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Kelly stared at Randall, her features schooled into the coolly indifferent look she had perfected over the years because that passionate and impetuous creature who had offered herself so willingly to Randall Seton had gone forever.

‘You’ve gone very pale—you look as though you could use a drink,’ he observed. ‘Let me buy you one.’

Kelly almost exploded with rage. Did he imagine—did he have the termerity to imagine—that he could simply walk into her life nine years on and calmly ask her for a drink, and that she, panting eagerly, would accept? ‘No, thank you,’ she answered, her voice iced with pure frost.

He was blocking her path. ‘Kelly—this is crazy. We need to talk.’

She frowned, looking perplexed. ‘Do we? I can’t think why.’

‘Because we go back a long way. Don’t we?’ He smiled, so sure of its effect, so sure that the grin which creased his handsome features would have her eating out of his hand.

‘Hardly,’ she murmured. ‘We were little more than acquaintances a long time ago. Let me see—it must be eight years, surely—or was it seven? I can hardly remember.’

‘Nine,’ he gritted, and then a wry and reluctant look of amusement spread over his features. ‘OK, Kelly—you’ve made your point with stunning effect, but I still want to talk to you, and I don’t particularly want to do it in this draughty corridor. Not when I can think of so many more attractive venues.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ she bit out crisply. ‘But the fact remains that I really can’t be bothered talking to you. I’ve had a busy day and I’m very tired. What I want is a bath and an early night. Now have you got that, Randall—or would you like me to spell it out in words of one syllable for you?’

He carried his assurance like a badge, and Kelly realised with a gleeful feeling that he was finding it very difficult to cope with her refusal. She would lay a bet that he had never had to cope with rejection in his charmed life. A look of frustration crossed over his face, to be quickly replaced by one of narrow-eyed perception, and Kelly wondered whether she had gone just a bit overboard on her hostility towards him.

Because he wasn’t stupid. Far from it. He could probably put two and two together and come up with another theory of relativity. If she carried on sniping quite so vehemently, might he not guess that he had broken her heart, hurt her so much that she had vowed never to let a man get so close to her again?

She sighed. Indifference was a far better shield to hide behind than anger. Anger symbolised emotion, and she had buried emotion a long time ago. She glanced down at the slim gold watch on her wrist.

‘Sorry.’ She stifled a yawn, and gave him a polite little smile. ‘I’m just very tired, that’s all.’

‘Then you need a drink,’ he said firmly. ‘Where would you like to go? There’s a bar in the mess, isn’t there?’

Kelly bit her lip. That was the last thing she wanted, to be seen with him in the doctors’ mess. Hospitals were a hot-bed of gossip, and word would be bound to get back to Warren if she was seen out with the hospital’s newest and most eligible bachelor.

‘Yes, there is,’ she answered grudgingly. But since the alternative would be to offer him a drink in her room, and she certainly was not going to do that, there seemed to be nothing to do except give in gracefully. ‘OK,’ she shrugged. ‘But just a quick drink.’

He knew the way to the mess. They walked in silence along the echoing floors, and Kelly was reminded of just how tall he was, and how striking, since every nurse they passed looked him up and down with blatant appreciation.

The doctors’ mess was a largish room, built on the lines of a pub, though the prices were subsidised. It was only half filled, with small groups of doctors, and the occasional table of nurses. Kelly’s heart sank as she spotted Staff Nurse Higgs chewing at a cherry on a stick, the movement frozen when she spotted Randall, her blue eyes widening, and then a frown knitting her arched brows together as her gaze alighted on Kelly by his side. I might as well have taken a full-page advertisement out, thought Kelly on a sigh, as she followed Randall over to an unoccupied table.

‘What would you like?’ he asked.

‘Any kind of juice, thanks. ‘

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t drink?’

‘Of course I do, but only in the right company,’ she replied sweetly, and his mouth twisted in anger as he turned away from her and made his way to the bar.

He returned, carrying two tall tumblers of pineapple juice and a saucer of black olives.

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