Praise for Amy Andrews:

‘A spectacular set of stories by Ms Andrews

, the ITALIAN SURGEON TO DAD! duet book

features tales of Italian men who know how to

leave a lasting impression in the imaginations of

readers who love the romance genre.’

—Cataromance.com on ITALIAN SURGEON TO DAD! duet

‘Whether Amy Andrews is an auto-buy for you,

or a new-to-you author,

this book is definitely worth reading.’

—Pink Heart Society Book Reviews on A MOTHER FOR MATILDA

Amy also won a RB*Y

(Romantic Book of the Year) Award in 2010 for

A DOCTOR, A NURSE, A CHRISTMAS BABY!

‘You’re not married?’

Patrick looked down at his bare left hand, absently stroking the place where his wedding band, gone for almost three years now, had sat. ‘Not any more.’

Miranda, conscious of the occasional brush of his arm and the heat radiating from his thigh to hers, almost sagged against him in relief. She might not be experienced at picking up men in bars, and it certainly hadn’t been her intent when she came to the symposium, but she was pretty sure there was an undercurrent between them.

An undercurrent she probably would never have explored under normal circumstances. But Lola was at a sleepover and, thanks to the generosity of her grandmother, she was staying the night at a swanky hotel.

And she was extraordinarily attracted to Patrick Costello. And, if she wasn’t very much mistaken, the feeling was mutual.

This wasn’t some seventeen-year-old girl crush. This was all grown-up. And she wanted it. Her pulse tripped at the thought of doing something a little reckless for a change.

She drained the remnants of her glass. Maybe she could have one crazy night?

‘Would you like another wine?’ he asked.

Miranda met his gaze, felt it rove over her face and settle on her mouth. She’d been a single mother since she was seventeen. She wasn’t up on the rules of this situation. But the part of her that was female, that responded to his maleness, knew that another wine implied so much more than just a second glass.

If she was sensible she’d walk away right now.

But she was so tired of always being sensible.

She lifted her chin and looked straight into his golden-brown eyes. ‘Yes, please.’

Dear Reader,

Don’t you just love stories about people who really want to be together but can’t? The yearning and the tension and the will they/won’t they conundrum as the story evolves and you know something’s gotta give. I think it’s especially touching when children are involved. When two people who are obviously attracted to each other deny it so they can be good parents to their children.

Except we all know how that one’s going to end, right?

Parents are people too and surely a man and a woman who have always done the right thing and strived through difficult circumstances to be there and be everything for their kids, deserve a little happiness?

I hope you’ll agree that Patrick and Miranda do. Ruby and Lola, their little girls, certainly do.

From their first meeting in a hotel lift to their eventual HEA there aren’t two more worthy people than Patrick and Miranda.

I hope you enjoy their story.

Love,

Amy

About the Author

AMY ANDREWS has always loved writing, and still can’t quite believe that she gets to do it for a living. Creating wonderful heroines and gorgeous heroes and telling their stories is an amazing way to pass the day. Sometimes they don’t always act as she’d like them to—but then neither do her kids, so she’s kind of used to it. Amy lives in the very beautiful Samford Valley, with her husband and aforementioned children, along with six brown chooks and two black dogs. She loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a line at www.amyandrews.com.au

Recent titles by the same author:

 SYDNEY HARBOUR HOSPITAL:

 EVIE’S BOMBSHELL*

 HOW TO MEND A BROKEN HEART

 SYDNEY HARBOUR HOSPITAL: LUCA’S BAD GIRL*

 WAKING UP WITH DR OFF-LIMITS

 JUST ONE LAST NIGHT …

 RESCUED BY THE DREAMY DOC

 VALENTINO’S PREGNANCY BOMBSHELL

 ALLESANDRO AND THE CHEERY NANNY

* Sydney Harbour Hospital

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

One Night She Would Never Forget
Amy Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Ethan, Saul, Quinn, Neve and Jem—

an aunt couldn’t ask for nicer nieces and nephews!

CHAPTER ONE

September

MIRANDA DEAN PAID no heed to the man getting into the lift as she searched through her bag for her room key. This was the problem with having bags big enough to throw a party in—you could never find anything.

Why hadn’t she just slotted it into the back of the nametag holder hanging around her neck, like everyone else?

She felt a nudge at her elbow and a deep voice asking, ‘Yours?’

She looked up to see a fluffy pink miniature teddy in the palm of a big tanned hand. Pinky!

‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ she murmured, reaching for the toy that looked particularly girly in stark contrast to the very male hand.

Her gaze wandered higher, and higher, a grateful smile on her face for the finder of such a precious item. Her breath caught at the very sexy man who smiled back. He looked tired. Lines around his eyes, tie pulled askew, unshaven jaw, dark, rumpled hair suffering from a bad case of finger-combing, but his gaze was lit with laughter, and the dimple in his chin? Well, that was plain sinful.

Not to mention the intoxicating scent of him spicing the air around her.

‘You take it everywhere you go?’ he teased as he relinquished the object then buried his hand in his pocket.

Miranda blushed as the humorous note in his voice did strange things to her equilibrium. Was he … flirting with her? Or just being nice?

She really didn’t have enough practice with this kind of thing.

‘It’s not mine … it’s Lola’s,’ she clarified. Well, attempted to anyway but obviously failed as one nice thick manly eyebrow kicked up. ‘My daughter’s … Lola is my daughter,’ she explained, her fingers stroking absently along the soft pink satin patches delineating Pinky’s paws. ‘She’s four … well, nearly five actually … She’s not with me…’ she ended lamely, wishing the lift doors would just open already before she sounded any more socially inept.

The universe obliged.

‘This is my stop,’ she prattled, apparently now unable to stop with the talking.

He smiled at her and Miranda wished she could tell if he was amused with her or by her. ‘Me too,’ he murmured, and indicated for Miranda to precede him.

