His shoulders dropped, and he nodded slowly. ‘Good. I think.’
‘You think?’ she asked warily.
He shrugged, his mouth twisting into a fleeting, rueful smile. He ought to leave it alone, really, to drop the subject and move on, but honesty compelled him to explain.
‘I’m torn, Daisy,’ he told her. ‘And it sounds like you could be, too. It’s a lousy idea, as I said last night, but I’m not made of stone, and I really like you. And in an ideal world—well, it might all be very different. It would be nice to see you outside work, get to know you, spend time with you, but I don’t think it would be fair on you. You aren’t the kind of girl for a casual fling, and I can’t offer you anything more serious at this point in my life. I don’t want you getting hurt—I don’t want either of us getting hurt, come to that, and I won’t have Florence hurt under any circumstances, but there’s no future in it for us, and I’m still your colleague—’
‘Well, if we’re going to be brutally honest you’re my boss,’ she pointed out frankly, and he felt his mouth twitch again.
‘I’m still your colleague,’ he repeated, ‘we have to work together, and I can’t afford to jeopardise that. I have to make a success of this job, for my sake and for Florence’s, and there’s no way I can give you any kind of happy ever after. My marriage really screwed me up. I put everything I had into it, even though I knew it wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t enough, and it nearly tore me apart. I’m never going there again.’
Oh, Ben, she thought. She’d been there, felt the same way when Mike had walked out and taken his daughters with him. She’d done everything she could, and it just hadn’t been enough.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I know how that feels, I really do.’
He nodded, and reached out a hand, squeezing her shoulder gently. His touch warmed her, and she wanted to lean into him, to lay her head against his chest and stay there.
Instead she moved away, going to the kettle to put it on.
‘So that’s both of us nursing a broken heart.’
‘Nursing a whole heap of disillusion and disappointment,’ he corrected quietly, but making a very large and clear note to himself that her heart was broken. ‘And the last thing I need is to get involved with someone with the same history.’
Especially after Jane—Jane, who’d been on the rebound when he’d met her. Never again.
‘You’re right. It would be crazy. Ben, I’m hungry, I need to eat,’ she said, wondering if it was low blood sugar making her feel a little light-headed, or the conversation. ‘I’m going to heat up this ready meal.’
‘Or we could share a takeaway,’ he said, changing tack, not quite ready to end this time with her, needing to get their relationship as friends and colleagues and neighbours firmly on track and lay the ghost of that kiss. ‘I have an ulterior motive. I want to ask your advice about my house.’
She stared at him, bit her lip, shrugged. ‘I don’t know that I can be much use, I know very little about your house. Apart from the other day, I’ve only been in it a few times, and I’ve never been upstairs except to fetch something for Mrs Leggatt once.’
‘But you know this house, and I love what I’ve seen of it, which let’s face it is pretty much all of it. Come and have a look. I’ll order a takeaway, and while it’s coming, you can cast your eye over it and tell me what you’d do,’ he coaxed. ‘Unless you’d rather not?’
She laughed softly. ‘I’d love to see round it,’ she said honestly, and tipped her head on one side. ‘Can we have Chinese?’
‘Sure. Got a menu?’
‘Of course I have. I’ve got a stack of them. They get put through the door all the time. We’re quite civilised round here.’
‘Great. And we can wash it down with the bubbly you gave me yesterday. It seems only fair to share it.’
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ she said carefully.
‘Maybe not,’ he conceded with a rueful smile, and held his hand out. ‘Let’s have the menu, then. I’m ravenous.’
He saw Florence the following evening.
He couldn’t bring her home for the night, which was the eventual plan for Wednesdays, because it was in chaos following the ceiling collapse and would be for some time, so he spent the evening with her at Jane’s.
Difficult, because although they’d parted on reasonable terms, it was her house, and technically speaking her night off.
‘Do you mind if I go out?’ she asked, and he agreed readily. It would be easier without her, would give him a more relaxed and focussed time with Florence, and would mean less of a change when she did eventually come to him.
So he stayed there with Florence, and he cooked her supper and bathed her, and then tucked her up into bed and lay beside her with her snuggled into the crook of his arm while he read her a bedtime story.
‘Again,’ she said when he’d finished.
He read it again. It was easier than arguing, and easier than reading her another book—because that could lead to another, and another, and another—and he’d been suckered before. Not yet three, and she was a clever little minx.
He adored her.
‘Again,’ she said, but sleepily this time, her thumb in her mouth. She’d started nursery school full time because Jane wanted to go back to work, and she was loving it, but she was tired by the end of the day and he guessed that if Jane had been reading the story, she would have fallen asleep sooner.
Bedtime with Daddy was a novelty, though, her time with him limited, and she was often clingy.
So he read it again, and then eased his arm incredibly carefully out from under her head, lowering it to the pillow and kissing her softly on her rosy little cheek as she slept.
‘Goodnight, my precious,’ he murmured, smoothing the hair back from her face as his eyes filled. ‘Sleep tight.’
