One Month to Become a Mum. Louisa George

to the sink.

      She shrugged him off. Perfecting the art of keeping her distance from tall, overconfident men had taken a lot of willpower over the last two years. She had no intention of changing that now, melting eyeballs or not. ‘Seriously, I’m fine. I can manage.’

      ‘Good job I came back when I did. Chlorine fumes can make you pretty sick. You look cold.’

      ‘Geez, I wonder why.’

      He wrapped a towel around her shoulders, apparently oblivious to her shrugging or sarcasm.

      In fact, he was surprisingly gentle. Assured and persistent. With a tender touch. Three qualities she’d once admired in a man, then learnt to avoid at all costs. A heady mix experience told her was a recipe for disaster.

      Please go. Jessie clutched the towel tightly round her middle, wishing she had something more appropriate to wear. Even though her swimsuit almost covered her from neck to knee, and looked like something Great-Auntie Joan might have worn back in the day, she felt sure her scars were visible. She tried to steal a look but the pain was worse if she moved her eyeballs. ‘I’ve travelled the world on my own. I can manage an eye bath.’

      ‘Stop arguing and tip your head over the basin. I promised Zac I’d look after you.’

      ‘I’m not sure blinding his sister was quite what he had in mind.’ Even though her eyes burnt like merry hell she couldn’t help responding to the surprise of his laughter. It had a deep quality to it that resounded around the kitchen, absorbing her ill humour. She couldn’t stop a giggle as she held her palms up. ‘Okay, I’m tipping. I’m tipping.’

      ‘Are you always this melodramatic? I’m only trying to help.’ Whereas most men ran a mile from her barbed comments, Luke seemed amused. Why weren’t her well-honed distancing techniques working today?

      ‘You’d be more help if you left.’

      ‘Yes, quite the drama queen. Zac didn’t warn me about that.’

      ‘How dare …?’ Ice water trickled down her face and silenced her retort. It was directed expertly into her eyes and down her hairline. Captain Grump supported her head, stroking her wet hair out of the way, his face only inches from hers. His breath, quickening with every movement, grazed her throat.

      Hard muscles brushed against her hip as he curled around her to fill the measuring cup. Warm hands cupped her face as he wiped the water dripping down her chin.

      At his touch a weird kind of buzz zinged along her nerve pathways. A buzz that made her want to see his features properly, the colour of his eyes.

      Jessie swallowed. Get a grip. Since when did eye colour matter? He was an overbearing doctor with little regard for personal space. Although, she conceded, he’d probably see it as dealing with minor trauma.

      The last time she was this close to a guy she’d been pumelling Michael’s doughy backside with her fists after discovering him having desk sex with the admin assistant. A direct result, he’d insisted, of Jessie’s inability to meet his needs.

      Looking back, she chose to see the scenario as funny, but she’d learnt the hard way about bombastic doctors with soft hands. So buzzing and zinging were totally off limits.

      She shoved both the tacky image of Michael’s dimpled bottom and Captain Grump away, then dried her eyes on the towel, grappling for breathing space.

      ‘That’s great now. Thanks. You can go.’

      ‘Aw, and I was having so much fun.’ His own sarcasm wasn’t missed by her. ‘I’m going. But if your eyes don’t get better, you should get them checked over.’

      ‘You betcha.’

      ‘And if you need anything, just holler.’

      ‘Will do.’

      ‘And Zac asked me to show you around.’

      ‘Another time.’ Like never?

      ‘Sure.’ He sounded relieved. ‘We’re just across the way, the old white villa.’

      Across the way. Great, she’d moved into Wisteria Lane. All nosey neighbours and picture-perfect families. Just what she didn’t need. Still, at least that meant he was probably married with a dozen kids—thank the Lord. Someone else to bother with his electric touch and alluring scent.

      She’d make sure she wouldn’t need anything. ‘Absolutely, next time I want my eyes burning out of my skull I’ll be right over.’

      Through the haze she noted a half-smile.

      ‘Otherwise I’ll meet you in the cul de sac, Monday, eight o’clock sharp. I can show you the main sights, bring you up to speed with the practice on the drive to work.’ He turned and walked to the door, his long legs covering the distance in no time.

      ‘Hey, wait …’ The familiar unease Jessie thought she’d conquered tightened in her stomach. Get in a car with him? Get in a car, period? Her worst nightmare.

      Flying, cycling, walking. She could do those, no problem. But driving in an unfamiliar car? Not if she could help it. ‘I’d planned to walk. Zac said it’s not far.’

      ‘We’re always busy Monday morning and I’ve a lot to tell you. Eight o’clock.’ His smile melted and his voice became serious and controlled.

      Clearly he was a man used to getting his own way. He stood filling the doorway, one hand resting on the wall. The other hung at his side. Capable hands. Safe. No doubt his driving skills were satisfactory. Surely. Besides, she didn’t know the route. Driving would be fine. She shrugged her agreement. Just this once.

      Much against her better judgement, Jessie found herself in the cul de sac, clenching and unclenching her fists, Monday morning at eight o’clock. Sharp.

      As far as first days went, this was turning into a real doozie. Right up there with the first day of her first period and the first day of double braces.

      Damn and double damn.

      She glimpsed him on the first-floor decking. ‘Hey, Luke. Could I have a quick word before we go?’

      He peered down over the neat wisteria-clad balcony. ‘Sure. You okay, Jessie?’

      ‘No, I’m not okay. Can you come down here?’ Sliding her hands on her hips, she drew herself up to her full five feet three. So not enough. ‘This feels like a scene from a Shakespeare play. And you’re not pretty enough to be Juliet.’

      In what felt like a nano-second he was towering over her. She gulped. Actually—mortifyingly—gulped. Pretty didn’t come close. Try devastating.

      He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of a razor-blade advert, all proud jaw, taut muscles and tight thighs. Neat and functional dark cropped hair, the complete opposite of her chaotic mop. A pale blue polo shirt and dark grey chinos completed the look of casual professionalism. Every inch the perfect community doctor. Her heart kicked into super-hyper-majorly fast tachycardia.

      Her lips dried. Her mouth dried. She spluttered.

      Breathe. She found her self-control and pushed it centre stage. No way was she going to be bamboozled by a pretty face. Not again. Dragging a hand across her stomach, she felt the ridged skin and shoved back the memories. Nothing like a gnarly scar to keep a girl centred.

      ‘Don’t worry, forget it. We’re going to be late.’

      ‘Whoa!’ Luke’s eyebrows peaked as he so obviously tried to hide a smirk. And failed. ‘Man. Your hair.’

      ‘That obvious, huh?’ Her heart sank. ‘You and your hefty dose of chlorine have turned my hair …’

      ‘Green? This is bad.’ Bad? Judging by the grin splitting his irritatingly gorgeous chiseled cheeks, this was the most fun he’d had with a locum for a while.

      ‘Go