Darling Doc Page 2

  Don’t ask me how long it was before I drew breath, resurfaced, or realized my phone was making noises. I was surrounded both in mind and body by hot, aroused male, and it was fantastic.

  “Honey, Doc, your arse is making strange noises, if that doesn’t sound rude.” Alistair had drawn back, and to my mortification, I swayed toward him again. Hells bells, I hope I wasn’t puckered up. That would be too much.

  “My?” Surely not? Then I remembered I’d put the office phone on to divert, and my mobile in my pocket ready to head out before Sandie had interrupted my departure. “Oh shit, I bet I’m late for my next place.” I fished the offending item out of my pocket and squinted at the screen. I really must get my eyes tested. It was getting ever harder to see small print. My reading glasses were either not strong enough or too strong, and anyway the lenses were so scratched it was like viewing the world through frosted glass. Handy if I went into the gents’ by mistake (and let’s face it if I had them on, it was as likely as not) but not a lot of good elsewhere.

  I managed to make out a text saying time to move.

  “Right, I’d better go.” I grabbed my bag, put my shoes back on—when had I kicked those off—and did one of those half polite smiles when you’re not sure what else to do.

  He grinned. Really no man should be allowed to get away with an expression like that without appearing stupid. Alistair McCrea just looked sexy.

  “Not before I ask you out.”

  “What?” I had to stop saying that like a twit. No one would know I had degrees and stuff or a reasonable vocabulary. “Why?”

  “Because I want to get into your knickers?” He paused for what I guessed was effect and then winked. “But not tonight. Tonight I’d like to take you out for dinner, and what else I have in mind doesn’t work well on a full stomach.”

  Oh shiverooney. Hot sex? Swinging from the chandelier? Sadly no chandeliers around. What else? Now my mind was in overdrive. “Look, I’m not interested in a quick sh—how’s your father. Thanks, but no thanks. I have to remember who I am.” I did my doctor knows best face. He ignored it.

  Thank you. Dare I say, but anything else I’m happy to negotiate over? Maybe I’d better not.

  “Who you are? Oh, you mean the one I fancy? And who says it’d be quick? I want a full night, and not have to do anything other than replay all the bits we enjoyed the day after. Which is why dinner will have to be early. I’m getting a call at 4.30. That’s AM not PM.”

  Good lord, poor bloke. “That’s as bad as a doctor being on call.” I made my mind up. After all what had I got to lose? Not my virginity, that was long gone, and anyway he’d said sex wasn’t on the agenda and I believed him. And I fancied him and wanted to get to know him better. Damn it. From what little I knew of him on such a brief acquaintance, I reckoned he was a man of his word. After all, if he wasn’t I’d bet my last quid Sandie would have blabbed that when she told me who he was. That woman is a walking fount of knowledge over stuff like that.

  “Yes, all right. Now, I must go. Where and when?”

  He frowned. “I was going to ask you for a recommendation. Eat around six, if that’s okay?”

  I couldn’t think of anywhere we wouldn’t be surrounded by tourists or kids at that time, most of whom, I guessed, would recognize him. I scribbled my address on a scrap of paper.

  “I’ll cook, but I will do the ‘tell a friend I have company and check in’.” I made a mental note of what was in the fridge freezer or cupboard. “Steak or spag bol do?”

  “Either-or. Home cooked food sounds perfect. Can I bring anything?”

  I bit back “condoms” before I said it. “Nope, I’ll be fine. See you then.”

  It was lucky afternoon surgery was an early one, and I’d have time to tidy up and hide the washing I’d left draped around the Aga. I swear that stove was so much more than something to cook with. Clothes drier, de-creaser if you folded stuff and put it over the hotplate covers, and even bum warmer when you—gingerly—sat on it. I’d be lost without it.

  Which had nothing to do with me getting my ass in gear and getting the rest of the day’s work done.

  ****

  Typical, I was rushing around like a blue-arsed fly for the rest of the afternoon, what with a couple of emergency appointments, one of which was important, and the other a waste of time, and by the time I shut the door behind me I was red-faced and breathless. To say nothing of desperate for the loo, parched, hungry as lunch had been a no go; and running out of time.

