Tempted by Dr. Daisy (4 page)

Here we go again, she thought, and her heart sank. ‘Because you want to get back with her and she won't play ball?'

‘No way. To be near Florence, so I can take an active role in her day-to-day life. There's no way we're getting back together—'

‘I've heard that before, too,' she said bluntly, still curiously reeling with disappointment, but that was silly. He'd said nothing, done nothing. No lies, no promises. He hadn't spun her any kind of line at all, unlike Mike. He'd just been himself, easy, charming, relaxed, funny, and she'd—what? Fallen for him? Even though she'd known he was trouble? ‘But
I
mean it. We won't be getting back together. Our marriage was a disaster and I have no intention of revisiting it. The only reason I've moved up here is for Florence, and she has to come first before anything.'

‘Well, good. It's refreshing to hear a father say that,' she said with feeling, ‘but I can't see what it's got to do with us.'

‘It's why there won't be an “us”, in any meaningful way,'
he said gently. ‘I owe it to Florence to make her life as uncomplicated and normal as it can be for a little girl with two parents who can't live with each other, and amongst other things, that means no “aunties” drifting in and out of her life, so if you're harbouring any illusions about this going any further, then I'm sorry, Daisy, I'm not in the market for it.'

Harbouring any illusions? The only illusion she'd harboured was the notion that he might be free and unencumbered. Not
a father
! How could she have been so naïve that it hadn't even occurred to her?

And now she knew he had a daughter, there was no way she'd touch him with a bargepole! She'd been here before, and two little girls had been desperately hurt when he'd decided he loved his wife after all and she was going to forgive him for his endless indiscretions and have him back.

‘Don't flatter yourself, I'm not harbouring anything,' she told him straight. ‘And the last thing I need in my life is another relationship with a man with a ton of emotional baggage, so relax, Ben. You're safe. I'm not even slightly interested.'

He gave a soft laugh. ‘Well, that's me told,' he said, and wondered why on earth her emphatic rejection should matter quite so much.

‘You don't need to be too injured. Without the baggage I could have been very interested,' she added rashly. ‘I just don't have a death wish, so I don't do family men. One of my rules. Out of curiosity,' she went on, ‘why didn't you tell me about your daughter yesterday?'

He frowned. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't realise it would be such a big deal to you,' he said. ‘I wasn't deliberately keeping her a secret, although I don't talk about her or any other aspect of my private life to people I don't know, but by the time we'd reached a point when I might well have told you,
I wasn't exactly thinking clearly, and neither were you, if you remember.'

Oh, didn't she just—but he'd walked away, in the nick of time.

‘Nothing happened, Ben,' she reminded him firmly, ‘and I don't expect anything to. As I said, I'm not interested.'

His shoulders dropped, and he nodded slowly. ‘Good. I think.'

‘You think?' she asked warily.

He shrugged, his mouth twisting into a fleeting, rueful smile. He ought to leave it alone, really, to drop the subject and move on, but honesty compelled him to explain.

‘I'm torn, Daisy,' he told her. ‘And it sounds like you could be, too. It's a lousy idea, as I said last night, but I'm not made of stone, and I really like you. And in an ideal world—well, it might all be very different. It would be nice to see you outside work, get to know you, spend time with you, but I don't think it would be fair on you. You aren't the kind of girl for a casual fling, and I can't offer you anything more serious at this point in my life. I don't want you getting hurt—I don't want either of us getting hurt, come to that, and I won't have Florence hurt under any circumstances, but there's no future in it for us, and I'm still your colleague—'

‘Well, if we're going to be brutally honest you're my boss,' she pointed out frankly, and he felt his mouth twitch again.

‘I'm still your
colleague
,' he repeated, ‘we have to work together, and I can't afford to jeopardise that. I have to make a success of this job, for my sake and for Florence's, and there's no way I can give you any kind of happy ever after. My marriage really screwed me up. I put everything I had into it, even though I knew it wasn't perfect, but it
wasn't enough, and it nearly tore me apart. I'm never going there again.'

Oh, Ben, she thought. She'd been there, felt the same way when Mike had walked out and taken his daughters with him. She'd done everything she could, and it just hadn't been enough.

‘I'm sorry,' she said softly. ‘I know how that feels, I really do.'

He nodded, and reached out a hand, squeezing her shoulder gently. His touch warmed her, and she wanted to lean into him, to lay her head against his chest and stay there.

Instead she moved away, going to the kettle to put it on.

‘So that's both of us nursing a broken heart.'

