Читать книгу Just What the Doctor Ordered - Caroline Anderson - Страница 6

CATHY stepped back, snatched a calming breath and dredged up a smile. ‘Dr Armstrong! What a surprise.’

Goodness, she had forgotten how blue those eyes were. They glittered like sapphires—especially when, like now, they were clearly angry!

‘Is this young man anything to do with you?’

Belatedly Cathy noticed Stephen, lurking uncomfortably behind Max. ‘Yes—I wondered where he’d got to. He was watching the ducks—’

‘Well, you should keep a closer eye on him. I nearly had to fish him out of the pond!’

‘I was just following the baby ducks,’ he mumbled miserably.

‘Oh, Stephen! I told you not to go anywhere. You can’t just do what you want, it isn’t our garden. Wait until I’ve sorted something out, OK?’

He scuffed his toe against the gravel and nodded, evidently subdued. Apparently he had already been given a severe talking-to. She glanced up, and her attention was snagged again by the glittering sapphire chips of Max Armstrong’s eyes.

‘Did you want to see me?’ she asked.

‘I rather thought you must be looking for me.’ He glanced around. ‘You must have parked on the road—or did you walk?’

She laughed. ‘From Bristol? Hardly—I drove the van.’

His eyes were riveted on hers in what seemed to be horror. ‘You’re the new tenant?’

‘Yes—I haven’t met the owner yet, he wasn’t available when I looked round. Why? Do you know him?’

‘You might say that,’ he said drily, and groaned under his breath. ‘I’ll bet it was John.’

Cathy felt she was several conversations behind him. ‘John?’

‘Come on, Dr Harris, stop playing innocent. You know damn well who the owner is—I expect John put you up to it. He probably even told you when I was on call so you could arrange to view it when I’d be out of the way.’

Cathy’s confidence faltered as his words registered in her befuddled brain. ‘You—you’re the owner?’

He sketched a tiny, mocking bow. ‘That’s right—and you, I gather, are my tenant. How dreadfully cosy.’

She was stunned. The place absolutely reeked of wealth. It couldn’t possibly belong to him …

‘I didn’t realise that country practices were quite so financially buoyant,’ she said bluntly.

‘They aren’t,’ he replied, equally bluntly. ‘So now tell me John Glover had nothing to do with this.’

A tell-tale flush crawled up her cheeks, and he nodded. ‘I knew it—interfering old goat. Dammit, he really has gone too far this time.’

‘I didn’t know it was you, or I wouldn’t have taken it,’ she said frankly, ‘but don’t worry; I won’t trouble you. Believe me, Dr Armstrong, I have no more wish to be in your company than you apparently have to be in mine. I can assure you we won’t get in your way again. Stephen, go inside, please, and stay with Granny. Excuse me.’ She waited pointedly until he moved out of her way, then wrenched open the back of the van and hauled out a box.

He got in her way again. ‘Where are you going with that?’ he asked sharply.

‘My flat,’ she snapped back.

“Oh, no, you don’t,’ he told her, his voice like flint.

Surely he didn’t mean to stop her moving in? For a moment her confidence failed, but then she remembered the papers she had signed.

She lifted her chin. ‘I’m afraid I do. I have a contract, legally binding on both of us. Excuse me.’

‘No.’ He took the box from her. ‘It’s heavy; you shouldn’t be lifting this on your own.’

‘Yes, well, unfortunately I don’t have the luxury of a pet gorilla to do the heavy work—and anyway, how the hell do you think it got into the van?’

The strain of the move, the upheaval and uncertainty, and then on top of it all the man’s unfriendliness were suddenly too much for her. She felt the hot sting of tears behind her lids, and turned quickly away before he could see.

She was too slow, however, and a second later his fingers snaked out and caught her chin, turning her back to face him.

‘Tsk-tsk. Not tears—really, you should have outgrown that childish little trick by now, Dr Harris. It really doesn’t work——’

‘Damn you, leave me alone!’ she gritted, and, gripping his wrist, she wrenched his hand away from her face. ‘I really don’t need any more from you in the way of criticism and condemnation. I may not have any control over the fact that I am a mere woman, but I don’t have to stand here and listen to you insulting me without any justification—’

She whirled away, furious with him and with herself for the scalding tears that splashed over and ran down her cheeks. She clamped her fingers over her mouth to trap the sob which threatened to rise and complete her humiliation, and then, quite unexpectedly, his hand came down, warm and firm and reassuring on her shoulder.

