EXTRACT FROM ONE SPECIAL NIGHT

Dr Ginger O'Neill noticed the man the moment he stepped onto the train.  It was hard to miss him.  Six feet tall and athletically built, he commanded attention.  Especially female attention.  His short dark hair was shot through with a few threads of steel grey at the temples, giving him a distinguished, compelling appeal, and she judged him to be in his mid thirties, a few years older than herself.  Dressed in worn, snug-fitting jeans, and a black T-shirt, whose cut-off sleeves displayed tanned, leanly-muscled arms, he looked cool despite the August heat wave.

Given the way her heart had begun thudding erratically under her ribs at one sight of his roguish good looks, he ought to carry a government health warning.  Which was ridiculous because she was always cool, rational and practical, and never swayed by a pretty face.  Not that he was pretty.  More ... divinely, scrumptiously gorgeous.  But the principal should apply. 

Ginger cursed herself, unable to stop watching the man as he walked down the carriage towards her.  His features were the kind a sculptor dreamed of modelling – a  determined jaw, currently shadowed with a day's growth of stubble, a straight nose, lean cheeks and the sexiest, most irresistibly sinful mouth she had ever seen, his full lower lip swelling under a finely shaped top one.  Her gaze roved upwards, encountering speculative grey eyes fringed with long, thick lashes.

Discomfited, Ginger managed to drag her disobedient gaze away and busied herself settling into her place behind a table, arranging her notes and laptop.  Her pulse raced, her awareness increasing, as the man selected the table across the aisle from her.  As he reached up to stow a bag in the overhead locker, his T-shirt rode up to expose a strip of tanned, muscled back above the low-slung waistband of jeans that lovingly moulded his impressive rear end.  Strangely breathless, she could almost feel her tongue hanging out as she stared at him.  Horrified at her reaction, she turned away, conscious of him sliding gracefully along the seat and sorting out his own papers.  With a half empty carriage, why did he have to sit right there so every time she raised her head she couldn't help but see him?

As the train pulled out of Strathlochan station, beginning the long journey from Scotland to London, Ginger endeavoured to read through the presentation she was to give at her meeting the next afternoon.  It would be the most important hour of her life.  She had to make the best effort possible if she was to secure the money she needed to develop her own eating disorders clinic, one which would provide desperately needed residential places as well as a day centre and outpatient facilities.

*

As the train sped her towards the capital, she ignored the impossibly attractive man sitting across the aisle and gave herself a silent talking to.  She had no time for diversions, however appealing.  The chance to acquire the Ackerman funding was too important.  Winning it would be the answer to her prayers, enabling her to help more patients in need.  No way was she going to blow it.  

'Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?'

Frowning, Ginger glanced up to see a young man with shaggy, over-long blond hair smiling down at her.  'It doesn't appear so.'  She remained cool, displeased at the interruption.

Sighing, she moved her papers to free up a portion of table for her unwanted companion.  From under her lashes, she saw the man with grey eyes spare the newcomer a moment's glance and then turn back to his own work, frowning as he tapped something in to his laptop.  Oh, my, but the man was gorgeous!  And she wished he would stop pouting like that, drawing attention to his wickedly sexy mouth.  It was most distracting

'It's hot, isn't it?'

'I beg your pardon?'  Ginger responded reluctantly to the blond man's comment.

'The weather.'  He smiled, looking as eager to please as a young puppy.  'It's hot.'

'Mmm.'

Keen to discourage further conversation, Ginger ignored him and returned her thoughts to her presentation.  Or attempted to.  The irritating passenger clearly had other ideas.

'Are you going all the way to London?'

'Why?'

'I just thought, maybe you and I could … '  His words trailed off under her withering stare. 

Conscious that the man across the aisle had given up all pretense of work and was being entertained by her predicament, Ginger responded with uncharacteristic asperity.  'I don't mean to be rude, but I have a lot of work to do, and I am not remotely interested in a drink, a date or anything else.  Will you, please, leave me alone?'

'Sorry.'  The low mumble conveyed his chagrin.  'I won't bother you again.'

'Thank you.'

