by Sarah Morgan
Conner started to laugh. ‘No, Mrs Patterson. I didn’t know that. Do you party?’
‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ Her smile faded. ‘But these eyes of mine…’
‘Yes.’ He shook his head and stood up. ‘All right, let’s take a look, although why I would want to fix your problem just so that you can spy on me, I don’t know. It’s probably dry-eye syndrome. You’re spending too long on the computer. And that’s something I’ve never had to say to an eighty-six-year-old before.’
‘So, which young lady’s heart are you breaking at the moment, you bad boy?’
Conner stilled, thinking of Flora. ‘No one. I’m being boringly good.’
‘You mean you don’t want to tell me.’ Agatha gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘That’s good. When you care about a girl’s reputation, it means it’s serious.’
Conner stared at her. Serious? ‘Trust me, Agatha, it isn’t serious.’
‘Ah—so there is someone.’
Realising that he’d just been outmanoeuvred by an eighty-six-year-old woman, Conner gave a silent laugh and examined her eyes, trying not to remember how Flora had looked when he’d said that she didn’t turn him on.
Why on earth had she believed him?
Hadn’t she seen that his words and his body had contradicted each other?
Apparently not, which just proved how naïve she was.
And proved that he’d been right to walk away.
He was absolutely not the man for her.
‘Is everything all right?’ Agatha looked at him anxiously. ‘You seem very grim-faced.’
‘I’m fine. Everything is fine.’
And it should have been.
He’d ended a completely unsuitable relationship before it had started. He should have been feeling good about himself. But he was experiencing his first ever attack of conscience.
He’d hurt women before. Plenty of them. And it had never particularly bothered him. He’d always thought it more cruel to let a woman delude herself and spend hours waiting by the phone for a call that wasn’t going to come.
Fast and sharp, that’s how he would have wanted it, so that’s how he’d delivered it.
The difference was that he wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing it for Flora and there was a certain irony in the fact that his first truly unselfish act was causing her pain. And he was in agony.
Suddenly realising that Agatha was watching him closely, he pulled himself together. ‘Do you have the central heating on at home?’
‘Of course. This is Glenmore.’ Her tone was dry. ‘Without central heating I’d be too cold to sit at the computer.’
‘Try logging on to somewhere warm,’ he drawled, examining her eyes carefully. ‘Mauritius is nice at this time of year. Central heating can make the irritation and redness a little worse. Tear secretion does reduce with age, Mrs Patterson.’
‘So do all the other secretions, Dr MacNeil.’ She gave him a saucy wink and Conner shook his head and started to laugh.
‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. What were you like at twenty, Agatha?’
‘I would have given you a run for your money, that’s for sure.’ She leaned forward, a twinkle in her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to walk away from that beach after a night with me.’
‘I have no trouble believing you. All right, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to start by giving you artificial tears to use. It they don’t make a difference, I can refer you to an ophthalmologist on the mainland for an opinion.’
‘Can I contact him by email?’
Conner grinned and sat back down in his chair. ‘I’m sure he’d be delighted to hear from you. Try the drops first. They might do the trick.’ He studied his computer screen, clicked on the drug he wanted and printed off a prescription.
‘You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?’ Agatha gave a cheeky smile. ‘If I’d seen you sixty years ago, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.’
‘Now, that’s a pick-up line I haven’t heard before.’ Conner took the prescription out of the printer and stood up. ‘Try these. If you have no joy, come back to me.’
‘I certainly will.’ She took the prescription, folded it and tucked it into her handbag. Then she stood up. ‘The beach is still nice, you know. If you fancied paying a visit.’
Conner laughed. ‘Get out of here, Agatha.’
‘I’m going. I’m going.’ And she left the room with slightly more bounce and energy than she’d shown when she’d entered it.
* * *
Flora began to wish that Glenmore was larger and busier. After her last humiliating encounter with Conner she was the one avoiding him, if such a thing was possible on an island as small as this one.
