Читать книгу Partners By Contract - Ким Лоренс, KIM LAWRENCE - Страница 7

PHOEBE’S stomach churned with self-disgust. Connor’s bleak pronouncement was confirmation of all her worst nightmares.

This was all her fault!

You did it, you fix it, Phoebe. Nice in theory, but in reality she was swamped by a wave of inadequacy. If this had been a heart with an irregular beat or a broken limb, she’d have known what to do, but it wasn’t—this was something they didn’t teach you how to fix in medical school!

It had been bad enough to lose the closest friend she’d ever had because of a moment of weakness, but to learn that he was so guilt-ridden about what they’d done that he considered himself a failure as a husband was just too awful to contemplate. Just when she’d thought she’d finally come to terms with her own guilt, she had his to sort out.

‘Don’t you think you’re being just a tad over-dramatic, Con?’ she began tentatively.

She heard the anger in his hissing intake of breath. Good, anger was infinitely preferable to that terrible desolation she had seen in his face moments before. ‘I have to admit I’m surprised to hear you speaking like that.’

‘Truthfully you mean?’

‘You know perfectly well you’re talking a load of rubbish!’ she countered, a sliver of desperation creeping into her tense tone.

‘Do I?’

‘Sure you do. If it wasn’t so silly, I’d laugh,’ she claimed.

‘You’ve got a nice laugh.’

The sheer unexpectedness of this comment and the strange driven note in his voice made her involuntarily stiffen.

‘Just an observation,’ he added in a much less alarming tone.

Phoebe’s hands relaxed slightly on the steering-wheel.

‘But you’re completely wrong about me being a good husband.’ His lips twisted in an expression of sour distaste. ‘I was actually a disaster from beginning to end.’

Phoebe caught her lower lip between her teeth. She was so embarrassed she could hardly get her words out, but she supposed it needed to be said.

‘I suppose you’re thinking about...’ She shook her head, unable to say it.

‘No, I’m not thinking about the unmentionable.’ Actually, there had been very few days over the past four years when he hadn’t thought about it, thought about Phoebe...

His mocking drawl hurt. ‘It’s not funny,’ she reproached gruffly. Perhaps making light of it was part of his coping mechanism.

‘I’m not laughing.’

A brief sideways peek revealed this to be true. His spectacular eyes were burning in his rigid countenance. Phoebe hurriedly looked away, deeply relieved she had a legitimate excuse to do so.

‘Are you?’ he challenged huskily, directing a diamond-hard searching glance at her clear-cut profile.

‘Am I what?’

‘Thinking about it?’

‘Why would I?’ she blustered. ‘It’s not as if anything actually happened.’ Her laugh sounded almost authentic.

‘In fact, you hardly remember,’ he drawled sarcastically.

Phoebe felt the heat rise up her neck. ‘I remember, but let’s keep this in proportion, shall we?’

‘By all means,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘I’m assuming your version of keeping things in proportion involves skipping the country?’

Sarcastic beast! ‘It was just a...a kiss...’ The fine muscles in her pale throat quivered. ‘Penny would have understood.’ She wished she really believed that.

‘She did.’

His cryptic comment only served to deepen Phoebe’s confusion, and it showed in her wildly fluctuating colour.

‘What a day!’ he sighed, rotating his neck from side to side to alleviate the knots of tension that were tying his spine in knots. ‘I pop in to catch up on my paperwork...’ He yawned.

‘You shouldn’t be doing paperwork,’ she responded automatically. She was relieved he’d changed the subject.

‘And I find our brilliant new locum is none other than my elusive sister-in-law.’

Her relief seemed a bit premature. ‘I didn’t set this up, Con,’ she told him urgently.

‘And here’s me thinking you missed me,’ he drawled.

Only about as much as she’d have missed her right arm.

‘Bad luck about the knee,’ she heard herself babble brightly. Wasn’t that the sort of things that casual acquaintances said when they bumped into one another? ‘Was it the anterior cruciate ligament? Isn’t that usually the most common skiing—?’ Now I sound like a medical textbook!

