Career Girl in the Country / The Doctor's Reason to Stay (7 page)

She bit her lip as her hand crawled to her pendant. ‘Don’t do this, Matt. I’m not a child and you can’t muddy the truth. It stands and it has done for a long time. It stood loud and clear last night out at the point. For whatever reason, you were moved to kiss me. I kissed you back and you pulled away. End of story. We’ll both live.’

Despite everything, he knew their kiss had fired life into parts of his body that had been numb for a long time. Poppy had done that with her mouth, her tongue, her teeth and her taste. He couldn’t let her continue to believe she was a lousy kisser.
So tell her why you pulled back.

But he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to have
that
conversation, and see and hear her pity. With a growl he forced out, ‘You’ve obviously been kissing the wrong men.’

She gave a derisive laugh, her face tight with the pain of her past. ‘Yeah, well, last night was a case in point.’

No, it wasn’t.
In two strides he stood next to her,
cupping her cheeks and pressing his mouth softly to hers. Taking a gamble to prove a point, a point she needed to understand.

She stiffened, her lips closed to him. Gently, his tongue ventured along the outline of those wondrous bee-stung lips, lips that drove him crazy on an hourly basis, and he tasted a hint of gooseberry and restraint born of hurt. But she didn’t push him away so he slowly nibbled her generous bottom lip, coaxing it to open and unlock the ambrosia he knew waited within.

He heard a strangled moan and recognised the moment her inherent sexuality defeated her control. Her mouth—hot, moist and seeking—met his with a scorch of fire, lighting a blaze that tore though him, revisiting places and invading untouched parts of him. He buried his hands in her hair and her fingers dug into his scalp, as if it was the only way she could stay standing.

His skin, slick with sweat, tingled with something he barely recognised because the memory of it had faded to fuzzy faintness—hedonistic pleasure. He lost himself, amazed at how decadent yet occasionally sweet and tender her mouth could be. His tongue met hers in a dance of wonder that ignited into a fevered duel, each of them angling for control and driven crazy by need.

The power surge of her desire lit up the back of his mind.

When did you ever kiss Lisa like this in this house?

The thought shocked him so hard his mouth slackened and he almost fell.

Poppy’s eyes, glazed with ecstasy’s bliss, instantly focused. She pulled away, her breasts rising and falling
with fast, shallow breaths. ‘What the hell is happening? You’re doing it again.’

This time, with the light of the room, he glimpsed raw and pulsating pain in the electric blue of her eyes before her steely control shut it down.

He closed his eyes against his own pain, shame, guilt and utter despair.
She doesn’t deserve this.
Forcing himself to look at her, he knew with gut-wrenching certainty what had to come next. ‘It’s not you, Poppy, it’s me.’

Poppy stared at him, barely able to catch her breath and hardly able to believe her ears. Her heart pumped desire-fuelled blood through her, making her skittish and demolishing her usually logical thought processes. It took more than effort to clear her head. She scraped her mussed hair out of her eyes and clamped it by tightening the now loose band, the action giving her precious moments to pull herself together. ‘I don’t understand.’

His hand ploughed through his hair as his expression became imploring. ‘Please believe me when I tell you that you’re not
just
an exceptional surgeon.’

A kernel of belief almost sprouted inside her, but words counted little against crystal clear actions. He’d pulled away from her twice and both times had ended the most bone-melting kisses she’d even known. He’d rejected her, like all the men in her life. ‘I get the feeling there’s a “but” coming.’

His eyelids hooded his dark eyes, masking his emotions, but his body betrayed him when his left hand fisted so tightly his knuckles gleamed white. When he finally spoke it sounded like it was coming from the depths of his soul. ‘You’re the first woman I’ve kissed since Lisa died.’

Poppy’s legs gave way and she sat down hard on the couch. Oh, dear God, how had she been so dumb? She wanted to bury her face in her hands at her thoughtless and completely selfish neediness. Last night, when he’d stopped kissing her, her past had come rushing back so hard and fast it had obliterated any other possible reasons as to why he’d stepped back. By default, she’d made it all about herself, when in reality it was about him.

She had no idea what to say except the obvious. ‘You loved her very much.’ ‘I do.’

And right then, with the blinding clarity of the hindsight, she understood. ‘Kissing me is like cheating on Lisa.’

He sat down on the opposite end of the couch, his expression tinged with apologetic regret. ‘Yeah.’

She wondered what it would be like to be loved by someone so much that they considered it an act of faithlessness to kiss someone else even when you were dead. Steven hadn’t loved her enough in life to be faithful and yet she wasn’t certain she’d want a lover to be racked with this much guilt after she’d gone. Had she done something to trigger memories? ‘Do I remind you of her?’

