Just What the Doctor Ordered. Caroline Anderson

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