‘To hell with my knee!’ he blasted.

‘I’m trying, Con.’ He didn’t seem to appreciate how hard.

‘Trying to do what?’

Now she knew he was being deliberately obtuse.

‘You could at least make an effort!’ she burst out, keeping a wary eye on a stray sheep that had wandered into the road. ‘It’s very uncomfortable, of course.’

‘My knee?’

His flippancy exasperated her. ‘That, too,’ she agreed, refusing to get angry. Anger made you say things you regretted later and she needed to keep a careful guard on her tongue.

Connor’s lips curled into a derisive smile. ‘Uncomfortable. You always were good at understatement, Phoebe.’

‘By the time you’re fit to come back to work I’ll be gone. When I applied for the job,’ she continued doggedly, ‘I had no idea that you were the partner I was standing in for.’

‘And when you did?’

That was a question she’d been asking herself a lot. The truth was, some masochistic part of her hadn’t been able to resist a glimpse of the new life Con had built for himself. The temptation of seeing where he worked, the people he knew, had been too great for her to resist. Phoebe refused to acknowledge the possibility that subconsciously a little part of her had hoped that this would happen, that deep down she’d wanted to see Connor again.

‘Fair question,’ she admitted with a beleaguered shrug.

‘An honest answer to a fair question seems reasonable.’

‘You wouldn’t recognise reasonable if you fell over it,’ she snapped, forgetting for the moment about keeping her temper. She took a deep steadying breath. ‘I’ve already explained. I thought I’d be long gone before you came back, and when Will asked me to stay a little longer after your accident I couldn’t refuse. With hindsight, of course, I can see—’

‘I tried to write to you,’ he interrupted abruptly. The crack in his resonant voice made her startled eyes swivel in his direction. In profile she could see a maverick pulse thumping like crazy in his lean cheek. Her eyes slid as if preconditioned to the firm sensual outline of his lips and her tummy muscles did a lot of squirming.

With a tiny snort of denial she managed to tear her eyes away and nodded.

‘I know.’ She trained her eyes with glassy fixed concentration on the road ahead.

Connor raked a hand through his blond hair. ‘You must know that I never intended that we lose touch completely...or at all...’

Aware his eyes were on her face, Phoebe kept her facial muscles still, presenting a bland mask to his searching scrutiny.

‘The letters kept being returned unopened. Then you left with no forwarding address.’

‘It seemed easier that way.’ Her composed tone didn’t even hint at the hours she’d spent agonising over the decision not to open his letters. ‘You’re the one who said you didn’t want to see me again.’ The bitterness crept, unintended, into her voice and she knew it was unrealistic to suppose he hadn’t heard it, too. ‘And I gave you every justification,’ she added with painful honesty. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to shift the blame.

‘You gave me...!’ he snarled. Connor closed his eyes, his chest heaving with the effort to control his feelings. ‘Stop the car, will you?’

‘I can’t. I’m already running late.’ If she stopped the car she’d have to look at him.

‘What happened was...’ A deep sigh reverberated through his powerful frame. ‘It was in the heat of the moment, Phoebe,’ he rasped.

The moment was long gone, but the heat remained. A lot of heat! Phoebe, her eyes locked in forward position, didn’t see the colour seeping slowly across the high contours of his cheekbones.

It had been a few days after Penny’s funeral when Connor had come across her curled up in a foetal ball on a sofa. The room had been dimly lit. She’d stopped crying just long enough to plead with him not to turn on the light.

If only I hadn’t kissed him!

A kiss—even an innocent, well-intentioned one—in those circumstances, when emotions were running high, when the people involved were both hurting like hell and feeling empty, was always going to be liable to go horribly wrong.

When you added the fact that one person, namely herself, had been nursing a forbidden passion for the other for some years then the odds on something going horribly wrong became a lot shorter. The horribly wrong part became almost inevitable when the person instigating the kiss happened to possess a face and body identical to the wife the grieving husband had just lost.