‘Catherine, I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘You’re right, I was way out of line and I apologise.’ He gave a rueful chuckle. ‘At the risk of sounding like a chauvinist, why don’t you go and make a cup of tea while I bring this lot up?’

She should have enjoyed her victory, but she was too tired to care. ‘The kettle’s in the van,’ she said wearily.

‘There’s one in the flat—and tea and coffee and milk. Agnes put some in this morning. Go on, you’ve obviously had enough, and I could do with a cup myself. I’m sure you’ll make it better than me.’

‘Patronising oaf,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘Stubborn, mule-headed feminist,’ he shot back. ‘Tell me this, if you hurt your back humping all this lot upstairs, who is it who’ll have to cover your sick leave?’

‘I don’t have a bad back,’ she replied with a return of her old fire, ‘and for your information I haven’t had a day off for myself in five years!’

‘Yet,’ he muttered provocatively.

She was just turning back for another go at him when Joan appeared at the top of the steps.

‘Cathy, have you—? Oh! Company—and help. How wonderful!’

She clattered delicately down the cast-iron stairs and paused just above him, her curiosity barely in check. ‘I’m Joan Harris, Cathy’s mother-in-law.’

Max juggled the box to his left arm and held out his hand. ‘Max Armstrong.’

Joan’s smile broadened into one of real warmth. She came down the last steps and shook his hand firmly. ‘Dr Armstrong—Max. I’ve heard so much about you. How kind of you to come and help. Cathy’s had so much to do, and she was working right up to last night. I don’t think she’s had a wink of sleep, but she never complains. It is good of you to offer to carry the boxes upstairs for her.’

Cathy groaned under her breath. She could almost hear the violins!

Or was it the sound of Max’s smothered laughter?

‘My pleasure, Mrs Harris,’ he said with a smile that was almost civilised.

Joan shot Cathy a keen look. ‘I’ve got an idea—why don’t you go upstairs and tell Max where to put everything, and I’ll try and sort things out logically in the van—oh, and you could make a pot of tea while you’re up there—I could just murder a cup!’ and Cathy, comprehensively outmanoeuvred by a pair of masters, grumbled up the stairs and put the kettle on.

By the time the tea was brewed the van was nearly empty, and the three bedrooms and the little sitting-room were piled high with seemingly endless boxes.

As for Max, he was almost charming, and Joan, despite her advancing years still an excellent judge of what she described as ‘horseflesh’, declared him later to be absolutely perfect.

‘I couldn’t have made him better for you myself,’ she said as Cathy and Stephen left her house the following day. ‘He’s just what the doctor ordered!’

‘In which case, it’s time the little men in white coats came and took the good doctor away,’ Cathy said laughingly, then, with an affectionate hug and kiss, she slid behind the wheel of her little car and set off for Barton-Under-Edge.

They had spent the night with Joan in Bristol having returned the van, and were going to spend the day unpacking before Stephen started school the following day, and Cathy was using her final week’s holiday to settle them in and do a bit of homemaking—the last chance she would have before she started her new job.

Delphine, the au pair, arrived on Tuesday, by which time everything was unpacked and ready.

She was a delightful girl, and Cathy, much to her relief, liked her on sight. So, more importantly, did Stephen, and as he was also settling in well at his new school it was with a light heart and in a thoroughly optimistic frame of mind that Cathy set off for work the following Monday morning.

Considering that they were living on top of each other, Max had maintained a remarkably low profile during the previous week; apart from a visit from Stan the gardener, to tell her that she and Stephen could feel free to use the area of garden beyond the stables, and Agnes the housekeeper popping in to ask if there was anything she could do, they had had no contact with their landlord, and Cathy was beginning to think that renting his flat wouldn’t be so bad as she had first feared.

Working with him, however, would be a totally different kettle of fish, she was certain. Still, she was on firm ground there, and not even he could shake her confidence in her ability as a doctor.

Her first patient, however, was less enthusiastic.

A well-dressed, athletic-looking man in his early thirties, he walked into the room, took one look at her and stopped in his tracks.

‘Oh.’

She glanced down at the notes. ‘Mr Carver? Do come in. I’m Dr Harris. Take a seat.’

He hesitated, and then with a resigned sigh he lowered himself into the chair she had positioned beside the desk, and gave her a wary smile.

‘I wasn’t expecting a woman,’ he offered.

She grinned. That’s equality for you. For years women have expected their doctors to be men. For some reason men find it uncomfortable when the boot’s on the other foot, but don’t worry, the most important thing is that I’m a doctor. Now, what can I do for you?’

