Tempted by Dr. Daisy (3 page)

‘They've both got most of their original features. That's really rare. I hope you're going to keep them?'

‘Oh, definitely. That was one of the reasons I bought it. Luckily I'd budgeted for the kitchen and bathroom.' His mouth quirked, and she felt her heart hitch. It was ridiculous! They'd been working together all day without a problem, but here, in the intimate setting of her kitchen…

‘So—how's Clare now?'

‘Fine,' she said, clutching the change of topic like a lifeline. Work she could deal with. ‘She's settling, her blood pressure's already coming down, her urine output's up and she's feeling a lot better. And the baby's doing well.'

‘Good. For what it's worth and off the record, I would
have delivered her on Friday, too, looking at the notes in more detail. Just in case she'd flared up at the weekend. She was lucky.'

She spun round, eyes wide, and stared at him. He agreed with her? ‘Really?'

‘Really. You were justifiably cautious.'

She felt something warm unfurling inside her, and she smiled. ‘Thank you,' she said softly.

‘My pleasure. Have you eaten?'

‘No. I picked up a ready meal on the way home and I'm just about to cook it, but it's only enough for one or I'd offer to share. Sorry.'

‘Don't worry. I was going to take you out. I owe you dinner, remember?'

She flushed again. ‘Ben, I was joking.'

‘Well, I wasn't, and you'd be doing me a favour. I've got no food in the house, my kitchen's destroyed and I'm starving. I haven't eaten anything today except that sticky bun, and low blood sugar makes me grumpy.'

‘Oh, well, we wouldn't want you grumpy,' she said, going belly-up with a grin, and tried to tell herself she was only doing it as a favour to her boss and her pathetically easy submission was nothing to do with those gorgeous blue eyes, or the rippling muscles she'd seen as he'd pulled off his scrub top on the way through to the changing rooms after he'd delivered Clare.

Nothing to do with that at all…

They went to the bistro on the waterfront.

It had uninterrupted views of the sea, good food and it was close enough to walk to.

Not that they could see the sea, really, this late in the evening, but they could hear it as they walked along the prom, the soft rush of the waves surging up the shore, the
suck on the shingle as the water receded, and they could smell it, the tang of salt sharp in the moist air.

‘I love the sea,' she told him. ‘I don't think I could live anywhere landlocked.'

‘You want to try the Yorkshire Dales. It takes a good hour or more to get to the coast.'

‘But it's worth it when you get there, surely? Doesn't Yorkshire have lovely beaches?'

‘Oh, yes. Gorgeous. And Lancashire, on the west coast. It's just a bit of an expedition. London wasn't any better.'

‘Is that where you've just come from?' she asked, trying not to be nosy but failing.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the streetlights. ‘For my sins. How about you? Are you Yoxburgh born and bred?'

‘No. I've only been here two years. I've got a friend working here, and she persuaded me to come.'

‘Good move?'

‘Oh, yes, for all sorts of reasons. Nice town, and the hospital's great, much nicer to work in than my previous one, and—well, further from someone I needed space from.'

Now why had she brought that up? Idiot! She could see the question forming in his eyes, but she was saved from having to explain by their arrival at the restaurant, and by the time they were seated and the waiter had given them menus and water and a basket of warm, squashy bread, they'd moved on.

Thankfully.

‘So why obstetrics?' he asked her, reaching for the bread.

‘I love it. Less keen on the gynae, except some of the surgery's quite interesting and technically challenging, but mostly it's the babies. Making a difference, saving such vulnerable little lives—I'm a sucker for it. The friend I told
you about's a midwife, and I guess she influenced me a bit. You?'

He shrugged. ‘All sorts of reasons, really. My father's a vet and my brother and I used to go out with him on calls sometimes when we were kids. We helped with the lambing and the calving, and sometimes there'd be a foal, and I just loved it. And of course all the cats and dogs had litters, and we always watched them giving birth, and my mother's a midwife, so when I went into medicine it just seemed the obvious choice. My brother's an obstetrician, too, but he's a bit more focussed on his career than me.' He gave a wry smile. ‘It's been a bit difficult recently. Life sort of threw a spanner in the works.'