‘Sorry about that, Con,’ she’d said huskily when the storm of weeping had at last abated. She’d slipped out of his light, comforting embrace.

‘There’s no point keeping it locked in, Phoebe,’ Con had replied gently, levering himself onto the arm of the sofa and looking compassionately down into her tear-stained face. ‘And there’s no need to apologise for crying—not to me.’

The kindness in his voice had made the tears well afresh. ‘Oh, God!’ she gasped shakily, grabbing the loose hem of his blue denim Oxford shirt and mopping her face. ‘S-sorry.’

Connor had produced a tissue from somewhere on his person and Phoebe had blown her nose noisily on it.

‘Before, I couldn’t cry, now I can’t stop. How about you?’

‘Me?’

‘Have you cried, Con?’

He didn’t answer, she hadn’t really expected him to. Con wasn’t a sharing, caring, sort of bloke. Even in the semi-lit room where his features were reduced to a series of hard planes and complementary brooding shadows, she could tell his control had stepped up a notch, the tension emanating from his lean frame was almost tangible.

‘Let’s throw a bit of light on the subject, shall we?’ she said thickly, reaching for the table lamp.

Her painfully tear-swollen eyes narrowed against the sudden light.

‘We all have our own ways of coping, Phoebe.’

‘In other words, butt out and mind my own business.’ It was desperately hard to keep her tone light. The empty expression in his eyes made her want to cry all over again.

‘I wouldn’t be so rude...’

‘Yes, you would.’ She was comforted to see the faint amused quiver of his wide sensitive lips. The humour didn’t extend to his eyes, but it was a start.

‘I’m making allowances for your fragile emotional state, but—’

‘I think you’d be better off to make allowances for your own fragile emotional state,’ she told him bluntly. She could almost see him visibly withdrawing further from her. ‘All right.’ She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I won’t mention empathy,’ she promised.

Dark eyes meshed with navy blue. The colour of Connor’s eyes always was a fair barometer of his mood—the more intense his feelings, the deeper the shade.

‘A deal,’ Connor agreed, extending his hand to her.

Phoebe’s fingers were enclosed in his as, still seated, he hoisted her to her feet. ‘I just can’t believe she’s gone...’ The tears started flowing once more as the extent of her loss hit her—as it did many times a day—all over again.

‘I know...’

‘I know you know,’ she gulped with a watery smile.

His strong fingers tightened around hers so vigorously that she actually cried out.

‘Sorry,’ Connor said as she rubbed her crushed hand against her shoulder.

She brushed aside his concern with an impatient gesture. ‘It would have been better if it had been me. I wouldn’t have been missed nearly as much,’ she cried, bitterness quivering in her broken voice.

Connor was on his feet before the hissing sigh of anger had passed between his tightly clamped lips. Phoebe gave a startled bleat as she was grabbed unceremoniously by the shoulders. He just stopped short of shaking her, but it was obvious from the expression of blistering fury on his face that it had been a close thing.

‘If I ever hear any more of that self-pitying garbage, Phoebe, I’ll...’ The sound of disgust seemed to emerge from deep in his chest as he scanned her tear-stained features with controlled contempt. ‘You don’t really think that.’

Actually, she did. Penny had had so much more to live for than she did—a husband who loved her, a growing reputation as one of the most talented botanical artists in this, or any other, country, the prospect of a family at some point in the future. Penny had had it all, but as it seemed to matter so much to Connor she obligingly shook her head.

Abruptly the grip on her shoulders loosened and the fury drained from his face, leaving behind white-faced tension.

‘Oh, Con!’ Phoebe instinctively reached up and pressed her hands either side of his lean face. The stubble along his strong jaw rasped against her open palms as she gazed tearily up at him. ‘It’ll get better...won’t it?’ she appealed miserably to him. It had to, didn’t it?

‘I sure as hell hope so.’ His big hands came up to cover hers where they lay against his skin.

During the moment of total empathy their fingers interlocked. Without even thinking about what she was doing, Phoebe stretched up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to do.

