Tempted by Dr Daisy

‘Me? No! Single and proud of it,’ she lied. Well, not about the single part, because she was, profoundly, since Mike had walked away, but she wasn’t proud of it. She was more—well, lonely, really, she admitted, but she’d rather be single than in the situation she’d been in. And for all the difference it would have made, in many ways she felt divorced. Would have been, if Mike had ever got round to asking her to marry him instead of just stringing her along for years. She scraped up a chirpy grin. ‘Mad spinster lady, that’s what I am. Didn’t you notice the cat?’

‘I thought you had to have more than one to be a mad spinster?’ he said softly, his eyes searching even though there was a smile teasing his lips, and she felt her heart turn over.

No! No no no no no!

‘Oh, well, I’ve only got the one, so that’s all right, then, I’m not a spinster, just mad,’ she said lightly, and turned her attention to the menu. Fast.

Ben watched her. She was distracted, not concentrating. The menu was the right way up, but it could have been in Russian or Japanese for all the difference it would have made, he was sure. She was flustered—by him?

Interesting—except that she was a colleague, and his neighbour, and he’d just got out of one horribly messy relationship and he was in no hurry to get into another.

Even if she was the most attractive, interesting and stimulating person he’d been near in what felt like decades.

He shut his menu with a snap, and her body gave a tiny little jerk, as if the sound had startled her. ‘I’m having the pan-fried sea bass,’ he said briskly. ‘What about you?’

‘Um …’ She stared at the menu, blinked and nodded. ‘Sounds nice,’ she said, and he would have laid odds she hadn’t even seen the print, never mind made sense of it.

‘Wine?’

Stupid. Utterly stupid, on a week night, with work the next day.

‘I could have a glass, I suppose,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘Sauvignon blanc?’

She nodded, and the light from the candle caught her hair and it shimmered like rich, dark silk. He wanted to reach over and catch a strand between thumb and forefinger, wind it round his fingertip and reel her in, tugging her gently towards him until those soft, full lips were in range, and then—

‘Are you ready to order, sir?’

He straightened up, sucking in a slow, silent breath and raising an eyebrow at Daisy. ‘Have you decided?’

‘Oh—um—the sea bass, like you?’ she said, saving him from the embarrassment of admitting he’d forgotten everything except the shimmer of her hair and the soft sheen of her lips.

‘Sounds good,’ he said, and added the wine to the list. A couple of glasses wouldn’t make any difference …

‘That was really nice. Thank you, Ben,’ she said, hesitating by her front gate.

They’d walked back side by side, fingers brushing from time to time, shoulders nudging gently. Not holding hands, but not far off it, and she wondered, just idly—well, no, not idly at all, really—if he was going to kiss her goodnight.

Madness! Too much wine. She shouldn’t have had the second glass.

‘My pleasure. I’d offer you coffee, but the cafeti?re was in the box that jingled,’ he told her ruefully, and she smiled.

‘I’ve got coffee,’ she told him before she could stop her mouth, and their eyes locked and he lifted his shoulders in an almost imperceptible shrug.

‘Coffee would be nice. Thank you.’

She unlocked her door, and he followed her in, all the way through to the kitchen. It was open to the dining area, and she directed him to the table to get herself a little space.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she said, and switched the kettle on, glancing at the clock as she did so. Heavens, they’d been out for well over two hours. It was after eleven o’clock, and she had to be on the ward tomorrow at eight. Silly. She shouldn’t have invited him in. Too late, and way too dangerous.

She frowned into the freezer, searching for the coffee, and then gave up and opened a new packet. She had no idea how long the other one had been open and her mind didn’t seem to want to work it out.

‘Black or white, and hot or cold milk?’ she asked, sloshing hot water into the cafeti?re to warm it.

‘Black, one sugar,’ he said.

Of course. That was how he’d had it in the bistro, although he’d had a latte in the hospital that morning. Heavens. Was it only that morning? It seemed aeons ago!

Her thoughts miles away, she picked up the tray and found herself heading automatically to the sitting room at the front of the house. She’d meant to put it down on the dining table, but before she could change tack he’d stood up and was following. Damn! It would be too cosy in there, much too intimate, and the wine was fogging her brain.

The wine, and the company …

‘Oh, this room’s lovely, Daisy,’ he said warmly as she put the coffee down, and she felt herself glow with his praise.

‘Thanks. Do you want some music on?’

‘Shall I?’ He was crouching down in front of her iPod dock without waiting for an answer, scrolling through her music collection, making himself at home. He put on something soft and romantic, and she could hardly tell him she didn’t like it, as it was her music. And she’d sat down already, so it was impossible to choose the other sofa when he sat at the other end of hers, a perfectly respectable distance from her and yet just close enough that her nose could pick up the scent of that citrusy cologne he’d been wearing this morning.

It had been teasing her nostrils all evening, and she could have leant against him and breathed him in.

Except that it wouldn’t make any sense at all, and if she knew what was good for her she’d drink her coffee and send him on his way.

Except it didn’t quite work like that.

They talked and laughed until long after the coffee was finished, and then finally he sighed and got to his feet.

‘I ought to go.’

‘Yes, you should,’ she said, and stood up, but she’d kicked off her shoes and she tripped on one and he caught her, his hands strong and steady on her arms.

‘OK?’ he murmured, and she lifted her head and met his eyes and everything seemed to stop dead.

Her heart, her lungs, the clock—everything froze in that moment, and then as if someone had thrown a switch and set him free, he bent his head, so slowly that she had all the time in the world to move away, and touched his lips to hers.

She sighed his name, her heart kicking back into life like a wild thing, and then his arms were sliding round her and he was kissing her properly.

Improperly?

He tasted of coffee and after dinner mints, his tongue bold and persuasive, coaxing her, leading her, then retreating, making her follow.

She was putty in his hands, all her senses short-circuited by the gentle, rhythmic stroke of his tongue, the soft brush of his lips, the warm whisper of his breath over her face as he sipped and touched and lingered.

If he’d led her upstairs, she would have followed, but he didn’t. Instead he lifted his head and rested his chin on her hair and cradled her gently against his chest.

‘I really ought to go,’ he said again, but his voice was gruff this time, the soft Yorkshire burr teasing her senses, and his arms stayed wrapped around her.

She lay there another moment listening to the steady, insistent thud of his heart against her ear, and then reluctantly she dropped her arms from round his waist and stepped back.