‘Nursing a whole heap of disillusion and disappointment,' he corrected quietly, but making a very large and clear note to himself that her heart was broken. ‘And the last thing I need is to get involved with someone with the same history.'

Especially after Jane—Jane, who'd been on the rebound when he'd met her. Never again.

‘You're right. It would be crazy. Ben, I'm hungry, I need to eat,' she said, wondering if it was low blood sugar making her feel a little light-headed, or the conversation. ‘I'm going to heat up this ready meal.'

‘Or we could share a takeaway,' he said, changing tack, not quite ready to end this time with her, needing to get their relationship as friends and colleagues and neighbours firmly on track and lay the ghost of that kiss. ‘I have an ulterior motive. I want to ask your advice about my house.'

She stared at him, bit her lip, shrugged. ‘I don't know that I can be much use, I know very little about your house. Apart from the other day, I've only been in it a few times, and I've never been upstairs except to fetch something for Mrs Leggatt once.'

‘But you know this house, and I love what I've seen of it, which let's face it is pretty much all of it. Come and have a look. I'll order a takeaway, and while it's coming, you can cast your eye over it and tell me what you'd do,' he coaxed. ‘Unless you'd rather not?'

She laughed softly. ‘I'd love to see round it,' she said honestly, and tipped her head on one side. ‘Can we have Chinese?'

‘Sure. Got a menu?'

‘Of course I have. I've got a stack of them. They get put through the door all the time. We're quite civilised round here.'

‘Great. And we can wash it down with the bubbly you gave me yesterday. It seems only fair to share it.'

‘I don't think that would be a good idea,' she said carefully.

‘Maybe not,' he conceded with a rueful smile, and held his hand out. ‘Let's have the menu, then. I'm ravenous.'

 

He saw Florence the following evening.

He couldn't bring her home for the night, which was the eventual plan for Wednesdays, because it was in chaos following the ceiling collapse and would be for some time, so he spent the evening with her at Jane's.

Difficult, because although they'd parted on reasonable terms, it was her house, and technically speaking her night off.

‘Do you mind if I go out?' she asked, and he agreed readily. It would be easier without her, would give him a more relaxed and focussed time with Florence, and would mean less of a change when she did eventually come to him.

So he stayed there with Florence, and he cooked her supper and bathed her, and then tucked her up into bed
and lay beside her with her snuggled into the crook of his arm while he read her a bedtime story.

‘Again,' she said when he'd finished.

He read it again. It was easier than arguing, and easier than reading her another book—because that could lead to another, and another, and another—and he'd been suckered before. Not yet three, and she was a clever little minx.

He adored her.

‘Again,' she said, but sleepily this time, her thumb in her mouth. She'd started nursery school full time because Jane wanted to go back to work, and she was loving it, but she was tired by the end of the day and he guessed that if Jane had been reading the story, she would have fallen asleep sooner.

Bedtime with Daddy was a novelty, though, her time with him limited, and she was often clingy.

So he read it again, and then eased his arm incredibly carefully out from under her head, lowering it to the pillow and kissing her softly on her rosy little cheek as she slept.

‘Goodnight, my precious,' he murmured, smoothing the hair back from her face as his eyes filled. ‘Sleep tight.'

He kissed her again, and left the room, her door ajar and a nightlight on in case she woke, and then he went downstairs and sat on the sofa they'd had in London and watched his old television until Jane came home at ten.

‘Everything all right?' she asked brightly, and there was something in her tone of voice that made him search her face as he got to his feet.

‘Fine. She's asleep. We read
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
three times.'

‘Oh, Ben, you have to learn to say no.'

‘No, I don't. I have to make her happy and bond with her, so she feels secure with me. We spent too much time
apart before I moved up here, and I've got ground to make up. Anyway, reading to her isn't exactly a hardship.'

She nodded, then as he was leaving she said carefully, ‘So, are you planning on sleeping here this weekend?'

‘Yes, if that's all right, otherwise I won't be here when she wakes up, so she'll disturb you and that's not fair.' And he'd miss that lovely morning snuggle. ‘I can't have her at the house for ages, but if it's a problem I can maybe sort something out.'

‘No, it's not a problem. I was just wondering—if you're going to be staying over anyway, do you mind if I'm not here on Saturday night? Well, from Saturday morning to Sunday evening, really.'

There was definitely something different about her. She looked—what? Happier? He shrugged. Why should he mind? It was easier than feeling guilty about ruining her life, and he resisted the urge to ask where she was going. It was none of his business, unless it affected Florence—and it didn't. ‘That's fine. Do whatever. I might bring some washing over to do, if it's OK?'

