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He looked around, as if he hadn’t noticed. ‘Glad you like it.’
What wasn’t to like? Greg didn’t live ostentatiously, but all his furniture matched and it screamed quality. And that was before you counted the large, top-floor living space, the tall windows and the amazing view.
‘You moved in here recently?’ This kind of apartment was far beyond the reach of a doctor’s salary. He must have inherited the money from his father.
‘No.’ He laughed at her surprise. ‘I had a trust fund. By the time it matured, it was enough for this place.’
Jess almost choked on the last mouthful from her plate. Greg obviously came from a very different background from hers. ‘That sounds… useful.’
He leaned towards her. ‘The last time I saw you look that disapproving was when Ray Harris ended up as a patient in his own ambulance.’
‘That was my professional face.’
‘No, it wasn’t. You looked as sour as a bowl of lemons.’ He was teasing her now.
‘Well, it was a bit much. Ray was just trying to help—the guy didn’t need to take a swing at him. How hard do you have to hit someone to break their cheekbone?’
‘Hard. And you were a model of restraint. I couldn’t have done better myself.’ He chuckled.
‘Of course you couldn’t. I was there, remember? I saw what you did to that drinks machine.’
‘It wasn’t working. I pressed the button and got hot water all over my feet.’
‘You didn’t press it, you punched it.’
They were both laughing now. This was almost unbearable. The highs and lows, the humour, the camaraderie, all of it free of the framework of hospital rules and common sense, which had kept their relationship on a professional footing. There was nothing to protect her now.
‘So what’s so bad about having a trust fund, then?’ He was still grinning.
Jess shrugged. ‘Thought I was off the hook with that one.’
‘You’re not on any hook. I’m just interested.’
‘I’ve just never known anyone with a trust fund. Does it make a difference? To the way you look at things, I mean.’
He threaded his fingers together. Long fingers. She already knew that Greg had a sensitive touch. ‘I had to work just as hard as everyone else at med school. Lived in the same sorts of digs. It matured when I was thirty and by that time I’d already earned what I really wanted out of life. I imagine that was just as my father intended.’
‘He sounds like an astute man.’
Something flickered in his eyes and then died. She was evidently not about to hear any of Greg’s thoughts on his father. He rose and collected the empty plates from the table. ‘Go and sit down. I’ll
make some coffee.’
‘I’ll help you with the dishes.’ Jess made to get up.
‘My guests don’t do washing up.’ He grinned at her protest. ‘Neither do I. I’m just going to stack these in the dishwasher.’
Right. Of course he was. Jess shook her head at her own lack of sophistication and obediently descended the three steps that divided the dining area from the living space, sitting down on one of the butter-smooth, leather sofas.
He was back in ten minutes, along with a tray, laden with coffee and after-dinner sweets. ‘This is nice. Really nice. Thank you.’ He was more than just a good cook, he was a good host. Everything was in the right place, at the right time. And Jess was pretty sure that the music playing softly in the background had been chosen with her own favourite tracks in mind.
‘Thank you.’ He seemed about to ask something and then hesitated.
‘I can only say no.’ Jess might not have the sophistication that Greg had, but she could read between the lines.
‘Nah. You won’t do that.’ He settled back in his seat, the soft leather easing with him.
‘I might. You think you can just charm me into anything?’ He probably could, but letting him know that would be a bad move right now.