Unintentionally her gaze strayed across the aisle.  Her audience raised an eyebrow, a slight smile hovering on that tempting mouth, an unexpected and far too beguiling dimple forming in one lean cheek.  Ginger felt warmth wash her face and she dragged her gaze away, forcing herself to look at her notes, but scarcely seeing a word that was written there.  She was relieved when the young man who had tried to chat her up collected his things and moved off down the train, presumably seeking an easier target.  However, the unnerving presence of the man nearby remained, disturbing her, sidetracking her, despite her resolve to keep herself focused.  She glanced at her watch.  It would be another few hours before she arrived in London.  It seemed a very long time until journey's end.

*

Dr Cameron Kincaid tried to concentrate on his work but the woman across the aisle was impinging on his consciousness to an alarming degree.  He had noticed her as soon as he'd joined the train.  It had been impossible not to.  She had natural, sunshine-blonde hair, left loose and long, which she kept flicking back from a face that was arresting without being classically beautiful.  Her skin was flawless, warm and peachy, and she wore no make up save a light brush of gloss that enhanced sensuous, dusky-pink lips.  She had a neat nose, good cheekbones and shapely eyebrows, several tones darker than her hair, which arched over eyes of an extraordinary shade of turquoise blue, the like of which he had never seen before.  They reminded him of the Himalayan poppies his Aunt Kaye had tended so lovingly in her sheltered cottage garden … the cottage he now owned.  The inevitable sting of loss hit him for the woman who had played a major role in his life.  Were those flowers still there?  Despite the perfect weather, he'd made few forays into the garden in the couple of weeks he had been back in Strathlochan.  And not only because of work.  Even more than the cottage, the garden was full of Kaye.  

Aware his mind was drifting into emotional territory, he continued his assessment of his fellow traveller.  From what he could see, with her sitting behind the table, she was wearing a floaty skirt with a predominance of the colour lavender in it, and a cream short-sleeved top that, while not being obvious, failed to mask her delicious, womanly curves.  She could be anywhere from twenty upwards, he thought, although she had the bearing and self-assurance of a woman nearer thirty.

Annoyed with himself, he snapped his laptop shut and took out the papers whose delayed arrival had made him late leaving home and had caused him to miss the earlier train he had been booked on. 

*

Cameron leaned back against the seat and contemplated this dual-purpose trip to London.  It was going to be hectic, and he would rather not have been called as an expert witness for a court case on the same day he had to present his proposals for his own project.  But he had promised, and the sooner it was over the sooner he could leave London for good and devote all his energies to his future plans in Strathlochan.

Movement diverted his attention and he sneaked a sideways glance in time to see the woman push her notepad aside.  With an audible sigh of frustration, she set down her pen.  Closing her eyes, she gathered up her long hair, tilting her head back to let whatever breeze the tiny window delivered fan across her neck and throat.  The actions caused her top to tighten over the lushest of breasts.  Cameron swallowed as raw, animal desire stabbed through him.  No wonder the poor guy who had briefly sat opposite her had tried so ineptly to chat her up.  If she did this hair-and-arched-neck thing again, he wouldn't be responsible for his own actions.

That she was innocently unaware of her desirability, and completely without artifice, was apparent when she released her hair, allowing it to fall like a golden halo round her face and shoulders.  She glanced round, smothering a yawn, her iridescent turquoise eyes widening in shock as she met his gaze.  Cameron did nothing to hide his masculine appreciation, seeing the flush of awareness wash across her cheeks, before she folded her arms across her delightful chest and hurriedly looked back at her work. 

What was the matter with him?  He was heading to London on one of the most important missions of his life, and all he could do was fantasise over a stranger's breasts!  His gaze strayed once more.  Damn, but she was one sexy woman.  He shifted uncomfortably as his body responded in the most basic of ways.  This was ridiculous!  The randy teenage years were decades behind him.  He was a thirty-six-year-old consultant, not a schoolboy.  And he didn't do relationships, didn't get involved, not any more.  In his years in London, the 'after Lisa years', he'd had occasional evenings out with sophisticated, independent women who had wanted nothing more from their brief association than he hsd.  Which had suited him fine.  But more and more, all his energies were going into his work.  Nothing could be allowed to distract him from his goal.  He'd do well to remember that and stop leching over his unwitting travelling companion.