She arrived at work, hurried to her consulting room and then straight out on her calls. She didn’t spend time in the staffroom and if she needed a doctor’s advice on a patient, she sought out Logan.
It should have helped, but it didn’t. She felt dreadful.
On the outside she looked as she always had—a little paler perhaps, but pretty much the same. But on the inside…on the inside she was ripped to shreds. She was mortified that she’d misinterpreted his actions and felt foolish beyond words for ever believing that a woman like her—boring Flora—could ever be attractive to a man like Conner.
He was a woman’s dream, wasn’t he?
She might be relatively inexperienced, but she wasn’t blind. Women’s eyes followed him wherever he went. That wicked, careless streak that defied the opinion of society was one of the very things that made him so appealing. He was his own person. As strong of mind as he was of body.
And she had to put him out of her mind and move on.
So she concentrated on work and succeeded in avoiding contact with him until one afternoon a thirteen-year-old boy with a cheeky smile and long, lanky limbs tapped on her door.
Recognising him immediately, Flora waved a hand towards the empty chair. ‘Hi, Fraser, come on in. How are the summer holidays going?’
‘Too fast.’ The boy gave a shrug and stood awkwardly just inside the door.
Aisla, his mother, gave him a gentle push towards the chair. ‘For goodness’ sake, she isn’t going to bite you!’ She rolled her eyes at Flora. ‘Honestly, these teenagers. They’re men one minute and boys the next. He’s terrified you’re going to tell him to undress.’
Fraser shot his mother a horrified look, gave a grunt of embarrassment and slunk into the chair.
Flora smiled at him. ‘What’s the problem, Fraser?’
‘It’s my legs. Well, this leg mostly.’ He stuck it out in front of him and frowned down at the mud and the bruises. ‘I was doing football camp up at the school but I’ve had to stop.’
‘Both the doctors are fully booked but Janet said you’d take a look and decide what we need to do,’ Aisla said quickly. ‘I don’t know whether he needs an X-ray or what.’
‘Did something happen? Did you fall?’
‘I fall all the time. It’s part of football.’ Fraser rubbed his leg and Aisla gave a long-suffering sigh.
‘I can vouch for that. You should see the colour of his clothes. I swear that all the mud of Glenmore is in my washing machine.’
Flora smiled and dropped to her knees beside Fraser. ‘Let me take a look—show me exactly where it hurts. Here?’
‘Ow!’ Fraser winced. ‘Right there. Have I broken it?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Nothing like that. I’m going to ask Logan to take a quick look.’
‘Don’t waste your time. He’s just gone on a home visit,’ Aisla told her wearily. ‘We were in Reception when Janet took the call and he came rushing out. Some tourist with chest pain on the beach.’
‘Oh.’ Flora’s heart rate trebled. ‘Well, we could wait until he’s back, I suppose. He might not be long.’
‘I want to see Conner,’ Fraser blurted out. ‘He knows everything about football. Can we ask him to look at my leg?’
&nb
sp; Just the sound of his name made her palms damp. ‘With Logan out, he’ll be very busy.’
‘Is it worth just trying? Perhaps he’d see Fraser if you ask him.’ Aisla’s expression was worried. ‘It’s just that, if he thinks it should be X-rayed, I’m going to need to make some plans.’
‘Of course I’ll try. Wait there a moment.’ Hoping she didn’t look as reluctant as she felt, Flora left her room and took several deep breaths. Across the corridor a patient left Conner’s room and Flora felt her knees turn to liquid.
She couldn’t do it. She really couldn’t face him.
She turned backwards to her room and then realised that she couldn’t do that either. How could she tell Aisla that she was too pathetic to face Conner?
Taking a deep breath, she walked briskly over to his door and rapped hard, before she could change her mind.
Keep it brief and to the point, she told herself. Professional. And don’t look at him. Whatever you do, don’t look at him.
‘Yes?’ The harsh bark of his voice made her jump and she wondered how any of the patients ever plucked up courage to go and see him. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a deep breath and opened the door.