‘That's divorce for you,' she said without thinking, and could have bitten her tongue off, but he just shrugged again and smiled sadly.

‘Yes, it is. Are you divorced?'

‘Me? No! Single and proud of it,' she lied. Well, not about the single part, because she was, profoundly, since Mike had walked away, but she wasn't proud of it. She was more—well, lonely, really, she admitted, but she'd rather be single than in the situation she'd been in. And for all the difference it would have made, in many ways she felt divorced. Would have been, if Mike had ever got round to asking her to marry him instead of just stringing her along for years. She scraped up a chirpy grin. ‘Mad spinster lady, that's what I am. Didn't you notice the cat?'

‘I thought you had to have more than one to be a mad spinster?' he said softly, his eyes searching even though there was a smile teasing his lips, and she felt her heart turn over.

No! No no no no no!

‘Oh, well, I've only got the one, so that's all right, then,
I'm not a spinster, just mad,' she said lightly, and turned her attention to the menu. Fast.

Ben watched her. She was distracted, not concentrating. The menu was the right way up, but it could have been in Russian or Japanese for all the difference it would have made, he was sure. She was flustered—by him?

Interesting—except that she was a colleague, and his neighbour, and he'd just got out of one horribly messy relationship and he was in no hurry to get into another.

Even if she was the most attractive, interesting and stimulating person he'd been near in what felt like decades.

He shut his menu with a snap, and her body gave a tiny little jerk, as if the sound had startled her. ‘I'm having the pan-fried sea bass,' he said briskly. ‘What about you?'

‘Um…' She stared at the menu, blinked and nodded. ‘Sounds nice,' she said, and he would have laid odds she hadn't even seen the print, never mind made sense of it.

‘Wine?'

Stupid. Utterly stupid, on a week night, with work the next day.

‘I could have a glass, I suppose,' she said thoughtfully.

‘Sauvignon blanc?'

She nodded, and the light from the candle caught her hair and it shimmered like rich, dark silk. He wanted to reach over and catch a strand between thumb and forefinger, wind it round his fingertip and reel her in, tugging her gently towards him until those soft, full lips were in range, and then—

‘Are you ready to order, sir?'

He straightened up, sucking in a slow, silent breath and raising an eyebrow at Daisy. ‘Have you decided?'

‘Oh—um—the sea bass, like you?' she said, saving him from the embarrassment of admitting he'd forgotten ev
erything except the shimmer of her hair and the soft sheen of her lips.

‘Sounds good,' he said, and added the wine to the list. A couple of glasses wouldn't make any difference…

 

‘That was really nice. Thank you, Ben,' she said, hesitating by her front gate.

They'd walked back side by side, fingers brushing from time to time, shoulders nudging gently. Not holding hands, but not far off it, and she wondered, just idly—well, no, not idly at all, really—if he was going to kiss her goodnight.

Madness! Too much wine. She shouldn't have had the second glass.

‘My pleasure. I'd offer you coffee, but the cafetière was in the box that jingled,' he told her ruefully, and she smiled.

‘I've got coffee,' she told him before she could stop her mouth, and their eyes locked and he lifted his shoulders in an almost imperceptible shrug.

‘Coffee would be nice. Thank you.'

She unlocked her door, and he followed her in, all the way through to the kitchen. It was open to the dining area, and she directed him to the table to get herself a little space.

‘Make yourself comfortable,' she said, and switched the kettle on, glancing at the clock as she did so. Heavens, they'd been out for well over two hours. It was after eleven o'clock, and she had to be on the ward tomorrow at eight. Silly. She shouldn't have invited him in. Too late, and way too dangerous.

