by Ann Jennings
“That’s no excuse for taking it out on everyone else,” retorted Isabel severely. “Just because you have problems, doesn’t mean to say we all have to share them.” She stopped suddenly, aware of a dangerous dark flash in his grey eyes. “I’m sorry, perhaps it is a little rude to speak to you like this,” she said quickly before she lost the courage, “especially as you are providing me with sustenance, but I’m afraid that’s the way I feel!”
“Quite right too,” he said, his lean face breaking into an unexpectedly devastating smile. “I think I need someone to reprimand me occasionally, someone to help keep my bad temper in check!”
Isabel smiled back at him, her heart momentarily captured by the smiling curve of his usually stern mouth. A smile that enhanced his rugged, lean good looks, and chased the dark shadows from his face. Involuntarily she raised her hand to the hollow of her throat, where the pulse was drumming out a wild, unfamiliar beat. She could hear her own heart hammering loudly in her ears. What was it about this man, that he had the power at one moment to infuriate her and at the next to make her heart turn turtle? It was something she had never experienced before, it was exhilarating and yet frightening at the same time. She had thought she had loved Hugh Sinclair wildly, and she had. She knew she had, but he had never had that sort of effect on her!
“You must get yourself a girlfriend,” she answered lightly, hoping her voice didn’t betray her turbulent feelings. “Someone who will reprimand you occasionally.”
“What makes you think I haven’t got one?” he asked.
Isabel blushed at his sudden challenge, flustered. “I…er, I didn’t think. I just assumed,” she faltered.
“My advice to you is never assume anything,” he said drily, reaching across the table for her glass. “Shall I pour you some more wine?”
Isabel’s hand, that reached out to take the glass from him, was not quite steady. It had happened again, one moment he was friendly, and then suddenly he closed up like a clam. She was sitting opposite a total stranger again, but still a stranger with a strong latent sex appeal to which she felt herself responding.
He made a deliberate slow study of her face, his gaze locking on to hers, compelling her to look back at him. Then slowly, almost casually, he let his gaze wander idly down her body, lingering for just a split second on the swell of her breasts outlined by the thin blue cotton of her dress. His glance was almost like a physical caress, and against her will she felt rebellious fires kindling within her, and she was uncomfortably aware that he knew very well what she was feeling.
Swallowing nervously, she tore her gaze from his and took a sip of her wine. Trying to appear cool and calm, endeavouring to keep her agitation under control, she said, “I think I ought to go soon,” forcing the words out casually. “I could do with an early night tonight.”
“Ah, yes of course,” he said silkily, “you were out on the tiles last night, weren’t you!” His voice had a barely veiled mocking note to it.
“I went out with Cliff Peterson and some friends, if that is what you mean,” retorted Isabel, suddenly remembering his figure standing in the hospital entrance watching Cliff kiss her.
“You and Cliff Peterson seem to have got very friendly, very quickly,” he observed.
“Just because you saw him give me a good night peck, which doesn’t mean a thing,” said Isabel, “and anyway it’s none of your business,” she added defiantly.
“It looked a damned sight more than a good night peck to me,” he answered disdainfully.
Isabel stood up angrily; what right had he to say such things? “I don’t care what it looked like to you,” she snapped, piling up the plates. “I’m taking these through to the kitchen and then I’d be glad if you would take me back to the hospital.”
“You can’t dictate to me when I should take you back,” he replied dourly, leaning back in his chair, one elbow on the table. From his stance he looked as if he intended to stay that way for the night!
“Oh really,” exploded Isabel crossly, “if you are going to be so difficult, I shall walk!” With that, she picked up the plates and marched smartly into the kitchen. She was fully aware that he had followed her, but ignored that fact and dumped the plates into the sink. “I shall do the washing up, and then I shall go,” she announced staring straight ahead, out of the window, trying to ignore his disturbing closeness.
“There’s no need,” he replied sounding amused, “there’s a dishwasher.” He indicated the machine standing in the corner of the room.
