‘Not part of the singles set, you mean?’
She shot him a surprised look. ‘I’m not part of the “singles set”, Michael,’ she said reprovingly.
‘No, of course not, you don’t have a lover and you don’t want one.’
She met his laughing eyes. ‘Are you teasing me?’
He remained deadpan, except for the eyes. ‘Would I?’
‘Yes, you would!’
‘Perhaps a little.’ His face gentled into a smile. ‘What time shall I pick you up?’
‘I’m on a split, so I won’t be ready to go until after nine—does that matter?’
He shook his head. ‘That’s fine. I don’t imagine it will get off the ground much before then, anyway. Tell you what, I’ll go and get changed when I finish here, and I’ll come up to your flat and wait for you—how’s that?’
Too intimate, she wanted to say, but Sister O’Brien came into the kitchen and smiled cheerily at them.
‘Making coffee for that poor woman?’
Clare flushed guiltily, ‘Yes, I was, Sister.’
Michael winked at her over Mary O’Brien’s frilly cap. ‘We’ll leave it like that, then, Staff,’ he said and sauntered out, giving her no option but to agree.
She was just putting the finishing touches to her make-up when she heard the knock on her door at five past nine. ‘Come in,’ she called, and carried on with her face.
Glancing up in the mirror seconds later, she saw Michael lounging in her bedroom doorway, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his immaculate cream trousers. The cornflower-blue silk shirt he wore was the same shattering colour as his eyes, and in the V at the neck she could see a cluster of golden curls nestling in the hollow of his throat. He looked ruggedly male and devastatingly sexy. She blinked and smudged her mascara.
‘Damn.’ Picking up a tissue, she wiped the offending mascara off her lid and touched up the shadow.
‘Sorry—didn’t mean to startle you,’ he apologised with a grin. Her heart flipped and she had to make a conscious effort to steady her hand.
Giving up, she dropped the eyeshadow brush and stood up, smoothing down the skirt of her cotton lawn dress. It was a splashy floral print in warm pastel shades, the perfect complement to her pale gold hair and English rose complexion, and she loved it.
‘Will I do?’ she asked with a twirl, and was rewarded by the bright flare of interest in his eyes.
‘Oh, yes, you’ll do,’ he said with wry emphasis. ‘My blood-pressure must have gone up to over two hundred in the last thirty seconds. Come on, out of here before I do something you’ll make me regret!’
She scooped up her shawl and bag, and clicked her heels.
‘Ready when you are, sir!’
‘That’s what I like—a woman who knows her place!’
He ushered her out to the car, and all the way to the Hamiltons’ house she was conscious of him as she had never been before.
‘What a fabulous place!’ she breathed as Michael parked the car on the sloping lawn and led her across to the sprawling, split-level house.
‘Gorgeous, isn’t it? He must be stinking rich.’
‘He’s quite old—thirty-eight or -nine.’
‘Oh, ancient!’ Michael said with a laugh. ‘I can assure you I won’t have accumulated this sort of wealth in five years.’
‘Private practice?’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘Too busy with the boat. Maybe later.’
He ushered her through the front door, and they were greeted by their host and hostess, looking wonderfully relaxed and blissfully happy. They made a beautiful couple, Lizzi with her astonishing violet eyes and pale blonde hair, Ross tall and distinguished, his thick, prematurely silver hair a perfect foil for the healthy glow of his skin.
Clare hugged Lizzi warmly. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Hamilton!’ she said, her voice full of emotion.
Lizzi hugged her back. ‘Thanks, Clare. I’m glad you could come. Ross, do you know Clare Stevens? She’s Mary O’Brien’s staff nurse.’
Ross shook her hand, and Clare was struck again by the wealth of warmth and understanding in his gentle grey-green eyes.
‘Take care of her, she’s a super girl,’ Clare admonished him.
‘Oh, I intend to cherish her until she begs for mercy,’ he said with a laugh, but she noticed his eyes met Lizzi’s in a look so intensely private and filled with passionate commitment that she felt almost embarrassed to have witnessed it. He turned to Michael. ‘Hello, Michael. Glad you could make it. Go on through and make yourselves at home. Drinks are in the kitchen—Callum will help you.’
‘Who’s Callum?’ Michael asked as they walked away.
‘Ross’s oldest son. He’s been married before.’
They collected their drinks and made their way out into the garden and down the terrace of steps.
‘Lord, a pool!’
‘Oh, yes—all mod cons! I expect things will deteriorate later and at least one person will end up chucked in—it was Lizzi last time!’
He chuckled. ‘Remind me to keep well out of the way—these shoes wouldn’t survive a dunking. Now,’ he said, tucking his arm round her waist and guiding her away from the crowd, ‘what’s a lovely young thing like you doing all on your own at a party like this?’
‘I’m not,’ she reminded him.
‘Ah, but you would have been if I hadn’t turned up in the nick of time. So why? You can’t tell me no one’s offered?’
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that if I go to a party with someone, that someone might get the wrong idea——’
‘But you’re here with me. Aren’t you afraid I’ll get the wrong idea?’