She frowned into the freezer, searching for the coffee, and then gave up and opened a new packet. She had no idea how long the other one had been open and her mind didn't seem to want to work it out.

‘Black or white, and hot or cold milk?' she asked, sloshing hot water into the cafetière to warm it.

‘Black, one sugar,' he said.

Of course. That was how he'd had it in the bistro, although he'd had a latte in the hospital that morning. Heavens. Was it only that morning? It seemed aeons ago!

Her thoughts miles away, she picked up the tray and found herself heading automatically to the sitting room at the front of the house. She'd meant to put it down on the dining table, but before she could change tack he'd stood up and was following. Damn! It would be too cosy in there, much too intimate, and the wine was fogging her brain.

The wine, and the company…

‘Oh, this room's lovely, Daisy,' he said warmly as she put the coffee down, and she felt herself glow with his praise.

‘Thanks. Do you want some music on?'

‘Shall I?' He was crouching down in front of her iPod dock without waiting for an answer, scrolling through her music collection, making himself at home. He put on something soft and romantic, and she could hardly tell him she didn't like it, as it was her music. And she'd sat down already, so it was impossible to choose the other sofa when he sat at the other end of hers, a perfectly respectable distance from her and yet just close enough that her nose could pick up the scent of that citrusy cologne he'd been wearing this morning.

It had been teasing her nostrils all evening, and she could have leant against him and breathed him in.

Except that it wouldn't make any sense at all, and if she knew what was good for her she'd drink her coffee and send him on his way.

Except it didn't quite work like that.

They talked and laughed until long after the coffee was finished, and then finally he sighed and got to his feet.

‘I ought to go.'

‘Yes, you should,' she said, and stood up, but she'd
kicked off her shoes and she tripped on one and he caught her, his hands strong and steady on her arms.

‘OK?' he murmured, and she lifted her head and met his eyes and everything seemed to stop dead.

Her heart, her lungs, the clock—everything froze in that moment, and then as if someone had thrown a switch and set him free, he bent his head, so slowly that she had all the time in the world to move away, and touched his lips to hers.

She sighed his name, her heart kicking back into life like a wild thing, and then his arms were sliding round her and he was kissing her properly.

Improperly?

He tasted of coffee and after dinner mints, his tongue bold and persuasive, coaxing her, leading her, then retreating, making her follow.

She was putty in his hands, all her senses short-circuited by the gentle, rhythmic stroke of his tongue, the soft brush of his lips, the warm whisper of his breath over her face as he sipped and touched and lingered.

If he'd led her upstairs, she would have followed, but he didn't. Instead he lifted his head and rested his chin on her hair and cradled her gently against his chest.

‘I really ought to go,' he said again, but his voice was gruff this time, the soft Yorkshire burr teasing her senses, and his arms stayed wrapped around her.

She lay there another moment listening to the steady, insistent thud of his heart against her ear, and then reluctantly she dropped her arms from round his waist and stepped back.

‘Yes, you should. Thank you for taking me out. You really didn't need to, but it was lovely. I really enjoyed it.'

‘So did I. I'd like to do it again, but I'm not sure if that's
wise. We work together, we live next door. It could get messy.'

She nodded, struggling against an inexplicable urge to cry. ‘Yeah. Lousy idea.' And he was divorced. She didn't do that. Didn't do anything. Not any more.

He took a step towards the door, then turned back, his eyes lingering on her face. ‘Thank you for everything today. You've been amazing.'

She tried to smile. ‘Any time.'

He lifted a hand and his knuckles grazed her cheek tenderly. ‘Goodnight, Daisy. Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow.'

She nodded. She couldn't speak, because for some ridiculous reason she was on the verge of tears, and as if he knew that, he gave a sad, fleeting little smile and let himself out.

W
ORKWISE
, Tuesday was a day like any other.