‘God, no!’

She took the hit, feeling it reverberate through her with a dull ache, which was dumb because of course he loved his wife.

Show no hurt.
She tilted her head in irony. ‘Just as long as you’re sure.’

He had the grace to look abashed. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ She grabbed her wine and took a gulp, trying to dig down to find the mature adult. His emphatic
reply spoke volumes: she was nothing like his wife and no matter how that made her feel it gave her the opening to ask the question that had been on the tip of her tongue from the moment she’d discovered he was a widower. ‘So what was Lisa like?’

Her name.
Matt stared at Poppy for a moment, realising that no one in town ever said Lisa’s name to him any more. He turned away, doggedly looking out through the patio doors, uncomfortable about the comparison he was about to make. ‘She was blonde to your black and short to your tall.’
Her mouth wasn’t as full as yours.
He banished the thought by trying to focus on Lisa but his mental image of her face clouded around the edges. ‘She had a way with people, an ability to find something uniquely special about them. It made you feel like you were the only person who mattered to her at that moment in time. She made friends easily but she also kept them. There was something about her that made you want to try and be the best person you could.’

‘She sounds … exceptional.’ Poppy’s voice was strained and she cleared her throat.

‘She was.’ He kept staring out into the night as memories sucked at him, threatening to drown him, and he fought not to go to that dark place.

Poppy placed her glass on the side table and the noise of glass on wood brought him back to the present. She rose to her feet, the movement fluid yet extremely controlled, right down to the way the last hair on her head settled into place. He remembered the first time he’d met her and thought her all sharp angles and harsh lines. But that had been before he’d kissed her and discovered how wrong he’d been. Her air of command hid
a raw sexuality that when unleashed had rocked him in ways he’d never imagined.

She jutted her chin in that precise way that meant she’d made up her mind about something. ‘It’s late.’

‘It is.’

‘See you in the morning, Dr Albright.’

He stared at her, realising she’d just played the colleague card, putting the boundaries firmly back in place, cutting the attraction off at the knees. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Restoration of equilibrium? ‘Coffee at seven, Ms Stanfield.’

‘Seven it is.’

He ignored the scud of disappointment that gnawed at his gut.

‘S
O HAS
he put a foot wrong yet?’ Poppy held her phone hard to her ear as she took the call in Matt’s kitchen while making a late night ‘catch-up’ sandwich with chicken and salad.

Luke Davies, her favourite anaesthetist, filled her in on Alistair Roland, her competitor in Perth. She’d made the call after coming home from the first choir practice, needing to get her head firmly back in the game of her career rather than letting herself be sidelined by Bundallagong and a man with the smokiest gaze she’d ever encountered.

Not that it mattered that Matt could reduce her to a quivering puddle of need with one gaze, because he didn’t want her. Her rational self didn’t want him either but her body craved him so badly it sobbed continuously. If past history had taught her anything it was that she doomed relationships, familial and sexual. Even if she had any relationship skills, she couldn’t compete with the memory of a dead woman who, unlike her, had made friends with ease and been admired by all she’d met. Matt had made that more than clear three nights ago.

So she’d been very sensible and pragmatic over the last few days, as had he. Whenever they consulted at
work they were polite, professional and courteous. No one observing them would have any reason to think they’d once kissed each other senseless. As a result, it was getting easier with every day.

Is that so?

Yes!

You are so deluding yourself.

Luke’s voice rumbled down the line, bringing her back to the point of her call. ‘You might be in trouble. Alistair’s got the nursing staff eating out of his hand.’

‘That’s not good news.’ She opened the fridge, scanning the now considerable contents she’d purchased, and looked for her favourite mayonnaise.

‘You wanted facts. I’m just the messenger.’

It was just the sort of information she didn’t want to hear. ‘Exactly how has he achieved that in such a short time?’

‘Sorry, PICU is paging me. I have to go. Hang in there.’

The phone beeped as the call disconnected and Poppy felt the hitch in her gut. She didn’t have the XY chromosome to make a predominantly female nursing staff ‘eat out of her hand’ but she’d always prided herself on being fair. Why didn’t that ever seem to count for much?

Frustrated by the report and the paralysis of distance, she snapped her phone shut with one hand, grabbed the mayo with the other and bumped the door closed with her hip.

‘What’s not good news?’

The mayonnaise and her phone clattered onto the bench as her heart thundered hard and fast.
Matt.
She couldn’t be certain how much of her reaction was due
to fright and how much was the result of her body’s natural response to seeing him.