Excellent! Somehow her legs kicked into gear and she exited, aware of him falling in beside her. Aware of his height and his breadth and the way he moderated his long-legged stride to match hers. Aware of his scent again—spicy man times ten with an end note of sweetness that tickled her senses.

And her hormones.

‘So … you’re at the conference?’ he asked.

Miranda nodded, dragging her brain away from the alluring smell of him. She’d been thrilled when the hospital had sponsored her, a lowly new grad, to attend the two-day international medical symposium being held in Brisbane for the first time ever. It had been a veritable smorgasbord of exciting new information. ‘You?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘I’m presenting a paper tomorrow.’

Miranda’s step faltered. Good lord, she’d been prattling on like a mad woman about a pink teddy to some hotshot bigwig! She was probably supposed to know who he was on sight.

‘Oh,’ she said absently, as her brain busily flicked through the programme pages she’d consulted about a hundred times that day, trying to place him.

He chuckled. ‘I promise it’s not that boring.’

Miranda turned to him as they walked, reaching for his arm automatically and touching it briefly. ‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry … I didn’t mean it like that. I—’

He chuckled again and she could see he was teasing her once more. She almost sagged against him in relief. ‘You mock.’

He smiled back at her in reply and Miranda’s legs suddenly felt as if they were filled with jelly. It was the kind of smile that could make her forget she was a single working mother of a four-nearly-five-year-old. That could make her wonder what it might be like to have his wicked looking mouth on hers.

It really ought to be illegal to smile in such a way.

She was grateful when her room loomed and she could break away from the pull of him. It was titillating and unnerving in equal parts. She wasn’t in a position to give in to her weak knees or to the butterflies in her belly.

Why, suddenly, did that feel like a regret?

‘This is me,’ she announced as she stopped at her door.

He smiled that illegal smile again and said, ‘We’re neighbours. I hope you don’t snore.’

Miranda felt her stomach turn over several times. He needn’t worry about that. She probably wouldn’t get to sleep at all now! ‘I’ve had no complaints.’

The humour that had sparkled in his eyes morphed into a rich glitter as Miranda realised what she’d said.

Dear God—had she taken a stupid pill?

Now the man probably thought her mattress was a veritable hotbed of vice. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. The only pleasure she’d got there in years had been an extra lie-in on Sunday mornings—if she was lucky!

‘Ah … okay … that came out all wrong,’ she said.

Why she felt the urge to put it straight she had no idea. The man already knew she had a daughter, he surely didn’t expect her to be a virgin. And, anyway, what the hell did it matter what he thought? He didn’t know her—they’d only just met, for crying out loud.

He looked at her for a prolonged moment and Miranda felt her nipples bead against her bra as the heat from his gaze fanned over her. ‘Sounded okay to me,’ he murmured. Then he inclined his head and ambled off, throwing, ‘Goodnight, Miranda,’ over his shoulder.

Miranda? She stared after him. He knew her name? She stood unmoving by her door, watching him take the five paces to his door and then reach inside his jacket pocket for his key.

‘How do you … know my name?’

He turned towards her, shoving his biceps against the door and giving her that smile again. Like he could see right through her clothes to the knot her knickers were tying themselves into.

He pointed at her chest and said, ‘Your nametag.’

Miranda looked down. The item in question swung slightly against her breasts from the movement. ‘Oh.’

He grinned. ‘Happy dreams.’

And by the time she looked up again, his door was clicking shut.

Patrick Costello flopped fully clothed back on his bed, a smile on his face. Four nights of interrupted sleep—three with an ill child and last night in the operating theatre with a kidney transplant—had left him utterly wrecked.

But Miranda Dean’s cute little blush had perked him up considerably.

He lay in the dark, the lights off, staring at the ceiling. It was so quiet. The low hum of the air-con was all that could be heard in the well-insulated room and it was unnerving. Back home in suburban Sydney he was surrounded by the constant chatter of a four-year-old and the blare of the television as his mother-in-law settled in for her nightly shows.

Silence was a novelty.

It should be bliss, he supposed, but it just felt wrong. It always felt wrong when he was away from Ruby.

He sat up and flicked the television on, clicking the remote until he came to a news station. But the noise wasn’t the same and the room felt cold and empty.

He wondered if it felt like that next door. Was Miranda missing her daughter too?

He’d noticed her as soon as the lift doors had opened—hard not to as she had been the only occupant. But he’d have noticed her through a crowd with that curtain of wavy ebony hair falling forward as she trawled through her voluminous bag. A sleek navy skirt with fine pinstripes clung to hips and thighs that could only belong to a woman. A glossy dark grey blouse fell against very nice breasts, her nametag swinging enticingly between them.

Miranda Dean.

Did she always carry the little pink teddy or was it just one of those things that seemed to find their way into bags when a child was in the mix?

Interesting that she too had a four-year-old daughter.

Very interesting.

He caught himself smiling again and groaned as he flopped back. Get a grip. You have a presentation to embellish and sleep to catch up on.

Now have a shower and get to work!

Patrick obeyed the stern voice in his head, knowing it was right. He wasn’t here to swap baby photos and funny kiddie stories with a woman he barely knew just because he was missing Ruby. It was only one night and two days. He could get by without mentioning her name, surely?

He jumped in the shower, dunking himself under the spray, washing away some of the exhaustion but knowing no matter how long he stayed it could never wash away the accumulated hours of lost sleep and worry over the last four-plus years.

They went bone deep.

He got out, dried off, ruffled his damp hair, pulled on some jeans, snagged a beer out of the fridge and headed for the desk, the flickering light from the television guiding the way. He switched on the desk lamp as he sat and opened his laptop then took a deep swallow of his beer and got to work.

Two hours later he’d checked his emails, added some slides to his presentation and done some literature reviews for a new study he and three other anaesthetists were trying to get off the ground.