*

Ginger felt light-headed and peculiarly breathless.  The way he'd just looked at her was outrageous!  She was fifteen years past the blushing virgin stage, but she didn't think any man had ever regarded at her so … so … sexually before.  Heat flared inside her, making her ache with an electrifying desire and, even more shockingly, it wasn't abating.  This was ridiculous!

She forced herself to think of mundane things and looked out of the window at the changing landscape, the rural scenery giving way to urban environments as the train sped south.  Her preference when travelling by train had always been to sit 'facing the engine', as her father would once have put it.  Perhaps it said something about her, that she needed to see where she was going, to approach things head on.  Her wickedly attractive travelling companion, on the other hand, whose reflection she could see in the glass, looked perfectly relaxed with his back to the way they were going.  Did that mean he was someone who dwelt too much on the past?  It was an odd thought, but an occupational hazard, she supposed, to look for the analytical reasons behind people's behaviour.

When her mobile phone sounded, the personalised ring tone seeming louder than usual, Ginger fumbled in her bag to answer it, far too aware of the man nearby, her cheeks warming as she met an amused grey gaze.

'Sorry.'  She saw him shake his head at her apology before she turned aside to take the call, seeing her assistant's name on the display.  'Yes, Sarah?'

*

Concerned that her phone call had disturbed the man nearby, she glanced across, plucking up the nerve to speak to him.  Before she could decide whether to say anything or leave it be, he seemed to sense her regard, turning to meet her gaze.  Ginger swallowed, feeling the pull of attraction across the narrow distance that separated them.

'I just wanted to apologise about the phone,' she explained, sounding uncharacteristically husky.

'No problem.'  His voice, deep and throaty, sent a shiver down her spine.  'One of the hazards of twenty-first-century living.'

'Yes.'

As if to illustrate the point, his own phone chose that moment to beep with an incoming text message.  He raised an eyebrow at the irony, and Ginger was aware of an intense moment of shared amusement and connection before he turned away to read his text, frowning as he tapped a hasty reply, then returned his attention to his work.

Thirsty and unsettled, and still with a long way to go, she took her bag, laptop and confidential papers, before manoeuvring out from behind the table to head for the on-train shop.  Having missed lunch, she chose a chilled smoothie to drink, and a selected an apple, before making her way back to the carriage.  As she approached her seat, the train jolted, and she gave a cry of surprise as she missed her footing.  Instantly, a hand was there to steady her.  Firm and protective, masculine fingers closed on the bare skin of her arm, sending what felt like a several million volts zinging through every nerve-ending in her body.  She gasped in shock, unable to prevent herself looking at him, the answering awareness in his grey eyes blatant.

Rvery atom of her being thrummed with sensation, Ginger moved away, breaking the unsettling contact.  'Thanks.'  She hastened back behind her table with a distinct lack of elegance.

'No problem,' the man repeated, a frown on his face.

Conscious of the prickle of desire that continued to pulse through her, Ginger sipped her tangy, cranberry and raspberry smoothie, and tried to re-focus her attention on her presentation.  Reaching for her apple, she felt the man's gaze on her but she studiously tried to ignore him.  She took a bite of the crisp, juicy fruit, wishing the train would hurry up and speed her to London.

*

Cameron's frown deepened.  He'd lost all concentration and motivation.  The charge of electricity that had shot through him like a lightning bolt when he had instinctively reached out to steady her had really unnerved him.  From the look on her face she had felt the connection, too.  And now he was meant to sit here while she ate that apple?  He gritted his teeth, watching as her pink tongue tip peeped out to wipe away the succulent juice glistening on her lips, experiencing a raging desire to taste her.  Hell!  The sooner he got off this train the better!

One Special Night
Margaret McDonagh
Mills & Boon Medical Romance
UK Paperback – August 2007
ISBN:
Copyright © 2007
Margaret McDonagh
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher.
Cover copyright © 2007 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Artwork by Jim Wylie