  I dealt with things in what I considered was the order of priority. Loo, a glass of water—if I started on the wine now I’d be blotto before long as my tummy was rumbling—and shoving the washing, now dry, into the hall cupboard. Normally I would just throw it on the chair in my bedroom. However, in case my guest let his good intentions go out of the window, along with my inhibitions about my wobbly tum, big boobs, and more than an hourglass—probably a day glass—shape, I decided a tidy bedroom was a must.

  Well, tidyish. I’m no domestic goddess, nor do I want to be. After all the dust bunnies get upset when you disturb them, and when they return they bring all their friends as well. Better to let sleeping dust bunnies lie.

  After I’d had a quick shower, I went to my wardrobe and shuffled through the contents. After student loans there hadn’t been a lot of money to play with, so my selection of clothes was limited and what I preferred. As in old jeans or long, floaty skirts. At only five feet two, my choices often made me look dumpy, but I didn’t care. Comfort all the way was my motto. So apart from work clothes everything wasn’t exactly high fashion. Or even low fashion. It hadn’t bothered me, but for the first time in ages I really wanted to make a good impression. How I accepted my feelings were more than just lust and a need for sex, I couldn’t tell you. I just knew they were. But then maybe…

  Sod it. He could take me as I was. After all, I had feelings for him as he was, didn’t I?

  Oh did I. I stared in the mirror and burst out giggling. Maybe not, because “as I was”, was a sexy low cut black bra I’d almost had to take out a second mortgage to buy, (big boobs equal costly underwear) and a lacy black thong. Okay, sexy underwear was my secret vice. Very secret because there hadn’t been anyone I’d chosen to see it for ages. Yet another side effect of my profession. Not because I shouldn’t have a lover or whatever, just because I didn’t have the time or the energy to A, find one, B, get into the mood, and C, shave my legs… Oh shit.

  Sod it, he said nothing was going to happen, so hairy legs it is. And if I wore a long skirt, then they wouldn’t even be seen.

  Sorted.

  I grabbed the first skirt I touched and pulled it on. Elastic waists were so useful. Then rummaged in a drawer for a top that didn’t clash with it or my red—as in carrots not russet—hair and tugged it over my head. I guess I should wear tidy shoes, but my rule in the house was flip-flops in warm weather and Birkies—sadly with socks—or Uggs when it was cold. I’m a bit of a scrooge when it comes to central heating. As my kitchen has a sitting area, I tend to spend the colder months in there, and only use what my Grannie would call the best room and I called the other room at weekends or in the summer. And weekdays, by the time I got in it wasn’t worth lighting a fire to bump up the heat in there.

  Tonight, as I dashed around like a dervish I didn’t give lighting a fire a second thought. It was the kitchen or nothing. Well, unless the bedroom was needed. I never stinted the heating in there or my bathroom. Some things a woman just had to have. Warm extremities were one of them. I was well past sitting on the loo and counting the goosebumps on my legs.

  I stopped dead in the corridor and went back into the bedroom to slam the wardrobe door. Unless I did that it had a habit of swinging open, and I’d be mortified if it followed true to form just as we were about to get down and dirty. By dirty I didn’t mean the contents of my dirty laundry bag and a pile of rags for the charity shop when I eventually found the time to take them.

  2037 at this rate.<
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  The hall clock—a relic from my parents when they downsized—struck its quarter to the hour unmelodic clang. It had never sounded the same since my younger brother, then aged eleven, tried to make it chime every minute. He didn’t succeed, and it retaliated by sounding like a wheezing asthmatic.

  I needed to do an awful lot in not much time. First get the bolognaise sauce out of the freezer and defrost it and then see what I could sort out for a pudding.

  Me?

  Gah, I had sex on the brain. That’s what not enough did to you. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had that sort of a sweaty workout. Well, yes, I could, and it had been a disaster. A friend to a “friend with benefits” has its pitfalls, believe me. The bloke in question and I couldn’t look each other in the face—or anywhere—for weeks. It took us a long time to get back to the easygoing friendship we’d enjoyed.

  Therefore, it’s no wonder I’m wary about things these days. I know enough about STDs and so on—well, I’d be a bad doctor if I didn’t—to remember condoms and safe sex and … bugger. I never did check I had condoms.