It was ten-thirty and he was yawning. He dropped his head from side to side, stretching his neck and knowing that it was useless going to bed this early. Bitter experience had taught him that no matter how tired he was, he’d lie in bed and think and overthink until he was too wound up to drift off.

Nope. Going to bed before midnight never worked out well for him.

He stood and stretched some more. Maybe some of his colleagues would still be hanging around the bar. A bit of relaxed conversation … a couple of whiskies …

Now, that was the recipe for sleep.

Miranda gently swirled the red wine round and round her glass as she tracked her sexy neighbour’s progress across the bar. She’d spied him the instant he’d walked in and their gazes had locked within seconds. He’d smiled at her and she’d smiled back.

And where her heart had been hammering at the sight of him it settled instantly as he started to walk towards her. There was a surrealness about it. But at the same time it felt natural.

It felt a lot like fate.

Which was a big thing for someone who didn’t do bar pick-ups. Who didn’t do anything rash or spontaneous.

Not since she’d been seventeen, anyway.

Yet strangely she didn’t seem to be able to stop watching him.

He sat on the stool next to her. ‘Couldn’t sleep, Miranda Dean?’

That teasing tone of his was so charming and flirty it stole her breath. ‘Someone was snoring next door, Patrick Costello,’ she murmured.

‘Ah … you’ve been looking me up. Should I be flattered?’

Miranda shook her head. ‘Not by that mug shot of you—you look like a criminal.’

He gave a chuckle and it was deep and rich and Miranda found herself wanting to move in even closer. His hair curled in wisps around his ears and at his nape. He was wearing jeans and a casual long-sleeved T-shirt.

‘I think that was taken after a particularly heinous nine-hour op,’ he said as he motioned to the bartender for a Scotch on the rocks. ‘Plus I’m not very photogenic.’

Miranda found that exceedingly difficult to believe. He had that laid-back sex appeal that cameras adored.

‘So, Miranda, are you from around here?’

It was Miranda’s turn to laugh. ‘I’m from Brisbane, yes, but I should let you know right from the start that I am a responsible single mother of one and do not let guys in bars pick me up. I don’t even go to bars.’

Patrick smiled. So she was single. ‘Would you believe me if I told you I don’t either?’

Miranda shook her head. ‘No.’ He looked exactly like he hung out in bars. And never went home alone. Drinks with colleagues after work. Flirting with the nurses. Smiling that sinful smile at the waitresses.

He gave her a faux wounded sigh. ‘Sad but true.’

And somehow she found she believed him. ‘So how come you’re here now?’

‘Can’t sleep.’ His drink arrived and he held his glass up. ‘To insomnia.’

Miranda clinked her glass against his. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ she said, taking a sip of her Shiraz, watching him over the rim as a slug of amber liquid slid down his throat.

Patrick felt the burn all the way down to his stomach. He placed his glass on the bar and turned to face her. Up this close her smoky green eyes and heart-shaped face, free of lines or any kind of adornment, were even more appealing.

He was attracted to her. But more than that, he wanted to talk to her.

There was no harm in that, right?

‘So where’s your daughter tonight? Lola, right?’

He watched her fiddle with the stem of her wine glass.

‘Her first sleepover. It’s why I’ve got Pinky. Lola didn’t want to take her favourite toy because she’s apparently a big girl now. But she didn’t want Pinky to be home all alone so … I have her.’ Her mouth kicked up around the rim of her wine glass as she took a sip. ‘Four-year-old logic is hard to explain.’

Patrick knew that intimately. He pulled up his sleeve a little to reveal the dyed macaroni bracelet Ruby had made him a month ago. ‘It’s okay. I speak four-year-old too.’

Miranda blinked at the lurid colours and before she knew it she was reaching out to touch the made-with-love creation. ‘Oh … that’s just gorgeous,’ she murmured.

It looked so sexy against the dark hairs of his wrist and she was reminded of how she’d admired his broad palm when he had held Lola’s miniature pink teddy bear.

Patrick cleared his throat as her light touch had an alarming effect on the artery that pulsed nearby. ‘The matching necklace had an unfortunate run in with the shower. Luckily Ruby understood.’

Miranda laughed, looking up from his wrist. His eyes were browny-gold, like autumn leaves amidst his olive complexion and they were staring right at her. She realised she was still touching him and quickly withdrew her hand, her cheeks growing warm.

‘Sorry …’

Patrick shook his head, liking how easily she blushed. ‘Don’t be.’

Miranda felt the breath in her throat grow thick as their gazes locked. ‘It’s very sweet of you to wear it.’

Patrick shrugged. ‘I’m a sweet guy.’

Miranda blinked, breaking the spell. Sweet was not how she would describe him. Sexy, charismatic, masculine. Sweet was too … passive for him.

She took a sip of her wine. ‘So … Ruby … that’s your daughter?’

Patrick nodded, grateful to Miranda for pulling them back from the edge. He barely knew her yet there was something very hypnotic about her. She was sitting in a bar at close to midnight in jeans, sneakers and a navy V-neck sweater—like Cinderella after the ball. She wasn’t loud or effusive like the table full of women over near the window. She wasn’t flashing a lot of skin or leaning in close and flirting.

If anything, there was a reserve about her that was intriguing. On the one hand she blushed like a girl but on the other she sat with quiet dignity of a woman well beyond her years.

‘Yes.’ He smiled when he realised she was waiting for an answer. ‘She’s five in January.’

‘Oh. Lola’s five then too.’

Patrick raised his glass to her. ‘A good year for babies, obviously.’

He pulled out his wallet and showed Miranda a picture he’d snapped a couple of weeks ago as Ruby had been running around the yard, trying to catch bubbles.

Miranda smiled at the laughing, rosy-cheeked redhead. ‘Cute. I can see why you called her Ruby. Does she take after her mother?’