‘Of course it is—you pay the bills, Ben. And I might have got a job lined up, by the way, which should make things easier. It's not certain yet, but—who knows?'

She smiled, and he realised she did look happy—maybe because of the job, or maybe not. And he also realised he'd never really seen her look this happy before.

What a sad indictment of their marriage. No wonder it had failed so spectacularly.

‘Well, I hope it works out for you,' he said, fishing for his keys in his pocket. ‘Right, I'm off, I'll see you on Friday.'

He drove home, his heart aching at leaving his little daughter behind. He hated not being part of her everyday routine—not sharing her bathtime and bedtime, her break
fast, taking her to nursery, not being there to cuddle her when she woke in the night.

Just not being there for her.

Still, he'd have the weekend alone with her, or most of it, and they'd be able to stay at the house and just chill out together. Maybe he'd buy her a swing and put it up in the garden—or maybe he'd do that at his own house in a few weeks' time, once it was a bit more sorted. Then she'd have a proper home with him here, too, with toys and things, and maybe she'd be a bit more settled.

He pulled up outside, cut the engine and stared longingly at Daisy's house.

The lights were on, and he was so tempted. He hesitated by his front door, debated stepping over the silly little fence and going to see her, and crushed the urge. He couldn't keep going round there. It was self-indulgent and intrusive, not to mention downright dangerous. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and the
last
thing he needed was another woman on the rebound.

And he needed to find something more mentally involving to do at work than have Daisy assist him in Theatre. It gave him too much time to think about her while he operated on auto-pilot.

He'd let her lead tomorrow. He'd have to teach her, then, and there were some interesting cases on his gynae list.

And maybe it would keep his mind a little more firmly on the job and off his obsessive preoccupation with his registrar…

I
T WAS
odd not seeing him after work on Wednesday. Wednesdays were his night for Florence, he said, and he'd be back late.

She didn't miss him. Of course she didn't! She'd only just met him, so how could the house feel empty if he wasn't there? She was just bored, and catching up with the washing—never her favourite task but she needed her dressing gown back and she was running out of underwear. And she'd finally eaten the ready meal, the solitary little portion underlining her pathetic single status.

Not that her status was any different to this time last week, but it somehow
felt
different. It was the kiss that had done it, she thought. The kiss, and talking to him, sharing smiles and the odd joke at work. Going round to his house last night and seeing the full extent of what he'd taken on.

Making friends slowly, day by day.

Actually, not that slowly, and working with him was a privilege and a joy. It was living next to him and wanting the man and not the doctor that was so hard, because if the doctor was wonderful, the man was downright off the scale.

She heard him come in at ten, and she wondered if he'd knock on her door. Bring round a bottle of wine, or ask
her to go there for coffee. And then maybe he'd kiss her goodnight…

She slammed the washing machine door shut, put the iron away and shoved the basket into the corner. She'd deal with the sheets and towels tomorrow, she decided, and went to bed, irritated that he had the power to affect her both with his presence and his absence. Ridiculous!

Anyway, she needed an early night, and the next day she was glad she'd had one. Ben had a busy gynae list and asked her to assist—which meant in practice he got her to lead on several of the ops, so that she did most of the surgery and he held instruments and handled the suction and told her what to do.

It was his job to mentor her after all, and she appreciated it, but he took it very seriously and stretched her to the limit, testing her ability all through the day so that she was exhausted by the time the last patient was in Recovery.

Exhausted and proud of herself, she thought as she showered. She'd done far more than she ever had before, and she'd been able to do it because he had confidence in her.

Unlike Evan, who still double-checked her work and seemed unable to delegate.

She raised it with Ben as they sat in her conservatory drinking tea after she'd got home, and he shrugged. ‘That's his problem,' he said. ‘I don't have any problem delegating to you. I think he lacks confidence in himself, to be honest, and I don't think he's ready to be a consultant. What do you think of this one?'

He'd brought round a bunch of kitchen brochures the plumber had dropped in, and they were flicking through them while they waited for the takeaway to be delivered. Thai, this time, for a change. His choice. His bill again, he
said, as he was commandeering her time to get her advice on his kitchen refit.

It was a safe topic, well clear of the minefield of his personal life—and hers, come to that. Not that she had one, unless you counted the cat. Safer than talking about her feelings, anyway, because she certainly had
them
and they were getting more complex with every passing day.