He paused for a second, then took a deep breath and met her eyes. He was quite clearly worried. He had been fitted in as an emergency, and her list being the lightest on her first morning, he had been sent to her.

‘What’s wrong, Mr Carver?’ she prompted gently.

He dropped his eyes to his hands. ‘I think I might have testicular cancer.’

So that was it. She set down her pen and leant back in her chair. ‘What makes you think that?’

He let his breath out on a sigh. ‘I saw the nurse a few months ago—she runs a well-person clinic. She gave me a leaflet on self-examination, and I’ve been doing it regularly ever since. My brother thought I was crazy, but it’s so simple—I just do it in the shower while I’m washing. Anyway yesterday I noticed a slight tenderness, and I think I can feel a sort of bump—nothing much, but I thought it would be a good idea to have it checked.’ He twisted his wedding-ring distractedly. ‘I haven’t told my wife. We haven’t got any children yet although just recently we’ve been leaving it to chance, but if I have got—I mean, the treatment—there won’t be any children, will there?’

She smiled. ‘I think you’re jumping the gun here, but let’s assume I find a lump that looks suspicious. The first step then is to refer you to a specialist at the hospital. They’ll examine you and do an ultrasound to make sure that it’s not just a cyst or a hydrocele, and if they’re satisfied that it’s a tumour they’ll remove only the affected testicle. Now, if you’ve been checking yourself regularly as you say, then this will have been caught in the very early stages, and the likelihood of it having spread is very small, but speed is the important thing.’

He didn’t look reassured. ‘And the prognosis?’

The success rate for this type of cancer now is between ninety and ninety-eight per cent, depending on the speed with which it’s picked up and the type of cancer. And it still has to be proved to be cancer. It could be orchitis, or an inflammation of the membrane around the testicle—almost anything. The lump may not even exist except in your fears.’

‘Oh, it exists,’ he said hollowly. ‘I checked yesterday because it started hurting on Friday. I played squash, and I thought I’d strained it or something, but it got worse over the weekend.’

‘I think I should have a look before we go any further. Just slip your things off and lie down on the couch. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

She drew the screens round him and wrote down his symptoms in the notes, then, pulling on a pair of gloves, she went behind the screen and examined him.

Her examination finished, she stripped off her gloves and left him to dress.

He emerged while she was writing up his notes and perched stiffly on the edge of the chair, his hands fisted on his knees, clearly tense.

‘Well?’ he asked after a moment.

She set down the pen. ‘You’ve got a lump, I’ll give you that. It’s very small, but it’s there.’

He looked searchingly at her. ‘And?’ he prompted.

‘I’m going to refer you to a specialist. I’ll phone him, and you should get an appointment within a matter of days. If you don’t, ring me. And don’t worry. If it is cancer, you’ve detected it very early. The operation should be very straightforward.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘After the operation, depending on the type of tumour and the existence of any secondaries, you’ll either be given chemotherapy, which has made great strides, or radiotherapy, or a combination of both. As far as fertility is concerned it will affect the other testicle temporarily. After about two years, however, it will probably have recovered enough for you to father children. However, for insurance against the unlikely event of permanent sterility in the other testicle, you will probably be advised to store semen in a sperm bank.’

‘Before the operation?’

She nodded.

‘But won’t it be affected? I mean, isn’t there a danger it will give the baby cancer?’

She shook her head firmly. ‘No, absolutely not. Hundreds of men have been treated in this way now, and many of them have successfully fathered perfectly normal children both before and after the operation.’

He was still silent, watchful. An intelligent man, he wanted the answers to all the questions. He met her eyes candidly.

‘What if they have to remove both testicles?’ he asked quietly. ‘I mean, it’s castration, isn’t it?’

‘It’s highly unlikely that they’d need to remove both,’ she assured him. ‘Removal of one makes absolutely no difference to your potency, so you needn’t fear that you would lose any of your masculine characteristics. Your voice, body hair and so on will remain completely unaffected. Once you’ve healed after the operation, you life will proceed exactly as before. That’s on the medical side. On the cosmetic side, if you wish they can give you a silicon implant to replace the missing testicle. No one would ever know the difference.’

He nodded and stood up, framing a polite social smile. ‘Thank you, Dr Harris,’ he said calmly. As he turned away, she saw the fear still lurking behind his eyes. Cathy took the bull by the horns.

