by Sarah Morgan
She ran the tip of her tongue across her full, shapely lips. ‘N-now?’ she asked in a squeaky voice.
‘Yes, now,’ he said with a hint of mockery in his eyes as they held hers. ‘Or do you have something else you need to do right this minute?’
She shifted from foot to foot, her creamy cheeks faintly coloured with a rosy hue. ‘Um … I was just going to go to the bathroom to … to freshen up …’
Ben had to fight the urge not to roll his eyes. ‘Well, once you’ve touched up your lipstick or whatever it is you’re going to do, perhaps you’d care to join me so we can discuss the details of your research project for this year.’
She straightened her shoulders and sent him a toffee-brown glare. ‘I’m not wearing lipstick, Mr Blackwood,’ she said a little tightly.
Ben felt the corners of his mouth turn up at her little show of defiance. Maybe she had a bit of the old guy in her after all, he thought, although she certainly didn’t look anything like him. Her slender frame was athletic but utterly feminine, her lightly tanned skin smooth and her light brown hair with its natural-looking golden highlights a perfect foil for those big brown Bambi-like eyes of hers. Her mouth was pulled a little tight right now, but earlier he’d noticed the soft plumpness of her lips when her small white but perfect teeth had sunk into them.
Yep, she was cute all right but she damned well could have killed him and he wasn’t going to let her off that easily.
‘Right, then,’ he said as he moved past, ‘I’ll be waiting for you in my office.’
‘Don’t worry about Mr Blackwood,’ Linda said to Georgie in the theatre change room a short time later. ‘He’s had a bit of a rough start to the day. He’s normally very affable. He’s everyone’s favourite. There’s actually a staff waiting list to work in his theatre. That’s very unusual for a neurosurgical theatre, I can tell you.’ She bundled her theatre scrubs and tossed them in the laundry bin as she went on, ‘Apparently some crazy woman knocked him off his bike this morning. It was a miracle he wasn’t badly injured.’
Georgie swallowed and concentrated fiercely on washing her hands. ‘That’s … er … awful,’ she said.
‘I’ve been warning him for years about cycling on city streets,’ Linda said as she stretched her lips to apply lipstick. She recapped the tube and added, ‘We had a hit-and-run death a few weeks back. The paramedics did all they could to save him but he died in A and E from his head injuries. One of the nurses went on stress leave as a result. Her son was the same age.’
Georgie ran her tongue over her dry-as-dust lips. ‘Mr Blackwood’s … er … accident wasn’t a hit and run, though, was it?’
‘No, thank God,’ Linda said, and, picking up her bag, gave Georgie a friendly smile. ‘Ben’s a real softie. And you wear all the lipstick you like, my girl. What that boy needs is to take his mind off work for a change. A hospital romance is just what this place needs to liven things up a bit.’
Georgie tossed her head as she turned from the basin. ‘I’m not interested in anything but my career,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I’ve taken a temporary no-dating pact with my flatmate Rhiannon. If either one of us breaks, we have to pay the other a thousand dollars.’
Linda pushed open the door. ‘Then you’d better start saving, Dr Willoughby,’ she said with a gleaming smile. ‘I don’t like your chances.’
Georgie turned to look at her reflection in the mirror once the scrub nurse had left. ‘We’ll see about that,’ she said, and, giving her head another toss, walked out to where she had seen Mr Blackwood’s name on a door down the corridor.
The door was ajar but she knocked anyway and waited for his command to come in.
‘You can close the door after you,’ he said as she entered the small office.
Georgie closed the door with a little click and walked the short distance to his desk where he was sitting with some papers in front of him. She noticed his dark blue gaze dip to her mouth and her resentment rose like a flash flood inside her. So he thought she was an empty-headed bimbo who had nothing better to do that paint her mouth with lipstick, did he?
‘So,’ he drawled, leaning back in his chair in an indolent manner. ‘Who taught you to drive? Your mother or your father?’
