The Playboy Doctor

Seb’s gaze followed her as she moved around the kitchen. ‘Is that all you’re eating? Toast? Is there anything else on the menu?’

‘Menu?’ She glared at him. ‘This isn’t a restaurant, Dr Macaulay.’

Not only was the man content to torment her and totally disrupt her working life, he now expected her to feed him gourmet food. She took a deep breath as she removed the toast—now stone cold—from the toaster.

She knew she wasn’t being very welcoming but she couldn’t help it. The man drove her nuts!

‘Look, let’s start again, shall we?’ Suddenly he looked tired as if he, too, was worn out by the tension between them. ‘I’ve had a long journey and I’d appreciate some food until I can go shopping myself.’

He made her feel churlish and she blushed slightly, wondering what on earth had happened to her normal warm hospitality. Alice would have been horrified if she’d been present.

Admitting defeat, she gave a sigh. ‘Please, feel free to help yourself to anything you can find, Dr Macaulay.’

As soon as the words left her mouth she wished she hadn’t spoken. A man like Seb Macaulay wouldn’t find much that would interest him in her fridge or cupboards.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Joanna, when are you going to drop the formality and call me Seb?’ Amusement vied with irritation as he got to his feet in a lithe movement. ‘All this ‘‘Dr’’ business is a bit over the top, don’t you think? We trained together. I’ve known you since you were plain Joanna Weston.’

And that was exactly was what she’d always been, of course. Plain Joanna Weston. Very plain.

She felt a shaft of pain and was suddenly hideously conscious of the crumpled skirt she’d been wearing since she’d been called out in the night and the fact that she hadn’t brushed her hair all day.

‘I like formality,’ she said briskly, telling herself firmly that she didn’t care what he thought. ‘And the patients like it. It makes them feel secure.’

‘Rubbish.’ Seb was totally dismissive of her statement. ‘People judge you on your actions and behaviour—not on your title.’

Refusing to be drawn, Joanna buttered her cold toast and took an unenthusiastic bite.

Seb watched her with an expression of disbelief. ‘Is that seriously all you’re eating?’

‘I like toast,’ she muttered, not bothering to add that she didn’t have the energy to tackle anything else.

‘Well, you at least ought to add some protein to it.’ He strolled over to the fridge, jerking open the door to examine the contents. There was a long silence and then he glanced up, visibly stunned. ‘Now I know why you’re reduced to eating toast. Don’t you ever shop?’

Joanna lifted her chin defensively. ‘I haven’t had time to shop, Dr Mac—Sebastian.’

Or change her clothes, or sleep...

‘Seb.’ He enunciated the word carefully, as if she were a toddler that he was teaching to talk. ‘My name is Seb. For goodness’ sake, practise it a few times until it feels comfortable.’ He peered back into the fridge. ‘What on earth have you been eating all week? There’s nothing in here.’ He reached into the fridge and pulled out a small piece of cheese covered in mould, which he looked at with distaste. ‘For crying out loud, Jo, there’s more bacteria in your fridge than in a path lab.’

‘I don’t like cheese.’ She glared at him. ‘And I’ve asked you before not to call me Jo.’

He ignored her, still staring into the fridge as though he expected to catch some hideous disease. ‘What did you have for lunch?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Lunch.’ He looked at her as though she were an alien from another planet. ‘You know, the food that we generally consume in the middle of the day to give us the energy to carry on with our lives. What did you have?’

Joanna looked at him blankly, wondering why her eating habits were of such interest to him. ‘I don’t know. I—Nothing.’

Suddenly he was still. ‘You didn’t eat lunch?’

‘I was busy.’

His breath hissed through his teeth. ‘You’re a doctor, Joanna. You should know better. How do you expect to be able to carry your workload without fuel? No wonder you nearly fainted earlier.’

‘I didn’t nearly faint—I just got up too quickly.’

‘Right.’ The disparaging look he gave her told her that he didn’t believe her. ‘What did you have for breakfast?’

