“Oh, yes. See, I don’t really check that either so . . .”
“You’re an NHS doctor,” Barclay told me. Something I already knew. “Surely an NHS doctor has to be contactable in an emergency?”
“I do my on-calls on site and I have a work phone and a pager for them. My personal mobile doesn’t factor.”
“Christ, so what are we left with? Smoke signals?” He let out a deeply frustrated sigh. “Right, okay, my PA will ring you on your phoneandshe’ll contact Mr Derwent.”
“Yes, yes that’s fine,” stammered Nigel, who had been going more and more red in the face throughout my exchange with Barclay. He scrambled up from his chair and made his way around the desk. “Of course, I can get hold of Dr Murphy.”
“Sorted then,” I said. “Get your minion to give me the deets of Henry’s gaffe, and a time he wants me to come over, and we’ll work it out. Easy.”
“Dr Murphy,” Barclay said as he turned away from the door and towards me again. “Do you know what I do for a living?”
“Er, yes. I kind of do,” I murmured.
“Then you must realise that a lot of my time is spent in meetings, negotiating with people, yes?” I nodded. “So, believe me, I have a good frame of reference and a vast amount of experience to draw on when I say that this,” he pointed back and forth between us, “was anything but easy.”
Chapter 3
Please, please never mention my brother’s arse again
Kira
“Woah!” Mark breathed as we both looked up at the vast terraced house. “Are you sure this is Henry’s place? That dude always looks pretty rough when he comes to the clinic.”
“Well, this is the address Nigel gave me,” I muttered, pulling the now ratty piece of paper out of my bag and peering at it again.
“Bloody hell, I didn’t think people actually lived this close to Westminster. This place must cost a fortune.”
“Well, the Lucases are proper loaded, aren’t they? It’s probably a family house or something.” Mr Lucas Senior was a judge, and Mrs Lucas a barrister with old money. I’d been Googling, and they were an impressive family.
“I still can’t believe you met him. After all your drooling in front of the news over that man and now you meet him in the flesh. You always were a jammy bugger. Maybe this bodes well formychances of running into Chris Hemsworth.”
“Donotmention my Barclay obsession in front of his brother,” I snapped, and for the second time in a week I felt heat rising to my cheeks.
“Oh my God! You’re blushing!” His eyes were wide. “Are you, Kira Murphy,embarrassed? Unthinkable.”
“Fuck off, Mark. Just keep your mouth shut, alright?”
Mark smiled and clapped me on the back with a little too much force. “Your dirty secrets are safe with me, you disgusting Tory lover.”
“Well, let’s stop staring at the door like a pair of weirdos,” I scowled at the huge doorknocker before giving it a few loud bangs. “And I’m not embarrassed, I just . . .”
I trailed off as the door was jerked open and a large body, too bulky to be Henry’s, filled the frame.
“Holy sexy smart-casual Tories,” Mark whispered as he took a step back and nearly fell down the stone steps. Barclay Lucas ignored him and concentrated his annoyed gaze on me.
“You’re late,” he snapped in his deep voice. My mouth had fallen open again and I was, for the second time in a week, struggling to find words. Blushes and speechlessness were not typical Kira traits.
“Oh, sorry, mate, but in Kira World we’re actually early,” Mark told him, recovering his composure much faster than me and stepping forward with his hand extended. “Mark Fletcher” Barclay turned to him, doing an impressive one-eyebrow raise. Mark, at over six foot, was almost as tall as Barclay but with shaggy blond hair instead of perfectly styled dark. He was wearing his standard tight shirt and waistcoat paired with jeans that left very little of his impressive package to the imagination. Barclay only hesitated a second before taking Mark’s hand in a firm grip. “I work with Ki Ki and I’ve come as her bodyguard.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve come because you’re a nosy bastard.”
“I’m not about to let you ponce around London to a mysterious address on your own. They could be planning to kidnap you and sell you to dodgy Arab oil tycoon moguls. Haven’t you seenTaken? Although, I have to admit, you’d make a hard sell as a virgin. That ship sailed over a decade ago.”
I gave Mark a shove in his solar plexus, which sent him back down the stone steps (I was surprisingly strong for my size) then turned to Barclay.
“I didn’t realise you’d be here,” I blurted out. That damn eyebrow went up again and he crossed his arms over his chest. The suit was gone, replaced by a dark wool fitted jumper, which accentuated his broad chest, and jeans. Actual jeans. My eye went wide as I realised I was finally going to get a chance to assess his arse.