‘Mr Carver, you still don’t know if you have cancer. If you have, it’s in the very early stages. Your chances are excellent.’

He paused at the door. ‘Will I be treated any quicker if I go privately?’

‘I very much doubt it. I think you’ll find you see someone in a day or two. Why? Have you got private health insurance?’

He shook his head. ‘We haven’t got round to it. I’ve got life insurance, though, although I must say I never thought I’d need it.’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘I think it’s extremely unlikely that you will need it, at least for a good many years.’

He answered with a grim smile of his own. ‘Let’s hope you’re right. And thank you for your help.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He left her, and for the next couple of hours she was swept along by the tide of patients that followed.

It took her longer than usual to deal with them because she had to get used to a new computer system, but finally she reached the bottom of the heap of notes, and with a sigh she went out into the kitchen at the back, from where a delicious smell of coffee was drifting.

Max was sprawled at the table, one foot across the other knee, a cup of coffee propped on his belt buckle.

‘Well, well—you’ve finally finished your surgery.’

She flushed under the implied criticism. ‘I’m sorry I took so long, but the computer doesn’t seem to like me.’

John Glover came in behind her and chuckled. ‘Join the club. It has me for breakfast every day. The only person it seems to like is Max, and he can get it to turn circles on the ceiling. Oh, and Andrea, of course—the practice manager. But then she could charm the birds out of the trees.’

Cathy disagreed, but she had the sense to do so silently. She had met the coldly efficient practice manager that morning, and had taken an instant dislike to her—a dislike that was apparently mutual.

‘So, how did it go?’ Dr Glover asked, settling himself down with a cup of coffee and dunking a chocolate biscuit in it.

She looked away. She couldn’t afford the luxury of biscuits. She had enough trouble with her figure without eating between meals.

‘OK. I had a patient this morning who thinks he’s got testicular cancer, and I have to say I think he’s probably right. He’s the right age—early thirties—and all his symptoms fit.’

‘Did you examine him?’

‘Yes—there’s no doubt, he’s definitely got a little lump.’

‘Who was it?’ Max asked, idly stirring his coffee.

‘Samuel Carver—’

‘Sam? You’re kidding!’ He shot upright, slopping his coffee on the table. ‘I played squash with him on Friday night, and he didn’t say anything then.’

‘He didn’t know then. It started to hurt after he played, so he checked himself yesterday. He got the leaflet from the practice nurse a few months ago and he’s been doing it regularly.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Max sank back against the chair, his face pale, and drew patterns absently in the pool of coffee. ‘So what did you tell him? Perhaps I’d better give him a ring and put his mind at rest about the treatment.’

‘I’ve done that. He knows exactly what will happen to him and what to expect,’ she informed him a trifle tartly. How dared he imply that she would have sent a patient away without sufficient information and reassurance?

‘I think I’ll ring him anyway. Was he frightened?’

She eyed him closely. ‘No more than you would be.’

He laughed without humour. ‘Don’t worry, I’d be petrified. I know it’s illogical, but it’s the Big C, isn’t it? We’re all afraid of it, even though we ought to know better, and even though it kills far fewer people than heart disease, for instance. And that, in its own way, is much more insidious. Poor old Sam. Do you want me to ring the urologist?’

‘I think I can manage,’ she told him drily. ‘Perhaps you could give me the name of the man I want?’

‘Sure. Andrea’ll give you the number. It’s a guy called Hart.’ He unravelled his legs and stood up, stretching lazily like a big cat. ‘I’ll catch you both later. I’m going out on my calls now.’

She watched him leave, her temper still severely provoked by his implications.

‘Ignore him,’ John Glover said quietly. ‘He’s only baiting you. Your predecessor didn’t make herself over-popular, and I’m afraid you’re being judged in the same jaundiced light.’

‘I thought there was something,’ Cathy said wryly. ‘What did she do—apart from being born a woman?’

He grinned. ‘Pauline joined as a single woman in her late thirties, moved in with a friend of Max’s and promptly got pregnant. Far from doing the decent thing and leaving, she had the cheek to take maternity leave and come back, very much on her own terms, and she nearly drove Max insane. Every time the baby had a cold, she took the day off. Her mind was never on the job, she didn’t follow up properly—oh, she was just generally sloppy. In Max’s eyes that’s totally unforgivable. When she got pregnant for the second time, I thought he was going to leave, but in the end her partner got moved to another part of the country and she went with him. Good riddance, too, but she was one on her own. A blind man on a galloping horse can see you’re an entirely different kettle of fish, but it’ll be an uphill struggle to convince Max of that. Of course, the worst thing is he blames himself because he introduced them to each other!’

