Bachelor Dad, Girl Next Door

‘Cubicle three is empty.’ Still grinning, he moved to one side and stood with his back pressed against the shelf. Did he think she was going to squeeze past him? No way.

‘After you.’

He shrugged. ‘Sure.’

She breathed a sigh when he moved but it was short-lived relief. With his back to her, she could appreciate the broadness of his shoulders, the way his torso tapered to his waist and hips, the long, long legs, the easy way he moved. Her mouth felt suddenly dry.

Just outside the door, he turned, looking back at her, one brow raised quizzically. She realised her feet were still planted in the middle of the supply-room floor. Silently cursing her distraction, she tightened her fingers on the clipboard and hurried to catch up.

She walked stiffly to the curtained area, aware of him striding beside her. His lithe, trim body moving smoothly. Unlike her limbs, which felt all angles and awkward gracelessness.

Perched on the edge of the bed, she watched him bend to wash his hands. Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the denim pulling over the line of his buttocks. When he straightened to rip a piece of paper towel from the dispenser, she looked away quickly.

As he stepped in front of her, she let the deep breath she’d taken trickle out. This was a professional examination, one colleague of another.

Hospital director of staff doctor.

It would only take a few minutes.

‘Look past me. You know the drill, hmm? Focus on a point on the wall.’ He raised his hand and shone a thin beam of light into her eyes.

‘Have you had bleeding from the nose before?’

‘Um, a couple of times.’ She was acutely aware of his face near hers as he assessed her pupil.

‘Recently?’

‘No.’

‘How long ago?’ He moved to her other eye and again bent towards her to do the examination.

‘Oh, um. Years.’ Then she remembered the exact occasion.

The landmine blast which had killed Peter.

And killed her future. Nausea rushed down on her, sweat popped out of her pores leaving her clammy and chilled. ‘It…was…um, a—a couple of years.’

There was a small silence.

‘Are you all right, Terri? You’ve gone very pale.’

The blood abruptly rushed back to her head, filling her face with heat, sweeping away the faintness.

‘Yes. Yes. Really, I’m fine.’ At least he hadn’t commented on her stumbling hesitation. ‘You—you asked about nosebleeds. It’s been a couple of years.’

‘Nothing since?’ He frowned as he straightened up, seeming to weigh her response for dissimulation.

She looked away from the measuring blue eyes. The last of the nausea receded. ‘No.’

‘How heavy were your previous bleeds?’

She frowned and pulled back, pulling herself together at the same time. ‘I’ve had a tiny nosebleed here, not an arterial haemorrhage.’

‘Yes, of course.’ He appeared to shake himself mentally as he slipped the penlight back into his top pocket. ‘I’m going to examine your cheek.’

‘Fine,’ she said through tight lips, closing her eyes, hoping to shut him out, so close, so threatening to her peace of mind. A rustle of fabric, the tiniest feather of air across her skin. Had he moved closer? Just the thought made her heart kick into a frantic, irregular rhythm. She was too scared to open her eyes to check.

A few tense seconds passed. Why didn’t he just get on with it?

Then the subtle torture began. Gentle probing fingers travelled down her nose, across her cheekbone, around her eye socket.

Nasal bone, glabella, maxilla, zygomatic.

Breathe in and out. In and out. Perhaps if she recited the muscles. There were so many of them…

She couldn’t think of a single name.

Closing her eyes had been a bad idea. Sure, it meant she couldn’t see him but the other sensory information was overwhelming. The heat of his body reached out to her. His smell—part soap, part tantalising masculine musk—surrounded her. Small whispery sounds of each inhalation, exhalation. How much more measured and normal his breathing was than hers.

His touch was warm and deft. The skin beneath his fingertips was alive with nerve endings. Nearby cells seemed to quiver in anticipation of their turn.

She swallowed, feeling so thoroughly shaken now that she didn’t dare open her eyes lest he read her ragged state.

Think of something else. Now!

Work. The emergency department.

‘How’s Uncle Mick?’ she said, dismayed to hear her breathlessness.

‘Uncle Mick?’ He sounded preoccupied. ‘Oh, yes. Mick.’

After a moment, he cleared his throat. ‘I’m just waiting for the blood results to come back. Particularly the sodium level. I noticed you had a half-strength saline bag standing by.’

‘Yes.’ She pushed the answer out, working hard to keep her tone even. Concentrate on work, on the technicalities. That would surely bring her back to an even keel. ‘I was worried about hyperosmolar hyperglycaemia.’

His fingers stopped moving, the tips resting softly on her skin. The moment hung, oddly alive with possibilities. Had he finished?