Georgie drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t all that impressive without her heels, her mouth tight with barely controlled anger. ‘I know it was technically my fault but you were riding far too close to the row of parked cars,’ she said. ‘There was no need to be that close. If it hadn’t been me opening my door on you, it could just have easily been someone else.’
A flare of something diamond-hard lit his gaze as it collided with hers. ‘But it was you, Dr Willoughby,’ he said. ‘And as a doctor—not to mention a neurosurgical registrar—you should know the dangers of such reckless disregard for other road users.’
‘I wasn’t disregarding anyone,’ Georgie shot back quickly, annoyed at the way he seemed to be over-emphasising her responsibility as a trained medico. ‘I accidentally left my mobile phone in the gym so I pulled over and opened my door without thinking.’
His expression was full of cynicism as he held her defensive look. ‘You. Didn’t. Think,’ he said with a sardonic curl of his top lip. ‘That’s not exactly a quality I want in a registrar, Dr Willoughby. I would have thought someone from your distinctive medical family would have picked up that skill along the way.’
Georgie tightened her hands into fists by her sides. ‘I came here to apologise but I can see now it’s going to be pointless,’ she bit out. ‘You’re obviously going to make me pay by giving me a bad report at the end of my term with you. That’s totally unfair. I should be treated just like anyone else, in spite of what happened this morning.’
He got to his feet, the sound of his chair rolling along the floor shattering the stiff silence. ‘You could have killed me,’ he said through taut lips. ‘I could be lying under a sheet with a tag on my toe in the morgue right now because you didn’t think. Have you thought about that, Dr Willoughby?’
Georgie had and it had churned her stomach all morning, but something about his overbearing attitude made her reluctant to admit it. ‘You’re blowing this all out of proportion,’ she said. ‘You weren’t even injured.’
‘Which shows how unobservant you were at the time,’ he returned. ‘You were too keen to show off your roadside retrieval skills, weren’t you, Dr Willoughby?’
She straightened her spine even further. ‘I did what any EMST-trained medico would have done.’
His top lip curled again. ‘You have a lot to learn. And unfortunately I am the one who is assigned to teach you. I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for.’
She sent him a sharp glare. ‘I can handle whatever you dish out, Mr Blackwood,’ she said. ‘My father warned me about men like you.’
‘Did he now?’ Ben asked with a slant of one dark brow.
‘Yes,’ she said, putting up her chin. ‘You’ve obviously got a chip on your shoulder about my background but I’ve worked damned hard to earn a place on the training scheme and I’m not going to let someone like you sabotage my career.’
‘I don’t give a flying fig about your background but I do care about the standard of care my patients are exposed to,’ he clipped out. ‘If you put one foot wrong I’m going to have to pull you into line. Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ she said, her brown eyes flashing with fury. ‘Will that be all, Mr Blackwood?’
Don’t look at her mouth, Ben told himself sternly as he gripped the edge of his desk, his groin tightening in spite of everything he tried to do to stop it. He could feel the crackling energy of her body coming towards him, his nostrils flaring as the flowery fragrance of her perfume drifted his way.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is all—for now. We’ll talk about your research project later.’
He watched as she spun around and stalked out with her head held high, her neat little bottom outlined by the scrubs she was still wearing,
the legs far too long for her with her feet still in theatre clogs.
Uh-oh. He inwardly winced as the door shut abruptly behind her.
He raked a hand through his hair and blew out a whooshing breath as he listened to her stomping footsteps fade into the distance.
Double uh-oh.
CHAPTER THREE
‘SO HOW was your first day?’ Rhiannon asked as Georgie came home later that evening.
Georgie tossed her bag on the sofa and clamped her hands to the sides of her head above her ears. ‘Arrrggghhhh!’
Rhiannon winced. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘That doesn’t sound so good.’
‘I cannot believe everyone thinks that man is God’s gift to the public health system,’ Georgie ranted. ‘He was insufferable!’
‘Insufferable, huh?’ Rhiannon curled up on the sofa and, tucking a cushion against her middle, waited patiently to hear the rest.
