Tempted by Dr. Daisy by Catherine Anderson Page B

dressing gown back and she was running out of underwear. And she’d finally eaten the ready meal, the solitary little portion underlining her pathetic single status.
    Not that her status was any different to this time last week, but it somehow felt different. It was the kiss that had done it, she thought. The kiss, and talking to him, sharing smiles and the odd joke at work. Going round to his house last night and seeing the full extent of what he’d taken on.
    Making friends slowly, day by day.
    Actually, not that slowly, and working with him was a privilege and a joy. It was living next to him and wanting the man and not the doctor that was so hard, because if the doctor was wonderful, the man was downright off the scale.
    She heard him come in at ten, and she wondered if he’d knock on her door. Bring round a bottle of wine, or askher to go there for coffee. And then maybe he’d kiss her goodnight…
    She slammed the washing machine door shut, put the iron away and shoved the basket into the corner. She’d deal with the sheets and towels tomorrow, she decided, and went to bed, irritated that he had the power to affect her both with his presence and his absence. Ridiculous!
    Anyway, she needed an early night, and the next day she was glad she’d had one. Ben had a busy gynae list and asked her to assist—which meant in practice he got her to lead on several of the ops, so that she did most of the surgery and he held instruments and handled the suction and told her what to do.
    It was his job to mentor her after all, and she appreciated it, but he took it very seriously and stretched her to the limit, testing her ability all through the day so that she was exhausted by the time the last patient was in Recovery.
    Exhausted and proud of herself, she thought as she showered. She’d done far more than she ever had before, and she’d been able to do it because he had confidence in her.
    Unlike Evan, who still double-checked her work and seemed unable to delegate.
    She raised it with Ben as they sat in her conservatory drinking tea after she’d got home, and he shrugged. ‘That’s his problem,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any problem delegating to you. I think he lacks confidence in himself, to be honest, and I don’t think he’s ready to be a consultant. What do you think of this one?’
    He’d brought round a bunch of kitchen brochures the plumber had dropped in, and they were flicking through them while they waited for the takeaway to be delivered. Thai, this time, for a change. His choice. His bill again, hesaid, as he was commandeering her time to get her advice on his kitchen refit.
    It was a safe topic, well clear of the minefield of his personal life—and hers, come to that. Not that she had one, unless you counted the cat. Safer than talking about her feelings, anyway, because she certainly had them and they were getting more complex with every passing day.
    The food arrived, and it was getting cooler in the conservatory so they ate in the dining room, with soft music in the background and the lights on low.
    A mistake, she realised, because it made it very intimate, and suddenly it began to feel like a date, all over again.
    He’d brought the bubbly with him as a bribe for her input into his kitchen, and whether it was that, or the intimate atmosphere, or just that the chemistry between them was so all-consuming that it wiped out everything in its path, she didn’t know.
    All she knew was that everything he said made her laugh, and when he smiled his eyes lit up and his whole face joined in. And he was just so nice , so ordinary and yet extraordinary, unlike all the other men she’d ever met before.
    They drained the bottle between them—foolish, she thought, on a work night, but after the first sip she was past caring—and she made some coffee and they took it through to the sitting room.
    Was it that? Returning to the