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked straight into his, so close. He looked almost puzzled. His pupils were huge, making his eyes dark and intense. For a second, she thought she read a match to her own helpless awareness in the inky depths. Was it real? Or was she desperately trying to see something so she’d feel better? Something to tell her that she wasn’t the only one caught by this sensual spell?

Hard on the heels of that thought, she realised it would be better if the weakness was hers alone. How much more difficult might it be to resist the temptation to explore this if she knew he felt the same way.

‘Dr Daniels?’ Dianne’s voice broke the spell.

Shock shuddered all the way to Terri’s toes.

Luke snatched his hands away from her face as though she were contaminated. He blinked and the earlier, intense look was gone. Now his expression was easy to read. Shock, plain and simple.

‘The lab’s just rung through the results for the sodium and blood sugar on Mick Butler,’ said Dianne, seeming not to notice anything amiss.

Terri felt heat rushing to her face. She wanted nothing more than to cover her cheeks with her hands. Bowing her head, she brushed a crease on her scrubs.

‘Results. Yes. Good.’ Luke cleared his throat. His apparent discomfort was a small balm to Terri’s frazzled system. ‘Er, what are they?’

‘Sodium, one hundred and forty. Glucose, twenty-four.’

‘Right. Thanks, Dianne.’ The rasp had gone from his voice. ‘We won’t need to change to the half-strength normal saline.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Terri saw him dig his hands into his jeans pockets.

‘How’s your nose, Terri?’ asked Dianne. ‘That was a real thump Mick gave you.’

‘I’m fine.’ Terri looked up, making her lips stretch into what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘No lasting damage. Just a bit tender.’

‘Are you sure?’ Dianne’s hazel eyes searched her face.

‘Yes.’ Oh, God, think of something to say, before Dianne says anything else. The woman was a fantastic emergency department nurse but no diplomat. But Terri’s rattled brain didn’t produce anything in time.

‘You’re looking very flushed. Almost feverish. Do you think you’ve got a temperature? Will you be all right to stay on duty?’

Terri scowled as she slipped off the bed. ‘Yes, of course I’ll be right to work the rest of the shift. If I look flushed it’s because the two of you are looking at me as though I’m something squashed on a microscope slide. Perhaps you could both take yourselves off and find some other poor specimen to peer at.’

Unconcerned by the tart response, Dianne grinned then delivered her parting comment. ‘You’re going to have a shiner.’

‘Such a good look for an accident and emergency doctor,’ Terri muttered. She glanced at Luke. ‘Are you going home now?’

‘Will you be okay for the rest of the night?’ His voice was low and warm.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said briskly. She needed to take herself in hand. His concern was professional. She couldn’t let that lovely, rich voice fill her with this inappropriate neediness. ‘Thanks for your help and, um, for catching me.’

‘No problems.’ He smiled briefly. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’

She watched him go. If her roiling confusion was anything to judge by, it was going to be a physically and mentally draining twelve months.

Perhaps it was time to consider moving on. Her contract only had six months left. But she didn’t want to move. She’d been thinking about extending her contract. It felt wonderful to be home. Comfortable, safe, reassuring after the trauma she’d been through. It felt like the best place for her while she got back on her feet.

Port Cavill had everything. Wonderful people, gorgeous setting, a great hospital, a world-class motorcycle track.

Unfortunately, it also had Luke.

But it only had Luke for a year. Could she survive that long?

CHAPTER FOUR

TERRI’S cottage door was open but there was no answer to his knock. Through the window, Luke could see the small sitting room. A subdued golden glow from the lamp made it cosy and welcoming in the dusk. A far cry from the cramped and messy look he’d cultivated while using the cottage as his bachelor pad in his late teens.

He hesitated. She couldn’t be far away, perhaps down on the beach. Should he follow her down there? Perhaps he should take her absence as an opportunity to slide away unnoticed. He’d been calling himself all the fools under the sun for coming down here anyway…

But when his feet moved it was to follow the path around the cottage, past her bike tucked in the rickety garage.

The shushing of waves grew steadily louder as he approached the line of trees edging the grounds. He picked his way through the grove and paused on the open sand, breathing in the salty tang of the ocean. Moonlight washed the scene with a ghostly aura.

A short distance away, Terri stood at the edge of the water, her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. A floppy knitted top clung to her slender curves. Her head tilted slightly as she stared out to sea. She paid no heed to the wave ripple creeping towards her naked toes. At the last moment it paused and slid away again without daring to touch.

She seemed lonely, sad. He had a powerful urge to reach out to her, to offer comfort. Or was it something else?