On a personal level, Daisy thought she was going to go out of her mind. She'd hardly slept, and by the time she arrived on the ward, she'd convinced herself that working with Ben was going to be impossible.

In fact, it was easy.

He greeted her with a smile, and if it hadn't been for the lingering heat in his eyes, she wouldn't have known anything had happened between them. It was just business as usual.

No cosy coffees today, just the normal routine of a busy surgical list, including an elective Caesarean on a woman with an old spinal injury who had to have a general anaesthetic rather than an epidural. It was a good chance for him to see what she could do, and he could talk her through it without worrying the patient or her partner.

Although, in fact, he hardly said anything, just nodded reassurance and made the odd suggestion, and then stripped off his gloves and walked out. ‘You're doing fine. You close, I'm going to get a coffee. Bit of a late night.'

Evil man. Thank God for a mask she could hide her smile behind, and the scrub nurse and anaesthetist deep in conversation about another colleague.

She finished, stripped off her gloves and went out to the
staffroom, to find him pouring another coffee and holding it out to her as she approached.

‘Nice,' he said. ‘Good hands. You remind me of my father.'

‘Is that a good thing?' she asked, not sure she was flattered.

‘It is if you're a good vet.'

‘Like James Herriot? All stone barns and stroppy farmers?'

He chuckled. ‘Things have moved on since the forties. You've got the makings of an excellent surgeon, though.'

‘Just don't get me delivering calves.'

The silly banter was just what she needed to take her mind off what had happened last night—or not happened. Except of course the tension between them was still there, the incredible sexual chemistry striking sparks off her every time she was within twenty feet of him. And of all the people for it to happen with—

‘Hey, it's OK,' he murmured softly, as if he realised, and then the anaesthetist stuck his head round the door and gave them the thumbs up.

‘She's round, she's fine. Ready for the next?'

He got to his feet and went to scrub, and when she'd drained her coffee she joined him and the awkward, sensitive moment was gone. For now.

 

Ben closed the front door behind him, rolled his neck and cradled it in his palm, massaging the tight muscles.

He'd been operating most of the day, and on top of lugging boxes all weekend, it was getting to him. Not forgetting lying awake thinking about Daisy all night.

He groaned and shut his eyes. He really, really didn't need to think about that. It had been difficult enough hav
ing to work alongside her all day without coming home and fantasising about her all evening as well.

He put the kettle on, rang the plumber back about the electrician and the plasterer, and made himself a cup of tea. He'd just dropped into a chair in his sitting room to drink it when his mobile rang.

‘So how's the new house?'

He gave a slightly strangled laugh and looked around at the hideous 1970s wallpaper and the dangling paper on the ceiling. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the trashed kitchen. ‘Let's just say it's got potential.'

‘Oops.'

‘Yeah. The bath waste wasn't properly connected.'

‘And?'

‘I don't have a kitchen ceiling now.'

‘OK…' His brother was stifling a laugh, he could tell, and he could feel his own lips twitch.

‘You ought to come up and see it.'

Matt didn't bother to stifle the laugh then. ‘You have to be kidding. You'll have me stripping wallpaper and pulling out kitchen units before I've taken my coat off,' he said drily, and then added, ‘So, how's the job? Any good?'

‘Yes, very good. The SpR's a bit of an old woman, but the registrar's excellent. Good team.'

‘And your neighbours? Met them yet?'

‘Ah—yes. Actually, the registrar's my neighbour. She's in the other half.'

‘Is
she
, now?'

Ben closed his eyes and leant back. ‘Yes,
she
is. And she was very helpful about the leak. I took her out for dinner to say thank you,' he added rashly, and he heard Matt's curiosity crank up a notch.

‘And?'

‘And nothing.'

Matt was laughing. ‘Oh, come on, bro, I know you better than that. I thought you were sounding pretty chipper. So let's have it. What's her name?'

‘Daisy.'

‘
Daisy
! What kind of a name is that?'

‘Don't mock, you're only jealous.'

