Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss

A woman dived into the surf as he reached the sand and he couldn’t shed the ripple of anxiety as she dis ap peared under the waves. Her head popped up again and he shuddered as old memories surfaced as well. Swimming hadn’t been attractive since his sixth birthday.

Irresponsible, that’s what it was, to swim so far out and alone, he said to himself, then grimaced for sounding like a grumpy old man. Well, for goodness’ sake, there were no others on the beach and the lifesavers wouldn’t start for another hour so who would help her if she ran into trouble?

He turned his gaze to the sand in front and increased his speed until the slap of his runners on the sand beneath him banished the memories and soothed his soul.

Out past the waves the woman swam parallel to the beach from one side of the bay to the other and he sent one brief glance her way as he turned to run up the cliff path and onto the headland.

As he returned from his run he closed in on another girl, one he recognised, as she walked up the hill towards the house. One he’d meant to catch up with last night and hadn’t had a chance to.

Unfinished work business lay between them but maybe that should keep for work. All he could think of was how amazing her wet siren’s hair was, that wiggle of her walk under the towel wrapped around her that did uncomfortable things to his libido, and the strains of a haunting Irish lullaby, this time drifting backwards towards him.

Now, here was a dilemma.

He could run past and pretend he didn’t recognise her and hope he made it into the house before she called out to him.

Or he could stop now, hang back, and not catch up.

Or he could fall in beside her and pretend he didn’t care either way—which he tried but it didn’t quite come off. ‘Morning, Matilda.’

The lullaby abruptly ended and she glanced across at him. ‘Good morning, Marcus. Or should I say Dr Bennett?’

‘Only at work will be fine.’

Tilly grinned at him and he couldn’t help his smile back. Not what he had intended at all. Neither was the slow and leisurely perusal of all she had on display above the towel. But what was a man to do when she looked so good?

She had the body of an angel, now that he had a chance to admire her up close, and the long line of her neck made his fingers itch with the impulse to follow the droplet of seawater that trickled enticingly down into the hollow between her perfect breasts.

Good Lord. His mouth dried and his mind went blank. Not a normal occurrence.

‘Join me for breakfast?’ He frowned. Now, why had he said that? It was the last thing he needed before work and gave the opposite impression of what he wanted to get clear between them. ‘To discuss yesterday.’

She hesitated and he thought for a moment he’d get out of the ridiculous situation he’d created. Much more sensible to discuss work at work—like he’d decided before he’d been bowled out by his middle stump.

‘Where?’

His stupid mind went blank again. ‘Down at the beach? Pick somewhere to sit. I’ll find you. Say fifteen minutes?’

‘Something quick and light? Sounds good.’

A quick one. That’s what he fancied all right and it was a damn nuisance his sleeping libido had decided to wake up when she’d gone past.

No. This was an opportunity to clear the air. About work. Maybe find some common ground on their perceptions of theatre calls and lines that were drawn. That was the sensible thing to discuss.

Fifteen minutes later theatre calls were the last thing Marcus wanted to discuss. She’d taken him at his word and waited for him by sitting on the steps of the white wrought-iron rotunda, a picturesque place of summer bands and vocal touters, and quite a fitting place for a mischievous midwife who drove him mad but a little public if anyone from the hospital walked past. He couldn’t help glance around but nobody seemed particularly interested in them.

She almost wore an emerald sundress and up close the way it fitted her body took his breath and his brains away. Again.

He handed over the dish of fruit and yoghurt he’d chosen without thinking but thankfully she looked happy enough with his choice.

Then his mouth let him down. ‘You look gorgeous.’ He almost slapped his hand over it. No-o-o-o. Quick recovery needed. ‘But I’m not a fan of home births.’ The words hung starkly, like the family of swallows under the scalloped roof of the rotunda.

Her sudden smile faded. ‘I noticed. Why?’

Good. She’d heard him. At least he’d said what he had to. ‘Too dangerous. Poor outcomes if something goes wrong.’ He looked away. ‘And personal reasons. I really don’t want to discuss it.’

To his surprise she nodded with more understanding than he’d expected. ‘I can see that.’ She glanced away to the waves.

When she said, ‘Do you run most mornings?’ ridiculous relief expanded inside him. He caught her eye as she looked back.

He could laugh now. ‘When people don’t cripple me with gnomes, yes.’

She bit her lip and blushed delightfully. ‘I’m sorry. And I didn’t mention it at work.’

He couldn’t pretend that wasn’t a bonus. Not the most glorious way to introduce the new consultant. ‘I’m over it.’ Actually, he was—surprising even himself—and Matilda looked happy to hear it. He let her have a full-blown smile so she could see he was telling the truth. ‘I do have some sense of humour. Eventually.’

She looked down and smiled at the steps and he felt a frown on his forehead. Had he sounded self-indulgent? Forgotten how to talk trivia to a woman? Not usually. Maybe it was just this woman.

He forced himself on. ‘So you like to swim in the mornings. And sing.’ Her eyes lit up again, like they had in Theatre last night, and they smiled at each other like two loons. Then he remembered they worked together and he needed to keep distance. He glanced around at the people in the park. No one was looking.

There was an awkward silence and he patted the rotunda they sat on. ‘Do you sit here often?’

She glanced around, encompassing the grass of the park, the sea, and finally the rotunda. ‘When it’s empty. I can see right out over the ocean. In the spring they have white daisies around the bottom. I pretend it’s my castle and I’m a princess.’

Not too far-fetched even for his prosaic imagination. She looked like he’d always imagined a fairytale princess looked. He’d never had a thing for tiny blond-haired dolls, always dark, willowy Rapunzel-type ones, and red was close enough.

Problem was she so easily enmeshed him, like those nets hanging off the boats down on the beach, and he had to disentangle himself. A liaison with a junior midwife was the last thing he needed.

He just hadn’t wanted misunderstandings at work and especially when his aunt thought so much of her. Really his only reason for being here.

He finished his breakfast in a hurry and stood up. ‘Sorry to rush off.’

‘No. You go. I’ll stay a little longer. I often eat down here when I’m working the late shift.’

Tilly watched him go with his strong brown legs eating up the distance and the incline to his aunt’s house. He didn’t look back and his spine stayed straight and tall as he moved like a well-oiled machine, though actually he was a bit of a machine, with his running and his rules for the ward and the world. Marcus The Machine. A control freak. Which was sad.

Yet somehow she didn’t think he’d planned the invitation to have breakfast with him. She smiled to herself. She’d bet that had come out of nowhere.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN Tilly walked into work that afternoon she didn’t even get a handover. Gina shooed her straight through to Birthing as she arrived and briefed her on the way. ‘There’s a teenage mum in birth suite four. I’d like you to look after her.’

‘Yes, please.’ Tilly was happy with that and Gina grinned at her enthusiasm.

‘India Ray. Her mum’s in South Australia and the boyfriend’s outside on the street at the moment. She has a nasty history of abuse and of course she’s terrified of the birth and anyone touching her. The seniors will cover the ward until she’s delivered so concentrate on her. She’s had her monitoring done, so you can see the trace in the chart—all’s well there.’

Tilly nodded, she could almost hear her mum’s voice, ‘If a girl’s had a rotten childhood, past abuse can seriously affect the way she labours.’ It had been a passion of her mother’s that she’d passed on to Tilly, to be especially supportive and aware that labours could suddenly stop when women felt vulnerable.

Privacy and actual physical contact were huge issues.