Tempted by Dr Daisy. Caroline Anderson

scrub top on the way through to the changing rooms after he’d delivered Clare.

      Nothing to do with that at all …

      They went to the bistro on the waterfront.

      It had uninterrupted views of the sea, good food and it was close enough to walk to.

      Not that they could see the sea, really, this late in the evening, but they could hear it as they walked along the prom, the soft rush of the waves surging up the shore, the suck on the shingle as the water receded, and they could smell it, the tang of salt sharp in the moist air.

      ‘I love the sea,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think I could live anywhere landlocked.’

      ‘You want to try the Yorkshire Dales. It takes a good hour or more to get to the coast.’

      ‘But it’s worth it when you get there, surely? Doesn’t Yorkshire have lovely beaches?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Gorgeous. And Lancashire, on the west coast. It’s just a bit of an expedition. London wasn’t any better.’

      ‘Is that where you’ve just come from?’ she asked, trying not to be nosy but failing.

      He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the streetlights. ‘For my sins. How about you? Are you Yoxburgh born and bred?’

      ‘No. I’ve only been here two years. I’ve got a friend working here, and she persuaded me to come.’

      ‘Good move?’

      ‘Oh, yes, for all sorts of reasons. Nice town, and the hospital’s great, much nicer to work in than my previous one, and—well, further from someone I needed space from.’

      Now why had she brought that up? Idiot! She could see the question forming in his eyes, but she was saved from having to explain by their arrival at the restaurant, and by the time they were seated and the waiter had given them menus and water and a basket of warm, squashy bread, they’d moved on.

      Thankfully.

      ‘So why obstetrics?’ he asked her, reaching for the bread.

      ‘I love it. Less keen on the gynae, except some of the surgery’s quite interesting and technically challenging, but mostly it’s the babies. Making a difference, saving such vulnerable little lives—I’m a sucker for it. The friend I told you about’s a midwife, and I guess she influenced me a bit. You?’

      He shrugged. ‘All sorts of reasons, really. My father’s a vet and my brother and I used to go out with him on calls sometimes when we were kids. We helped with the lambing and the calving, and sometimes there’d be a foal, and I just loved it. And of course all the cats and dogs had litters, and we always watched them giving birth, and my mother’s a midwife, so when I went into medicine it just seemed the obvious choice. My brother’s an obstetrician, too, but he’s a bit more focussed on his career than me.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘It’s been a bit difficult recently. Life sort of threw a spanner in the works.’

      ‘That’s divorce for you,’ she said without thinking, and could have bitten her tongue off, but he just shrugged again and smiled sadly.

      ‘Yes, it is. Are you divorced?’

      ‘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 cafetière 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 cafetière 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