‘I just wanted to ask if you’d see a patient for me. Thirteen-year-old boy complaining of pain in his leg. It’s tender and there’s swelling over the tibial tubercle.’ She adjusted her glasses, still not looking at him. ‘He’s been at football camp so it’s possible that he’s injured himself, but I’m wondering whether it could be Osgood-Schlatter disease.’
‘Reading all those books has obviously paid off.’
She had the feeling that he was intentionally trying to hurt her and she didn’t understand it. He wasn’t unkind, she knew he wasn’t. Why would he want to hurt her? ‘Obviously I’m not qualified to make that diagnosis.’ Suffering agonies of embarrassment, she cleared her throat. ‘He’s in my room now. He’s suffering from an attack of hero-worship and is desperate for your opinion on his leg.’
‘Ah…’ He spoke softly. ‘Patient pressure. And I’m willing to bet you tried Logan first.’
‘Fraser is Logan’s patient so he was the logical first choice.’
‘And nowhere near as terrifying as facing me. How much courage did it take for you to knock on my door?’
She stiffened. ‘Please, don’t make fun of me, Dr MacNeil.’
‘Do I look as though I’m laughing?’ With a low growl of impatience, he rose to his feet. ‘There are things I need to say to you, Flora.’
‘You made your thoughts perfectly clear the last time we spoke. If you could just see the patient and give me your opinion, I can take it from there.’ Terrified that she was about to make a fool of herself, Flora turned and walked quickly back to her room, her heart thundering in her chest. Aware that Conner was right behind her, she concentrated on Fraser. ‘Dr MacNeil will take a look at you, Fraser.’
Conner threw her a dark and dangerous look that promised trouble for the next time they were alone. ‘Can you lie on the couch, Fraser? I want to examine you properly.’ He waited as Fraser winced and limped to the couch and then examined the boy, his hands gentle.
‘It’s not my hip, it’s my leg,’ Fraser muttered as Conner examined his joints.
‘But your hip is attached to your leg,’ Conner observed in a mild tone, ‘so sometimes a problem with one can cause a pain in the other. Does this hurt?’
‘No.’
‘This?’
‘Ow! Yes, yes.’ Fraser swore and his mother gasped in shock and embarrassment.
‘Fraser Price, you watch your language! Where did you learn that?’
‘Everyone says it,’ Fraser mumbled. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘It’s a big deal to me!’
‘I bet Conner swore when he was my age.’
‘He’s Dr MacNeil to you,’ Aisla said sharply, and Conner cleared his throat tactfully and examined the other hip.
‘I can’t remember that far back. Is this OK? I’m going to bend your knee now—good. Do you play a lot of sport?’
‘Yes, all the time. Just like you did.’ Fraser grinned. ‘Football, beach volleyball, loads of different stuff.’
It wasn’t just the women who adored him, Flora thought helplessly, it was the children, too. They thought he was so cool.
Aisla looked at Conner. ‘Do you think we need to have it X-rayed?’
‘No.’ Conner straightened. ‘You can sit up now, Fraser. I’m done. As Nurse Harris correctly assessed, you have something called Osgood-Schlatter disease. It’s a condition that sometimes affects athletic teenagers, particularly boys. There’s inflammation and swelling at the top end of the tibia—here.’ He took Fraser’s hand and placed it on his leg. ‘Can you feel it?’
‘Yes.’ Fraser winced. ‘So will it go away?’
‘Eventually. But you’re going to need to play a bit less football.’
‘How much less?’
‘You need to cut down on your physical activity, because that will only make things worse.’
‘All of it? Everything I do?’ Fraser sounded appalled and Conner put a hand on his shoulder.
‘It’s tough, I know. But basically you need to stop doing anything that aggravates your condition. Ideally you should avoid sport altogether until your bones have fully matured, but I appreciate that’s asking a bit much. A compromise would be to stop if you feel that whatever you’re doing is making it worse.’ He glanced at Aisla. ‘He can take anti-inflammatories for the pain. If it doesn’t improve, we can immobilise it for a short time and see if that helps. Failing that, we can refer him to an orthopaedic consultant for an assessment.’
