Sold to the Surgeon by Ann Jennings Page B

of the storm. Greg pulled the car to a halt.
    â€œAre you going to ask me in?” he asked abruptly.
    The abruptness of the question startled her, she hadn’t even thought about it, for a moment she hesitated. Then common sense took over. After all, it was merely of matter of courtesy to do so.
    â€œOf course, you can dry yourself off a little. Perhaps by then the storm will have abated.”
    â€œIt certainly hasn’t at the moment,” he observed, adding as he looked at the length of the garden path. “We’re going to get quite a bit wetter by the time we reach the cottage.”
    Abigail nodded in agreement, and then together they ran the whole length of the path as fast as skirting the deep puddles would allow. Even so, it was impossible to avoid being completely drenched all over again, by the time they reached the shelter of the brick porch.
    Exhausted from running, Abigail inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the front door. “Well, at least we’re in the dry now,” she said breathlessly, “and to think I’d planned to do some gardening tonight!”
    â€œIs that all you’d planned to do?” asked Greg teasingly.
    Abigail blushed, and was immediately annoyed with herself. Any other man’s teasing wouldn’t have caused her to react like a sixth-form schoolgirl! What was the matter with her?
    â€œRupert’s away until Wednesday,” she heard herself blurting out defensively, “and I…er”…Her voice trailed off, as she found herself studiously concentrating on a button in the middle of his shirt. “You’re very wet,” she finished lamely.
    â€œI could say the same about you.” His voice seemed extra low and husky, or was it her over-active imagination?
    Abigail looked up quickly, but then tried to look away again as she caught a disturbing glance from his enigmatic coal-dark eyes. But his hand caught at her chin, determinedly tilting her face back towards him.
    For a brief moment, she resisted pushing her slender hands against the warm wetness of his soaked shirt. Then the persuasiveness of his mouth on hers melted her resistance, causing strange unknown emotions to stir within her, spreading through her veins with a warm glow.
    â€œPut your arms around my neck,” he commanded, his lips warm against her cheek.
    Meekly Abigail slid her willing arms around his neck. The pressure of his long sensitive fingers against her body was strong, and long-dormant emotions she hadn’t even known she possessed instinctively made her raise her face to drink in his deepening kiss. Fleetingly, Rupert’s face flashed before her, but she couldn’t retain it. Greg’s dark face was there, warm and close, blotting out everything and everyone else.
    At last he drew back his head and smiled gently down at her. “Do you like me a little better now?” he asked slowly. “Or do you still regard me as that ‘pushy’ American?”
    Abigail felt her cheeks staining pink with embarrassment, as she realised the interpretation he was probably placing on her response to his kiss. “I’d better get you that towel I promised,” she muttered quickly, evading a reply to his question.
    He laughed softly, a faint hint of mocking amusement in his laughter. “Is that a way of telling me to stop?”
    With the relative safety of two yards now separating them Abigail felt more confident, “Yes, and it’s also a way of telling you that if we don’t both dry ourselves we shall catch pneumonia.” With that, she skipped smartly up the stairs not waiting for his reply. Hurriedly grabbing two warm bath towels from the airing cupboard, she leaned over the banister and threw one down to him.
    â€œCatch!” she called. “Dry yourself as best you can, I’ll be down in a moment.”
    Having thrown down one towel, she dashed into her bedroom, immediately going over to the