‘No.’ She turned to face him and met his gaze unblinkingly. ‘You have the same problem—because you look the way you do, no one will take you seriously. I know you understand,’ she told him frankly.
That doesn’t make me immune to your charms,’ he said softly.
‘Michael, don’t …’
‘OK, OK!’ He held up his hands in laughing surrender. ‘I take the hint. Now, who are all these people?’
They circulated, Clare introducing Michael to those people that she knew, and in turn being introduced herself to others who she knew only by sight. By ten-thirty they had talked themselves hoarse, and there was a welcome interruption when the music was turned down and Oliver Henderson, one of the other consultants, called everyone’s attention from the top of the steps.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I don’t want to bore you with speeches, but I’m sure you would all like me to take this opportunity to thank the Hamiltons for their hospitality tonight, and to wish them every happiness in their marriage. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ross and Lizzi!’
‘Ross and Lizzi!’ everyone chorused, and then there were yells of ‘Speech!’ from the crowd.
Ross came forward, his arm anchored round Lizzi’s waist, and waved them all down.
‘I don’t want to make any speeches—I hate doing it nearly as much as Oliver does, but we would like to thank you for your good wishes, and the welcome I’ve received since joining the hospital. So much has happened since then that I can hardly believe it’s only been ten weeks, but as all of it’s been good I won’t ask any questions!’ There was a ripple of laughter, and he continued, ‘Anyway, thank you all, and do enjoy yourselves.’
There was a round of enthusiastic applause, and then four young men appeared at Ross’s side.
One of them was Mitch Baker, his registrar, and one was Ross’s son Callum. He grinned at Ross and held up his hand.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, for my favourite stepmother, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!’
Then they picked Ross up, ran down the steps and hurled him, yelling wildly, into the swimming pool.
‘Good grief!’ Michael muttered.
Clare was convulsed with laughter.
‘S
erves him right,’ she said eventually. ‘At the last party they had, he chucked Lizzi in in her underwear!’
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘No one knows, but we all have a fair idea!’
The music was turned up again, and as Ross climbed out of the pool and laughingly tossed his sons in over his shoulder, Michael pulled Clare into his arms.
‘Dance with me,’ he murmured.
‘But it’s a fast record!’ she laughed.
‘So halve the beat! Where’s your imagination, Staff Nurse Stevens?’
There was a shriek behind them as Ross reached Lizzi and carried her, kicking and screaming, into the water, but Michael and Clare were oblivious.
The music changed tempo, and in the dimly lit garden Clare’s arms reached up and twined round Michael’s neck. His cheek rested against her hair, and as their bodies swayed gently to the music she relaxed against him and let herself go.
What harm could it do? She’d told him clearly enough that she wasn’t in the market for an affair, and she carefully blanked off the part of her mind that told her things might be changing.
His hands rested lightly against her spine, and for a long time they danced without any conscious thought. Then Michael lifted his head and rested his brow against hers, and eased her closer with a subtle pressure of his hands.
‘I think I’m going to die if I don’t kiss you soon,’ he murmured.
So much for her relaxation! So much for her belief that it couldn’t do any harm! And the worst thing was, she didn’t care any more.
‘Me, too,’ she whispered.
He drew in a sharp breath, and swallowed hard.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
Her heart pounding, she nodded blindly.
‘Any sign of our host and hostess?’ he asked, and she noticed his voice was strained.
‘I don’t think so.’ Heavens, she didn’t sound much better!
‘Let’s just go—they won’t miss us. We’ll thank them next week.’
Her wrap was still in the car, so they were able to make their way around the side of the house and leave without drawing attention to themselves.
All the way back to his cottage her heart was pounding with nerves, and as they pulled up outside, she took a deep, steadying breath before climbing out of the car.
Michael unlocked the front door and ushered her inside, then, leaning on the door, he pulled her gently but firmly back into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.
‘I’m scared,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t be. I won’t do anything to hurt you, or anything you don’t want me to do. I just had to be alone with you, without an audience of interested spectators making notes on our every move.’
He let her go, and she stood trembling by the door as he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, sticking his head back round the door, and then came towards her, a serious but tender expression on his face.
‘Clare, it’s OK. Do you want to go home?’
She shook her head numbly.
‘Just hold me,’ she said unsteadily, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her hard against his chest.
After a minute she relaxed, and he eased away from her, dropping a light kiss on her brow. ‘Go and sit down, and I’ll bring the coffee through. How do you take yours?’
‘White, no sugar,’ she told him, and moved mechanically into the sitting-room.
He joined her a few minutes later, sat down on the settee and patted the cushion beside him.
‘Come and sit with me.’
His tone was gentle, persuasive, and quite unthreatening. Clare did as she was told, perching on the edge, longing to lean back against his side and at the same time ready to run if necessary.
His hand reached out and brushed the bare skin at the nape of her neck.
‘Please don’t be afraid of me,’ he murmured.
‘I—I’m not. I think I’m afraid of myself.’
‘Don’t be. I’ll take care of you. Come here.’
He took her shoulders in his hands and eased her slowly back against him, so that she half sat, half lay across his lap. Then with one arm under her shoulders, he cradled her against his chest and sighed with contentment.
