The Playboy Doctor's Marriage Proposal

His gaze overrode his brain, taking control of its focus and sliding from her face to the stripes that hinted at breasts he’d never noticed before. Quickly realising what he was doing, he zoomed his vision back to her face.

Tilting her head to the side, she gave him a long, penetrating look, her eyes a study of diffuse emotion. ‘It’s an interesting offer.’

Yes! She was tempted to take it on. Life was good. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Fantastic. I’ll get HR to write up the contract and -’

‘I don’t think so, Linton.’

Her firm words sliced through his euphoria. ‘But—’

‘Thanks anyway for the thought.’ She rolled her lips inwards and nodded her head slightly. ‘So, I guess I’ll see you around.’ She turned and walked away.

The retreating sound of her cowboy boots on the linoleum vibrated through him. He wasn’t used to ‘no’. He didn’t like ‘no’ at all.

CHAPTER TWO

THE strong and greasy aroma of shorn wool hung in the air as Emily vigorously swept the ancient floorboards of the shearing shed, the thump and swish of the broom soothing her jangled nerves.

Linton Gregory wanted her to work for him. For a second she hugged the delicious thought close.

No, Linton Gregory wants you to work in his department for a year. Note the difference.

Ever since she had been a little girl she’d come out to the shearing shed when she’d needed to think. Or to hide. With four brothers to contend with, that had been reasonably often. She’d come and lie in the softness of the offcuts of wool, stare up at the rough-hewn beams, count the tiny sparkles of sunlight that shone though the pinprick holes in the corrugated-iron roof and find a sense of peace.

Now she was all grown up and far too big to lie in the hessian wool bags, so she swept and quarrelled with herself. For the last hour she’d been caught in an argument loop.

His offer is pure expediency. Nothing personal.

And deep down she knew that. Which was why when he’d asked her to work in A and E, she’d said no. Working side by side with Linton had been hard enough twice a year for two weeks. Working side by side five days a week for a year would completely do her in. She’d be an emotional basket case by the end of that time.

Her subconscious snorted. And you’re not now?

She thumped the broom hard against the truth. She’d been a basket case from the first moment she’d laid eyes on Linton one year ago.

And she hated herself for it. She was twenty-five, for heaven’s sake. A crush at fifteen was normal. At twenty it was forgivable. At twenty-five it was laughable in a tragic and pitying way.

Especially after everything she’d been through with Nathan. After that debacle, she’d promised herself she would never be that foolish again. She needed to keep her heart safe. But some promises seemed impossible to keep.

‘Emily? You in there?’ Her eldest brother’s voice hailed her from outside.

She sighed. Her family knew her too well. If she’d really wanted to hide out she should have gone somewhere else. ‘Yes, Mark, I’m here.’

‘Thought you would be. You’ve got a visitor.’

She turned and leaned the broom up against the corrugated-iron wall and called out, ‘OK, I’ll come back to the house.’

‘No need. We can talk here.’

She swung round, her heart pounding wildly like a runaway horse. Her brain immediately recognised that smooth, deep voice which held as many resonant tones as the colours of polished jarrah. Somehow she managed to halt the gasp of astonishment that rocked through her. He was the last person she’d expected. Linton had never visited her at home. In fact, he’d never visited her, full stop.

He leaned casually against the wall, all six feet two of him. His soft-soled Italian leather shoes had been silent against the worn boards more used to the firm tread of boots. His devastating smile hovered on his lips, tinged with the slightest uncertainty. But every other part of him controlled his space with magnetic charisma, from the tips of his blond-brown hair to the hem of his designer trousers.

Emily glanced down at her torn jeans and her brother’s old and faded T-shirt, and groaned inwardly. At the best of times she felt frumpy and gauche, but she was usually in her Flying Doctor’s uniform rather than her hide-from-the-world, comfort clothes.

She tugged at her hair and pasted a welcoming country smile on her face. ‘Linton! What a surprise. What brings you out to Woollara Station?’