Patrick nodded, caught up for a moment in those first few seconds his daughter had come into the world. ‘She has Katie’s hair.’

‘Katie’s your wife?’ Miranda asked casually, suddenly afraid to hear the answer. When he shook his head the need to clarify drove her to ask, ‘You’re not married?’

Patrick looked down at his bare left hand, absently stroking the place where his wedding band, gone for almost three years now, had sat. ‘Not any more.’

Miranda, conscious of the occasional brush of his arm and the heat radiating from his thigh to hers, almost sagged against him in relief. She may not be experienced at picking up men in bars and it certainly hadn’t been her intention when she’d come to the symposium but she was pretty sure there was an undercurrent between them.

An undercurrent she probably would never have explored under normal circumstances. But Lola was at a sleepover and, thanks to the generosity of her grandmother, she was staying the night at a swanky hotel.

Also, she was extraordinarily attracted to Patrick Costello. And if she wasn’t very much mistaken, the feeling was mutual.

This wasn’t some seventeen-year-old-girl crush. This was all grown up. And she wanted it. Her pulse tripped at the thought of doing something a little reckless for a change.

She drained the remnants of her glass. Maybe she could have one crazy night?

‘Would you like another wine?’ he asked.

Miranda met his gaze, felt it rove over her face and settle on her mouth. She’d been a single mother since she was seventeen. She wasn’t up on the rules of this situation but the part of her that was female, that responded to his maleness, knew that another wine implied much more than just a second glass.

If she was sensible, she’d walk away right now.

But she was so tired of always being sensible.

She lifted her chin and looked straight into his golden-brown eyes. ‘Yes, please.’

They stayed in the bar for another hour talking about their kids and Miranda couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. Patrick regaled her with funny anecdotes about Ruby’s lisp and she told him about Bud, Lola’s goldfish, who regularly died, usually just after Lola went to bed, and was reincarnated the next morning thanks to the local pet shop.

‘I’m not joking,’ Miranda said as his deep laugh drew her closer and closer. ‘I have Kevin from the Pet Connection on speed dial.’

By tacit agreement neither of them strayed into personal territory about their circumstances but she did gather that Ruby was with him full time and his ex-wife didn’t seem to be around. Also that he had permanent live-in help, which sounded like bliss to Miranda. Her grandmother was wonderful but she was getting on and Miranda had been so gung-ho proving she could raise her child by herself that she hadn’t leaned on anyone more than had been absolutely necessary.

But for all their chatter, Miranda had the strangest feeling that she and Patrick were just marking time. There’d been a sense of inevitability to the night since he’d walked into the bar and it tugged more insistently as the minutes ticked by. But she liked it that he wasn’t rushing her back to his room. It felt kind of old-fashioned—in a modern way—and gave him another layer of sexy.

But her yawn at somewhere past midnight spoiled the build-up. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised, covering her mouth. ‘I’m normally passed out cold by nine o’clock.’

He groaned. ‘I envy you. I feel like I haven’t had a decent sleep since Ruby came along.’

Patrick had enjoyed talking with her. He liked her entertaining stories and easy laugh. He liked how relaxed he felt. He liked how she hadn’t outwardly flirted but he still knew she was into him. He also liked it that any other woman would have jumped in and said ‘I can help you with your sleep situation’ but Miranda had just smiled at him.

‘Shall we go?’ he asked, his voice surprisingly husky.

Miranda nodded. ‘Yes.’

They didn’t talk as they walked through the bar and across the lobby. They didn’t exchange a word as they waited for the lift. Or even inside the lift. Although Patrick leaned on the opposite wall and didn’t take his eyes off her for a second. Miranda’s belly went into freefall but she held his gaze, anticipation pumping her heart rate higher.

The lift doors opened and he said, ‘Yours or mine?’ as he ushered her out.

‘Mine,’ she replied.

She knew zip about one-night stands but she’d heard enough staffroom chatter from other nurses to know she really did not want to be the one doing the walk of shame in the morning.

Patrick stopped outside the door and turned to her. ‘Key?’

Miranda reached into her back pocket, slid the piece of plastic out and handed it over. He went to take it but, suddenly nervous, Miranda didn’t let go for a moment. He raised an eyebrow. ‘You okay?’

The question was low and slid into all the places that were suddenly reminding her how good it felt to be touched. ‘I don’t … usually do this,’ she murmured.

Patrick smiled. ‘I figured.’ He watched her looking at the door, obviously torn. ‘Would it help to know that I don’t either?’

Miranda smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘We don’t have to do this, Miranda.’

She blinked at him, searching his face for signs of disingenuousness. Relief flooded through her when she found none. Patrick looked like he was perfectly willing to say goodnight and leave things as they were.

And he’d be gone tomorrow and she’d never see him again.

But she’d always wonder.

She smiled at him, dropping her hand from the key. ‘I want to.’

Patrick kept his arm in place, the key still extended in her direction. ‘Are you sure, Miranda? Really, really sure?’

She grinned at him. She’d never been surer of anything. ‘Open the damn door, Patrick.’

He grinned back then turned towards the door, swiping the card through and hearing the click as the lights turned green. He pushed the door open and said, ‘Ladies first.’

Patrick’s gut clenched as she brushed past him on the way in, his pulse picking up in anticipation. The door closed behind him and then it was just him and her in the darkened alcove and she was standing there looking at him with possession in her eyes. His groin throbbed in response.

He walked two paces until their bodies were almost touching. She smelled like soap and Shiraz and the combination was intoxicating. He dipped his head to capture her mouth, to savour her taste and to slowly explore her mouth, her neck.

But a little whimper from somewhere at the back of her throat was his undoing and he was deepening the kiss, and her arms were twining around his neck and pulling them together, and before he knew it he’d pushed her up against the wall and they were both breathing hard.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt and it was suddenly gone. Her shirt followed. As did her bra. And as her nipples ruched beneath the pads of his thumbs, his zip was tugged down and her hand was finding its way inside.