They drew apart almost immediately, but were still close enough for her to feel the warmth of his quick shallow breaths against her cheek. She looked anywhere but into his eyes, terrified of revealing the shameful pulse of pure sexual longing which had surged through her body at the brief contact.

It was wrong—wrong time, wrong place and most definitely wrong person!

If Connor even suspected, he’d despise and loathe her for ever. She already despised and loathed herself.

She cleared her throat, hardly able to hear herself think beyond the heavy thud of her heart. ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ Who needed therapy when they had tea...? She swallowed a bubble of hysteria that rose in her throat.

‘I don’t want tea, nice or otherwise. Phoebe...’

Her eyes were instantly drawn from the safe perspective of his left ear by the unfamiliar hoarse note in his voice. Don’t let him know, please, don’t let him know, she prayed, fearful that he’d picked up on her guilty lust.

‘What’s wrong, Con?’ Of all the inane... The man’s just lost his wife—will that do you? She was braced for his scorn but not what actually came.

His fair head inclined towards her too quickly for her to focus on his face. Phoebe’s eyes stayed wide open and shocked all the way through the kiss.

They drew apart, but not as far apart as the first time. This close it was impossible to distinguish the individual sounds of their painfully rapid breaths. The pressure of his lips on hers had been just as restrained as hers on his, but something else was there that hadn’t been there before. The new dangerous element made her pulses run wild.

She finally managed to focus, and what she focused on made the muscles in her lower belly spasm. The very last thing she’d been prepared to see had been the blaze of raw sexual hunger in his half-closed, heavily lidded eyes. It sliced neatly through her defences like a hot knife through butter.

Without saying a word or taking his eyes off the trembling outline of her full lips, Connor cupped her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers with shuddering, blind desperation. She’d wondered so often what it would feel like—now she knew! All the muscles in her lower belly spasmed again and a febrile shudder coursed through her pliant body.

His hands moved down the flexible curve of her spine, before curving possessively over her taut curve of her buttocks and drawing her hard against him.

Reality and fantasy collided with a resounding crash that sent her spiralling out of control. The sense of unreality persisted as his body, his hard male body, continued to press up against her.

The next time his mouth descended she moaned his name and responded with all the passion she’d been forced to deny for so long. Her knees buckled and it was only the strength of his arms that controlled her fall onto the sofa.

He fell to his knees beside the sofa and his body curved over her. He lifted the silky strands of hair that fanned out from her face and let them fall through his fingers.

His scorching glance moved hungrily over the soft contours of her face before dropping lower to where her breasts strained with each tortured breath against the thin fabric of her top.

‘I want to touch you.’

His hoarse announcement sent a sizzling surge of sexual excitement through her body. Expectation stretched every nerve in her body to breaking point. She ached for his touch, and told him as much in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.

His head moved, allowing his lips to brush against the hand she’d laid on his face, then abruptly he froze. ‘Dear God...Phoebe!’ He acted like a man who’d just woken up from a dream—or maybe a nightmare.

‘What the hell are we doing?’ he groaned, jackknifing to his feet. He continued to stagger backwards until his back hit the wall on the opposite side of the room. Grey-faced, he continued to gaze at her in a dazed kind of sick disgust. ‘You’re both so mixed up in my head I can’t... Just go away, will you? Go away and don’t come back!’

Phoebe took a deep breath and steadied herself. After all, she’d come a long way in the last four years. She turned a deliberately deaf ear to the small voice in her head that pointed out that all that progress had amounted to a fat nothing the instant she’d seen him again.

‘I suppose there’s a moral somewhere in what happened...’ she suggested lightly.

‘And that would be?’

‘If you’re going to have mindless sex to forget your troubles, do it with a total stranger—there are fewer repercussions.’

‘Is that the sort of advice you give your patients?’

‘I wasn’t speaking literally...’

‘No, just stupidly,’ he snarled.

‘We didn’t have sex. And don’t worry, Con, I forgave myself some time ago.’ This was only partially true, but it made her sound suitably rehabilitated. She didn’t expect his forgiveness. Carefully she manoeuvred the car through the awkwardly angled Marlow farm gate.