He kissed her again, and left the room, her door ajar and a nightlight on in case she woke, and then he went downstairs and sat on the sofa they’d had in London and watched his old television until Jane came home at ten.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked brightly, and there was something in her tone of voice that made him search her face as he got to his feet.
‘Fine. She’s asleep. We read Goldilocks and the Three Bears three times.’
‘Oh, Ben, you have to learn to say no.’
‘No, I don’t. I have to make her happy and bond with her, so she feels secure with me. We spent too much time apart before I moved up here, and I’ve got ground to make up. Anyway, reading to her isn’t exactly a hardship.’
She nodded, then as he was leaving she said carefully, ‘So, are you planning on sleeping here this weekend?’
‘Yes, if that’s all right, otherwise I won’t be here when she wakes up, so she’ll disturb you and that’s not fair.’ And he’d miss that lovely morning snuggle. ‘I can’t have her at the house for ages, but if it’s a problem I can maybe sort something out.’
‘No, it’s not a problem. I was just wondering—if you’re going to be staying over anyway, do you mind if I’m not here on Saturday night? Well, from Saturday morning to Sunday evening, really.’
There was definitely something different about her. She looked—what? Happier? He shrugged. Why should he mind? It was easier than feeling guilty about ruining her life, and he resisted the urge to ask where she was going. It was none of his business, unless it affected Florence—and it didn’t. ‘That’s fine. Do whatever. I might bring some washing over to do, if it’s OK?’
‘Of course it is—you pay the bills, Ben. And I might have got a job lined up, by the way, which should make things easier. It’s not certain yet, but—who knows?’
She smiled, and he realised she did look happy—maybe because of the job, or maybe not. And he also realised he’d never really seen her look this happy before.
What a sad indictment of their marriage. No wonder it had failed so spectacularly.
‘Well, I hope it works out for you,’ h
e said, fishing for his keys in his pocket. ‘Right, I’m off, I’ll see you on Friday.’
He drove home, his heart aching at leaving his little daughter behind. He hated not being part of her everyday routine—not sharing her bathtime and bedtime, her breakfast, taking her to nursery, not being there to cuddle her when she woke in the night.
Just not being there for her.
Still, he’d have the weekend alone with her, or most of it, and they’d be able to stay at the house and just chill out together. Maybe he’d buy her a swing and put it up in the garden—or maybe he’d do that at his own house in a few weeks’ time, once it was a bit more sorted. Then she’d have a proper home with him here, too, with toys and things, and maybe she’d be a bit more settled.
He pulled up outside, cut the engine and stared longingly at Daisy’s house.
The lights were on, and he was so tempted. He hesitated by his front door, debated stepping over the silly little fence and going to see her, and crushed the urge. He couldn’t keep going round there. It was self-indulgent and intrusive, not to mention downright dangerous. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and the last thing he needed was another woman on the rebound.
And he needed to find something more mentally involving to do at work than have Daisy assist him in Theatre. It gave him too much time to think about her while he operated on auto-pilot.
He’d let her lead tomorrow. He’d have to teach her, then, and there were some interesting cases on his gynae list.
And maybe it would keep his mind a little more firmly on the job and off his obsessive preoccupation with his registrar…
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS odd not seeing him after work on Wednesday. Wednesdays were his night for Florence, he said, and he’d be back late.
She didn’t miss him. Of course she didn’t! She’d only just met him, so how could the house feel empty if he wasn’t there? She was just bored, and catching up with the washing—never her favourite task but she needed her dressing gown back and she was running out of underwear. And she’d finally eaten the ready meal, the solitary little portion underlining her pathetic single status.
Not that her status was any different to this time last week, but it somehow felt different. It was the kiss that had done it, she thought. The kiss, and talking to him, sharing smiles and the odd joke at work. Going round to his house last night and seeing the full extent of what he’d taken on.
Making friends slowly, day by day.
Actually, not that slowly, and working with him was a privilege and a joy. It was living next to him and wanting the man and not the doctor that was so hard, because if the doctor was wonderful, the man was downright off the scale.
She heard him come in at ten, and she wondered if he’d knock on her door. Bring round a bottle of wine, or ask her to go there for coffee. And then maybe he’d kiss her goodnight…
She slammed the washing machine door shut, put the iron away and shoved the basket into the corner. She’d deal with the sheets and towels tomorrow, she decided, and went to bed, irritated that he had the power to affect her both with his presence and his absence. Ridiculous!
Anyway, she needed an early night, and the next day she was glad she’d had one. Ben had a busy gynae list and asked her to assist—which meant in practice he got her to lead on several of the ops, so that she did most of the surgery and he held instruments and handled the suction and told her what to do.
It was his job to mentor her after all, and she appreciated it, but he took it very seriously and stretched her to the limit, testing her ability all through the day so that she was exhausted by the time the last patient was in Recovery.
Exhausted and proud of herself, she thought as she showered. She’d done far more than she ever had before, and she’d been able to do it because he had confidence in her.
Unlike Evan, who still double-checked her work and seemed unable to delegate.
She raised it with Ben as they sat in her conservatory drinking tea after she’d got home, and he shrugged. ‘That’s his problem,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any problem delegating to you. I think he lacks confidence in himself, to be honest, and I don’t think he’s ready to be a consultant. What do you think of this one?’