He tore his mouth from hers and bit down on a groan. ‘Bed,’ he said, swinging her up in his arms, kissing her ravaged mouth again as he strode in the general direction, stopped at the mini-bar and panted, ‘condoms,’ satisfied when she snagged the pack of three that sat propped next to the salted nuts, barely breaking contact.

In four more strides he’d reached the bed and Patrick threw her on the mattress grateful that she’d thought to leave on one of the subdued down lights so he could see her breasts jiggle enticingly.

She was bare to her waist and breathing hard, her hair was spread out in a wild tangle on the white sheets around her.

Three condoms were never going to be enough.

CHAPTER TWO

February

THE LOCKER ROOM was unusually empty for this time of the morning as Miranda climbed into her scrubs. The novelty of scoring a job in the operating theatres at St Benedict’s had still not worn off and she inhaled the fresh, clean smell of the shirt as she pulled it down over her head like it was the latest from Versace.

The last few months had been a steep learning curve and she was excited today to be starting her anaesthetics rotation. This was where she was hoping to specialise eventually. Scrubbing in on operations and being a surgeon’s right hand was all well and good but she missed the patient contact. At least anaesthetics gave her an opportunity to talk to the people undergoing surgery, even if they were worried and anxious.

Miranda shoved her socked feet into the theatre clogs she’d been issued and grabbed a paper cap from the stash in her locker. She tied it at the back of her head, pleased that she’d decided to cut her hair short rather than have to manage long hair in a theatre cap all day.

The door burst open and two of the more experienced scrub nurses entered, filling the silence. ‘I tell you he’s hot,’ Lilly Martin said. ‘The man wears pink scrubs, pink, for crying out loud and still manages to look like a sex god.’

‘Isn’t he married?’ Denise Grady queried, nodding at Miranda as she went past.

‘Ah, but there’s married, then there’s married, isn’t that right, Miranda?’

Miranda was a little intimidated by Lilly’s brashness. She’d learned a lot about being a scrub nurse under Lilly’s tutelage but she was uncomfortable around the other woman’s forceful personality. Lilly was only a couple of years older than her but Miranda felt like a gauche seventeen-year-old again in comparison.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ she murmured, not wanting to get into a debate with Lilly, who could be very opinionated. Married was married as far as she was concerned. No qualifiers. It certainly made people off limits in her books.

Not that she spent all her spare time on the prowl, as Lilly seemed to do. Or even had any spare time. Between shift work and a five-year-old, her hours were well and truly occupied.

Except for that one night.

Her mind drifted to Patrick. A very naked Patrick sprawled in her hotel bed, smiling that satisfied smile. Her cheeks warmed and her stomach rolled over. It had been everything she could ever have hoped for—she had no regrets.

‘Edna said she’d be in Theatre one when you’re done here,’ Lilly said, breaking into her delicious thoughts of a truly wonderful morning glory.

‘Oh, right.’ Miranda gave herself a mental shake, dragging her brain back to the present. ‘Thanks.’

She left Lilly and Denise to their gossip session and headed down the long corridor that separated the theatres on one side from the storerooms, staffrooms and offices on the other. St Benny’s had eight operating theatres. Six were running today with the morning procedures all about to get under way.

Goose-bumps pricked her bare arms as the frigid environment caused her to shiver. The theatres seemed to have only two temperatures—freezing cold or, if you were scrubbed and gowned under huge operating lights, boiling hot.

Miranda pushed open the swing doors to theatre one’s anaesthetic room. Edna, an ex-army nurse, who had been at St Benny’s since Eve had been a child, looked up from a trolley and smiled.

‘Miranda, my dear, how are you?’

Miranda smiled. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Edna was the stereotypical mother figure, round and jolly and protective of her brood of new grads, though it had taken Miranda only a few days to figure out that you could take the woman out of the army but not the army out of the woman. Edna ran whichever theatre she was in charge of like a military operation and did not suffer fools gladly.

Including prima donna surgeons.

‘Right.’ Edna smiled. ‘Let’s get started. All this week will be spent familiarising yourself with machinery and drugs and some theory,’ she said, waving a thick booklet in the air, ‘then you’ll have a couple of shifts teamed up with a mentor and next week you’ll be on your own. How does that sound?’

‘Terrifying?’ Miranda admitted.

Edna chuckled. ‘You’ll be fine, dear. Just remember, if in doubt, ask. The anaesthetists won’t bite.’

Miranda nodded. Sage advice she fully intended to take.

The anaesthetists at Benny’s were experienced and very open to teaching and formed part of the great team atmosphere Miranda loved so much. Patients always raved about their surgeons and took the poor old anaesthetist for granted. If only they understood it was the anaesthetists who had the most important job—they were the ones keeping the patients alive during the operation!

Miranda absently hoped that the new guy—the god in pink scrubs—was also a team player. It only took one rotten apple to make a workplace insufferable.

Half an hour into her orientation the swing doors opened and Genevieve Cowan, the director of anaesthetics, entered, chatting to a man in pink scrubs.

A very familiar man in pink scrubs.

Patrick?

Even with his hair hidden by his blue theatre cap, she recognised him instantly. And even if she’d been suddenly blinded her traitorous cells would have whispered his presence to her anyway. Every single oxygen molecule inside Miranda’s lungs seemed to burst in unison and for a moment she struggled to catch her breath.

‘This is Edna,’ Genevieve was saying. ‘I don’t think you’ve met her yet.’

Miranda watched as Patrick extended his hand and shook Edna’s saying, ‘Nice to meet you.’

Patrick was the sex god in pink scrubs? It was all falling into place now. And then a truly horrifying thought fell into place.

