by Amy Andrews
She laughed, that great big sound she’d used so frequently when they’d been on the train but he hadn’t heard since. ‘How would you describe it?’
It was a leading question and they were playing with fire. He wondered if she understood how slim the thread was to which he was clinging. But she was looking at his mouth once more and he was pretty sure she’d angled her head closer because he hadn’t moved a muscle this time.
In fact, he was barely even breathing.
‘Hot,’ he muttered, his voice thick in his throat, his gaze dropping to her mouth. ‘Sexy. Mind-blowing.’
‘Erotic,’ she whispered, her pupils dilated.
Callum nodded as he lifted his hand and pushed back an escaped honey-blonde tendril. His fingers whispered across her cheek and jaw as they withdrew. ‘So erotic.’
‘Oh, God,’ she moaned, her voice low and needy like it’d been when he’d first slipped inside her. Her hands went to the lapels of his jacket and tugged.
Callum didn’t need any more encouragement, his mouth meeting hers like they’d never been apart. Like they’d picked up where they’d left off at hot, sexy and mind-blowing, heading straight for erotic.
She smelled good and tasted better and he slid his palms onto her face, holding her steady so he could kiss her harder, deeper, wetter. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and when she moaned and moved closer still, he thrust it fully into her mouth, his erection surging as her tongue stroked against his.
His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse whooshed like Niagara Falls through his ears and his breathing went from husky to laboured as his whole world narrowed down to just her. Her mouth. Her kisses. Her moans and sighs. The desperate grip of her hands on his lapels.
Just Felicity. In his arms. Again.
And God alone knew where it would have ended up had there not been a firm rap on Felicity’s window that scared the life out of him and her also, if the way she grabbed at her chest as they broke apart was any indication.
He was expecting to see half the town with pitchforks out to save St Felicity from his clutches but it was just Mrs Smith from across the road, who’d introduced herself the day he’d moved in and had given him a friendly wave every day since.
She didn’t look so friendly now.
‘My God,’ Felicity muttered under her breath. ‘I think I just had a heart attack.’
Callum knew how she felt. What the hell was he doing? He was too old to be necking in cars, for crying out loud. They both were.
Certainly too damn old to be sprung doing it.
‘Mrs Smith,’ Felicity said, as she wound her window down.
Callum admired the note of cheerful innocence in her voice like nothing was going on here. Like maybe his neighbour hadn’t noticed she’d had her tongue down his throat. But the delicious vibrato in her voice betrayed how very much had been going on.
‘Flick Mitchell,’ Mrs Smith said, a scandalised note raising her voice to a higher register. ‘Dr Hollingsworth.’ Her tone for him was rather more accusatory. ‘This is hardly appropriate behaviour in broad daylight. I don’t need to tell you that Vickers Hill prides itself on public decorum. Just because your parents don’t live here any more doesn’t mean you should let your behavioural standards slide. It’s important to always act like a lady, Flick. I know your mother taught you that.’
It was on the tip of Callum’s tongue to tell the old biddy he was more interested in Felicity being a woman than a lady but Felicity was nodding her head and saying, ‘You’re right, Mrs Smith, I’m terribly sorry. You have my assurance it won’t happen again.’
Mrs Smith peered down her nose at him. ‘And what about your assurances, young man?’
It had been a long time since anyone had called Callum young man. He was just getting used to Bill calling him son.
Anyone would think they’d been accosted by an angry father with a shotgun instead of a little old lady from across the street, and a dozen different responses flipped through his head. They all died on his lips as Felicity turned pleading eyes on him.
Hell. He was a sucker for that look. Who was he kidding? He was a sucker for any way her face looked. He gritted his teeth and put his hand on his heart. ‘I promise there will be no more public displays of affection between Felicity and myself, Mrs Smith.’
Because next time he’d make damn sure he dragged her inside first. Away from prying eyes.
