Prognosis Christmas Baby - Amy Andrews Page 0,3

around at the other empty tables. ‘Plenty of places to sit,’ she said pointedly.

Nash suppressed the urge to chuckle. He liked a woman who could hold her own with him. She reminded him of the females he’d grown up around. His five sisters, his mother, his cousins. Country women were no shrinking violets and although he’d spent his life perfecting how to twist them around his fingers, he admired the hell out of their spirit.

‘Ah, but this is my favourite table.’ Nash grinned and pulled up a chair.

‘Gee. Lucky me.’

‘We haven’t formally met.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Nash Reece.’

No way on earth was Maggie going to touch him. If he could unsettle her with his mere presence, God alone knew what would happen if she allowed her skin to come into contact with his. She took another bite of pie, feeling an instant revival to her flagging blood-sugar level. ‘I know who you are.’

Nash chuckled at her deliberate snub. ‘Ah, my reputation precedes me, I see.’

She looked at his totally unrepentant face. ‘Try to look as if it upsets you.’

He grinned at her. She had the deepest brown eyes he’d ever seen. They reminded him of his grandmother’s double chocolate fudge brownies. And, man, he was suddenly ravenous for them.

‘So...Maggie? Maggie who?’

She took a swig of her drink. ‘Maggie from ICU.’

He quirked an eyebrow. Maggie from ICU was playing hard to get. Well, there was a first time for everything. ‘So, Maggie from ICU, are you doing anything tonight? Do you fancy getting a bite to eat with me?’

Maggie almost inhaled her drink into her lungs his question startled her so completely. She coughed and spluttered so much that in a final humiliation Nash reached across and belted her between the shoulder blades a couple of times.

His hand moved to her shoulder and he grinned. ‘You okay?’

Not remotely. She shrugged his hand away. ‘Fine.’

He gave her a few moments before he asked again. ‘Well?’

Was he serious? She considered him — yep, he was. It had been three years since she’d been on a date. And certainly a good decade since she’d been with anyone whose age fell in the thirties. ‘No.’

‘Tomorrow night?’

‘No.’

Nash shrugged. ‘Well I’m easy—’

‘Clearly,’ she interrupted.

Nash grinned and continued. ‘I can fit in with you.’

Maggie shook her head, exasperated by his persistence. His elbows rested on the table, emphasising his wide shoulders and he was big and broad, looming at her from the opposite side, taking up all the space. ‘You don’t like to take no for an answer, do you?’

‘Why ignore what’s going on between us, Maggie? I’m attracted to you.’ He watched her pale and her wide brown eyes practically double in size. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re attracted to me. Why should we pretend otherwise?’

Maggie stared at him. Was he insane? He reminded her of a kid expecting instant gratification in that infantile egocentric way of theirs.

But they weren’t kids.

They were grown-ups and adults were supposed to be a little more cautious. There were rules and etiquette.

‘How old are you, Nash?’

Ah. ‘I don’t care about the age difference.’

‘How old?’ she insisted.

‘Just turned the big three zero.’

Maggie nodded — just as she’d suspected. She wished for a brief second she was thirty again. But then reality invaded. She’d been a mess at thirty. She’d been dealing — very badly —with the heartbreak of her infertility and the ink had still been wet on her divorce papers. She was in a much better place now.

‘And how old do you think I am?’

Nash looked directly at her. ‘Twenty-six.’

Maggie burst out laughing. She had to give him his due, he hadn’t batted an eyelid. She knew that she looked good but no one would ever mistake her for twenty-six. ‘Does that line work with everyone?’

Nash laughed with her. ‘Never had to use it before. No one’s ever knocked me back.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners and it was very, very sexy.

‘Oh, dear. Do you think your ego can stand it?’

‘It’s pretty robust.’

Maggie grinned despite herself. She did not want to be charmed by him but his easy charisma and self-deprecation made an irresistible combination. ‘I’ll just bet it is.’

Nash watched as she returned her attention to her lunch. Her teeth bit into the pastry of her pie and flakes stuck to her lips before her tongue darted out to remove them. It shouldn’t be erotic — she was just eating, for crying out loud — but it was.

God knew, he wanted to lick off every damn flake.

For his