“Then I’ll load everything into that,” said Isabel crossing to the dishwasher and proceeding to stack the dishes inside. Her task finished, she straightened up, only to find herself about an inch away from him, her eyes level with the knot in his tie.
“Look at me,” he commanded curtly.
Against her will Isabel reluctantly looked up, her annoyed gaze disintegrating before the disconcerting lights in his dark eyes. She tried, but couldn’t stop her mouth trembling slightly, as with a quiver she attempted to say lightly, “Well?”
“Well,” he echoed slowly, “don’t I deserve a kiss for preparing and giving you dinner?” he asked.
“I wasn’t aware that we had entered into any such agreement,” said Isabel. Her voice faltered and she quickly turned her head away, trying to avoid the mocking gleam in his eyes. “I reserve my kisses for people I like,” she said stiffly.
“I see, you like Cliff Peterson,” he asked quickly, his voice stinging, “but not me?”
“I didn’t say that,” replied Isabel, trying to keep her voice steady, wondering at the same time how it was that she had suddenly got herself into deep water! She shivered, chill fingers feathering along the length of her spine. “I like you both, but…”
“Then why kiss him and not me?” he demanded, and putting his hand firmly beneath her chin he tilted her face to his. “I’ve tried to say sorry for today,” he said, “can’t you be nice to me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth came down on hers with a sort of hunger that shook her to the core of her being. She had been kissed before, but never before had any man’s kiss awakened such a tumultuous eruption of raw, untamed passion in her.
Before she was aware of what was happening, she found she was kissing him back with a hunger that matched his, her slender arms sliding up around his neck, pulling his head closer to hers, her body yielding and pliant in his strong, sensuous hands. He wasn’t holding her tightly, against her will. She could have drawn away at any time, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to. His mouth, moving with a soft gentle sensuality over her own, was sending delicious tremors quivering throughout her being, alerting her capricious nerves to a height of awareness she never dreamt she even possessed. The kiss went on and on until she felt that she was melting and being fused into one with him.
It was Mike Blakeney who drew away at last, his dark grey eyes looking down at her with something like mocking amusement gleaming in them as he said, “Don’t tell me you would have wanted to miss that?”
Isabel felt herself blushing, flustered and shy beneath his derisory, but still sensual, gaze. “It was just a little kiss,” she muttered, trying to back away.
But he would have none of it. This time he did hold her tightly, his arms closing around her and drawing her towards him in an iron grip. “Just a little kiss!” he echoed sarcastically. “Well, well, well! In that case, perhaps I’d better do something to make it more memorable.”
Before Isabel could protest his mouth descended on hers once more. This time not so gently, but with a demanding sexuality she couldn’t deny. Willingly, her trembling lips parted, allowing his invading tongue to plunder her mouth and her senses. His strong hands slid slowly and surely along her body in a caressing, erotic stimulus, and Isabel found herself responding, an unnamed desire driving her along the path towards fulfilment. She knew she was drowning in deep waters beyond her experience, b
ut felt powerless even to try to do anything. Again, it was Mike Blakeney who broke the moment and, drawing away from her, said, “Don’t tell me that was ‘just a little kiss!’” His voice sounded strangely hoarse as he added softly, “Come to bed.”
“No,” protested Isabel, her voice faltering. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” he demanded huskily, preparing to kiss her again, but this time Isabel was ready for him, and neatly sidestepped his reaching arms.
Trembling violently, she leaned against the fridge, grasping its cold sharp edge as if to reassure herself that she was still on the same planet she had started off on that evening! “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me,” she said, trying to make her voice sound firm and matter-of-fact. “I’m not in the market for casual relationships, and I certainly don’t feel that I have to pay for my dinner by going to bed with you!”
Turning, she walked quickly out of the kitchen on legs that moved with a wooden jerkiness. Every nerve in her being was screaming out to be taken in his arms again, but commonsense and a touch of fear forbade her to turn back. It was true, she was not in the market for casual sexual relationships. That had been one of the problems with Hugh Sinclair, something had always held her back then, just as it was holding her back now.