He was married?

‘Edna has been here for ever and she knows where every single thing in this place lives. If you need something, she’s the woman for the job.’

Miranda barely heard Genevieve as her gaze flew to Patrick’s left hand. The macaroni bracelet that had adorned his wrist six months ago was gone. But a plain gold band on his ring finger was out and proud.

‘She’s also,’ Genevieve continued, unaware of Miranda’s complete turmoil, ‘the best anaesthetic nurse you’ll ever meet.’

Married.

He was married.

She’d slept with a married man.

Her throat constricted. Nausea threatened.

Edna folded her arms across her ample bosom. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr Cowan.’

And then she laughed her giant honking laugh, yanking Miranda out of her escalating panic just in time to hear her own introduction.

‘And this is Miranda Dean,’ Genevieve said. ‘She’s new to our team here at Benny’s and I believe this is her first day on anaesthetic rotation?’

Miranda looked at the floor, wishing it would swallow her whole, desperate to disappear into thin air. She wanted to go. To run. To run and not stop. To never have to face Patrick and what they’d done.

What she’d done.

Patrick frowned at the familiar name as his gaze swung towards the other occupant of the room, who seemed to be finding the floor utterly fascinating. Miranda Dean?

His Miranda Dean?

The woman he’d thought about every day, dreamed about every night for the last six months?

Surely not?

‘Miranda?’

He watched as the woman slowly raised her head to look at him. Smoky green eyes peered out from a familiar heart-shaped face and he smiled as his body took a walk down memory lane, reacting to her presence on a purely primitive level.

She didn’t smile back.

‘Patrick,’ she acknowledged through stiff lips, every letter sticking in her toast-dry throat.

‘You two know each other?’ Genevieve asked.

Patrick felt his gut tighten at Miranda’s less-than-enthusiastic welcome. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We met at the medical symposium in September.’

‘Excellent.’ Edna beamed. ‘It’s always nice to see a familiar face when you’re new.’

Patrick wasn’t sure Miranda agreed. Why on earth did she look so mortified? He knew what had happened between them had been out of character for her but there was no need to look so guilty about it.

They were both adults, for crying out loud.

‘Listen, Miranda, Patrick, do you mind if I snaffle Edna while I’ve got her?’ Geneveive asked. She turned to Edna. ‘I need to make some changes to tomorrow’s theatre five list.’

Edna nodded. ‘Sure. Come to the office.’ She looked at Miranda. ‘I shouldn’t be too long.’

Neither of them waited for approval from Miranda and Patrick and within seconds they were alone.

Patrick frowned at her as Miranda continued to look at him like he’d given her a particularly nasty disease. ‘I gather you’re not too thrilled to see me?’ he started tentatively.

Miranda snorted, galled at his calmness. ‘You could say that.’

Okay … she was obviously annoyed about something. ‘Look, if you’re worried I’ll … talk about what happened with us, there’s really no need. I don’t kiss and tell.’

Miranda folded her arms across her chest. ‘How very magnanimous of you.’

Patrick’s extremities almost contracted frostbite from the ice in her tone. ‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. Did you expect me to call you?’

That hadn’t been the impression he’d been left with that morning. True, they hadn’t had the talk but there’d been something about their goodbye that had been final.

Sure, in another time and place, if his circumstances had been different, he’d have followed up but they’d both lived in different cities and had had obligations to their families.

He’d been pretty sure she’d known it too.

‘I expected you to not be married!’ she snarled.

For a second or two Patrick was very confused then he looked down at his wedding ring.

Damn it! He was so unused to wearing it he’d forgotten he’d put it back on.

‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head emphatically. ‘No, no, no. This is not what it looks like,’ he hastened to assure her.

Miranda was so angry she could barely see straight. He’d lied to her. To get her into bed. She’d specifically asked him the question and he’d denied it. And like some stupid young affection-starved fool she’d believed him. ‘So you aren’t married?’ she demanded.

Patrick sighed. ‘Well … technically I am, but—’

‘Oh, God,’ Miranda wailed, shutting her eyes, hoping she could block him and what had happened out. It had been the most amazing night of her life and now it had been totally sullied by his lies. ‘I don’t believe this.’

‘Look,’ Patrick said, taking a step towards her as she opened her eyes.

Miranda stabbed her finger in the air towards him. ‘Stay right there,’ she hissed. ‘Do not come any closer.’

Patrick stopped, holding his hands up in surrender. He was pleased that the daggers in her eyes were purely metaphorical because she looked like she could do damage with a sharp pointy weapon right about now. ‘Let me explain.’

Miranda laughed at his audacity. ‘Oh, okay, fine.’ She folded her arms again. ‘Go ahead. Explain to me how you’re married but not really and how it doesn’t make you and me lying, cheating, despicable human beings?’

Patrick heard the tap, tap, tap of her clog against the hard floor. Saw the determined little tilt to her chin. God, he couldn’t go into it all here. It was a life he still found difficult to believe he was living. ‘Not here, Miranda. It’s … complicated.’

Miranda nodded. She knew all about complicated relationships. Growing up an illegitimate child of the other woman, she was intimately acquainted with complicated.

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘the married ones always say that.’

Patrick frowned. What on earth did that mean? ‘Why don’t we get coffee or lunch together today? I can explain, Miranda.’

Miranda shook her head. It didn’t matter. What was done was done. And having lunch, coffee or any contact with this man simply wasn’t on the table.

Thankfully Edna and Geneveive bustled back through the door and she was spared from any further conversation.

Miranda rushed to the school later that afternoon. Flexibility of hours at St Benny’s had been one of the draw cards, along with its closeness to home, but it was unavoidable that Lola was going to need to use the after-school care facilities from time to time—her grandmother already did too much without adding to her burden of care. Luckily Lola was a social little girl who made friends easily.

