Partners By Contract

She didn’t know how long it took for the thundering in her ears to become a gentle roar or her vocal chords to thaw.

She cleared her throat and willed her lips to form a casual smile.

‘Hello, Con.’ No needy tremor—thank goodness—just a slight huskiness.

He didn’t respond and, very conscious of the watching eyes, Phoebe moved forward with a firm, confident tread that belied her inner turmoil. She thought about extending her hand, but had second thoughts. It would be too embarrassing if he refused to accept the gesture of friendship. She thrust it instead into the pocket of her fitted trousers.

She forced herself to look directly at him, the experience about as soothing as plugging herself directly into the national grid.

What changes there had been were subtle—a more pronounced suggestion of muscularity about his broad shoulders and chest, and possibly the fine lines that radiated from spectacular eyes and bracketed his firm sensual mouth were more deeply engrained than they had been four years ago—but essentially he was still the same Con that Phoebe recalled.

Not a person prone to self-deception, Phoebe didn’t have the luxury of pretending even to herself that it was only shock that had sent her nervous system spiralling out of control. She’d often wondered how she’d cope if she saw him again. Now she knew—she wouldn’t! This wasn’t information she felt any desire to share.

‘You two know one another...?’ Will looked from one to the other, a perplexed expression on his pleasant face.

‘You could say that. We lived together for three years.’ This casual bombshell was delivered totally straight-faced. Not unnaturally, it caused jaws to drop. ‘How are you, Phoebe?’

If that had been a deliberate attempt to unsettle her, he needn’t have bothered—she was already semi-catatonic. Against a backdrop of thunderous heart-pounding Phoebe gave a brittle smile.

‘I’m fine...just fine.’ She prayed she wouldn’t prove herself a liar by falling in a heap on the floor. ‘Such a surprise...’ she gulped. No lie this time!

She’d spent the last four years filling the gap this man had left in her life. Now she knew how spectacularly unsuccessful she’d been.

‘For me, too.’ Their gazes meshed. Phoebe flinched. Connor’s expression didn’t suggest that the surprise had been a pleasant one. She’d anticipated some residual hostility, maybe even a dollop of cringing embarrassment if and when they eventually met up again, but not this level of cold, savage fury.

‘We shared a flat as students, though Con was a couple of years ahead of me.’

If Con wasn’t going to go into details, neither was she. Their audience heard her hasty explanation with a disappointed air.

‘This is quite a coincidence, Con.’

‘Is that what it is?’

Her chin went up. ‘You always were the sharp one,’ she responded tensely. ‘The truth is out, folks,’ she announced flippantly. ‘I’ve been stalking the man for years—on account of his magnetic personality and startling good looks, you understand.’

Her words were greeted with general laughter. Phoebe hoped that the person her words had been aimed at had received the message. All she needed now was for Con to run away with the idea she had in some way contrived this situation.

‘That’s our leader all right,’ Grace agreed, blowing a kiss in his direction before heading off with her student in tow. Connor’s eyes stayed on Phoebe’s face as Fran hugged him, then his gaze drifted reluctantly away.

‘You should have said you knew Con, Phoebe,’ Will said, a puzzled frown knitting his brow.

‘Oh, we lost touch years ago.’ She glanced at her watch and murmured a realistic-sounding squeal of horror. ‘Is that the time already?’

‘I expect she didn’t think I’d recognise her,’ Connor drawled.

How could he joke about it? Talk about bad taste! Phoebe shot him a reproachful look and discovered that his expression wasn’t nearly as careless as his tone. His brooding examination sent an electrical surge through her tense frame.

‘Heavens, I’m running late! I must dash,’ she babbled. No longer caring if Will thought her behaviour odd, she did just that, as fast as her long legs would carry her.

Her heart was thumping, only not from the burst of speed, by the time she inserted the key shakily in the lock of the car door. This is all my fault, she thought. Why didn’t I turn and run the moment I realised that Connor worked here? Oh, she’d spent plenty of time rationalising the decision, but the bottom line was that she’d known all along it had been crazy and self-indulgent to stay.

She stood still for a few moments, waiting for waves of nausea to pass. When they did she hastily slid into the driver’s seat, glancing nervously over her shoulder as she did so. A showdown was inevitable but she wanted to choose the time and place. She was about to drive away when Will thumped the roof of her car. She let out a cry and jumped a mile.