Her heart hiccoughed.

Question answered.

It was a lot safer to hide behind fright and find indignation. ‘First there’s the goanna thundering in the roof at 3:00 a.m. whenever a cat disturbs it and now this.’ She righted the mayonnaise bottle. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a person?’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘Sorry. I thought you heard me call out when I came through the door. Is there a problem?’

Never show weakness, Poppy.
Her father hadn’t been around a lot but when he had, he’d hammered that message home hard, loud and clear. ‘No.’
Deflect.
‘Well, there
is
the goanna. It’s like an elephant in the roof. How do you sleep?’

His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. ‘The goanna and I have an understanding and you’re changing the subject.’ His perceptive gaze shone with questions. ‘You’re wearing a frown as deep as a mineshaft and it isn’t goanna related.

Admit nothing.
‘I’ve got a lot on my plate, that’s all.’

Matt lowered himself onto the stool by the bench, his manner interested but slightly detached, just like it had been at work ever since they’d buried the entire kissing incident. ‘I’m happy to listen.’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’ The words shot out, defensive and self-protective, with the intent of warning him off. Steven had never understood.

Instead of looking offended, Matt just shook his head slowly as if he felt sorry for her. ‘Try me. You might be surprised.’

His long fingers reached out and she watched mesmerised
as he snagged a piece of chicken, tilted his head back and dropped it into his mouth. The mouth that had created such delicious havoc the other night and in the process had been branded on her memory for ever.

It had been years since she’d confided in anyone, having vowed never to again after the debacle with Steven. Usually she blocked people with snappy replies and if that didn’t work, she crossed her arms. She didn’t know if she was overtired, surprised by his interest or just a sucker for
chocolat-noir
eyes, but before she could second-guess her decision, she blurted out, ‘I’m fighting for the chief of surgery job back in Perth.’

‘Good.’

Indignation roared through her and she slapped mayo and mustard onto wholemeal bread. This was the sort of patronising response she’d got from Steven and the
exact
reason she never opened up to anyone. ‘Good? Exactly
how
is it good?’

‘You’d be great in that position.’

Surprise barrelled through her, dismantling her righteous anger and leaving behind a trail of confusion. ‘Oh, um, thank you.’

Matt raised his brows as he sliced an avocado. ‘Now, was telling me that so hard?’

Stop whining, Poppy, and just do the job.
‘Yes.’

This time he laughed.

‘Seriously, you have no idea.’ She pushed her father’s and Steven’s voices out of her head but thoughts about work took their place. She waged a constant battle—emotionally and physically—to get the same deal as her male counterparts, which meant staying one step ahead at all times. She’d given up so much and she deserved the Perth job, but it was hard to keep
fighting for it when she’d been taken out of her own work-place.

His laugh faded. ‘Well, you did it, you told me, and life as we know it is still happening, so keep going. What’s the specific problem?’

She loaded bread with moist chicken, avocado, thin slices of peppered tomato, fresh basil leaves and lettuce, before adding the top layer of bread and slicing the squares into neat triangles.

‘Poppy?’

She knew she was stalling. She pushed one plate towards him and saw intense interest underpinned with support. ‘My competitor is currently doing the job, shovelling charm by the bucketload and winning over the staff, while I’ve been sent up here to languish in the backblocks.’

‘Ah.’ He bit into the sandwich.

‘Ah, what?’ She pulled a piece of avocado out from between the slices of bread, her appetite vanishing.

‘Who did you upset?’

Her hands hit her hips despite the truth. ‘Why do you automatically assume I upset someone?’

‘Come on, Poppy, you have to admit that sometimes you have a “take no prisoners” approach that steps on toes.’

She bristled at his criticism. ‘You’re not perfect your self.’

‘I’m very well aware of that, but right now we’re talking about you.’ A quiet smile wove through his dark stubble. ‘Great sandwich, by the way.’

She leaned against the bench and sighed, partly at her inability to withstand his smile but mostly because she realised she was totally unable to sidetrack him away from the topic. ‘I was covering all bases and I
applied elsewhere too and was unsuccessful. News got out and now it’s being used against me.’

‘But you want the job at Perth City?’

‘I do. It’s
my job.’
She tapped her chest vehemently. ‘I’ve worked too hard for it to go to some interloper from the east.’

Understanding crossed his face. ‘If it helps at all, everyone at the hospital is in awe at how much you’ve achieved in such a short time and I haven’t heard too many grumbles about staff feeling overworked.’ His cheeky wink softened his words. ‘OK, you might not have the charm quotient like Mr East Coast but you’ve generated grudging respect.’