He’d kissed her on this very spot. Hard to believe it was a dozen years in the past. He could remember how she tasted. Sweet with a promise of spice.

‘Remember the night of the schoolies’ party?’ The question was out before he could think better of it. She had a powerful effect on him—a walk down memory lane with her was a torment he could do without. Besides, that night didn’t reflect well on him.

‘Of course.’ Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. Dark shadows from the bruising beneath her eyes made her look mysterious, almost exotic, reminding him how little he knew about her.

‘I wasn’t kind to you that night.’ He’d wanted to take what she’d offered…and more. Much more. He’d wanted to grab, to hold on, to lose himself in her sweetness, her gentle sympathy. Somehow, he’d found the sanity and strength to pull back, to send her away.

But he hadn’t done it graciously.

She shrugged and looked away. ‘I wasn’t asking for your kindness. I only wanted to talk to you about getting a medical degree.’

‘I know.’ He frowned. Had the kiss that came back to haunt him after all these years meant nothing to her? She sounded so indifferent that he felt an inexplicable urge to push, to get a reaction from her. ‘I’m surprised I didn’t put you off.’

‘You weren’t that bad.’ She took her hands out of her pockets and bent to pick something up.

He swallowed, unable to look away from the unconscious provocation of jeans pulled tight against her curved buttocks. The knitted top rode up, exposing a small wedge of pale skin, gone in a flash as she straightened. She bent to examine a curved shell in her long fingers, her face hidden by a curtain of wavy dark hair. It was a little shorter now than it had been when he’d buried his fingers in it twelve years ago.

He pulled his mind back to the conversation.

‘Wasn’t I?’ Perhaps the incident loomed much larger in his mind because sobriety the following day had brought sneaking shame at his behaviour. ‘That isn’t how I remember it.’

‘You were grieving for your cousin.’ She slanted him a look as she pushed the thick curls back over her shoulder.

‘This must be a first for gender interaction.’ He huffed out a small laugh, feeling irrationally frustrated with her. ‘I’m trying in a roundabout way to apologise for the things I said and you’re busy making excuses for me. I took my anger out on you.’

She grinned at him, her teeth gleaming in the subdued light. ‘Would you feel better if I said you’d been callous and cruel and I’ve never recovered? That I’m bitter and twisted with an abiding fear of beaches?’

He felt suddenly foolish. ‘Maybe not.’ But he realised that some tiny part of him wanted a sign that their exchange on that long-ago evening had meant something to her…even as he recognised his folly.

Her hands tipped the shell from palm to palm as she contemplated him for a moment. ‘Want to walk?’ she said, waving a hand vaguely along the beach. ‘Just along to the rocks and back.’

‘Sure.’ He levered off his runners and hooked his fingers into the heels. Sand sifted between his toes in a soft caress. When Terri moved away, he fell into step with her.

The gentle sibilance of the waves filled a small silence. He felt an odd mixture of relaxation and intense awareness of every move that she made.

‘You said something important to me that night.’ Her voice was deliciously husky, easy to listen to.

‘Now I am worried. Wisdom brewed in a beer bottle.’ He grimaced. Should he be embarrassed or pleased that she apparently remembered something after all? ‘What pearl did I drop?’

‘That one of the hardest lessons is not being able to save everyone.’

‘Ah. Yes.’ An echo of his harsh feelings trickled through his memory. Such bitterness and anger at the senselessness of his cousin’s death. What chance had Terri had to soothe his pain? Yet she’d tried after he’d pushed everyone else away. And she’d succeeded to a degree. Their kiss had distracted him. It was that he remembered most clearly about that night, not his grief.

‘You were right. Failure can be hard to live with.’ She sounded sombre. Was she thinking about her husband? Had she tried to save him after the explosion? He was trying to frame a diplomatic question when she said, ‘You were talking about Kevin, weren’t you?’

A shadow darkened his mood for a moment. His cousin had been young, full of promise, full of male bravado—a reflection of himself. ‘Mmm. I was still pretty raw.’

She tilted her head to look at him. ‘You were very close?’

‘We grew up together.’ The simple sentence couldn’t begin to describe their relationship. His throat grew thick. ‘Mum used to say that we were more like twins than cousins.’

They reached the rocks and silently turned to retrace their steps.

She stopped to throw the shell into the water then scrubbed her hands together. When she turned her gaze met his. ‘Dad said you were working on Kevin when he arrived at the scene.’

He’d forgotten that her father had been the local police sergeant at the time. It’d been her father who had pulled him away from Kevin’s body when the paramedics had arrived. A band of stiffness tightened around his larynx. He cleared his throat. ‘It wasn’t enough.’

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