‘And did you ever get around to forgiving me?’

His brooding tone was filled with a depth of self-loathing she recognised extremely well. Phoebe had got so used to blaming herself that the fact that it was possible he might have shouldered the responsibility had got lost somewhere along the way.

‘Forgive...me...you...?’ Fortunately there were no obstacles in the way as her hands left the steering-wheel for several startled moments. ‘I keep telling you, you didn’t do anything!’ She had to establish once and for all that he’d been the innocent party in all this.

Connor reached across and with a judicious touch on the steering-wheel saved the lazy farm cat sprawled in a patch of winter sun from being crushed. Phoebe took control, of the car at least, and parked it behind a tractor.

‘No forgiveness required,’ she insisted in a calmer voice as she fiddled with the clasp on her case. She didn’t look at him—she was working up to that. ‘We both needed...comfort, that’s all.’

‘And you were completely untraumatised by the entire comfort thing? So much so, in fact, that you couldn’t risk coming within a hundred miles of me!’

‘If you’re implying that I was worried you’d... you’d...kiss me again, you couldn’t be more wrong!’ She laughed to demonstrate how crazy the idea was. ‘If there’s been any hint of...attraction between us,’ she gulped, ‘I think it would have showed up when we lived together. You were hurting like hell, missing Penny. I was there...’ She swallowed and smiled through the pain. ‘I look like Penny,’ she added simply.

‘It’s taken you four years to come up with that explanation?’ he grated incredulously.

‘No, five minutes.’

‘That covers my lustful advances.’ And his violent disgust, she thought dully. ‘What about you?’

Phoebe’s eyes widened fearfully. ‘What about me?’

‘Who were you closing your eyes and thinking of when you kissed me?’

‘Nobody!’ she exclaimed. An alert expression flickered into his eyes and she continued more cautiously. ‘That is, I wasn’t thinking,’ she clarified hastily. ‘I was hurting, too. I suppose I just needed someone to hold me...’ His arms were about perfect for that job, she recalled wistfully.

Connor’s strong jaw clenched, drawing his lightly tanned skin even tighter across his prominent cheekbones. ‘And I was a convenient body,’ he suggested flatly.

Guiltily Phoebe nodded.

‘This all sounds perfectly plausible.’

Phoebe’s spirits plummeted. Suddenly she was getting the distinct impression that he hadn’t swallowed a word she’d said.

‘There’s just one difficulty. If you had no problem with what happened, why refuse to open my letters? Why disappear off the face of the earth?’

It was so obvious she couldn’t believe Con hadn’t worked that one out for himself.

‘How could you get over Penny with me around as a constant reminder?’ She lifted a hand to her face. Had Penny lived, it would have been her face, too.

The taunting smile faded abruptly from Connor’s face. He looked horrified. ‘You went away to spare me heartache?’

Warily Phoebe nodded. He was partially right at least.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the head restraint. The irony of it was so acute he couldn’t help but laugh, but when he lifted his head he wasn’t laughing.

‘Has it ever occurred to you that I was out of my skull with worry?’ She recoiled from the blue blaze of fury in his eyes. ‘I thought I’d wait a few weeks, let the dust die down, only by then you’d gone...left the country. I got that much out of Magda.’

Phoebe nodded. She had sworn her mother to silence. Phoebe suspected that Magda’s co-operation had had a lot to do with her dislike of Connor, who had never really succeeded in hiding his disapproval of a woman who had walked out on her husband and six-month-old baby daughters.

‘You don’t think I’m capable of seeing the person beyond the face? You think I’m that superficial?’ The thought seemed to whip his temper to greater heights. ‘You’re nothing like Penny!’

Not funny, not brave, not sexy or spontaneous. He was too kind to say it, but she knew what he was thinking. She raised her chin, ashamed of the self-pitying direction of her thoughts.

‘I’ve never confused you with her.’

That was one claim too many for Phoebe, whose spine stiffened. ‘Never?’ she echoed scornfully.