Today, though, not even thoughts of her daughter could elicit a smile as she went over and over her conversation with Patrick, her head thumping a little harder each time. Thankfully she’d seen very little of him for the remainder of the shift and then only at a distance. Twice it had looked like he was going to approach her and she wasn’t too proud to admit she’d deliberately walked in the other direction.

A squall of emotions had taken up residence in her belly and she didn’t want him near her until she’d thought them through.

It was hard to get her head around the startling implications of his beringed presence and its impact on her sense of self. Dressed in pink scrubs, he had indeed looked like the sex god he’d been declared but having grown up the casualty of infidelity Miranda hadn’t allowed his devastating sexual attraction to be a factor.

She’d formed very early opinions of the sanctity of marriage that she had staunchly lived by. Married men were simply off limits.

No exceptions.

No grey areas.

And yet she’d slept with one. The mere thought kicked up the squall in her stomach another notch.

Sure, he’d said he could explain and she had no doubt there was some tale of woe about being separated, about how his wife didn’t understand him or how they had an open marriage.

She was sure there was some easy patter about the technicality of his marriage.

But she didn’t want to hear any of it.

What they’d done had been unforgiveable. What he’d done had been unforgiveable. And after eight hours of stewing over it she was even more annoyed now than she had been initially. White-hot anger boiled in her belly.

Add to that disgust, abhorrence and humiliation and she had a headache the size of Australia banging away at her frontal lobe.

Frankly, she couldn’t wait to go home and have a shower and wash away the guilt and the stain of her transgression. She’d spent six months fantasising about that night, living every deliciously sexy moment over and over, and he’d dashed it all in one day.

She felt dirty. She felt used.

She felt like a fool.

All she wanted to do was get home, have that shower and hug her daughter hard.

Lola gave her one of those big, girly, whole-face grins as she walked into the centre and Miranda felt her headache ease a little. Her heart did its usual squeeze in her chest.

Being a teen mum had been hard and it would never have been a choice she’d have made for herself voluntarily, but her little blonde-ringletted baby girl was simply the best thing that had ever happened to her. Lola filled her heart with joy every day and Miranda couldn’t even begin to imagine life without her daughter.

Lola ran across the room in her usual excitable way and threw herself at Miranda’s body. ‘Mummmmmy!’

Miranda laughed as she clutched her daughter close, kissing her beautiful curls. It was hard to believe that an insane teenage coupling born from rebellion and disaffection had resulted in the perfect little person in front of her. Sleeping with a transient surfer dude only a couple of years older than herself had been a three-week moment of madness but his DNA could not be faulted.

‘Come on, darling,’ Miranda said, crouching down and accepting an enthusiastic kiss. ‘Get your bag. Let’s go home.’

‘Can my new best friend in the whole world come too? For a tea party? We could have Nan’s cupcakes and drink Earl Grey just like real ladies.’

Miranda gave an inward groan as her headache thumped in earnest. The very last thing she wanted to do now was to entertain another child. ‘I’d need her mummy’s permission, Lols. Let’s do it another day, okay? Maybe at the weekend? I’ll get her number from the phone tree.’

Lola clasped her hands together as if she was an orphan asking for more food. ‘Oh, no, Mummy, pleeeeeease? I love her. I love her. I told her she could come.’

Miranda smiled despite her tiredness and felt her little girl’s passionate entreaty worm its way under her skin. ‘Lols …’

Lola shifted from foot to foot and clapped. ‘I’ll go and get her.’

Miranda stood and sagged in resignation. Any other day she’d have brushed off Lola’s sneaky big-eyed plea with a firm ‘Not today’ but life had battered her a little too much these last eight hours and children could always spot a weakness.

She turned to ask the teacher for the list of parent phone numbers. She seriously doubted the other mother would say yes—she certainly wouldn’t let Lola go to a place she wasn’t familiar with and to people she didn’t know—but maybe they could set something up for the weekend.

The very last person she expected to see walking through the front door was Patrick.

For a moment she forgot he was a lying, cheating sneak who had put her in a morally untenable position and just rode the surge of undiluted lust that brushed her skin in a crimson flush. Memories of his kiss, of his heat, of his hardness flooded in and muscles deep inside her tightened in recognition.

God, she wanted him again. Wanted to drag him into the little room where she knew they kept the supplies, strip his clothes off and do him against the wall.

This was what happened when a grown woman lived her life like a nun. Inappropriate thoughts about men who did not deserve them!

He gave her a surprised look and her heart thundered as he approached, even his grim smile with that sinful chin cleft seemed somehow devilishly sexy.

‘Are you following me?’ she demanded. It seemed irrational but the thumping in her head wasn’t exactly allowing for clear thought processes. She didn’t know what he was doing here but she certainly didn’t want to exchange pleasantries with the man.

Or listen to his excuses.

Patrick blinked at her aggressive tone. He knew he had some explaining to do but he was too tired for female histrionics. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Miranda folded her arms across her chest. ‘I told you I did not want to talk to you about … our … stuff and I don’t appreciate you trying to push the issue.’

‘Look, Miranda.’ He ruffled his hair. ‘I’m just here to pick up Ruby, that’s all.’

It took a few seconds for Miranda to get the import of his words, distracted as she was by the ruffled sexiness of his hair. She frowned but was interrupted by a ‘Mummy’ and a yank on her jeans. She looked down blankly, pleased for the respite from his weary brown eyes that tugged in places they had no right to be tugging.

Her blonde curly-haired moppet blinked up at her, one skinny arm slung around the neck of a cute little redhead with rosy cheeks and her father’s eyes.

‘This is Ruby,’ she announced. ‘My new bestest friend for ever. She has a lipth. Please, Mummy, please can she come over for cupcakes?’

‘Pleath, Daddy,’ the little redhead added. ‘Pleeeeeath.’