He pushed off the wall, toned muscles tensing and relaxing, propelling him forward toward her in one continuous, smooth movement. His lips curved upward into a full smile. ‘I came to talk to you.’

His words rolled over her like warm caramel sauce—sweet and hot, fanning the bone-deep heat that had smouldered inside her from the first moment she’d met him. The ever-familiar wave of warmth hit her, spinning her round before dumping her against the shore, battering every one of her good intentions to stay immune to him.

She fought her dangerous attraction like she always did, using one of a cache of weapons in her arsenal. She dragged in a long, deep breath. Experience had taught her that men didn’t find her attractive, and no way was she going to subject herself to excruciating embarrassment where Linton was concerned. He had no idea she had the world’s worst crush on him and he never would. To him she was just a nurse and a mate—someone to chat to when no tall, gorgeous supermodel types were around.

That wasn’t often.

Tall, willowy women flocked to Linton like moths to a flame. They came from all over the town and the region and the rest of the state. Visitors from Sydney often arrived for a weekend so he was never short of company. He dated a different woman every month.

I came to talk to you. Tamping down her reaction to him, she sternly reminded herself that his natural charm and emphasis on the well-placed words wasn’t personal. She climbed up onto the post rail of one of the sheep pens and stared straight at him, her chin slightly tilted. ‘So, isn’t your phone working?’

He rubbed his jaw, his fingertips dipping as they crossed the cute dimple-like cleft that scored his chin. ‘My phone’s working fine, why?’

She balanced herself with her hands, gripping the rail. ‘It’s just you’ve never been out here before and it’s a long drive on the off-chance I’d be here.’

He climbed up next to her. ‘I wanted to talk to you in person. You raced off so fast this afternoon we didn’t have a chance to discuss things fully.’

His familiar and special scent of sunshine, soap and one hundred per cent healthy man enveloped her. She gripped the rail more firmly so she wouldn’t move away.

So she wouldn’t move closer.

She surreptitiously shot him a sideways glance from under her fringe, taking in how his hair brushed the tips of his ears. Funny, usually his hairstyle was immaculate. ‘I didn’t think we had anything more to discuss.’

He slapped his thigh, indignation radiating from him. ‘Yes we did! I offered you a job.’

‘And I said, no, thank you.’ Her fingers gripped the wood so hard they started to go numb.

‘But why?’ Genuine confusion vibrated through his voice. He sounded like a child who couldn’t work out why the other kid wouldn’t come out to play. ‘It would be great experience for you.’

‘I’d miss flying.’ She tried to keep her tone light. She couldn’t tell him the truth. That working with him every day would be delicious yet soul-destroying torture.

‘It’s only for a year.’ Lack of understanding stamped itself all over him.

Only for a year. That was so easy for him to say. But for her it was fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days, eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours. She stared at her feet. ‘I don’t want to lose my job with the Flying Doctors.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

She pivoted back to face him, her balance tested. ‘How can you be so sure? I can’t just leave for a year and expect to return to the same position.’

‘What if you could?’ His jade eyes usually so full of flirtatious fun, suddenly became serious.

A ripple of apprehension skated through her. Linton Gregory didn’t do ‘serious’all that often. ‘The chief wouldn’t be happy. He’s already sent Doug Johnston to Muttawindi and now with Kate and Baden married I imagine maternity leave will loom pretty quickly. So me leaving would send the chief into a hypertensive fit.’

She jumped down off the rail, needing to put some more distance between them. ‘Besides, this is all hypothetical because we can’t even ask him until he gets back from the annual conference. You need help now. An agency from Adelaide or Sydney could supply you with an experienced nurse tomorrow.’

‘Oh, come on. Now you’re living in fantasyland.’ Grumpiness and fatigue rode on the words. ‘The Flying Doctors attract staff because of the history of the organisation, the planes and a sense of adventure.’ He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘But Warragurra Base is a little more prosaic.’

She chased a tuft of wool with the point of her boot. ‘But it attracted you. You came up from Sydney.’