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,’ Will said as the window slid down.

‘Well you did!’ she barked. ‘Sorry, Will, I’m just...I hate being late,’ she ended lamely.

Easygoing Will brushed aside her stumbling apology. ‘I was wondering, Phoebe, are you calling in on Rob Marlow this morning?’

‘I thought I would, yes.’

Phoebe was relieved the conversation had turned to more professional matters. Here at least she felt in control. Rob Marlow had been the first patient she’d seen at Hayfield. It had taken Phoebe about two seconds to see beyond his outward aggressive behaviour to the fearful young man beneath.

‘We’ve been discussing the idea of him getting used to using a long stick now while his sight is still reasonable.’

The young computer programmer had been diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, a congenital inherited degenerative eye condition, some years before, but up until recently he’d been able to lead a normal life as night blindness had been the only manifestation of the disease. Over the previous months, however, Rob had lost a significant degree of peripheral vision, leaving him with tunnel vision.

Will looked impressed. ‘When I suggested a white stick, he told me in no uncertain terms what I could do with it.’

‘I think the counselling is helping him come to terms with things,’ Phoebe responded modestly.

‘Bad timing, the fiancée walking out on him like she did. Hardly surprising the poor bloke went into denial.’

Phoebe nodded. ‘I’m sure she had her reasons,’ she agreed diplomatically. From things Rob had let slip, she suspected that ‘pushed’ rather than ‘walked’ would have been a more accurate description. ‘But,’ she continued on a genuinely upbeat note, ‘Rob’s one of life’s survivors. He seems determined to make the most of what sight he eventually retains.’

‘Good, good!’ Will approved benignly. ‘And if you’re heading out that way, would you mind dropping Con off at his place? It’s only a mile or so past the Marlows’ farm. I wouldn’t ask but I’ve got a clinic, and the idiot came straight here from the airport. And if you know Con, you’ll know he must be feeling pretty hellish if he admits to feeling off-colour. Here he is now...’

Phoebe’s smile became fixed as the tall, achingly familiar figure appeared, making his way towards them. The way he moved was as firmly lodged in her brain as the sound of his voice, the gold tips of the ends of his long eyelashes or the shape of his elegant hands. Right now his loose-limbed elegance was severely hampered by his injury, but it didn’t stop a stab of pure sexual longing from jolting through her with the force of a lightning bolt.

Nothing had changed! It wasn’t the best moment to discover that she’d been successfully in denial for the last four years. Her first instinct was to drive away and leave them both standing there—such a shame she couldn’t follow it.

‘Fine, Will,’ she responded, a little wild-eyed.

Connor endured his partner’s fussing with growing impatience and a noticeable lack of gratitude. His temper snapped when Will readjusted the passenger seat yet again.

‘I’ve plenty of room for my damned leg!’

‘He was only trying to help,’ Phoebe remonstrated, sparing her passenger a disapproving glare before she started the engine.

‘He’s an old woman!’ Connor grouched.

‘He’s a warm and caring person, and very dedicated—a perfect GP,’ Phoebe corrected in a shaky voice. Will brought out the maternal instinct in most women and Phoebe was no exception.

‘Since when,’ she asked, an antagonistic note creeping into her strained voice, ‘did you want to be a GP anyhow?’ Four years ago he’d just been made a senior registrar in one of the top neurological units in the country. If he’d stayed on that course he would undoubtedly have been a consultant now and, more importantly, he wouldn’t be here in her car, filling it with a warm, sexy Con smell.

‘Perhaps I was inspired by Will. Of course, I can’t aspire to his level of dedication but, despite my lack of warmth, some people think I’m quite good at the job,’ he drawled sarcastically.

Phoebe had never doubted it, and if she had, a day of treating his patients would have put her straight. They’d all made it quite clear that Connor wasn’t just a hard act to follow—he was an impossible act to follow!

‘You’re good at everything, Con,’ she observed with a resigned little sigh. Especially kissing...he was excellent at kissing. Don’t go there Phoebe. Don’t think about his mouth...don’t think about anything!

‘Except being a husband.’

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