“What a pity,” he said scathingly, coming up behind her, “we could have had such a good time.”
“I can have a good time without going to bed with you!” retorted Isabel tartly, annoyed at his sarcastic tone of voice. “I don’t need any favours from you, thanks.”
He folded his arms as he observed her through half closed eyes. “You surprise me. I didn’t think you’d be the old-fashioned type!” he said, raising his eyebrows in an infuriating expression of amusement.
“You can call me what you like,” replied Isabel firmly, “I just don’t believe in sleeping around.”
He shook his head impatiently, “I’m not asking you to sleep around. I’m asking you to let me make love to you.” He came closer, his voice low, “I know you would enjoy it.”
Isabel raised her head and looked him full in the face, challenging him, her blue eyes flashing an icy fire. “You say making love,” she said scornfully. “That is just the point as far as I’m concerned. Love with a capital ‘L’ has got to come into sex, and where you and I are concerned it doesn’t. I don’t even know you properly, I’m not even certain that I like you!” She turned away, staring out into the darkness of the garden. “It wouldn’t be love, it would be lust, and I would lose my self respect.”
He gave a short laugh. “Is that so important?”
“To me, yes,” snapped Isabel, “although I realise it is unlikely to be high on your list of priorities!”
She heard him sigh angrily behind her. “What a difficult woman you are,” he said.
“Sorry,” she said lightly, desperately bottling up her seething and confused emotions. “But you’ve picked the wrong girl tonight!” She started out of the kitchen, towards the front door. “I’m going back to the hospital now, are you going to take me, or shall I walk?”
“I’ll take you, of course,” he snorted irritably, “although why I should bother I don’t know.”
“Then don’t,” flashed Isabel angrily, and before he could stop her she ran to the front door and wrenched it open.
With one swift stride he was at her side, his hand snaked out and gripped her wrist in a vice-like grip. “Don’t be so damned stupid,” he growled, “I said I would take you. It’s dangerous to walk back at his late hour.”
“Oh really!” said Isabel sarcastically, vainly struggling to wrest her wrist from his grasp. “I can hardly believe it is any more dangerous than staying here with you!”
Muttering a stifled oath under his breath, he gripped her wrist even tighter and walked with her towards his car. “Get in,” he rapped tersely, holding open the door.
On the drive back to the hospital neither of them said a word. Isabel knew what it must be like to be sitting on the edge of a precipice, afraid of falling at any moment to go spiralling off into space. On reaching the residence block he pulled the big car to an abrupt halt.
Isabel hesitated. What does one say in a situation like this, she thought wildly, restraining an absurd impulse to giggle hysterically. Eventually she took a deep breath and said rather tamely, “Thank you for the meal!”
“I’m not going to say thank you for a lovely evening,” he replied sarcastically, “because I didn’t get the cherry on the cake!”
Isabel drew in her breath in a sharp hiss of anger, outraged at his brazen remark. “That’s your fault, you chose the wrong cake,” she spat at him, rage spilling over, making her reckless. “Next time you go shopping, choose your cake more carefully. Anyway, what you need is a tart, not a cake!” With that invective she scrambled out of the car. As she did so she heard him mutter something in reply, but couldn’t catch the words.
Still trembling with anger, she glowered in his direction in the darkness as she slammed the door violently shut. Then without another glance she stalked up the path towards the residence block as the car roared off into the night. Judging by the way the wheels spun when it started, he must have stamped his foot down to the floor, she thought, trying to keep back the tears that were threatening. Blinking desperately, she fumbled with the key to the front door of the block. Damn, damn the man! It had been her proud boast that no man had reduced her to tears, and he had succeeded in doing that after only a few short hours!