‘I did, but it’s part of my career plan. I’m not staying for ever. One more year and I’ll be back in the big smoke, sailing on the harbour.’

An irrational jolt of pain shot through her. It was crazy, especially when she knew he didn’t really belong in Warragurra.

He jumped down from the rail and walked toward her, his gait relaxed. ‘But this conversation’s not about me, it’s about you. I’ve spoken to the chief and he sends his regards.’

Her head shot up, taking in the high cheekbones, the smiling lines around his eyes and his cat-that-ate-the-cream grin. Apprehension exploded into full-blown panic. She’d forgotten that Linton thrived on getting his own way.

He leaned one arm against a beam. ‘The chief agrees with me that a year in A and E will be a fabulous way to use your health promotion skills and it will hone your emergency skills.’

Her stomach clenched as her tenuous grip on control disappeared from under her. Anger spluttered to life. ‘My emergency skills don’t need honing.’

‘True, but A and E is a different level. The chief thinks you will bring back more than they will lose by letting you go for a year. When you return, you’ll return to a promotion.’

She stamped her foot as frustration swamped her. What was it about men just taking over? Her father and brothers did this to her all the time and she hated it. ‘And what if I just don’t want to work with you?’

His handsome face broke into deep creases and his chest started to heave as deep, reverberating laughter rocked him.

She summoned every angry, indignant fibre of her being and tried to pierce his self-satisfied aura with a withering look. ‘I’m glad your self-esteem is so well fortified.’

He wiped a laughter tear from his eye. ‘Oh, now, Emily, be fair. The few times we’ve worked together we’ve done exceptionally well. Hey, I even let you boss me around sometimes and I can count on half a hand the people I’ve allowed to do that.’

They did work together well. She hated it that he’d recognised that. It gave her one less argument to cement her case. She tried not to slump against the wall as she bent her leg and pressed the sole of her foot into a groove.

He causally leaned over a rail, his chin resting on his fist. ‘And then there’s your Master’s.’

Her mouth went dry. ‘What do you know about my Master’s?’

His eyes flickered for the briefest moment. ‘Don’t you remember? Last year when we had to sit out that dust storm you told me you wanted to do your Master’s in emergency nursing, but with Kate being away you’d put it on hold.’

Her blood dropped to her feet. He’d actually listened. Listened and remembered. It was completely unexpected—Nathan had never listened, it had always been all about him. She shrugged. ‘It was just a pie-in-the-sky idea.’

He clicked his tongue. ‘It shouldn’t be.’ He gave her a sly look. ‘Warragurra Base would be the perfect place for you to work while you undertook your Master’s.’

Her brain tried to keep up. Every time she had an argument he neatly countered it with almost effortless ease. But right now he was playing dirty pool. He knew she desperately wanted to do her Master’s and that as much as the chief and the Flying Doctors supported the idea in principle, with the way staffing had been lately, it hadn’t been possible.

Achieving her Master’s would mean career security, senior positions and a higher salary. And she’d need that as, unlike her friends, she wouldn’t ever be in the position of sharing income with a loving partner. Study leave hovered over her like the devil tempting her into his lair. Was this an opportunity she could really afford to pass up?

Linton pushed off the rail, walking round to lean his back against the wall so he stood next to her.

His heat slammed into her, dissolving all coherent thought. Emily breathed deeply, forcing air into her constricted lungs, in the hope her brain would soon get the much needed oxygen. Think.

She tried to fortify her resolution. Working at Warragurra Base meant working with Linton. Unrequited love from a distance had been tormenting enough. Up close and personal it would be torture. But still her words rushed out unchecked. ‘How much study leave?’

White, even teeth flashed at her. ‘What about you work a nine-day fortnight? The hospital will pay you for two days a month study leave.’

She narrowed her eyes. If she was selling out she should at least get a good deal. ‘And one week to attend the “on campus” study component?’

He arched one brown eyebrow and tapped his top lip with his forefinger. ‘As long as you can work it so the roster isn’t short.’