‘Yes,’ Georgie said, still pacing the floor in agitation. ‘Insufferable, arrogant, rude and … and …’
‘Nice-looking?’ Rhiannon offered helpfully.
Georgie turned to face her with an irritated expression on her face. ‘That’s completely irrelevant.’
Rhiannon’s finely arched brows lifted. ‘Is it?’
‘Of course it is,’ Georgie said. ‘You know what we said. No dating until after Easter.’
‘Just checking,’ Rhiannon said with a little grin. ‘So what did he do to get you so hot under the collar?’
‘Well …’ Georgie nibbled at her lip for a moment. ‘I guess it was sort of my fault …’ she said, and gave her friend a quick overview of the morning’s events.
When she had finished Rhiannon gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘That’s really spooky,’ she said. Tapping her chin thoughtfully, she added, ‘I wonder what Madame Celestia would make of that.’
Georgie rolled her eyes. ‘Madame Celestia is a fraudulent charlatan,’ she said. ‘Besides, how come she had to cancel your last appointment due to unforeseen circumstances? And if she’s such a great fortune-teller why does she need an appointment book anyway? She should know exactly who’s coming and when.’
Rhiannon tossed the cushion to one side as she got to her feet. ‘I know you’re a sceptic but don’t forget she predicted my sister’s pregnancy and she predicted it was going to be a girl before Caitlin had even had an ultrasound.’
‘She had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, for heaven’s sake,’ Georgie pointed out. ‘Anyway, Caitlin probably gave off a thousand clues the first time she went. It’s called cold-reading, Rhiannon.’
‘Madame Celestia told me you were going to marry a doctor,’ Rhiannon said authoritatively. ‘And she said he was blond.’
‘What?’ Georgie stared at her. ‘You mean you consulted her about me?’
Rhiannon gave a little offhand shrug. ‘I didn’t see any harm in it, especially as you don’t even believe in any of it anyway.’
‘But that’s not the point,’ Georgie protested. ‘I don’t like the thought of someone speculating about me. It doesn’t seem right. I want to forge my own destiny, not have it thrust on me by the power of suggestion.’
Rhiannon folded her arms. ‘What colour hair does Mr Blackwood have?’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ Georgie said. ‘You surely don’t for a moment think I would be interested in that … that arrogant, stuck-up, I’m-your-boss-and-you-will-do-what-I-say jerk, do you?’
Rhiannon tilted her head. ‘What colour?’
‘Black as the ace of spades,’ Georgie informed her. ‘And not a grey hair in sight, in case Madame Celestia got her wires crossed.’
‘Oh, well, that’s settled, then,’ Rhiannon said. ‘He’s not the one for you.’
Georgie rolled her eyes again. ‘Thank God.’
The supermarket was crowded at that time of the evening, professional people rushing in on their way home, all jostling to get last-minute items for dinner. Georgie wandered up and down the aisles with her basket as she waited for the queues to ease down a bit.
Shopping for herself was still a bit of a novelty for her, having only just moved away from home. She knew twenty-seven was rather old to be leaving the nest but she’d been perfectly happy living with her parents up until her father had retired a few weeks before Christmas. Ever since then both he and her mother had started to butt in on her life, as if theirs had come to a sudden end. Georgie recognised the very great adjustment her father had yet to make in moving from a demanding and stressful surgical and teaching career to being a retiree with no pressing commitments other than a few casual rounds of golf. Many retiring medical specialists suffered the same doubts and insecurities once their career identity was removed. And she also recognised the changes her mother was undergoing in having twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week access to a husband she had rarely seen in the past thirty years of their marriage.
Her father’s generous offer to buy an apartment for her had precipitated Georgie into deciding it was time to move out and leave them to it. Besides, she had to study, and study hard, to get through four years of neurosurgical training. Although after today’s ignominious beginning she was starting to suffer doubts and insecurities of her own.
She looked up to check the condition of the queues and locked gazes with a midnight-blue one. Her mouth went dry and her heart started to thump, her hand on the basket handle moistening.
