LITMIR.BIZ

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there were yells of ‘Speech!’ from the crowd.

      Ross came forward, his arm anchored round Lizzi’s waist, and waved them all down.

      ‘I don’t want to make any speeches—I hate doing it nearly as much as Oliver does, but we would like to thank you for your good wishes, and the welcome I’ve received since joining the hospital. So much has happened since then that I can hardly believe it’s only been ten weeks, but as all of it’s been good I won’t ask any questions!’ There was a ripple of laughter, and he continued, ‘Anyway, thank you all, and do enjoy yourselves.’

      There was a round of enthusiastic applause, and then four young men appeared at Ross’s side.

      One of them was Mitch Baker, his registrar, and one was Ross’s son Callum. He grinned at Ross and held up his hand.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, for my favourite stepmother, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!’

      Then they picked Ross up, ran down the steps and hurled him, yelling wildly, into the swimming pool.

      ‘Good grief!’ Michael muttered.

      Clare was convulsed with laughter.

      ‘Serves him right,’ she said eventually. ‘At the last party they had, he chucked Lizzi in in her underwear!’

      ‘Why?’

      She shrugged. ‘No one knows, but we all have a fair idea!’

      The music was turned up again, and as Ross climbed out of the pool and laughingly tossed his sons in over his shoulder, Michael pulled Clare into his arms.

      ‘Dance with me,’ he murmured.

      ‘But it’s a fast record!’ she laughed.

      ‘So halve the beat! Where’s your imagination, Staff Nurse Stevens?’

      There was a shriek behind them as Ross reached Lizzi and carried her, kicking and screaming, into the water, but Michael and Clare were oblivious.

      The music changed tempo, and in the dimly lit garden Clare’s arms reached up and twined round Michael’s neck. His cheek rested against her hair, and as their bodies swayed gently to the music she relaxed against him and let herself go.

      What harm could it do? She’d told him clearly enough that she wasn’t in the market for an affair, and she carefully blanked off the part of her mind that told her things might be changing.

      His hands rested lightly against her spine, and for a long time they danced without any conscious thought. Then Michael lifted his head and rested his brow against hers, and eased her closer with a subtle pressure of his hands.

      ‘I think I’m going to die if I don’t kiss you soon,’ he murmured.

      So much for her relaxation! So much for her belief that it couldn’t do any harm! And the worst thing was, she didn’t care any more.

      ‘Me, too,’ she whispered.

      He drew in a sharp breath, and swallowed hard.

      ‘Let’s get out of here.’

      Her heart pounding, she nodded blindly.

      ‘Any sign of our host and hostess?’ he asked, and she noticed his voice was strained.

      ‘I don’t think so.’ Heavens, she didn’t sound much better!

      ‘Let’s just go—they won’t miss us. We’ll thank them next week.’

      Her wrap was still in the car, so they were able to make their way around the side of the house and leave without drawing attention to themselves.

      All the way back to his cottage her heart was pounding with nerves, and as they pulled up outside, she took a deep, steadying breath before climbing out of the car.

      Michael unlocked the front door and ushered her inside, then, leaning on the door, he pulled her gently but firmly back into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.

      ‘I’m scared,’ she whispered.

      ‘Don’t be. I won’t do anything to hurt you, or anything you don’t want me to do. I just had to be alone with you, without an audience of interested spectators making notes on our every move.’

      He let her go, and she stood trembling by the door as he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

      ‘Coffee?’ he asked, sticking his head back round the door, and then came towards her, a serious but tender expression on his face.

      ‘Clare, it’s OK. Do you want to go home?’

      She shook her head numbly.

      ‘Just hold me,’ she said unsteadily, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her hard against his chest.

      After a minute she relaxed, and he eased away from her, dropping a light kiss on her brow. ‘Go and sit down, and I’ll bring the coffee through. How do you take yours?’

      ‘White, no sugar,’ she told him, and moved mechanically into the sitting-room.

      He joined her a few minutes later, sat down on the settee and patted the cushion beside him.

      ‘Come and sit with me.’

      His tone was gentle, persuasive, and quite unthreatening. Clare did as she was told, perching on the edge, longing to lean back against his side and at the same time ready to run if necessary.

      His hand reached out and brushed the bare skin at the nape of her neck.

      ‘Please don’t be afraid of me,’ he murmured.

      ‘I—I’m not. I think I’m afraid of myself.’

      ‘Don’t be. I’ll take care of you. Come here.’

      He took her shoulders in his hands and eased her slowly back against him, so that she half sat, half lay across his lap. Then with one arm under her shoulders, he cradled her against his chest and sighed with contentment.

      After a moment, in which she realised he was not about to make any demands of her, she slipped off her shoes and lifted her feet up on to the settee, snuggling closer to him.

      ‘OK?’

      ‘Mmm.’ She moved her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest. His heart was beating steadily, slowly and evenly.

      ‘You must be very fit,’ she murmured.

      He chuckled. ‘Why?’

      ‘Your heart beats very slowly—about fifty-five a minute—like an athlete’s.’

      ‘I jog some mornings, and windsurf, and I also play squash three times a week and tennis in the summer. When I’m not doing any of those things, I’m sailing. I suppose that keeps me fit. What about you?’

      ‘Me? I’m lazy,’ she said with a sigh of contentment.

      ‘Like the cat.’

      ‘Where is your cat?’

      ‘Around. He’s having a fantastic time exploring. He’ll be in in a while for a bit of TLC, then off out again hunting. He’s a bit of an alley cat, really, but he’s an old softie underneath. His name’s O’Malley, from the cat in The Aristocats.’

      Right on cue, she heard a loud miaow and something heavy landed on her stomach. Her lids flew up and she peered, startled, straight into pair of bright blue eyes.

      ‘He’s a Siamese!’

      ‘Oh, yes. Didn’t I tell you that?’

      O’Malley squawked and stepped delicately over her shoulder, taking up residence around Michael’s neck.

      ‘He thinks he’s a collar,’ Michael said in resignation.

      Clare laughed and swivelled round so that her feet were back on the floor. ‘He’s very

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