Knight on the Children's Ward by Carol Marinelli Read Free Book Online Page B

has changed the early shift on Sunday to a late. She wasn’t pleased, though, and neither am I.’ She looked over to him. ‘I have to get ready….’ And then her voice trailed off, because it sounded ridiculous, and how could he possibly know just what getting ready for a family function entailed?
    And he didn’t understand her, but he wanted to.
    And, yes, he was sworn off women, and she had said no to dinner, and, yes, it could get very messy, but right now he didn’t care.
    He should get up and go.
    Yet he couldn’t.
    Quiet simply, he couldn’t.
    â€˜I told them I’m going to Spain.’
    She looked at his grim face and guessed it hadn’t gone well. ‘It will be worth it when you’re there, I’m sure.’
    â€˜Do you ever want to go to Russia?’ Ross asked. ‘To see where you are from.’
    â€˜I was born here.’
    â€˜But your roots…’
    â€˜I might not like what I dig up.’
    He glanced down at her plate, at the lovely ripe olives she had pushed aside. ‘May I?’
    â€˜That’s bad manners.’
    â€˜Not between friends.’
    He would not have taken one unless she’d done what she did next and pushed the plate towards him. She watched as he took the ripe fruit and popped it in his mouth, and Annika had no idea how, but he even looked sexy as he retrieved the stone.
    â€˜They’re too good to leave.’
    â€˜I don’t like them,’ she said. ‘I tried them once…’ She pulled a face.
    â€˜You were either too young to appreciate them or you got a poor effort.’
    â€˜A poor effort?’
    â€˜Olives,’ Ross said, ‘need to be prepared carefully. They take ages—rush them and they’re bitter. I grow them at my farm, and my grandmother knows how to make the best… She’s Spanish.’
    â€˜I didn’t think you were Spanish, more like a pirate or a gypsy.’
    It was the first real time she had opened the conversation, the first hint at an open door. It was a glimpse that she did think about him. ‘I am Spanish…’ Ross said ‘…and I prefer Romany. I am Romany—well, my father was. My real father.’
    His eyes were black—not navy, and not jade; they were as black as the leather on his belt.
    â€˜He had a brief affair with my mother when they were passing through. She was sixteen…’
    â€˜It must have caused a stir.’
    â€˜Apparently not,’ Ross said. ‘She was a wild thing back then—she’s a bit eccentric even now. But wise…’ Ross said reluctantly. ‘Extremely wise.’
    She wanted to know more. She didn’t drain her cup or stand. She was five minutes over her coffee break, and never, ever late, yet she sat there, and then he smiled, his slow lazy smile, and she blushed. She burnt because it was bizarre, wild and crazy. She was blue-eyed and blonde and rigid, and he was so very dark and laid-back and dangerous, and they were both thinking about black-haired, blue-eyed babies, or black-eyed blonde babies, of so many fabulous combinations and the wonderful time they’d have making them.
    â€˜I have to get back.’
    Annika had never flirted in her life. She had had just one boring, family-sanctioned relationship, which had ended with her rebellion in moving towards nursing, but she knew she was flirting now. She knew she was doing something dangerous and bold when she picked up a thick black olive, popped it in her mouth and then removed the pip.
    â€˜Nice?’ Ross asked
    â€˜Way better than I remember.’ And they weren’t talking about olives, of that she was certain. She might have to check with Elsie, but she was sure she was flirting. She blushed—not from embarrassment, but because of what he said next.
    â€˜Oh, it will be.’
    And as she sped back to the ward late, she was burning. She could hardly breathe as she accepted