She nodded, satisfied, but wasn’t finished with them yet. ‘I guess you’ll be going home now,’ she said pointedly.
‘Yes.’ Felicity nodded. ‘Callum was just leaving.’
Callum didn’t want to leave. He very much wanted to finish off the kiss that had been so rudely interrupted. But it was obvious the mood was in tatters and Mrs Smith wasn’t going anywhere until he did. He glanced at Felicity, who lifted one shoulder in a slight it’s-not-worth-the-aggro shrug.
‘Right,’ he said, reaching for the handle. ‘I’ll...see you tomorrow.’
She nodded but refused to meet his eyes. The last thing he saw as she drove away, apart from Mrs Smith’s evil eye, was Felicity’s stony profile.
They were back to square one. Worse than square one. If the kiss had been one step forward, this was definitely two steps back.
* * *
‘Oh, God,’ Felicity groaned into her mobile phone a few hours later. ‘This is so bad. I’m never going to live this down. Why did it have to be Mrs Smith? Now the whole town’s going to know. They’ll have us married off by the end of next week.’
Luci’s laughter floated down the line to her. She’d rung half an hour ago ostensibly to check on the house but also to grill Felicity over a little rumour she’d heard, courtesy of her mother. Poor Luci hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise over Felicity’s self-flagellation.
‘I say screw the town and just go for it.’
Felicity blinked. ‘Well, look at you. Only a short time in the big city and you’re completely corrupted. Mrs Smith would be horrified.’
Another laugh. ‘Hey, haven’t you been telling me to go for it? To move, to have an adventure, to get out of my rut? The same can be said for you, missy. It’s been four years since Ned. You deserve a rampant public display of affection and you’re twenty-eight years old, for God’s sake. Unless...he is a good kisser, right?’
Good? The man was sublime. He must have been standing at the top of the queue when they’d been handing out the kissing gene. Ned had been a great kisser too so her bar was set very high. ‘Ooh, yeah.’
‘Oh, really? That good, huh?’
‘Well...a girl doesn’t like to kiss and tell.’
Which was a good reminder that Callum had said the same thing and there wasn’t a lot she could tell Luci without telling her everything and she wasn’t ready to do that yet. She didn’t want to make it a thing.
The man was here for eight weeks—not someone to blow her precious reputation on. Plus his bedside manner kinda sucked and she was confused as to why something that should have been a major turn-off didn’t seem to matter where her body was concerned.
‘Anyway, I’ve been gabbing on and on about me and I haven’t even asked you what’s going on with you. How’s Sydney? Tell me about Seb.’
‘Oh, I hardly ever see him,’ Luci dismissed airily.
Felicity had known her friend long enough to hear the tell-tale waver in her voice, indicating she wasn’t being entirely honest, but Luci ploughed on, talking about her course and Sydney and the weather and her work, and Felicity let her go on while her mind churned through bigger issues.
Like why the hell she’d let Callum kiss her in broad daylight. The fact that she’d actually initiated it by pulling on his lapels was something she chose not to focus on.
She’d been cranky that he’d invaded her space today. After three frustrating
clinics on the run, every second of which she’d wanted to shake him for his efficiency over humanity approach, she’d needed some time out.
And then he’d made that comment about Meryl. Although, to be fair, Meryl had been called much worse things than colourful and Felicity’s irritation had, in truth, been more about her blemished aura and Meryl’s predictions.
Most of the town thought Meryl was certifiable but she’d been right too many times for Felicity to discount.
So why, if she’d been so damn cranky at him, had she kissed him? In broad daylight? Blemishing much more than her aura?
And how was Vickers Hill going to react?
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY THE TIME Monday rocked around again Felicity was on her last nerve. Between the speculation that was running rife in Vickers Hill—phone calls from her mother, whispers at the supermarket, unsolicited advice from just about everybody—and enduring another afternoon clinic with Callum’s same robotic approach, she was just about done cutting him slack.