His bold accusing glare finally dropped from hers. A dark tide of colour washed over his face. When he met her eyes again his expression was hard and set.

‘No, never,’ he asserted, his nostrils flared.

The delicate frown line between Phoebe’s eyes became a furrow as she tried to make sense of what he was saying.

‘That means...’ she gasped in a charged undertone.

‘I knew who I was kissing that day. Yes, I did, Phoebe. That ruins your victim image of the tragic bereaved husband, I’d say,’ he ground out with savage sarcasm.

She shook her head slowly from side to side in silent denial. The bewildering implications of what Connor was saying were too great for her to take on board. For four years she’d believed that the passion he’d displayed that day had been intended for someone else. Now he was saying... what was he saying?

She wound down the window and took several gulps of cold Cheshire air.

‘I thought I recognised the sound of your car.’

‘Rob!’ She gasped, almost falling out of the car in relief.

The tall young man put out a hand to steady her. ‘Watch your step.’ He laughed. ‘Mum’s got the kettle on if you’d like a cup of tea.’

‘I’d love to, Rob, but I’m running a bit late.’ The young man’s face fell dramatically but Phoebe, normally the most perceptive of women, failed to hear the warning bells. Her thoughts were too preoccupied by the man sitting silently in her car to see anything worrying in Rob Marlow’s obvious disappointment.

‘I’ve got that video I promised you, though,’ she said, withdrawing the video of a wildlife documentary—she and Rob had discovered a shared love of nature programmes—from the capacious pocket of the swing coat she wore over her trouser suit. Her soft red leather glove, tangled up with the video, fell towards the muddy concrete floor.

Both she and Rob bent down to retrieve it simultaneously and their heads collided with a thump that vibrated through Phoebe.

She came up clutching her head. ‘I felt that.’ She laughed shakily.

Rob caught her shoulders as she swayed and for a moment she leant her spinning head against his chest.

Watching from the car, Connor had an excellent view of the impact. The professional objectivity he prided himself in was absent as he watched the tender scene through narrowed eyes.

‘Are you all right, Phoebe?’ Rob asked, his face creased in concern as he bent over her.

Phoebe straightened up. ‘Isn’t that my line?’ she said ruefully, rubbing the swelling already detectable through her thick hair. Her glance at his hands curved over her shoulders was a gentle reminder to which Rob responded with a self-conscious blush.

‘Now you must have a cup of tea—it’s a medicinal necessity,’ he coaxed.

Brandy would have been more appropriate medicine, she thought, brooding over the amazing thing that Con had just said. Perhaps she was getting too hung up over semantics, perhaps he hadn’t meant anything by it... This possibility didn’t stand up too long to scrutiny—the Con she knew was as precise with words as he was with a scalpel, though he’d abandoned that, too, now. There were just so many questions for her brain to cope with and far too few answers!

‘I would, but I’m not alone...’ She nodded stiffly towards the car without turning her head. ‘Dr Carlyle is back. I’m giving him a lift home,’ she explained.

The young man’s expression cleared. ‘Oh, I see.’ A frown of concern creased his brow. ‘That doesn’t mean you’re leaving us, does it?’

‘I’m not sure yet...’ Phoebe responded vaguely. Her first instinct might be to put as much distance as possible between herself and Hayfield as quickly as she could, but it wasn’t realistic or fair to leave Will in the lurch before the replacement he’d organised arrived in a fortnight’s time.

‘We’ll miss you.’

‘Thank you, Rob,’ Phoebe responded absent-mindedly as he walked her back to the car.

Rob walked round to the passenger side as Phoebe climbed back in. ‘Heard about the accident, Doc. You know how it feels to be on the receiving end of medical advice now.’

‘He knows how to ignore it,’ Phoebe muttered, before Connor could reply.

Connor dealt her a narrowed look from his expressive eyes. ‘How have you been, Rob?’

‘Can’t complain. I’ve been well looked after.’ The smile was reserved for Phoebe. ‘I’ve made arrangements to move back to my own place in town.’

