Yes, he had nice hands—clean, well-shaped fingernails, the kind of hands she could only too easily imagine stroking her skin and playing with her hair.

      But imagination was as far as it could go. He was her colleague—her junior, to boot—and that made him off limits. Particularly as she was working in her father’s hospital. Ralph Turner would be less than pleased to hear she was seeing one of her staff. It simply wasn’t done. Besides, she’d already learned the hard way that relationships weren’t for her. She was focused on her career. Completely.

      Jack kept both hands wrapped round his mug of coffee. This was crazy. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Even if he had been, his boss was the last person he should be thinking about.

      And yet…Oh, hell. Behave, he told his libido. So what if her eyes are the colour of the sea on a winter’s day? So what if her mouth is a perfect Cupid’s bow? And don’t even think about reaching over to unpin her hair and letting it fall over her shoulders like rippling oiled silk. Just concentrate on the fact that she’s your boss. She may be efficient, straight-talking and think on her feet—everything you like in a woman—but laying so much as a finger on her would be professional suicide. You’ve worked hard to get as far as you have—don’t blow it now just because you fancy her. Stay away, he warned himself. Hands off.

       CHAPTER TWO

      BY THE start of her shift on Wednesday, Miranda felt as if she’d always worked at Calderford General. All the staff on the coronary care unit seemed to accept her as part of the team—including Jack, she thought with relief—and she’d settled into the ward routine.

      Wednesday morning’s angina clinic flew by and Miranda kept her lunch-break short, to make sure she was on time for her theatre appointment with Imogen Parker. But just before Imogen was due to have her pre-med, the phone rang in Miranda’s office.

      ‘Miranda Turner.’

      ‘Hi, Miranda, it’s Jordan Francis.’

      There was only one reason she could think of why the theatre manager would call her. ‘Hi, Jordan. I hope you’re not going to tell me there’s a problem with my two o’clock,’ she said, keeping her voice light.

      ‘’Fraid so.’

      ‘Majax?’ she asked, using the hospital’s shorthand term for ‘major accident’ or ‘major incident’—meaning that the A and E department needed all the theatre slots to deal with surgical emergencies.

      ‘Um, no.’

      She picked up on the slight trace of guilt in his voice. ‘Jordan, I know it’s not your fault, but CCU booked that slot for a reason. If there isn’t a major emergency, why are you pulling the slot?’

      ‘The prof needs it.’

      ‘Why?’