Fraser slumped. ‘No football?’
‘Try cutting back. That will allow the pain and swelling to resolve. Anything that makes it worse, stop doing it.’
‘Will it go?’
‘Once your bones have fully matured. Unfortunately, the more active you are, the worse the symptoms are likely to be.’
Fraser looked grumpy. ‘I’ll have to spend the summer playing on game machines.’
‘I don’t think so,’ his mother said dryly. ‘You can read a few books.’
‘Books!’ Fraser’s face went from grumpy to mournful. ‘It’s my holiday! Why would I want to spend it staring at a book?’
Aisla walked towards the door. ‘Thanks, Dr MacNeil. Flora. We’re grateful.’
Conner waited for the door to close behind him. ‘I don’t know which upset him more—the prospect of cutting back on football or the thought of reading books.’
‘It was a close-run thing.’ Careful not to look at him, Flora changed the paper on the couch. ‘Thank you for seeing him.’
‘Your diagnosis was correct. Well done. That was very impressive.’
‘Thank you. I’m pleased all that studying paid off.’ Although she didn’t look at him, she knew he was watching her. She could feel him watching her.
‘Flora…’ His voice was husky. ‘I know you’re hurt and I’m sorry.’
‘I thought you never apologised.’
‘Well I’m apologising now,’ he said testily, and she shrugged.
‘You don’t have to apologise for not finding me attractive,’ Flora said stiffly, and heard him inhale sharply.
‘I know you won’t believe me, but I was doing you a favour.’
‘Really? It’s doing me a favour to kiss me and then tell me I’m boring?’
‘I should never have kissed you in the first place.’
‘So why did you?’ She breathed in and out, forcing air into her lungs. ‘Not once, but twice. The kiss on the beach—all right, let’s say that was an accident. But you kissed me again, didn’t you? If I’m so boring, why did you do that? Were you just teasing me? Doing me a favour, giving boring old Flora a thrill? Did you just do it to hurt my feelings? It was patronizing, Conner. You made me—I was…’ She couldn’t even say the words. ‘If you didn’t want me then you should have just left me alone. Or are you so bad that you just have
to cause hurt?’
‘Bad? You think I’m bad?’ He pressed her against the wall, his body hard against hers. ‘I’ll show you what bad is, Flora.’ He brought his mouth down on hers with punishing force, kissing her with raw, explosive passion, the slide of his tongue explicitly sexual and unbelievably seductive.
And she melted. Her head spinning from his skilled assault on her senses, she kissed him back, feeling fire dance inside her belly. She wasn’t capable of thought or speech—all she could do was respond to his demands. She did so willingly and when he finally lifted his head she stared at him, mute.
‘I’ve been called bad by a lot of people,’ he said hoarsely, his hands planted either side of her head so that she couldn’t escape his gaze, ‘and most of it has been justified. But I’m damned if I’m accepting that criticism when it comes to you, Flora Harris. If I was as bad as people think, we would have already had sex.’
She was dizzy with need, unable to make sense of what he was saying. ‘But you don’t find me attractive.’
‘No?’ He slid his hands over her bottom and pulled her into him so that she felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her. ‘What I really want to do right now is strip you naked and take you hard and fast until we’re both so exhausted that neither of us can move. And then I want to do it again. And again. Do you understand me?’
She gave a little whimper of shock and his eyes darkened.
‘I’m not talking about marriage, or friendship or any of those soft, woolly things. I’m talking about sex, Flora. Sex.’ He released her suddenly and took a step backwards, a look of disgust on his face. ‘And that isn’t the sort of person you are, which is why I’m going to let you go now. I’m going to walk out of that door into my consulting room and you’re not going to follow me. You are a woman who deserves a conventional relationship with a reliable guy. I’m neither of those things.’
She licked her lips, shaken by everything he’d said to her. ‘I don’t think you should tell me what I want.’
‘You’re too naïve to play this game.’