If they hadn’t kissed on Thursday and tripped the Vickers Hill grapevine into overdrive, she may well have bitten her tongue for longer—it wasn’t her place to comment on how he did his job. But they had and Felicity was just about out of her be-nice-to-the-locum store.
It was ironic that everyone thought they were having wild monkey sex when all she wanted to do was strangle him with his stethoscope.
Yeah, the man could kiss. But he sucked at connecting with his patients.
It was the last straw when Callum asked her to ‘Send in the bunions when you’re ready’ as she was opening the office door to show a patient out. Felicity’s vision went a hot, hazy red as her brain exploded and practically leaked out her ears. She slapped the door shut with the palm of her hand and turned on a dime to glare at him.
‘Mr Dunnich,’ she said, shoving her hand on her hip.
He glanced up at her from his screen and she hated the way her heart did a funny little leap as he peered at her through those sexy, rimless frames.
‘He’s the bunions?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice register sitting squarely in the frosty zone. ‘He’s Mr Dunnich. That’s his name. Or Alf if you’re ever invited to be that familiar.’ Felicity doubted he would be. ‘He’s the one whose wife insisted he bring you roses last week, remember?’
‘Oh. Yes...’
He was eyeing her warily now. It was obvious he knew he’d done something wrong but equally obvious that he was clueless as to what.
‘She had a stroke two years ago and now he’s her full-time carer,’ Felicity continued, her voice low from the rough edge of emotion that had welled out of nowhere in her chest. ‘The roses give her so much pleasure and he knows it.’ Her voice cracked and she didn’t care how insane she sounded.
Mr Dunnich wasn’t just bunions to her.
Callum stood, his forehead crinkling. ‘Is there something wrong, Felicity?’
‘The person who was just in here with the hamstring is called Malcolm. The person before that with the carpal tunnel is Stefanie.’
Pressure built in Felicity’s chest as her desperation for him to understand mixed with the emotions she always felt when she was talking about her patients. She sucked in a breath and blew it noisily out of her mouth before she totally broke down and her message was lost amidst incoherent accusations and ugly snot crying.
‘They all have names. We don’t refer to our patients as their body parts around here. They’re people, not medical conditions.’
‘God...sorry.’ He grimaced, pulling his glasses off and throwing them on the table. ‘I’m still adjusting to a new mindset. It’s a bad habit.’
‘Well, break it,’ she snapped. Felicity understood that a lot of surgeons had that mindset. But a lot didn’t so it was a choice. A bad one.
His jaw clenched. If Felicity hadn’t gone to the dark side she’d have recognised it as a sign to back off. But this had been brewing for a week and she was all-in now.
‘Have there been complaints?’ he demanded, hands on hips.
‘No. Country people don’t complain, Callum. They endure. But these are my people. They’re going to be here long after you swan off back to Sydney and I’m not going to sit around and watch you treat them so impersonally because you’re too...’
A thousand adjectives came to mind, pumping through her head as quickly as her blood pumped through her chest. Some glimmer of propriety did prevail, however. ‘Too...cavalier to take a personal interest in them.’
His green eyes turned to flinty chips of jade. ‘I would defy anybody to say I haven’t given them the very best treatment. I’ve been thorough and efficient and effective and I really don’t like your tone.’
‘What? Your city surgical nurses don’t call you out on your behaviour?’ she demanded, keeping her voice low, aware there was a waiting room full of people outside and very thin walls.
‘I think they have a little more respect for their colleagues.’
‘Oh, really? Well, guess what? You have to earn respect out here. It’s not just given to you like some damn golden halo from on high. It takes more than a pair of scrubs and I will advocate for my patients whether you like it or not. I’ve been biting my tongue for a week now but no more.’
‘This?’ he said, shaking his head in obvious disbelief. ‘This is why you’ve been angry at me for a week?’
‘What? A little too trivial for you?’