John Glover’s pleasant, homely face creased with unholy laughter. ‘I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for that mistake!’

Cathy smiled. ‘Well, you don’t have to worry about me, Dr Glover. My days of romance are over. I’ve settled into middle age with a sigh of relief, and all I want to do is raise my son and get on with my job.’

Her remark was greeted by a snort of derision. Glancing up, her eyes collided with the brilliant blue of Max’s sardonic scrutiny.

‘Commendable but unlikely,’ he said drily. ‘But in order to aid you in your ambition, I thought this map might help you find your way round when you go out on call.’

He dropped a folded map of the town and surrounding area on the table and left again, radiating contempt.

Dr Glover’s eyebrows shot up. ‘He’s really got a burr under the saddle over you, hasn’t he? How’s the flat working out? Seen much of each other?’

‘None—thankfully. I think you could fairly say that we’re avoiding each other.’

He sighed. ‘I’m sorry you don’t get on. I was hoping that once you got to know each other—I know he seems a bit of a bigot, but he’s a good bloke really. Filthy rich, of course—old money, as they say. Lovely house.’

‘Yes—yes, it is. Which reminds me, when you said you’d find out about accommodation for me, did you know that estate agent had Max’s flat on his books?’

Dr Glover’s eyes twinkled. ‘Rumbled, am I? The estate agent happens to be a friend of mine. I told him to let the other properties slip from his mind if you asked.’

Cathy was astonished. ‘But why?’

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. ‘He’s lonely, you’re a pretty girl—I know you make all these noises about middle age, but you’re still a young woman, Cathy. A little light-hearted romance would do you both the world of good.’

She glared at him. ‘I don’t believe it! I thought Max was exaggerating, but let me assure you, Dr Glover, I neither want nor need a little light-hearted romance! And if I did, the very last person I would choose would be Max Armstrong!’

She leapt to her feet and marched out of the door—slap into Max’s chest.

Hot colour flooded her cheeks, and she glared at him. ‘Did you hear?’

‘I did—and I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear it. It circumvents all manner of problems.’

She remembered the last thing she had said, and her colour rose again. ‘Not that—he fixed the estate agent!’

‘I told you he had something to do with it. Why do you think he appointed you? He acts like a bloody fairy godmother—but don’t worry, Catherine. You’re safe. I have no intention of breaching your defences, although your assertion about middle age is patently absurd. You’re a very attractive woman. If you were single and unencumbered, I confess I’d be extremely tempted, but, as it is, thanks but no, thanks. Now if you would let go of my clothes, I’d like to get on.’

She looked down, stunned to discover that her hands had wound into the soft cotton of his shirt. The warmth of his hard chest seemed suddenly scorching, and she released him abruptly, stepping back as if to distance herself from such unwarranted intimacy.

His eyes were laughing at her, and as he strode away she could have sworn that she heard a soft chuckle.

Well, damn him. Who needed his friendship anyway? She marched into her office, got the number of the hospital from Andrea the Android and phoned Mr Hart about Sam Carver.

She was just clearing the table after their evening meal when there was a clatter on the stairs and someone pounded on her front door.

‘Coming,’ she called, and, handing the plates to Delphine to wash, she went to the door.

It was Max, towering over her, looking bigger than ever and obviously hopping mad.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked with forced politeness.

‘Yes,’ he gritted, his voice icy with control. ‘You can ask your au pair to keep her clothes on in the garden. I’ve had my handyman bending my ear for the past half-hour, giving me a rundown on the state of youth today, and it’s not an experience I’m in a hurry to repeat!’

Cathy blinked. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about——’

‘Well, then, I suggest you ask her. He couldn’t get any work done today because he was unable to get to the workshop. I gather she was lying out here on the grass virtually naked for four hours—apart from the danger to herself of skin cancer, she practically gave Stan a stroke!’

Cathy couldn’t help herself. The giggle rose up and bubbled out, and after a second’s struggle, Max chuckled.

‘I’m sorry,’ she managed eventually.

‘So am I. Just have a word, could you?’

‘Of course. And please apologise to Stan for me.’

‘And risk another ear-bashing? No way! How are you settling in, by the way? I’ve been meaning to come up and see you, but I’ve been too busy.’

‘Oh, we’ve settled in well. It’s a lovely flat. I know John engineered it, but I can’t say I’m sorry. We’re very happy here.’