‘I was at the hospital.’

‘For God’s sake, woman!’ He slammed the fridge shut and ran a hand through his dark hair, his expression exasperated. ‘When did you last eat?’

‘I’m eating now,’ she said pointedly, taking another bite out of her toast.

‘I mean proper food,’ he growled. ‘That’s no good for you at all.’

Shaking his head with disbelief, he turned on his heel and strode back through to the hall, delving into his jacket pocket for his car keys.

‘Where are you going?’ She followed him, torn between outrage that he’d been so blunt and a faint hope that he’d decided he couldn’t possibly work with her and was leaving her in peace.

‘Shopping.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders into his jacket and turned to face her, his expression ominous. ‘You’re almost burnt out, Joanna. You’re starving hungry and exhausted, and unless you do something about it fast you’re going to collapse. Go and have a relaxing bath—that’s if you know what the word ‘‘relaxing’’ means, which I seriously doubt—and I’ll go out and buy us both something decent for supper. Something that isn’t covered in mould or hairs and isn’t at least two months past its sell-by date.’

With that he yanked open the door and crunched across the drive to his sports car without a backward glance.

* * *

Fate was definitely not smiling on him.

Seb opened the boot of the car, removed the shopping bags and glanced at the house.

Joanna Weston. Who would have thought it?

Of all the women in the world he had to be marooned with, it had to be Joanna Weston. The irony of it nearly made him laugh. When George Mills had rung him and asked for his help, he’d anticipated a few months of peace and quiet in Devon. A complete contrast to his normal life. To be honest, he’d been pleased at the offer. The past year had been particularly hectic and traumatic, and he’d been looking forward to leading the fairly normal existence of a GP in a semi-rural practice. When he’d heard how small the community was and how isolated the house, he’d been imagining it as his desert island. Somewhere he could relax.

He walked up to the house and pressed the doorbell. The trouble was, Joanna Weston was most definitely not his idea of a desert-island woman. Being marooned with her was likely to be an extremely irritating and uncomfortable experience. The woman didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘fun’.

It was strange really, he mused as he waited for her to answer the door. Normally he got on well with women. In fact, it was keeping them at a distance that was usually the problem. But that had never been the case with Joanna. She was one of the few women he’d ever met who was totally uninterested in him as a man. Actually, she seemed totally uninterested in any man. Since the day he’d met her at medical school she’d had her nose buried in a book.

He gave a wry smile and rang the bell again. Maybe he should look on the bright side. At least he didn’t have to be on his guard with her. Normally he was very careful in his interaction with women, very careful to avoid misunderstandings. But at least with Joanna he could relax. There was absolutely no chance at all that she would ever fall for him. Which was actually rather refreshing.

Realising that she had no intention of letting him in, he gritted his teeth and stepped back, glancing up at the windows.

Was she playing games again or was she in the bath? Or maybe she’d already fallen asleep? The woman had looked totally wiped out, which was hardly surprising considering her lifestyle. Joanna Weston was a workaholic.

With a muttered curse he dumped the shopping on the gravel and strode round to the side of the house, looking for another entrance.

‘Sebastian?’

Hearing his name, he turned and crunched back along the gravel to the front door. Joanna was hovering awkwardly, dressed only in a long white dressing-gown, her hair wrapped in a towel. Obviously she’d just stepped out of the bath and she looked strangely vulnerable, clutching the dressing-gown in her small fist, the dark shadows of tiredness under her eyes accentuated by the pallor of her skin.

She looked different and he frowned slightly, trying to work out why. Her eyes. Blue. Deep blue. Almost violet. Like a Caribbean sea on a bright summer’s day. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before?

Because, he reflected thoughtfully, he was normally so busy being irritated by her that he never gave a thought to how she looked.

‘I’m sorry. I forgot to give you a key.’

Suddenly she seemed aware of his scrutiny and took a step backwards, clutching the dressing-gown as if she was afraid he might drag it away from her.