He shook his head at her, his mouth a flat line. ‘Oh, well, please,’ he said, his tone bitingly sarcastic, ‘by all means do let me have it all. I’d hate you to pop a lung keeping it all in.’
Felicity wasn’t sure about popping a lung but she sure as hell felt like she was about to blow a vessel in her brain as her blood pressure hit stroke levels. She stalked over to his desk and stabbed her finger at the woodgrain surface.
‘It’s not about efficiency. There’s more to being a good family practice doctor than thoroughness. A GP role is about connection and forming long-term relationships. It’s about community and earning trust so that people can and will tell you stuff that they’d never tell anyone else because you’re their doctor and they’re scared out of their brains about something. For Pete’s sake.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t they teach you any of this in GP school? Or does the big hot-shot city surgeon not need to listen?’
‘Of course,’ he snapped. ‘I’m just not...the touchy-feely type.’
‘You don’t have to be. But you can’t be robotic about it either. You’re just going through the motions at the moment, Callum. Ticking the boxes. Frankly, your bedside manner sucks.’
‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘It damn well does not. My bedside manner is great. All my patients love me.’
‘Well, I’m sure they do when you’re talking to them post-op when they’re high on drugs and whatever surgical miracle you’ve performed for them.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ he snorted. ‘This from St Felicity.’
Felicity had no clue what he meant but she wasn’t about to get distracted from her point.
‘Seriously. Just think about it for a moment. How much actual time would you spend with each patient, not counting the hours you’re cutting them open? An hour? Two? In general practice, if you stick around a place long enough you’re going to see that person multiple times over many years for a variety of different things. You’re going to be there with them through good and bad, thick and thin. You’re going to tell them they’re pregnant or miscarrying, or have cancer or are in remission. You’re the person they’re going to trust with their lives. The one they’re going to break down in front of and who they’re going to look at with eyes that are desperate for answers and cures you just don’t have.’
Felicity’s breath caught as her throat thickened. Damn it. She was getting emotional
again. But this stuff meant something.
‘They have to be more than the sum of their parts to you, Callum. That’s what being a good GP is about. Forget what they taught you in surgical school. None of it is relevant here.’
Even as she said the words she realised that was the crux of the problem for him. This career move had been forced on him by his eye injury and clearly his heart wasn’t in it. It was a fall-back position for him, not a calling. Not like it was for Bill and Angela and Meera.
All the rage and anger that had buoyed her to say what she’d been itching to say flowed out of her, leaving her curiously deflated. ‘Why are you even here, Callum? Is it really what you want? You don’t seem to be very invested in the job and you’re a long way from home so I’m wondering if maybe you’re just running away?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not running away. I just needed a...circuit-breaker. A fresh start. Some clear air for a while. But I am going back. I will go back.’
Felicity studied his face. It was so grim and determined it spoke volumes. ‘To prove yourself?’
He didn’t admit it but she could tell by the tightening of his face that she’d hit close to the bone. ‘You have a problem with that?’ he asked, his tone defensive.
‘No.’ And she didn’t. But it was fair warning. The man was good-looking. A great kisser. And knew how to melt her into a puddle in bed. It would be easy to get swept away by that and forget he didn’t want this job or small-town life.
‘But why become a GP? You could have retrained in another surgical speciality. Something that doesn’t require a lot of precision. Orthopaedics. All hammer and chisels and power tools. Lot of grunt. Very manly.’
He laughed and it helped to ease the tension. Felicity was relieved. She’d been pretty harsh on him.
‘Even that involves a degree of microsurgery and I just can’t trust myself.’
‘So become a physician. Plenty of specialties to sink your teeth into.’
He shook his head again. His frame was erect, his head was held high, but there was defeat in his gaze. ‘I can’t work in a hospital. There’s that smell, you know?’ He looked at her earnestly and Felicity nodded. She knew that smell. Like it had been scrubbed with disinfectant only seconds before you walked into it.