Patrick smiled down at his daughter. Ruby tended to be on the quiet side and it was unusual for her to make such a fast friend so it eased his conscience over the move. He looked at Miranda and shrugged. ‘I’m okay with it if you are.’

Miranda felt cornered. She was absolutely, one hundred per cent not okay with it. But she’d have to choose her words carefully in front of little ears. Somehow ‘I’d rather stick a red-hot poker in my eye than have a low-down cheating skunk in my house’ didn’t seem appropriate with their audience.

‘Pleeeeeath,’ Ruby begged, looking up at Miranda. Her two front teeth were missing, something that no doubt exacerbated the lisp.

‘It would give us a good chance to talk,’ Patrick murmured close to her ear.

‘Pleeeeeease, Mummy.’

Miranda took in all three, each in their own way desperate for something from her, and knew when she was defeated. ‘Okay,’ she acquiesced. ‘But only for a short visit. I’ve got a bit of a headache and tomorrow will be another long day.’

‘Yaaaay!’ Two little girls squealed and jumped up and down, hugging each other, strands of blonde and red hair intertwining.

‘Yay,’ said Patrick.

But his voice was lower, edgier, sexier and slid into places he’d already been and shouldn’t have.

Miranda shivered.

Twenty minutes later the knock on her front door heralded Patrick and Ruby’s arrival and Miranda felt the squall inside intensify. The two tablets she’d taken for her headache had started to work but the thump returned with a vengeance as Lola squealed and raced to answer the door.

Miranda looked around her small two-bedroom residence feeling suddenly inadequate. She’d been living above her grandmother’s garage since before Lola’s birth and although she’d made it into a nice cosy home, it wasn’t where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

Patrick probably lived in a mansion. On the river. With a city view. What would he make of this?

Lola and Ruby ran past her into Lola’s bedroom in a blur of blonde and red and left her alone with Patrick standing in the doorway in his business shirt and trousers looking tired and sexy and rumpled, just like he had that night six months ago. Her heart fluttered madly.

‘Hi.’ He smiled.

Miranda wanted to smile at him too. Say hi back as she walked straight into his arms and gave in to the passion that still burned deep inside despite her animosity. He looked so at home in her doorway it was scary.

She took a breath. ‘Come in,’ she said. It felt stiff and awkward but that was too bad. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘Sure.’

Patrick pushed off the doorframe. She looked tired and wary and he couldn’t blame her but her jeans clung and her T-shirt stretched nicely across breasts he’d dreamed about a little too much, and he was right back there in that hotel room with her.

He followed her across the lounge into the open-plan kitchen, leaning his butt against a bench as she busied herself. ‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he said.

Miranda, hyper-aware of him standing behind her, absently touched her nape where her pixie cut now feathered. ‘Yes,’ she said, her hands shaking as she poured hot water into mugs.

She supposed he had some fancy Italian coffee machine that made double-shot decaf lattes. All she had was instant and an electric jug.

‘Mummy, can we have cupcakes now?’

Miranda turned, pleased for the interruption. She nodded at her daughter and Patrick’s, looking all Shirley Temple and little orphan Annie. ‘It’s all set. Help yourselves.’ Lola clapped excitedly. ‘But remember, it’s polite to serve your guest first.’

Lola nodded. ‘Come on, Ruby—Mummy and I made a tea party!’

‘Come on, Daddy,’ Ruby said, tugging on his hand as Lola pulled her towards the table.

He shrugged at Miranda. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Go and join them. I’ll bring your coffee.’

Miranda wrapped her hands around a mug and thanked the universe for the breathing space. She’d felt his gaze on her neck like a caress and could almost feel his lips brushing there too.

She pulled herself together and fixed the coffees, lecturing herself about the inappropriateness of her thoughts. By the time she walked on spaghetti legs to the exquisitely set table she felt more in control.

‘Thanks,’ Patrick said, as she put his mug down.

It looked out of place amidst the fancy-looking china that Lola had insisted they use for the impromptu tea party. Her grandmother had bought it for Lola a couple of years ago and though it had been inexpensive, it looked fit for a queen.

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘It’s all a bit girly.’

Patrick smiled and shook his head. ‘I like a tea party as much as the next man,’ he declared, and the girls laughed hysterically as he stuck out his pinky and sipped his coffee.

‘Your daddy is funny,’ Lola said around a mouthful of cake.

Miranda agreed.

And sexy and manly and one hundred per cent at home in an environment that was suffocating in oestrogen. Which only ramped up his own masculinity. He looked so incredibly male amidst the frippery of a girly afternoon tea with the china and the delicate pink cupcakes, she wanted to drag him to her bedroom, rip his shirt open and rediscover every inch of his maleness.

Play a little doctor and nurse.

They made stilted conversation with their daughters for ten minutes before Lola announced they were going to watch some TV.

And then there were two.

Miranda stood and started gathering dishes. When Patrick placed a stilling hand on her arm she ignored it, continuing her task with manic speed.

‘Miranda,’ he said quietly, refusing to remove his hand, refusing to be ignored. ‘I need to explain.’

Miranda shook her head. ‘No,’ she said as she pushed crumbs from one plate onto another. ‘No, you don’t. Let’s just pretend it never happened and move on, okay? I won’t mention it, you won’t mention it…’ she stacked plates one on top of the other and picked them up, turning to leave ‘… and it’ll be fine.’

Patrick applied a little more pressure on her forearm and he felt the weight of her gaze as it moved to his hand, his gold wedding band a reminder of their predicament. ‘Miranda, we have to work together,’ he said gently. ‘I do need to explain. Sit. Please.’

Miranda would rather have enrolled in a medical trial that involved daily root-canal treatment but deep down she knew he was right. They did have to clear the air, for their professional life if nothing else. Or one of them was going to have to leave.

And she was guessing it would have to be the most expendable.

Which would be her.

She sat.

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