  Spag bol first. I rummaged in the freezer, and for the umpteenth time promised myself I really would sort out all those unmarked freezer bags with unrecognizable contents. The trouble is I’m a bit of a scrooge when it comes to leftovers as well as the central heating. Oh, I don’t leave stuff to fester in the fridge like my brother. His fridge is a food poisoning paradise. But I freeze leftovers, with the idea I’ll eat them as snacks at some point.

  The trouble is half the time I don’t write what’s on the bags and then end up with three defrosted part portions of foods that don’t go together. The most memorable was rice pudding, cauliflower soup (which I thought was homemade ice cream), and mashed potatoes.

  However, I was reasonably sure where I’d put the bolognaise, and even better that I’d marked it.

  For once I was right. I shoved it into a microwaveable bowl and set it to defrost.

  What next?

  Condoms. It struck me that he’d specifically said no sex. But it could just be a ploy, right? You know to put me at ease and make me relax. I hoped.

  Because if it was it had done the exact opposite.

  I shot into the bathroom and rummaged in the cabinet. Phew. A three pack and still in date. I transferred them to my bedside cabinet.

  Now what?

  What was decided for me, as a throaty roar came from the lane outside my front gate. I looked out of the window.

  Oh … my … God.

  Not only sexy as hell, but on a Harley and in black leathers. Who doesn’t go weak at the knees at the sight of a hot male body encased in leather? All my ideas of a perfect Dom and said knees on the floor with me having assumed the position shouted at me. I wish. I hadn’t a clue what his preferences were. For all I knew he could be vanilla as plain ice cream.

  He stopped the engine. I assumed it was Alistair with that throbbing beast between his legs.

  Oh for heaven’s sake. Now I sounded like one of those steamy romances I used to sneak out of my mum’s book pile when she was at work, read them, and put them back and hope she didn’t realize. The ones with “throbbing members” and quivering lips, oh, and independently acting body parts. His hands wandered, all on their own, and help. Enough already.

  He put his leg over. Oh God, leg over. Stop it now.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door, just as he pulled off his helmet and…

  “Where’s your plait?” I burst out. His hair was now short with a sexy strand or two of grey showing in amongst the darkness.

  Enough to make any woman—or man for that matter—do the “play your cards right and you can have me” stuff.

  I’m no bloody exception.

  Shut your mouth, woman, or you’ll catch flies.

  Flies. Not that sort of flies. The flying kind, not the zipping kind.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi back.” Oh, how eloquent, Sandy. “Er, come on in. I’ve just realized I’ve only got gluten-free pasta. Do you mind?” Such scintillating conversation. My knees were knocking. A strange flutter in my heart was getting stronger. Hell, I’d not had a reaction like this to anyone since whenever.

  “That’s fine. Hey, anything’s fine that’s not set food or my cooking. I wanted to bring flowers or something, but I’ve been at the hairdressers as you see.”

  He ruffled his hair, which no doubt had been carefully styled.

  “No worries, but why the not really but almost short back and sides?”

  “I had to have it cut for the next episode. It’s fine. It’s a hell of a lot easier to cope with.”

  I led him into the kitchen. “I’m guessing no wine for you?”

  “Yeah, I’m on set at silly o’clock, so it’ll be Adam’s ale.”

  “That’s easy enough.” I grabbed a bottle of sparkling and one of still from the fridge. “Take your pick and take off your … well, whatever you want to take off.”

  He grinned.

  “What I want to take off and what I will are two different things.”

  Chapter Three

  What a statement to make. I swear I stared at him for the best part of a minute as he took off his jacket and put it over the back of a chair. Under it he wore a black t-shirt. I’m a sucker for black t-shirts. As well as kilts. And long hair. Sadly, that had gone, but he still scrubbed up more than most. I made an instant decision that short hair with a hint of grey was even sexier than a plait.

  “Right, ah. Sparkling or still?”

  “Still’s fine.”

  I needed to get a grip. I passed over the bottle, wondered if it would look odd if I stuck my head into the fridge to cool down, and decided it might, so I got out a pan for the pasta instead.