‘Ooh, defensive—that's interesting! So what's she like?'

‘Average height, curvy, long dark hair, green eyes, sexy mouth—'

‘Really? How sexy?'

Damn. He sighed and shut his eyes. ‘Didn't mean to say that.'

He heard a low chuckle. ‘I'll bet. How sexy?'

He gave up. ‘She kisses like a goddess,' he admitted, and there was a second of startled silence on the other end.

Then, ‘
When
did you meet her?'

‘Yesterday.'

‘And you know how she
kisses
?
Already
? Sheesh, that's fast work! And she's a
colleague
? You're normally much more circumspect. She must have really lit a fire under you.'

Oh, yes. For all the good it'd do. ‘It's not going anywhere. You know I'm not in the market for a relationship, Matt, any more than you are.'

‘So who's talking about a relationship?' Matt asked with his usual bluntness, and he sighed again.

‘She's a nice girl, not someone you take to bed for the hell of it.'

‘I thought you grew out of that years ago.'

‘Yeah, well, I nearly forgot.'

Matt blew out his breath. ‘It must have been some kiss.' He sounded incredulous, and Ben ran a hand round the back of his neck and sighed.

‘Yeah. Big mistake, kissing her. We—uh—we got a bit
swept along on the moment, and we shouldn't have done. I should have had more sense, and I know it's crazy, and I keep telling myself it can't go anywhere, but—hell, I was so tempted to stay, Matt. I was that close…'

He heard her front door shut, and shook his head to clear it. ‘Look, I've got to go, she's home now and these walls aren't exactly soundproof. I think I'm going round there to talk to her—tell her why it can't ever go anywhere before she gets ideas.'

‘Are you sure it can't?' Matt prompted, his voice soft. ‘Maybe it's time to move on—find some time for yourself.'

And because he wanted it to be otherwise, because he was blown away by Daisy and wanted to be able to follow through but knew he couldn't—or wouldn't—Ben bit back.

‘I don't see you moving on with your life,' he said, and he heard Matt suck in his breath again.

‘Back off,' he warned softly.

‘Sorry, ignore me. Well, no, don't ignore me. Come up here and stay for a few days. It would be really good to see you and I promise I won't make you strip wallpaper.'

‘I don't believe a word of it, but I might come anyway, just to get a look at this Daisy. Good luck with her. I'll look forward to meeting her one day.'

The line went dead, and he stood up and went out to the kitchen with his mug. He'd give Daisy a few minutes to change and feed the cat, and then he'd go round there.

And stop this thing in its tracks.

 

She wanted a bath. She'd wanted a bath since Sunday night, and nothing that had happened in the meantime had changed that.

She stared at it, sitting there taunting her with its promise of gentle, lapping water and utter relaxation. She still
hadn't unpacked from the weekend, there was washing waiting to go in the machine, and—

‘Oh, damn it,' she said, and turned on the taps, poured in a generous dollop of bubble bath, and while the delectably indulgent Victorian claw-foot bath filled with water, she put on some music, turned down the lights and lit a scented candle, then dropped her clothes into the laundry basket, stepped into the bath and slid under the bubbles.

‘Oh, yes,' she groaned. Bliss.

Except she was twitchy. She could hear Ben moving around next door, unpacking probably. He was going to come round, she just knew it, and catching her in the bath really wouldn't help. She'd have to run down to the front door looking like a drowned rat, and what little was left of her pride would go straight out of the window.

She rinsed her hair in clean water, dragged herself reluctantly out of the bath, dried and picked up her dressing gown. It still had a tea stain all the way down the front, and there was no way she could wear it again until it had been washed. She really
had
to do her laundry.

She contemplated her baggy old sweats, and then put on jeans and last night's top, because she just had a feeling he'd be round. No reason. He hadn't said he would, but better to be prepared. And she resisted the urge to change the top for one he hadn't seen.