She hugged her arms across her tightening chest as she committed herself to a path she’d told herself she’d never take. ‘I can do that.’

He crossed his arms, his biceps straining against the soft cotton of his sleeves. ‘Then we have a deal.’

Deal. The word boomed in her head over and over like the low bass of heavy metal. What have you just done? She silenced the words. Her decision was a career move. Linton would eventually leave town and she would get over her crush. Life would go on and she would have extra qualifications. ‘A deal? I guess we do.’ Somehow she managed to squeak the words out.

He grinned and leaned sideways, nudging her with his shoulder. ‘See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

She looked up into a pair of emerald eyes full of satisfaction. And why not? He’d just solved his staffing problem. All was good in his world.

But she’d just taken out a loan on her soul for a chance to study. Unless she was careful, the repayments on the loan would be pieces of her heart.

Emily stared at herself in the mirror in the Warragurra Base Hospital locker room, adjusting to seeing herself in green. Gone were the navy trousers and blue shirt of the Flying Doctors uniform. In their place green scrubs hung baggily revealing nothing of the shape that lay underneath. Hiding the big breasts and the short waist.

You are so ugly. High school had been a nightmare.

University hadn’t been much better. Cover yourself up, you don’t want to put people off their dinner. Nathan’s derisive words boomed in her head. The memory of his curled lip and scornful look wormed its way back into her thoughts despite her best intentions to never let him back into her life in any shape or form.

He’d been the one to put the final nails into any delusions she might have had about herself. She now knew for certain that her body wasn’t worthy of being on show, so she hid it, avoiding further pain and protecting herself from the glances of men—scrutinising glances that immediately turned to pitying ones.

She tied the string of the shapeless, baggy green pants. It was better this way. Men no longer saw her as a woman and didn’t seek her out, which was exactly what she wanted. Her heart, which had loved Nathan and been so badly trampled on, was now well protected.

She turned away from the mirror and spritzed on some perfume, one of the few feminine luxuries she allowed herself. As the only female growing up on a sheep and cattle station, surrounded by men, being a girl hadn’t always been easy.

When she was working on the station she generally became ‘one of the boys’ and fitted in that way. She could shoot a mean game of pool, muster on horseback for a full day without getting saddle-sore and was known for her skill in coaxing difficult engines into life. Her father, brothers and the employees at Woollara had long forgotten she was a woman.

If she was everyone’s mate at Woollara, she was all nurse at work. ‘Professional, organised and reliable’ were the words that always turned up on her performance reviews. At work she had a different ‘uniform’ from the cowboy boots and jeans she wore at the station. But it was a uniform, and it made her blend in with the other medical professionals and told the community she was a nurse. The role absorbed her and she gave herself to it, enjoying every moment.

The only part of her that really said ‘Emily’ was her perfume, although most people missed that. They thought the thing that defined her was her dyed hair. But her hair was just a ruse. Bright hair hid her pain. Bright caused people to look up rather than down and distracted them so she could avoid their scrutiny of her lack of attributes.

She ran some hair gel through her hair. She’d worn it spiky short for so long that its current length surprised her. It was still above her shoulders but long enough for the curls to come back and taunt her. She tried to tame them into place with the waxy product.

In celebration or commiseration of the new job—at this point she wasn’t exactly certain which one it was—she’d dyed her hair purple. The mirror reflected purple hair and green scrubs. Hmm, the women’s movement would be proud of her. Then again, others might think she was going to take up tennis at Wimbledon.

She nervously fingered the hem of her top and then tugged down hard before breathing in deeply. She spoke to the mirror. ‘Right, Emily. You’re the unit manager and working for Linton for better or worse. Linton only sees you as a nurse so you’re safe and your heart is safe. You’re a professional and all personal feelings get left on this side of the door.

‘This is work. Work is your shield against his charm. Focus on the job. You can do this.’ She pulled her name tag and security tag over her neck and spun round to face the door.

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