Page 36 of One Reckless Night

“Got a boyfriend back in England?” I asked her.

She laughed softly. “No.”

“Did I read you did a lot of traveling before you landed here?”

“I wouldn’t say a lot, but some,” she said.

“Man in every port?”

It was probably invasive, but I wasn’t known for being subtle.

“I don’t have time to date,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning toward her ever so slightly. “No time for love, Dr. Pritchard? That’s a shame.”

She laughed, a self-deprecating sound that made me smile. “I’m not exactly the dating type. Too much of a nerd, I guess. And not very pretty. I’m not the typical beauty queen.”

I stared at her, surprised to find myself scowling. “What moron told you that?”

She shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “No one had to tell me. It’s just… obvious. I have eyes. I went to university. I saw the women that were dating all the time. I don’t look like them. I didn’t act like them. And that’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

I shook my head. “It’s not obvious. Not to me. You’re brilliant, Amelia. And you’re beautiful. Anyone who can’t see that needs to be one of my patients. Never compare yourself to anyone, especially those skinny, empty-headed women.”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. But then she smiled, a small, genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “That’s really nice of you to say.”

I reached for a slice of cheese and popped it in my mouth, then chewed it quickly. “It’s the truth.”

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you date a lot,” she said with a laugh. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t date much either,” I said. “Not as much as my reputation suggests.”

“Maybe dating is the wrong word.”

She reached for a cracker.

“Not wrong.” I grinned. “I also don’t really have time for dating. My schedule is constantly shifting. Some surgeries can’t wait, and saving people always takes priority. That’s why casual works better for me.”

“Do you go out a lot?” she asked. “Not dating, but I imagine you have a pretty large social network.”

“Actually, no,” I said. “I tend to rub people the wrong way.”

She laughed. “No. You? Really?”

“Thanks.” I took a sip of my wine, the rich flavor lingering on my tongue as I leaned back against the couch.

Amelia was sitting cross-legged beside me, looking completely at ease. She was too perceptive, too good at reading people—something I wasn’t used to. I was used to being around women that looked at me and saw the surface and nothing else but the money and the looks.

“I don’t really have many friends. Not close ones, anyway. Shawn. Clair, maybe. That’s sad, right?”

She tilted her head and studied me like a scientist studying a specimen. “Really? I figured someone like you would be surrounded by people.”

“Well, they try.” I snorted. “People tend to stick around until they realize I’m not exactly the warmest person. Or until I say something that pisses them off. Which happens more often than not. I don’t have a filter. I get frustrated quickly when people waste my time.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “You’re not exactly Mr. Congeniality, are you?”

“No,” I admitted with a shrug. “Never have been. I don’t have the patience for small talk or niceties. If I think something, I say it. And most people don’t like that.”