The food arrived, and it was getting cooler in the conservatory so they ate in the dining room, with soft music in the background and the lights on low.

A mistake, she realised, because it made it very intimate, and suddenly it began to feel like a date, all over again.

He'd brought the bubbly with him as a bribe for her input into his kitchen, and whether it was that, or the intimate atmosphere, or just that the chemistry between them was so all-consuming that it wiped out everything in its path, she didn't know.

All she knew was that everything he said made her laugh, and when he smiled his eyes lit up and his whole face joined in. And he was just so
nice
, so ordinary and yet extraordinary, unlike all the other men she'd ever met before.

They drained the bottle between them—foolish, she thought, on a work night, but after the first sip she was past caring—and she made some coffee and they took it through to the sitting room.

Was it that? Returning to the scene of the crime? Or was it the bubbly? She didn't know, but when at last he looked at his watch and got to his feet, she followed him to the door and he turned and took her in his arms and hugged her briefly.

‘Thank you, Daisy. You did amazingly well today. And you've been really helpful over all this kitchen planning
nonsense. I couldn't have done it without you, I wouldn't have thought of half those points.'

‘You're welcome. I have just done it, so I know what the pitfalls are. And thank
you
, anyway. You bought the dinner—again. And you shared the bubbly.'

His mouth twitched into a smile. ‘But I stole your brains. Fair exchange.'

He had. Stolen her brains. All of them. If he hadn't, she wouldn't have gone up on tiptoe and kissed him, touching her lips lightly to the corner of that smiling mouth, the slight rasp of stubble on his lean, male cheek making them tingle. She wouldn't have turned her head so that their lips collided.

And when he groaned and slid his arms around her, she wouldn't have curled hers around his neck and threaded her fingers through his soft, silky hair and given him her mouth.

He took it with a low moan, sipping and tasting and coaxing, and by the time he lifted his head she was beyond coherent thought.

‘Daisy, I have to go,' he said, his voice a little roughened.

No! Stay. Please stay. Make love to me.

Their eyes locked, and he let out a shaky sigh. ‘Don't,' he whispered soundlessly.

‘Don't what?' she croaked, wondering for a hideous second if she could have said it out loud.

‘Don't look at me like that.'

Her heart stuttered. ‘Like what?' she whispered.

‘Like
that
,' he said fervently, cradling her cheek in his palm, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. ‘As if—oh, hell, this is such a lousy idea,' he muttered as his mouth found hers again, and she went up on tiptoe and opened her mouth
to him and whimpered as he took it in a kiss so hungry, so urgent, so fiercely needy that it rocked her world.

‘
Daisy…!
'

The groan tore through him, echoing in her body, ricocheting around inside it and unsettling all her fragile resolve.

She wanted him. It was sheer lunacy, but he was perfect, everything she'd ever wanted in a man, and she needed him
so much
…

‘Ben…'

He lifted his head and searched her eyes, his own almost black with this incredible need that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere and caught them both in its grip.

She moved away a fraction, to give him a chance, and waited, her hand held out to him. For a breathless, endless age he stood there, those dark eyes trapping hers, and then, just when she thought he was going, he lifted his hand, threaded his fingers through hers and locked them tight.

She led him upstairs to her bedroom on legs that could hardly support her weight.

Her case was still lying on the floor, there was a pile of clean underwear on the top of the chest of drawers and her work clothes were scattered all over the carpet where she'd dropped them, but they picked their way through the chaos to the bed, and then he turned her into his arms and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

His eyes were serious. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?'

Sure? Not really. Want? Absolutely. It was the craziest thing she'd done in years, but if she couldn't hold him, touch him, feel him—

She nodded, and he slid his wallet out of his pocket and pulled a little foil packet out and put it on the side. Her lids
fluttered closed. He wasn't going. He was going to stay, going to make love to her.

And how. His fingers gathered up the hem of her top and drew it carefully over her head, his breath catching as he looked down at her, and she was glad she'd washed her favourite bra.

The clip gave to the touch of his hand, and then her breasts were spilling into his hands, and with a deep groan he ducked his head and grazed his lips over the soft, sweet flesh he'd exposed.

He didn't know what he was doing here. He was past caring, past thinking rationally. He just knew he needed Daisy as he'd never needed any woman, and if he didn't have her in the next few minutes, he was going to explode.

And he had a feeling it was mutual.

Her eyes were wild, her soft, sweet lips parted, her head tipped back as he suckled deeply on first one taut, pebbled nipple and then the other.