She turned away and feigned an avid interest in the confectionary display in front of her, hoping he would just ignore her and move on.
‘Good evening, Dr Willoughby.’
No such luck, Georgie thought sourly as she slowly turned around to face him. ‘Good evening, Mr Blackwood,’ she said in a distinctly cool tone.
Ben’s eyes went to the basket she was carrying. His mother always said you could tell a lot about a person from how they shopped. Fresh fruit, low-fat yoghurt, wholegrain bread and … two chocolate bars. Somehow that made him smile inwardly. His younger sister Hannah was exactly the same—perhaps it was a girl thing.
He had been feeling a little bit guilty about reading the Riot Act to Georgie the way he had. She was young and inexperienced but clearly eager to learn, and the accident after all had been exactly that: an accident. She had probably been nervous and preoccupied on her first day, which every registrar, including himself, had experienced.
His eyes did a quick scan of her stiff little figure, standing with her basket like a shield against her, those big brown eyes of hers unwavering as they held his, and he felt his groin tighten another notch.
Yep, she was cute all right.
‘Doing your shopping?’ he asked, in an attempt to ease the tense atmosphere.
‘Yes,’ she said with a little lift of her chin. ‘You?’
He indicated the basket in his hand and gave her a rueful smile in spite of the hostile glare she was sending his way. ‘Yes. I always seem to be missing the most important ingredient when I start to cook.’
She made to move past. ‘I’d better not keep you, then.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, touching her on the arm. He saw her flinch and dropped his hand from the satin softness of her bare skin, his fingers still tingling from the contact. Her brown eyes were still fixed on his, unblinking.
‘Do you live around here?’ he asked into the tight silence.
‘Yes.’
‘Where exactly?’
‘Beachside Apartments, on the promenade,’ she answered.
No doubt Daddy’s bought his little girl a penthouse, Ben thought cynically. The real estate on that Bondi Beach block was phenomenally expensive. He’d bought three streets back and was still wondering how he was going to pay it off before he retired.
‘Look, Georgina—’ he began.
‘Georgiana,’ she said with cutting emphasis.
‘Oh, well, then,’ he said, deliberately dragging out the syllables, ‘Geor-gi-a-na.’
She lifted her chin even higher, her toffee-brown eyes sending off sparks. �
�But I prefer Georgie.’
‘Georgie.’ He tasted her name on his lips, wondering how his would sound on hers. He put out his free hand, his eyes still holding hers. ‘I’m Ben, by the way.’
She ignored his hand. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I have someone waiting for me.’
Ben let his hand fall back to his side as she strode over to the checkouts, her back rigid with haughtiness. She didn’t even look his way when she’d paid for her items. She simply gave the checkout attendant an on-off smile, picked up her bag and left.
Ben rolled his lips together, a tiny kernel of anger hardening inside him at her stuck-up rudeness as he snatched up three chocolate bars and moved towards the checkouts.
‘So how’s your new registrar working out?’ Madeleine Brothers, Associate Professor of Neurosurgery, asked in the doctors’ room the next morning. ‘I heard she ran you down yesterday.’
Ben stopped stirring his coffee to look at her. ‘Amazing how much the story gets changed during transmission,’ he remarked wryly. ‘She didn’t run me down—she opened her car door on me.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course I’m all right.’
‘If you want to swap her to our unit, that could be organised,’ Madeleine offered.
Ben frowned as he examined the contents of his cup. ‘No, that won’t be necessary, I’m sure we’ll get along fine after she’s settled in a little.’
‘I heard she’s very beautiful,’ Madeleine commented in a laid-back, mildly interested tone.
His head came up at that. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
One of Madeleine’s brows rose. ‘Even the comatose patients have noticed it, Ben,’ she responded dryly. ‘But you know my rules on fraternising with junior staff.’
Ben sat up straighter in his chair, his frown taking on a brooding edge. ‘Come on, Madeleine, there’s no law against it. This isn’t senior high school. We’re all mature adults.’
She folded her arms and gave him a contemplative look. ‘So you have noticed her, huh?’