Connor’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘That’s great news. What brought about the change of heart?’ This assertion of independence was also surprising news. Since Rob’s deteriorating sight meant he could no longer drive, he’d returned to his parents’ farm and, despite a few gentle nudges from his doctors, had shown every inclination of staying put. ‘Or should I say who?’ The lightness in his even tone wasn’t reflected in the look he shot an uneasy Phoebe.

Phoebe’s full lips compressed. The condemnation in his cold blue-eyed glare was totally unreasonable.

‘Phoebe’s been great.’

‘I do my job,’ she responded uncomfortably.

‘Above and beyond the call of duty.’ Rob beamed.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Connor muttered snidely under his breath.

Phoebe clamped her teeth into a fixed smile and ignored Connor completely as she made her farewells to Rob, promising to drop by the next day. She could be developing paranoia but somehow she didn’t think so. Whatever was bothering Connor, she knew she wouldn’t have long to wait to hear about it. He never had been backward in coming forward when it came to telling her how wrong she was about something!

Connor was about to learn that when it came to professional matters Phoebe wasn’t to be patronised or preached at!

‘Take the first left after the—’

‘I know where you live,’ she snapped.

‘Ask, did you?’

‘I didn’t have to. The community takes a deep, and in my view unhealthy, interest in everything about you, from the colour scheme in your bedroom to your love life!’

‘And did you learn anything interesting?’

Phoebe despised herself for being so damned receptive to his sexy low-pitched drawl. ‘You don’t wear pyjamas!’ she returned snappily.

Oh, heavens! First bedroom and love life, now this! She could have taken a whole day to pick a retort likely to discompose and generally embarrass and not come up with one that did both so efficiently.

‘According to Mrs Sanderson, that is,’ she faltered.

‘Oh, dear Olive. What would I do without her,’ Connor drawled.

‘Very well, if she’s to be believed. I’m not sure she actually approves of men who can iron a shirt,’ Phoebe elaborated dryly.

‘Rob Marlow looked a lot more cheerful than the last time I saw him.’

Here it comes. Anyone who didn’t know Con as well as she did might have taken this statement at face value, but Phoebe knew him too well to be lulled into a false sense of security.

‘Are you suggesting that’s not a good thing?’ she asked spikily.

‘Not at all.’

‘If you’ve got some problem with my professional judgement, Con, spit it out. It’s not like you to be so coy.’

‘I’m suggesting,’ Connor replied, his tone hardening, ‘that our resources are stretched thinly enough without including social calls on your rounds. I’m curious, Phoebe, do all your patients warrant such individual attention? I’d have thought you’d have learnt by now that it’s not a good idea to get involved with patients, especially vulnerable ones. Leaving the ethics of becoming romantically involved with a patient aside...’

Phoebe caught her breath. Con hadn’t lost any of his bluntness over the years.

‘Are you aware that you sound incredibly pompous?’ she enquired sweetly. ‘Is this Connor Carlyle, senior partner, flexing his biceps?’

‘Are you aware you sound as if you’re trying to deflect the question?’ he countered annoyingly.

‘Are you implying there’s anything improper in my relationship with Rob Marlow?’ she said through gritted teeth, determined to keep up his question-for-a-question policy as long as he did.

‘I don’t know.’ An image of the younger man, his hands placed proprietorially on Phoebe’s slender shoulders, materialised in his brain and Connor felt the blood pound in his temples. ‘Is there?’

He was watching as a tide of dark colour travelled up her slender neck until her whole face was suffused in a delicious shade of delicate pink.

‘I suppose you only see a patient when you’re doling out a prescription. Sometimes they need to talk...’ she choked scornfully.

‘Yeah...yeah, and in a perfect world we’d have time to listen, but even in that world there’s such a thing as professional distance,’ Connor bit back cynically. ‘He’s smitten, Phoebe,’ he told her bluntly. ‘It’s written all over him.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Phoebe exclaimed, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. ‘I’ve been helping him come to terms with his situation...’