‘Ben…!'

‘I'm right here, Daisy,' he grated, his breath heaving, his heart trying to escape from his chest, and her hands were on him, pulling his shirt out and flattening her palms against his ribcage, gasping as he tugged down the zip of her jeans and eased them over the ripe, sweet swell of her hips so he could cup her bottom and drag her up against him.

Oh, lord, she was going to go up in flames! His skin was hot, taut over the muscles beneath. She wanted more, wanted to feel the rest of him, wanted to touch him, hold him, look at him, but her fingers were struggling with his belt, and she was whimpering with frustration. If she couldn't get his belt undone—

He swatted her hands aside gently and ripped the shirt off, dealt with the belt and the stud and the zip and shucked
the lot in one hasty and desperate movement, and her legs buckled.

She gasped as he pulled her back into his arms and their bodies came firmly into contact from top to toe. Well, knee. Her jeans were still there, but not for much longer, apparently. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, dropped her into the middle of the bed, stripped off her jeans and came down beside her, the condom in his hands.

‘Let me,' she said, taking it from him with her trembling, uncoordinated fingers. The first intimate touch of her hands made him suck in his breath in a shuddering groan, and then he was rolling her under him and sinking into her, filling her, and her scream cut through the air.

He shifted up a gear, drove into her and felt her rising to meet him, her body straining against his.

‘Ben, please! I need…'

‘I'm here,' he growled. ‘I'm right with you, Daisy. Come with me—please, come with me.'

He felt her body tighten, heard her breath catch as she bucked against him, and then he was lost in a climax so devastating that he thought he might have died.

As the last shudders faded from their taut, sweat-slicked bodies, he rolled them to their sides, gathered her into his arms and closed his eyes.

He felt in shock. Never before. Not like that. He heard her breathing slow, and then another shudder, a tiny one, almost a sob, ran through her and he cradled her gently against his heart and held her while the last of the emotions roiling through them faded to a more manageable level.

Then, and only then, did he open his eyes and move his head so he could see her face.

It was streaked with tears, her eyes soft and luminous, her mouth swollen and rosy from his kisses, and he brushed his knuckles lightly over her cheek.

‘Are you OK?' he murmured.

‘I think so. Not sure. If you let me have my brain back, maybe I can work it out?'

It was so ridiculous he started to laugh, and once he started, he couldn't stop. Neither could she, and they lay there all but sobbing with laughter as the last dregs of emotion ebbed away. Then she lifted her hand and touched his face, her fingertips brushing lightly over the tiny cut above his eyebrow.

‘That was amazing, Ben,' she said softly, and her eyes were so nakedly revealing he felt guilt tear through him, because he shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have touched her, held her, taken that sweet, precious gift she'd offered.

They were destined for disaster. What the hell had he been thinking about?

He closed his eyes and rolled away from her. ‘I need to deal with this,' he said, and headed for the bathroom, leaving her lying there feeling a little foolish and vulnerable in the aftermath of so much raw emotion. She scooted under the quilt and sat up, hugging her knees, waiting for him to come back from the bathroom and tell her it had all been a mistake.

As if she didn't know that!

Or she could get up, put on her dressing gown and go downstairs and clear the dining table.

‘Daisy.'

Damn. Too slow.

She looked up, her eyes lingering on his body, making an inventory, storing up the memories. This wouldn't happen again. She knew that. He was about to tell her that, just as soon as he'd pulled on his clothes and that beautiful, perfectly honed body was hidden from her eyes.

Or partly. Dressed only in the jeans, he sat on the edge of
the bed and took her hand, pulling it away from its death-grip on the quilt and folding it inside his own.

Here we go,
she thought.
The gentle put-down.

‘That was incredible,' he said softly. ‘And I want to stay, to make love to you all night, but it isn't going to happen. It can't happen. I'm going home to get a decent night's sleep, and in the morning we'll go to work and act as if nothing's changed, and then afterwards we'll talk about it, OK?'

She swallowed. ‘It's OK, Ben, I know it was a mistake.'

His thumb stroked her wrist. ‘It was, but we've done it now, and it's changed things, and I don't think we can really just put them back the way they were. We have to find a way to move forwards from this.'

She nodded. They did, but she couldn't imagine how. She didn't know what she wanted, she just knew nothing so special had ever happened to her and she was in no way finished with it, but of course nothing had really changed. It was just different, but it still had no future, and a feeling of impending loss settled over her.

‘We'll talk tomorrow,' she agreed. ‘I'll cook for you.'