Seb almost laughed at the mere thought. It took more than a pretty pair of eyes to bring out the animal in him. Despite what many people thought, he was extremely choosy about his female companions.

‘I’ve bought us some supper.’

Without giving her time to argue, he strode past her into the hallway and made straight for the kitchen.

He hauled the shopping onto the table and started unloading the contents of the overstuffed bags into the cupboards and the fridge, still staggered by how empty they were. What had the woman been living on?

Turning his attention to supper, he quickly stir-fried some chicken with fresh ginger and garlic and added some vegetables and noodles.

‘I didn’t know you could cook.’

She’d swapped the dressing-gown for a blue T-shirt and an old pair of faded jeans that clung lovingly to her slim thighs. Until that moment he’d never actually noticed her body before, but he saw now that she was tiny—more delicate than he’d realised.

Pulling himself together, he lifted the pan off the cooker and served the contents onto two plates then watched in amazement at the speed with which she devoured her portion.

She might be slight in build but there was absolutely nothing wrong with her appetite.

‘Do you want some more?’ He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice and she raised her small chin defensively.

‘I was hungry. And it was delicious.’

‘Then eat—I suspect you’re catching up on a week’s worth of food,’ he said gruffly, standing up and heaping another large helping onto her plate. ‘The fridge is now full so there’s no excuse for you to faint in my arms again.’

She glared at him, her fork frozen in mid-air. ‘I didn’t faint in your arms—’

‘Joanna you’re exhausted,’ he said flatly, ‘and it’s hardly surprising. You’ve been carrying the workload of two GPs, and on top of that you obviously haven’t been eating properly. You nearly fainted.’

Her eyes shot daggers at him and then suddenly her slim shoulders slumped. ‘Maybe I did,’ she mumbled, ‘and I suppose I owe you a thank you. For shopping and for cooking.’

‘Well, that’s a first.’ He leaned back in his chair, a smile playing around his mouth. ‘Joanna Weston thanking me for something.’

‘Yes, well, don’t get too used to it,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I haven’t slept properly for four nights. I’m not myself.’

He could see that she hadn’t slept. She looked exhausted. And pretty.

He shook himself slightly. Joanna Weston was definitely pretty. Why hadn’t he ever seen it before?

Because normally she hid herself behind drab clothes. Suddenly he was intrigued. Maybe there was more to her than he’d thought...

Seeing her almost dropping off at the table, he cursed under his breath. Joanna was totally exhausted.

‘You ought to be in bed.’ He stood up, the chair scraping on the kitchen floor. ‘Just tell me where I’m meant to sleep and then you can go and get some rest.’

The drowsiness was gone in a flash and her blue eyes flew open. ‘Where you’re meant to sleep?’ Her voice was a horrified squeak. ‘I have no idea where you’ll be sleeping, Dr Macaulay, but it isn’t here.’

Dr Macaulay. So they were back to that.

He counted to ten—slowly.

‘George told me I’d be staying at the surgery,’ he said, emphasising his words carefully so that there could be no misunderstanding, ‘and you know it makes sense. This place is enormous. There’s plenty of room for two people to live together here and not see each other.’

She stared at him. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you haven’t sorted out any accommodation for yourself?’

‘I didn’t need to.’ He tried hard to control his mounting irritation. ‘When George asked me to help out it was on the understanding that I’d stay in the house. There was never any question of sorting out accommodation.’’

A long silence followed and her gaze slid away from his. It was clear from her expression that she’d forgotten. ‘Maybe that’s true,’ she conceded finally, ‘but obviously I didn’t know it was you.’

Seb ground his teeth. She might be prettier than he’d first thought but she was just as aggravating!

‘Just point me to a room, Joanna,’ he growled, his patience stretched to the limit. He’d never known a woman who could get under his skin like this one did! ‘I’m staying here and that’s final. And if you’re worried about your virtue, don’t be. I think we both know that there’s no chance of either of us ever finding the other attractive. The best we can work towards is an amicable working relationship.’