Flinging herself into bed, she prayed for sleep. She needed to face the next day! But sleep eluded her as she tossed and turned, dreading the coming of dawn. A whole day working with Mike Blakeney again, could she stand it? She knew for certain that every time she saw him she would think of those wonderful ecstatic moments in his arms. But then the spectre of his proposition and their resulting quarrel would return too! Perhaps I should have said yes, she thought restlessly, wishing she could change her nature and be free and easy, like so many of the girls she knew. If only he had shown some tenderness, instead of just baldly asking her to go to bed, in much the same way he would ask for an ampoule of a drug in theatre!
Isabel sat up in bed and hugged her knees to her chest. I’ll wait for my knight in shining armour, she decided, someone to love and cherish me, then I’ll go to bed willingly. But I will not be used, and certainly not by a man with a reputation for being a cold fish. Although a sexy cold fish she admitted to herself, giving a wry grin. Gradually rationality and her own effervescent good humour began to creep back. She remembered Susie Wee’s words about him always losing interest in girls halfway through the evening. Not even bothering to kiss them good night! I suppose it’s a sort of back-handed compliment, she thought ruefully, at least he didn’t lose interest and he certainly kissed me!
Slowly she lay back down and settled herself comfortably. Yes, he certainly kissed me, she thought sleepily, as tiredness at last began to overtake her confused thoughts. All in all, it was a kiss she wouldn’t forget in a hurry!
At the shrill ring of the alarm she sat bolt upright in bed, the memories of the night before hitting her like a physical blow between the eyes. I’ve got to show that man that I’m cool, calm and collected and that he doesn’t ruffle me in the least, she thought feverishly. Although anyone watching her rush through her morning routine in her flat, might have thought she was just the opposite. However, once in the familiar clinical atmosphere of the anaesthetic room a sort of uneasy calm settled on her. She checked and rechecked everything, the last thing she wanted was him to find fault. The minutes ticked by on the theatre clock, the patient was late in arriving, and Mike Blakeney hadn’t arrived either, although the surgeon was already there. It was Mr Goldsmith again that morning, and Isabel noticed with relief that he seemed to be in quite a jolly mood, flashing her a twinkling smile from beneath his tufted eyebrows as he walked by to scrub up. At least we’ll get off to a smo
oth start, thought Isabel, that’s something.
She was uncertain what sort of mood Mike Blakeney might be in, and wondered whether or not he had even given her another thought. They had parted in anger the night before although, she reflected wryly, it hadn’t been her fault. It had been his, for expecting too much!
Nervously she checked through the drugs laid out on the tray ready for the first operation. A long procedure, a parathyroidectomy. The minutes ticked by, still no patient, her long slender fingers gripped the side of the stainless steel tray, wishing that the day’s work would get under way. The suspense of waiting for Dr Blakeney to arrive was killing her. It was impossible to prevent her thoughts from continually returning to the episode of the previous evening. She wondered how he would have reacted if she had said yes, but even as she wondered she was pretty certain. He would probably have used her and then dropped her when it suited him. She sighed softly, she had seen it happen so many times to so many of her friends. It always seemed that women gave their hearts as well as their bodies, but as for men! She shrugged. It seemed that when the moment of pleasure was over they could forget all too easily. They very rarely became as completely involved as a woman. That is the female Achilles heel, she thought ruefully, we always become too involved.
Unknown to her Mike Blakeney had entered the anaesthetic room and overheard her sigh. “I hope that sigh doesn’t mean you are tired,” he snapped irritably. “We have a long day ahead of us, I need an alert assistant!”
Startled, Isabel turned towards him. “I’m not tired,” she said politely, trying to ignore the curt, unfriendly tone of his voice. “I am…” she was going to say ready to start, but he didn’t give her the opportunity.
“Good, let’s get on, I don’t have time for talking.”
Pulling her mask up to hide the hot flush of resentment that spread across her face, Isabel turned towards the anaesthetic trolley. He was still angry about the night before, she was certain of that. Well, if that is the sort of petty man he is, she thought crossly, a man to harbour grudges, she was glad she hadn’t given in to his demands. He wouldn’t make tears come to her eyes again, she vowed, giving the anaesthetic machine an angry shove towards the table. She watched him smiling gently at the patient. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, she thought, that’s what you are!