He’d brought round a bunch of kitchen brochures the plumber had dropped in, and they were flicking through them while they waited for the takeaway to be delivered. Thai, this time, for a change. His choice. His bill again, he said, as he was commandeering her time to get her advice on his kitchen refit.
It was a safe topic, well clear of the minefield of his personal life—and hers, come to that. Not that she had one, unless you counted the cat. Safer than talking about her feelings, anyway, because she certainly had them and they were getting more complex with every passing day.
The food arrived, and it was getting cooler in the conservatory so they ate in the dining room, with soft music in the background and the lights on low.
A mistake, she realised, because it made it very intimate, and suddenly it began to feel like a date, all over again.
He’d brought the bubbly with him as a bribe for her input into his kitchen, and whether it was that, or the intimate atmosphere, or just that the chemistry between them was so all-consuming that it wiped out everything in its path, she didn’t know.
All she knew was that everything he said made her laugh, and when he smiled his eyes lit up and his whole face joined in. And he was just so nice, so ordinary and yet extraordinary, unlike all the other men she’d ever met before.
They drained the bottle between them—foolish, she thought, on a work night, but after the first sip she was past caring—and she made some coffee and they took it through to the sitting room.
Was it that? Returning to the scene of the crime? Or was it the bubbly? She didn’t know, but when at last he looked at his watch and got to his feet, she followed him to the door and he turned and took her in his arms and hugged her briefly.
‘Thank you, Daisy. You did amazingly well today. And you’ve been really helpful over all this kitchen planning nonsense. I couldn’t have done it without you, I wouldn’t have thought of half those points.’
‘You’re welcome. I have just done it, so I know what the pitfalls are. And thank you, anyway. You bought the dinner—again. And you shared the bubbly.’
His mouth twitched into a smile. ‘But I stole your brains. Fair exchange.’
He had. Stolen her brains. All of them. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have gone up on tiptoe and kissed him, touching her lips lightly to the corner of that smiling mouth, the slight rasp of stubble on his lean, male cheek making them tingle. She wouldn’t have turned her head so that their lips collided.
And when he groaned and slid his arms around her, she wouldn’t have curled hers around his neck and threaded her fingers through his soft, silky hair and given him her mouth.
He took it with a low moan, sipping and tasting and coaxing, and by the time he lifted his head she was beyond coherent thought.
‘Daisy, I have to go,’ he said, his voice a little roughened.
No! Stay. Please stay. Make love to me.
Their eyes locked, and he let out a shaky sigh. ‘Don’t,’ he whispered soundlessly.
‘Don’t what?’ she croaked, wondering for a hideous second if she could have said it out loud.
‘Don’t look at me like that.’
Her heart stuttered. ‘Like what?’ she whispered.
‘Like that,’ he said fervently, cradling her cheek in his palm, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. ‘As if—oh, hell, this is such a lousy idea,’ he muttered as his mouth found hers again, and she went up on tiptoe and opened her mouth to him and whimpered as he took it in a kiss so hungry, so urgent, so fiercely needy that it rocked her world.
‘Daisy…!’
The groan tore through him, echoing in her body, ricocheting around inside it and unsettling all her fragile resolve.
She wanted him. It was sheer lunacy, but he was perf
ect, everything she’d ever wanted in a man, and she needed him so much…
‘Ben…’
He lifted his head and searched her eyes, his own almost black with this incredible need that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere and caught them both in its grip.
She moved away a fraction, to give him a chance, and waited, her hand held out to him. For a breathless, endless age he stood there, those dark eyes trapping hers, and then, just when she thought he was going, he lifted his hand, threaded his fingers through hers and locked them tight.
She led him upstairs to her bedroom on legs that could hardly support her weight.
Her case was still lying on the floor, there was a pile of clean underwear on the top of the chest of drawers and her work clothes were scattered all over the carpet where she’d dropped them, but they picked their way through the chaos to the bed, and then he turned her into his arms and brushed his lips lightly over hers.
His eyes were serious. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
Sure? Not really. Want? Absolutely. It was the craziest thing she’d done in years, but if she couldn’t hold him, touch him, feel him—
She nodded, and he slid his wallet out of his pocket and pulled a little foil packet out and put it on the side. Her lids fluttered closed. He wasn’t going. He was going to stay, going to make love to her.
And how. His fingers gathered up the hem of her top and drew it carefully over her head, his breath catching as he looked down at her, and she was glad she’d washed her favourite bra.
The clip gave to the touch of his hand, and then her breasts were spilling into his hands, and with a deep groan he ducked his head and grazed his lips over the soft, sweet flesh he’d exposed.
He didn’t know what he was doing here. He was past caring, past thinking rationally. He just knew he needed Daisy as he’d never needed any woman, and if he didn’t have her in the next few minutes, he was going to explode.
And he had a feeling it was mutual.
Her eyes were wild, her soft, sweet lips parted, her head tipped back as he suckled deeply on first one taut, pebbled nipple and then the other.
Tempted by Dr. Daisy Page 5