The look of utter disbelief she shot in his direction left him in no doubt that she thought he was asking a great deal. It was obvious that she thought it extremely unlikely that they’d ever manage anything remotely approaching amicable.

And maybe she was right.

If there was a vulnerable side to her—and he was beginning to think he’d imagined it—then she kept it very well buried.

‘All right,’ she said finally, her expression grudging. ‘You can stay, but a few house rules first.’

Seb closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Now what?

‘I’m a very private person, Dr Macau—I mean S-Seb.’ She corrected herself quickly and paused slightly before continuing. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would stay in your corner of the house and not come over into mine.’

What was she expecting? That he was going to jump on her in the night? She should be so lucky!!

‘I’ll try and remember that,’ he said dryly, his humour returning as he suddenly realised just how much fun this could be. Every time he wandered into her side of the house she’d throw a wobbly. ‘Any more rules I should know about?’

‘I set the burglar alarm before I go to bed.’ Suddenly her eyes slipped away from his. ‘If you’re out late, you’ll have to turn it off and reset it when you come in.’

So she was nervous in this big house on her own. Well, well, she most definitely did have a vulnerable side.

‘I’m sure I can manage that.’

‘OK.’ She ploughed on. ‘About night calls...’

‘We won’t be doing any,’ he said, smoothly interrupting her in mid-sentence, ‘at least not for the time being. I’ve arranged out-of-hours cover for the next few weeks.’

She gave a gasp of outrage. ‘How dare you? I don’t—’

‘You’re exhausted, Joanna,’ he said sharply, cutting through her protests before they’d really begun, ‘and I don’t know the area. Between us we’re a liability. Once George comes back you can do what you like. Until then, we’re taking whatever help we can get. Now, go to bed before you faint again.’

She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ve already told you, I did not faint.’

He gave her a warning look. ‘Either you go to bed voluntarily in the next ten seconds,’ he said with exaggerated patience, ‘or I’m going to carry you there.’

She stood up immediately, as he’d known she would. ‘I’m going,’ she said with quiet dignity, ‘because I’m too tired to argue with you—’

‘Alleluia,’ he muttered, and she lifted her chin and walked to the door, glancing over her shoulder as she tugged it open.

‘Don’t think that the subject is closed. You had no right to change my arrangements for night calls without discussing it with me. This is my practice and from now on I make the decisions.’

With that she walked through the door and marched up the stairs, slamming what must have been her bedroom door firmly behind her.

* * *

The next morning Joanna stared at the packed waiting room in disbelief.

‘Where have they all come from?’ she asked Laura in horror. ‘How can all these people suddenly have become ill overnight?’

‘They’re not ill,’ Laura said with a giggle. ‘They’ve just seen that incredible car in the car park and they’ve come to take a look at the owner! Talking of which, where is he?’

‘I have no idea,’ Joanna said shortly, picking up the post and flicking through it quickly. ‘I’d assumed he’d be here to start surgery, but doubtless—’

‘I am here.’ Seb’s deep voice came from behind her and she turned, her sharp retort dying on her lips as she met those cool blue eyes.

‘Good. We’re going to be busy,’ she said stiffly, and he gave a careless shrug.

‘I can cope with busy. I assume you just want me to see George’s patients?’

‘Yes—thank you. Laura will help you if you have any problems,’ she said, and then gritted her teeth as she noticed the adoring look on Laura’s face. Oh, for heaven’s sake! What was it about the man that turned her entire sex into fools?

‘Anything at all you need, Dr Macaulay,’ Laura was saying breathlessly. ‘Anything at all, just give me a shout.’

Her meaning was crystal clear but Seb’s response was suitably neutral.

‘Thanks, Laura.’

Neutral or not, Joanna wasn’t prepared to take any chances.

She nodded to Laura and then followed him through to his consulting room. ‘Just one more thing, Seb.’