‘Have it your own way, Phoebe. You usually did, as I recall. A more stubborn, self-opinionated female I never did meet,’ he reflected grimly.

Phoebe’s jaw dropped. The bare-faced cheek of the man! ‘Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!’ she gasped.

Connor shrugged. ‘Don’t come running to me when things go pear-shaped.’

‘As if I would. A man who is to empathy...’ She clamped her lips over the insult that rose to her tongue.

‘Restraint, Phoebe, from you...?’

‘Let’s just say I think the likelihood of me crying on your shoulder is remote at best,’ she assured him frigidly. Been there, done that and suffered the consequences...was still suffering...

‘Fair enough, but it’ll end in tears, as my old mum would have said.’

Phoebe’s expression softened. Maureen Carlyle was a lovely woman and, if she’d read a comment Maureen had made at Penny’s wedding correctly, the only person who had suspected Phoebe’s true feelings for Connor.

‘How is Mo?’

‘Died last summer.’

Phoebe’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Connor, I’m so sorry. She was a lovely lady.’

‘She liked you, too,’ Connor said quietly.

‘Was it her heart?’ she probed gently. Maureen Carlyle had had a long history of heart disease, but a triple bypass operation some years back had given her a new lease of life.

Connor nodded. ‘A massive MI,’ he confirmed.

‘I wish I’d been around.’

‘Where were you, Phoebe?’

Her dark, spiky lashes flickered downwards. ‘Abroad.’

‘You always did want to travel,’ he recalled, allowing his head to drop wearily against the headrest. The day’s exertions were beginning to catch up on him with a vengeance. ‘I suppose rural Cheshire must seem a bit tame after all the glamorous places you’ve been to?’

A grim smile curved Phoebe’s lips as she glanced out at the green fields. ‘Restful,’ she corrected softly.

She had been to worse places than the camp on the border of the two war-ridden African countries, but it had been there she’d faced the fact she’d reached the limit of her endurance. Emotionally and physically drained from her stint with the aid agency and nursing a nagging sense of failure, she’d returned home, where she’d been a locum for the past six months.

‘You say that now, but in six months time I expect you’ll be hankering for the bright lights,’ Connor predicted cynically.

Phoebe remained silent. Connor seemed to be in danger of confusing her with Penny—and not, she thought darkly, for the first time. It had been Penny who had been the party animal. She’d often teased Phoebe, who’d preferred curling up with a box of chocolates and a nice romantic video to going out to a nightclub, about her anti-social tendencies.

The nerve-stretching silence continued for several minutes before it finally dawned on Phoebe that Connor had fallen asleep. An ironic laugh worked its way past the emotional congestion in her raw throat as her rigid back slumped back into the seat. Here she was, primed for the most traumatic encounter in her life, and her combatant—if that was the right word under the circumstances—had fallen asleep.

He still didn’t stir when she pulled up on the cobbled drive of his home. She’d always tried to stifle her curiosity when she’d driven past before. Now she could see how attractive the three-storey building built of the mellow local stone was.

Speaking of attractive... In repose, the cynicism and tension wiped clean from his face, Con looked like the young medical student bursting with enthusiasm she’d met when she’d replied to the ad for a flatmate.

A smile played about her lips as she recalled how hard it had been for her to persuade him that a female flatmate would be just as good as, if not better than, a male counterpart. The accommodation situation in the university town had been notoriously bad, and Phoebe had been desperate.

She was seized by an overwhelming urge to brush the hank of fair hair—he wore it much shorter and neater these days—from his broad forehead. The sound of a car pulling up behind her brought her back to reality with an almost audible thump.

The slam of the car door to the rear was audible, too—audible enough to rouse Connor from a deep sleep.

He blinked in a sleepy, confused way and slowly focused on Phoebe. The smile that slowly spread across his face made Phoebe catch her breath, it warming the neglected corners of her aching heart.

Then his expression changed. It was like watching shutters come down. The enveloping warmth was snuffed out like a candle, leaving wary caution...or possibly simply dislike...in its place.