‘Good. I’m sorry if I seemed unwelcoming, but he’s becoming a bit obsessive about me. Wants me married off, I think.’

Cathy grinned wryly. ‘I know the feeling. My mother-in-law would like to see me settled with someone else, and she just won’t take no for an answer.’

They shared a smile rich with understanding, and Cathy’s naturally hospitable nature responded automatically.

‘Would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee? I’m afraid I haven’t got anything stronger to offer you.’

He shook his head. ‘I haven’t really got time. I’ve got some paperwork I really ought to get on with. Thank you anyway.’

‘You’re welcome—oh, before you go, I just wondered—there’s a locked door, presumably leading to the house?’

‘Yes, that’s right. These rooms used to be the butler’s quarters. The door opens on to the back stairs and comes out on the landing. Why?’

‘I just wondered—Stephen can be awfully noisy, and I didn’t want to disturb you. I—I mean, I didn’t know where you sleep …’

He grinned lazily. ‘No problem. You won’t disturb me, my room’s at the other end of the house.’

A sudden image of Max sprawled asleep across a huge four-poster bed leapt unbidden into her mind, and Cathy flushed.

‘Oh. Good. That’s fine, then.’ She struggled with a smile.

‘Why did you want to know where I sleep?’ he asked, idly tucking an escaped strand of her hair back behind her ear.

‘I—I didn’t! I wanted to be sure we didn’t disturb you.’

He chuckled softly. ‘You’ve been disturbing me since the moment I clapped eyes on you, Catherine. It’s very gratifying to know it’s mutual.’

She rallied her scattered defences and straightened away from him. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked, flustered. ‘I’m not the least bit interested in you, Dr Armstrong. You’re not at all my type, and, even if you were, I’ve told you, that part of my life is over, finished with! I have Stephen to think about now, and dallying with you in the sunset doesn’t figure very highly in my plans!’

He cast his eyes over his shoulder, and turned back with a smile. ‘What sunset?’

The sun was still well above the horizon, and Cathy flushed. ‘You know what I mean. Please, Max!’

‘My pleasure,’ he said softly, and moved closer.

‘Well, it wouldn’t be mine,’ she retorted, desperately trying to put distance between them on the little landing. She bumped against the door-frame, and he closed the gap slightly. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me! I meant what I said, you aren’t my type. I expect you’re the sort of macho guy who kisses his women until their lips bleed!’

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. ‘I have it on good authority that I’m a very gentle lover,’ he answered, quite undeterred. ‘I’d be quite happy to satisfy your curiosity.’

Cathy’s breath caught in her throat, her wilful imagination racing.

‘I’m not curious!’ she denied weakly.

‘Liar,’ he murmured, his voice gravelly and soft.

She moaned. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation!’

Reaching up, he plucked a rose from above the door and held it against her cheek. ‘You’ve got beautiful skin,’ he said huskily. ‘Velvety, like the petals of a rose. It’s even the same delicate peach.’

Soft colour flooded her cheeks at his words.

‘You’re talking like a romantic fool,’ she said breathlessly, and a slow smile tilted his sensuous lips.

‘You blush like a virgin,’ he murmured, scanning her cheeks with amused fascination. ‘How can a woman who’s been married and widowed and is raising a child alone still colour up at a simple compliment? Unless she, too, is a romantic fool?’

‘Max, stop it!’ she protested feebly.

His eyes clashed with hers, the vivid blue burning with some nameless emotion she didn’t dare to define.

‘You’ve got very kissable lips,’ he said softly, so softly that if she hadn’t had her eyes fixed firmly on his own very kissable lips she would have missed it.

‘Max, no!’ she moaned as his head came down.

‘Yes,’ he murmured against her lips, and then there was nothing but the feel of his mouth against hers, draining her resistance as if it had never been.

With a sigh of surrender she leant into him, feasting on the contrast between her softness and his hard, lean frame. His hands slid down her back and urged her against him, and her body went up in flames, aching for the pleasure so long denied.

With a whimper she wriggled closer, and he made a guttural noise low in his throat as he dragged his mouth away from hers to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses over the warm skin of her throat.

Then he lifted his head, and her hands came up to pull it down again.

His fingers fastened gently over her wrists and eased her hands away.

‘Now tell me I’m not your type,’ he said softly, and released her, turning on his heel to run lightly back down the stairs, leaving her slumped against the door-frame, speechless.