He settled himself at George’s desk and flicked on the computer. ‘What’s that?’

Joanna steeled herself. ‘Please, don’t seduce my receptionist. Laura is very young and very impressionable. She couldn’t possibly cope with a man like you.’

There was a long silence and then his eyes lifted to hers. ‘A man like me.’ His mouth twitched slightly. ‘As I said last night, you know nothing about the sort of man I am.’

‘I know that you’re the sort of outwardly flashy, macho male that girls like Laura fantasise about.’

Just as she had about Charlie when she’d been Laura’s age.

She almost laughed at her own thoughts. Laura’s age? The truth was that she wasn’t that much older than Laura was—she just felt it.

Joanna rubbed her aching temples with slim fingers. Goodness, she was tired. One undisturbed night didn’t seem to have made any difference at all to the way she felt.

Seb’s handsome face was expressionless and for once he didn’t answer her.

She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘I accept that you’re not responsible for the fact that women throw themselves at you. I’m just asking you not to give her any encouragement.’

Finally he spoke. ‘Did I give her any encouragement just now?’

She hesitated. ‘No, but—’

‘And I don’t intend to,’ he said quietly, leaning forward in his chair and returning his attention to his computer. ‘Relax, Joanna. And don’t worry about Laura. If it becomes a problem, I’ll take care of it.’

Joanna licked dry lips. ‘She’s got a massive crush on you already.’

‘Then I’ll handle it,’ he said calmly, his eyes flickering down the list of patients who’d booked to see him. ‘It won’t be the first time, trust me.’

She could well believe that. Women had always behaved really foolishly around Seb, and it was fairly easy to see why. He was rich and breathtakingly good-looking—qualities enough for most women.

But not her. She knew better.

‘All right, then, I’ll leave you to get on with your surgery. If you have any problems during your surgery, press the top right-hand button on the phone—it connects with my room.’

She gave Seb a brief nod and left the room, eager to get on with her own surgery.

Her first patient was Vera Peters, an eighty-two-year-old lady whom she saw from time to time with minor illnesses.

‘Hello, Mrs Peters, have a seat.’ She greeted the old lady warmly, wondering what the problem was. There were no clues in the notes. ‘What can I do for you today?’

‘My skin has flared up again,’ Mrs Peters grumbled, ‘It’s really causing me problems.’

Joanna examined her carefully and gave a nod. ‘I can give you some cream for that,’ she said quickly, tapping away at the computer. After a few moments a prescription issued from the printer.

‘Well, that was simple,’ the old lady muttered, taking the prescription with a nod of thanks. ‘I wish you could do something about my John as easily as that.’

‘John? Your husband?’ Joanna knew that the couple lived in one of the flats on the edge of the village. From what she knew, they seemed to manage very well. ‘What’s the matter with him, Mrs Peters?’

‘He’s stealing,’ Vera Peters said crossly, clutching her handbag firmly on her lap and pursing her lips. ‘That’s what’s wrong. He’s stealing everything in sight.’

‘Stealing?’ Joanna looked at her in astonishment, surprised by the violence in the old lady’s voice as much as by what she was saying. She’d always thought of her as a very gentle sort, the last person in the world to be aggressive. ‘What’s he stealing, Mrs Peters?’

‘Things that aren’t his.’ Her fingers tightened on the handbag. ‘Last week he took my handbag, this week it’s my coat. I suppose he thought I wouldn’t notice, with the weather being so hot, but he was wrong! I did notice.’

At least the man wasn’t on the rampage in the local shops.

Joanna cleared her throat, trying to clarify what she’d just heard. ‘So you’re saying that your husband is stealing things from you?’

‘Yes!’ Vera glared at Joanna and then thumped her fist on the desk. ‘And it’s got to stop. And it’s not just stealing. Sometimes he moves things just to annoy me.’

Sensing that the old woman was very upset, Joanna reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze, her voice gentle. ‘What does he move, Mrs Peters?’

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