A Perfect Hero - Caroline Anderson Mills & Boon Medical

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against her legs, and the warmth of his chest against her side.

      ‘The fish,’ he said abruptly, and she followed him back to the kitchen, her emotions in turmoil. As he unwrapped the bass and lifted it carefully on to the plate, she forced herself to behave calmly.

      ‘Do you have any salad dressing?’

      ‘In the little jar in the fridge door—it’s home-made.’

      They sat at the big oak table in the kitchen for their meal, and to her surprise she relaxed and enjoyed it. The food was delicious, Michael friendly but nothing more, and she began to think she must have imagined her reaction to his kiss.

      They took their coffee in the garden and sat on the bench seat among the roses, he at one end, she at the other, and a respectable distance between them. After a while their conversation flagged, and she looked up to see him watching her, his eyes intent.

      She flushed. Perhaps she hadn’t imagined it? His arm was flung along the back of the seat, and his fingers reached out and brushed the side of her neck. Her pulse leapt to life, and she sprang to her feet.

      ‘I ought to go, Michael.’

      He stood up smoothly and reached for her hand, his thumb idly brushing against her wrist.

      ‘I can feel your pulse,’ he murmured. ‘It’s racing. Fight or flight, or something even more fundamental?’

      She was frozen, transfixed to the spot, as he closed the gap between them and cupped her face gently in his hands.

      ‘Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?’

      ‘I—no, I don’t think so …’

      ‘How remiss of me. You’re beautiful, Clare. Quite exquisite.’ Trapped in that paralysing blue gaze, she was powerless to move as he lowered his head and took her mouth in a kiss so gentle, so delicate that she thought she must be dreaming.

      She sighed softly, and he eased her closer, so close that she could feel the beating of his heart against her own. Her lips parted slightly, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the edge of her teeth.

      ‘Open your mouth,’ he murmured gruffly against her lips, and she obeyed mindlessly, oblivious to everything except the feel of his body against hers, the touch of his hands on her face, the devastating intimacy of his kiss.

      With a muffled groan he lifted his head and rested his cheek against her hair. She could feel the thudding of his heart, the slight tremor in his muscles as he held her close against his chest.

      ‘I think I’d better take you home now,’ he said after a moment, and she nodded speechlessly.

      Neither of them spoke on the journey back to the hospital, but as he turned to leave her at her door, she laid a hand on his arm.

      ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Michael,’ she said softly.

      ‘The pleasure was all mine,’ he murmured.

      Clare smiled and shook her head. ‘Not all of it,’ she replied gently, and, rising on to her toes, she kissed his cheek lightly. ‘Goodnight.’

      ‘Goodnight, Clare. See you tomorrow.’

      And she would, she thought with a little race of her heart. For the first time in a long, long while, she found herself looking forward to seeing a man again. The smile was still on her lips as she fell asleep.

      IT WAS a busy week, and one in which Clare saw frustratingly little of Michael, and that only in brief snatches on the ward.

      Two of the boys in ‘Borstal’ went home, to be replaced by one of the lads from ITU—the other had been moved direct to Stoke Mandeville—and another admission, a youth of seventeen who had come off his motorbike and fractured his femur.

      He was in traction with a Steinmann pin and was comfortable enough to join in with the general hilarity after twenty-four hours.

      Pete Sawyer had had a bone graft taken from his hip and placed in his arm to link the broken ends of his radius, and they were now hoping for some progress.

      Tina, on the other hand, showed no progress, and on Thursday Mr Mayhew discussed with her the possibility of fusing her spine so they could start the long process of her rehabilitation.

      She was stoical throughout, but Clare sensed her outward calm was just a front. Her mother, however, had no such outward calm, and on Friday Clare had to remove her from Tina’s bedside because she had collapsed in tears.

      She took Mrs White into the office and met Michael there, studying case notes. He had been in on the dicussion with Tim Mayhew and the Whites, and the decision-making beforehand, and Clare gratefully handed the distressed woman over to him while she went back to see Tina.

      The girl had tears in her eyes, the first real tears Clare had seen, and in a way she was relieved. She drew the curtains quietly round and sat beside her, holding her hand.

      ‘I don’t want to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life,’ she whispered, and then the great heavy tears came, running down her wan cheeks and trailing into her hair.

      There was nothing constructive to say, so Clare held her hand, and gradually the sobs subsided, leaving her weary and shaken.

      ‘I don’t think I can face my mum again for a while,’ she told Clare, and she nodded.

      ‘I’ll suggest she goes and has a look round the shops and comes back later, shall I?’

      Tina shot her a grateful look. ‘Would you? I just can’t deal with her as well.’

      Clare squeezed her hand and went back to the office.

      ‘How is she? I didn’t mean to upset her, but she’s only seventeen—too young for all this——’ Mrs White buried her face in her hands and sobbed again.

      Over her head Clare met Michael’s eyes. He jerked his head towards the door, and Clare nodded.

      ‘Mrs White, I’ll get you a cup of coffee. You stay here for a minute and I’ll be back.’

      She followed Michael out and up to the ward kitchen.

      ‘How is she?’

      ‘Tina? Finding her mother hard to deal with,’ Clare told him.

      ‘I’m not surprised. She can’t cope at all. I think Tim will want to get her transferred to the spinal injuries unit at Stoke Mandeville—they have all the necessary social and emotional back-up as well as state-of-the-art technology for dealing with this sort of thing.’ He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Are you doing anything tonight?’

      She was caught off guard by the change of tack, because she had hardly seen anything of him since Monday night. He had been kept on the run by the events of the week, and there had been no opportunity to further their relationship—if indeed they had one, which after such a short time she doubted, but she admitted to herself that she hoped they could have. She met his eyes.

      ‘Are you planning to jump my bones?’ she said with a twinkle.

      He gave a short, surprised laugh. ‘Now that’s a tempting idea!’

      She blushed. ‘I didn’t really mean that the way it came out,’ she laughed.

      His hand came up and grazed her cheek. ‘What a shame,’ he teased gently. ‘I’ve been invited to a party at the house of one of the consultants, and I hardly know anyone who’ll be going—I’ll be like a fish out of water.’

      ‘Is it the Hamiltons?’

      He nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right—they’ve just got married and they’re throwing a party to celebrate. I gather they had a very quiet wedding and this is in lieu of a reception. Well,

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