She'd dry her hair, and put on a touch of makeup—just a flick of mascara and some concealer under her eyes to hide the bags, because two nights without sleep showed on her fair skin—and then she'd unpack and tidy her room.

Not that she needed to worry about Ben seeing it, anyway, she thought with irony as she dabbed on the concealer. He'd been the one to walk away, while she'd been teetering on the brink.

And in any case, what on earth was she
thinking
? She
didn't
want
him in her bedroom! There was no way she was getting involved with another divorced man, because she was still dealing with the devastating emotional fallout from the last one. And he was her boss!
And
her neighbour!

‘Huge great big fat no, Daisy,' she said firmly, and picked up her mascara.

She heard him run downstairs, then the sound of his door closing. A moment later, there was a knock on her own door, and even though she'd tried to convince herself it was the last thing she wanted, her heart raced with anticipation and her hands started to shake.

She put the mascara down before she could poke her eye out, went downstairs and opened the door.

He had flowers. A huge bunch of pure white longiflorum lilies, the scent astonishing, and he held them out to her.

‘Are you trying to soften me up or is this a peace offering for trying to take advantage of my innocence?' she asked, taking them from him warily, and he felt his mouth kick up in a wry smile. If he'd wanted to take advantage of her innocence, he wouldn't have had to try very hard, she'd been with him every step of the way…

‘Neither. I thought they'd mask the smell of damp plaster clinging to me.'

She gave a disbelieving little laugh and walked off, and he followed her through the door she'd left open—presumably for him—to the kitchen. She was putting the flowers in a tall vase and fiddling with them, pulling off leaves, trying to arrange the stubborn stems, and he could tell she was nervous.

Why? In case he tried anything again? No way. She was safe on that front, at least.

‘Have you eaten?' he asked, and she felt her brow crease in a little frown.

‘No. Not yet. I was going to have that ready meal.'
Don't ask me out again, Ben, please, don't ask me out.

‘Can I change your mind? I thought maybe we could find a pub somewhere, grab something to eat and have a chat.'

Her stomach fluttered, and she squashed the quiver of anticipation ruthlessly. ‘I don't really want to go out. I could do with an early night, to be honest,' she lied, and jammed another lily stem into the vase.

He watched her thoughtfully. ‘Is that, “Ben, sling your hook,” or “I don't want to go out but we could have a takeaway”?' he asked, trying to read her body language.

She gave up on arranging the flowers and dumped the vase in the middle of the dining table. ‘Neither. Ben, why are you here?' she asked a little desperately.

He propped himself up against the table next to her, hands thrust into his trouser pockets, and sighed quietly.

‘I think we need to talk about what happened last night.'

‘Nothing happened last night.'

His laugh was low and mocking. ‘Get real, Daisy. We were
that
close.' He held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger almost touching, and she felt heat pooling in her at the memory.

She made herself meet his eyes, and then regretted it, because they were glittering with an intensity that should have terrified her.

It
did
terrify her.

She looked away. ‘Well, spit it out, then, because you've obviously got something to get off your chest,' she said briskly, and she felt the huff of his quiet laugh against her cheek.

‘It's—complicated.'

She gave a derisive snort and straightened one of the lily stems. ‘The last man to say that told me he was going
back to his wife and family,' she said drily, and he found himself wondering about the bastard who'd hurt her.

‘I'm not going to say that, exactly.'

She felt relief try and break free, but sensed it was a little early and squashed it. And that ‘exactly' was hanging in the air like an unexploded bomb. ‘So what
are
you saying,
exactly
?' she prompted. ‘That you're my boss and it's a bad idea? You're divorced? We're neighbours? I've already worked all that out, and I absolutely agree.'

‘I have a daughter,' he said, dropping the bombshell of all bombshells without preamble. ‘She's nearly three, and she's called Florence. That's why I'm here, why I'm in Yoxburgh. My ex moved back to be near her family and friends, and I've followed.'