  Alistair wandered around as I sorted out what was needed to feed us. It didn’t seem fair if I had alcohol when he couldn’t, even though I’d gag for a g-and-t. I opened the bottle of fizzy water instead. I’d use my imagination and pretend it was something different.

  “Hey, you’re not drinking?”

  I shook my head. “Not alone.”

  “But you’re not alone, I’m here.” He winked. “I prescribe a glass of wine for the rushed off her feet doc.” He opened the fridge door and passed me a bottle of my favorite sav blanc, which I’d stashed there earlier. “Go on. Not that I’m trying to get you drunk or anything, but it’s daft not to if you want one.”

  Ah well. I was always easily persuaded. I poured a small one. After all, I had early surgery in the morning.

  The evening went well. We chatted like, not old friends, but new friends with a lot in common and a hell of sexual tension between us. My bullet would need a new battery at this rate. After a passionate argument about the classics—I hate them; he loves Dickens—I sat back and said, “So what else do you like to read. What genres? Romance? Westerns?”

  “Well,” he said in an overly casual manner that sent my senses soaring. “I’d better like paranormal seeing as it’s my bread and butter. I read some romance and some historical. What about you? What do you think about all those kinky books that are hitting the bestseller lists at the moment? Do they hit the spot?”

  Okay, do I tell the truth? I mean he might look all out dominant, but was he? Would it turn him off if I owned up to what I missed? Try it and see.

  “And more.”

  “As in you’d like to try it?” His voice deepened into what I’d call a Dom tone. The one that makes any sub listen and reply openly and honestly. The inner sub I thought had disappeared for ever responded and came surging to the present.

  “I did once. Then.” I shrugged, embarrassed to show what a total moron I’d been.

  “And?”

  Definitely out and out Dom.

  “It ended badly. He wasn’t what I thought he was, and it almost ended in tears. The wrong sort.” I grimaced. “Let’s say, I was young and impressionable, and the guy was no Dom, not really even a wannabe one. He thought a spanking was for punishment only an
d sensation play had to make scars of the permanent sort.”

  “What?” The roar of anger was balm to my soul. “Who is he? I’ll bloody show him.”

  “Ah, well you’d be a bit pushed. I got out, but another dimwit wasn’t so lucky. He’s doing 5-7 or some such thing in the states for GBH amongst other nasties.”

  “Just as well,” Alistair grumbled. “I’m not like that, I promise you. All above board and by the book. If we decide we want that.”

  He didn’t ask me if I did, dammit, and I thought for now I’d just smile and sort of answer non-committally. After all I didn’t want to be seen as too forward. Oh God, relationships are complicated.

  “That sounds good.” There. I hoped that struck the right note.

  He grinned. “I think so. What happened after that?”

  “I became a GP, and well, who wants to play with the doc?”

  He grinned. “I do.”

  Even across the table his interest—and I guess mine—flowed. I’d never been a person for first date sex, but boy, I was wet, wanting, and ready to change that rule.

  By the look in his eyes he wouldn’t argue.

  “Shall we sit down somewhere comfier?” Like the bed?

  He did a sexy half smile and stirred. “Okay, I said no sex. And we don’t have time for the sort of full on session I want. But if nothing else, let’s help each other out? If you fancy?” For the first time that night he looked unsure.

  I could hardly jump up and down and fist the air shouting hell yeah, but what I could do was show him to the bedroom.

  Then of course I wondered what he had in mind. He’d accompanied me without any hesitation. That was one thing. But he still hadn’t said what his idea was. Now I had lots of thoughts on the subject of getting jiggy, but were they the same as his?

  I hoped I’d soon find out.

  He was still staring at me in that quizzical manner I’d noticed, and I realized I hadn’t answered him.

  “Oh, I want.” After all, why be coy?

  The relief on his face made me want to giggle. I mean come on, I was no red-hot chick with all the moves to make things super over the top. No tantric sex or the sort of body to perform gymnastics and do it standing on my head. Just a regular, early forties woman, who carries a couple—okay a few more than a couple—say eight or nine pounds, mainly around my tummy. And come hell or high water, I couldn’t suck that bit of me in without coming all over faint. But I fancied him, was damned sure it was more than lust, and wanted to find out just what sort of a relationship we could eventually have.