The Italian Doctor's Proposal. Kate Hardy

north Cornwall.’

      She opened her mouth to say no, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak.

      He laced his fingers together. ‘I would suggest sealing the deal properly…But we’re at work, and I promised I wouldn’t touch you without your permission.’ His eyes filled with mischief. ‘It’s a shame you’re not a mind-reader. Then again, if you knew what I was thinking right now, you’d probably slap my face.’

      ‘Don’t tempt me.’ Though her words were hollow. Just his mere existence tempted her. And she had a nasty feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking. Sealing the deal with a kiss. Like the one at the fancy-dress ball—a kiss that might start out sweet and innocent but would heat up the minute their mouths met.

      He said something in Italian and she folded her arms and glared at him.

      ‘Translate.’

      ‘I wouldn’t dare.’ He gave her a lazy grin. ‘If you want to know what I said, you’ll just have to learn Italian, won’t you?’

      It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to have such a sensual mouth? And when he smiled like that, it made her want to act completely out of character. It made her want to reach over and kiss him. Passionately. And very, very improperly.

      ‘Am I dismissed?’ she asked.

      ‘Are you going to spend tomorrow with me?’

      ‘No,’ she said crisply.

      He clasped his hands theatrically to his heart. ‘I tried.’

      ‘You’re very trying,’ she snapped back.

      He spread his hands. ‘What can I say? The lady’s always right.’

      ‘I do have patients to see.’

      ‘Then arrivederci, Lucia mia,’ he said softly.

      Corny, smarmy, pathetic…Oh, who was she trying to kid? That Italian accent was way, way too sexy for her peace of mind. Worse, she almost opened her mouth to say she’d changed her mind and, yes, she would spend the day with him.

      Almost. Common sense prevailed. Just.

      ‘You need your head tested, Lucy Williams,’ she muttered to herself as she closed his office door.

      Nic touched his mouth. No, it wasn’t hot. And he hadn’t kissed her, much as he’d wanted to. So why did he feel so scorched?

      He smiled wryly. It was obvious: it had a lot to do with a certain Dr Williams and that beautiful rosebud mouth. It had taken all his self-control not to pull her into his arms and kiss her, make her feel that same blood-heating passion that zinged through his veins when he saw her.

      Working with her was going to be torture.

      Working with her was going to be heaven.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THAT evening, Lucy found herself pacing her cottage, thinking about Nic.

      ‘Stop it,’ she told herself.

      But she couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see his face. Smell his clean, masculine scent. Feel the sweetness of his mouth against hers.

      Her day off was even worse. Supposing she hadn’t been so stubborn—supposing she’d agreed to spend the day with him. It would have been a chance to get to know him better.

      ‘You don’t want to get to know him better,’ she reminded herself. ‘You want to be a top consultant. Your personal life’s been a disaster zone for years. Stick to your career—it’s safer.’

      But what if? What if she’d gone to the beach with him? Supposing she’d taken him to Pentremain, her favourite place on earth, the tiny bay that was one of the best surfing sites in Europe and was spectacular in winter, with the waves crashing onto the rocks and the gulls wailing and the wind whipping roses into your cheeks…They’d have had lunch together in the tiny fishing port, at a secluded table overlooking the sea. Maybe another walk along the beach as the sun was setting.

      And then a kiss…

      Anyone would think she was a hormonal teenager, not a level-headed thirty-year-old! It was crazy, going weak at the knees at the thought of a kiss.

      A kiss from a man who’d told her he felt the same attraction.

      A kiss from a man who’d licked her pulse point and looked into her eyes and dared her not to believe how much he desired her.

      If she didn’t stop thinking about him, she’d go insane!

      Well, there was one thing that would take her mind off him. Spring-cleaning. No matter that it was way out of season. Scrubbing every corner of her cottage would stop her thinking about him.

      In theory. In practice, it didn’t. So she chose the last resort. Cooking. Preferably something that would use up her energy and calm her down again. She didn’t have any flour suitable for making bread, so that idea went out of the window…

      Then she smiled. But she did have walnuts, honey and sesame seeds. Which meant she could knead out her frustration on a different sort of dough, still have that comforting breadmaking scent, and end up with something sweet to soothe her soul. Kahk, the recipe her Egyptian friend Noor had taught her when they’d shared a house in their second year of med school.

      She ignored the fact that Nic had a thing about cake.

      Or that the sweetness of the honeyed filling reminded her of his mouth.

      ‘These are seriously good,’ Nic said, taking a second sugar-dusted cake from the tin at the nurses’ station the next morning. ‘Icing sugar on the top. Not too sweet on the outside, but then you hit the inside…The mixture of textures and tastes is fabulous. Which mum do I need to thank—and beg to tell me where she bought them?’

      ‘You don’t,’ Rosemary said.

      ‘One of the staff brought them in?’

      ‘Made by the fair hands of our own Lucy Williams.’ Rosemary winked. ‘She’s not just a pretty face and a good doctor, you know.’

      You can say that again, Nic thought. I just wish she’d let me close enough to find out for myself.

      ‘Hey, Lucy. You’ve got another convert to kahk,’ Rosemary said.

      Nic nearly choked on his cake. Since when had his radar stopped working and neglected to let him know that Lucy was in the same building, let alone a couple of feet away? He just about managed to retain his composure. ‘Lucy, hi. These are very good. Unusual filling.’

      ‘Walnuts, honey and sesame seeds,’ she said.

      And made by her. Was she still professional and orderly and neat when she cooked, or did she let her guard down? Did she push her hair out of her eyes and end up with a dusting of flour on the end of her nose? Did she filch bits of her favourite ingredients? Did those ice-blue eyes turn into the colour of sunny skies as she relaxed?

      Nic had a vision of her in his kitchen, and himself removing her blue-and-white striped butcher’s apron before—

      ‘Are you all right, Nic?’ Rosemary asked.

      Hell. He’d actually moaned aloud at the thought of Lucy in very close proximity to him. He flushed and covered his confusion by taking a third piece. ‘I have this thing about dolci—sweet things. And these are to die for. Oh-h-h,’ he said, hamming it up and hoping that Rosemary hadn’t guessed what he’d really been thinking about.

      Making love with his registrar.

      ‘You’ll end up looking like our mums-to-be if you eat them at that rate—especially when it can’t be more than half an hour since you had your breakfast,’ Lucy informed him sweetly—then disappeared