After a moment, in which she realised he was not about to make any demands of her, she slipped off her shoes and lifted her feet up on to the settee, snuggling closer to him.
‘OK?’
‘Mmm.’ She moved her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest. His heart was beating steadily, slowly and evenly.
‘You must be very fit,’ she murmured.
He chuckled. ‘Why?’
‘Your heart beats very slowly—about fifty-five a minute—like an athlete’s.’
‘I jog some mornings, and windsurf, and I also play squash three times a week and tennis in the summer. When I’m not doing any of those things, I’m sailing. I suppose that keeps me fit. What about you?’
‘Me? I’m lazy,’ she said with a sigh of contentment.
‘Like the cat.’
‘Where is your cat?’
‘Around. He’s having a fantastic time exploring. He’ll be in in a while for a bit of TLC, then off out again hunting. He’s a bit of an alley cat, really, but he’s an old softie underneath. His name’s O’Malley, from the cat in The Aristocats.’
Right on cue, she heard a loud miaow and something heavy landed on her stomach. Her lids flew up and she peered, startled, straight into pair of bright blue eyes.
‘He’s a Siamese!’
‘Oh, yes. Didn’t I tell you that?’
O’Malley squawked and stepped delicately over her shoulder, taking up residence around Michael’s neck.
‘He thinks he’s a collar,’ Michael said in resignation.
Clare laughed and swivelled round so that her feet were back on the floor. ‘He’s very beautiful.’
‘He’s a rogue,’ Michael said affectionately, and scratched his ears. The cat squawked again, and began to purr loudly.
They drank their coffee in companionable silence, broken only by the sound of O’Malley’s tongue rasping over his paws. After a while he detached himself from Michael’s neck and stalked out of the door, tail held high.
‘He’s off on the razzle again. More coffee?’
She shook her head. Somehow, without O’Malley’s unwitting guardianship, she felt much more alone with Michael again.
‘Do you want me to take you home?’ he asked with gentle insight.
She looked up, startled. ‘But I thought …’
‘What?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
His fingers traced the outline of her jaw, and threaded under her hair to knead the tense muscles of her neck.
‘I want to make love to you, Clare, but there’s more than that with us, isn’t there?’
She met his eyes, surprised by his admission. ‘Is there? For you, I mean?’
‘Oh, yes …’ His fingers closed around her shoulder and eased her gently back against him. ‘Oh, yes, my love, there’s much more. I think we could have something really special, and I think it deserves to be given time to flourish.’ His lips brushed hers briefly, and with a sigh he hugged her and then let her go.
‘Come on, I’d better take you home before you undermine my good intentions and I do something unspeakably wicked to you on the carpet.’
Clare giggled. ‘You wouldn’t!’
‘Is that a dare?’
She shook her head, suddenly breathless, because for all the lightness of his tone his eyes were deadly serious. ‘No. Take me home, Michael.’
With a wry grin, he helped her to her feet and led her to the car.
Once they had set off he found her hand in the darkness and rested it on his thigh, holding it there except when he needed to change gear. When they reached the hospital, he pulled up in the car park outside the nurses’ residence and turned to face her.
‘How about spending th
e day with me tomorrow on the boat?’
‘I might be working,’ she teased.
‘But you’re not—I checked the rota. If you don’t want to, you can always say no, Clare.’
She was struck by the uncertainty in his voice, and squeezed his hand. ‘Of course I want to. It would be lovely.’
‘Can you be ready by eight?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. What shall I wear?’
‘Something scruffy and fairly warm, and bring shorts and a swimsuit.’ He leant over and kissed her firmly but briefly, then pushed open the door. ‘I won’t come in with you—I’m not sure I could resist the temptation. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, my love.’
‘You too. Thanks for a lovely evening.’
She touched his cheek with her hand, and then climbed out of the car and shut the door, watching until his tail-lights disappeared from view.
Then she let herself back inside and prepared for bed, certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep. So he thought they could have something really special, something that deserved time to flourish. She wondered where it would lead—to heartache, or to a lifetime of happiness? Maybe neither. Only time would tell.
She snuggled down in bed, her head crowded with images of Michael, and fell asleep in seconds.
Oh, Michael, she’s lovely!’
Clare stood on the quayside and gazed in admiration at the little sloop. Built on traditional, classic lines, she was sleek and graceful, and Clare fell in love on the spot.
Michael slammed the boot of the Volvo and strolled to her side, a confident, cocky grin on his face. ‘Isn’t she great? I know every inch of her, inside and out—I helped my grandfather build her the year I was ten. She handles beautifully—he really knew what he was doing. Come on, let’s get all this stuff stowed and take her out.’
He led Clare on to the pontoon that ran out like a finger into the marina, with little branches off it at intervals to which boats were moored in orderly profusion.
‘I may be biased, but I think she’s the prettiest,’ Clare told him as they arrived at the Henrietta and she got her first close look at the boat.
‘I’m biased too, but I happen to agree with you!’ He shot her a cheeky grin. ‘Here, hold this lot.’ He handed her some bags and hopped nimbly aboard, uncovering the cockpit and stowing the cover neatly under the seat in the stern.
A Perfect Hero Page 3