Her stomach clenched and she pushed her plate away, virtually untouched. ‘Oh, fabulous—grudging respect. That good, huh? That’s going to look sensational on my review … not! The only way I can counteract my competition is if I do an equal or better job so I need the staff to like me!’

‘That will come with time, Poppy.’

She would have preferred simmering sexuality to this ‘father knows best’ air and she wanted to shake him. This was
her
career on the line and her voice rose in frustration. ‘I don’t have time on my side.’

His calm expression didn’t change. ‘So make it work for you instead of against you.’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

‘Be a surgeon at work and a person at play.’

‘Play?’

‘Yes, Poppy, play. Get out there and go fishing with the theatre techs, call into the nurses’ clothing and product parties, comment on the holiday photos of the clerks, cluck about the cleaner’s new grandchild and
make sure you show up to drinks at some point
every
Friday night.’

An unfamiliar sensation she didn’t want to call panic zipped along her veins and her hand sneaked up to her pendant. ‘But that’s not me. That’s not how I’ve
ever
done things.’

Matt’s gaze showed no mercy. ‘Do you really want that chief of surgery job?’

‘Hell, yes.’

He grinned. ‘And there’s the drive we know and love.’ He walked round the bench to plug in the kettle. ‘Use your drive but redirect it. Show them there’s another side to Poppy Stanfield.’

She’d spent years only showing the world the surgeon in charge because it was so much safer. The surgeon had steel-plated armour but the woman buried inside her did not. She crossed her arms in self-protection and her teeth snagged her lower lip. ‘What if there isn’t another side? What if what you see is all there is?’

‘I don’t believe that.’ A husky edge clung to his voice and the collegiate mentor vanished under the heat-charged words.

Her stomach flipped. Memories of their kisses swirled and eddied around them, mocking everything she’d done to convince herself they were only colleagues. He stood so close to her she could smell the peppermint scent of his shampoo. She wanted his lips on hers, his arms around her waist and his body pressed hard against her, but when she glanced into his eyes, seeking the heat to match his voice, she could only find professional concern and perhaps a hint of friendship.

He doesn’t want you. Men don’t ever want you.
She hated the empty feeling that settled over her and she
ducked away from him, briskly covering the uneaten sandwich with cling wrap and covering her own irrational disappointment. ‘By the way, I got the all-clear on the house. I’m moving in tomorrow as soon as the new furniture’s delivered.’

A muscle close to his mouth twitched and he gave a brisk nod. ‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased to be in your own space.’

But Poppy read the subtext. He wanted her out and was pleased she was going. For her own peace of mind, she should be pleased too.

At 10:00 p.m. Matt saw the lights go on next door and tried to ignore them. Tried to ignore the fact Poppy was home. He tried to think about work, focus on how they’d both gone out of their way to be polite professionals, but all he could do was picture her in the kitchen, making one of her enormous ‘catch-up’ sandwiches after a day of grabbing food on the run.

Like the one she’d made him on the night he’d tried so hard not to let his hunger for her take over. The night she’d actually accepted some advice. It had been a good evening and they’d shared a companionable half-hour right up until the moment she’d nibbled her full, lush bottom lip.

He could have taken her right then—in the kitchen, on the bench, against the wall, anywhere. He had no idea how he’d managed not to. How he’d pulled himself back into line so she’d had no clue what he’d been thinking. Then she’d hit him with moving out.

God, he had to stop thinking about her, but the house was too quiet and offered up no distractions. Shadows danced across the walls and the strident, singing cicadas under the deck had gone silent on him.
Even the goanna was undisturbed. The sensor light on the deck flickered on, probably triggered by a cat, and a slither of light caught something red behind the barbecue. He squinted and his heart cramped.

Annie’s ball. He’d thought he’d collected all her toys but this one had refused to be found, lying in wait to layer on another fresh round of pain. He turned away from the glass and slumped down on the couch. Before Poppy’s arrival he’d thought he was finally getting used to the emptiness of the house, if not the silence.

The huge silences were why he hadn’t done anything about the goanna, because any sound was at least noise. But post-Poppy he’d realised that just by having another person in the place, even one who argued the point on almost every subject, had lessened the void that had taken over a home. Once it had known so much buzz but now silence had reduced it to a house. Four walls of loss.

Poppy had moved her two red suitcases out three days ago. Three long, quiet and lonely days. His loneliness had shocked him. Since Lisa’s death he hadn’t wanted company but tonight he ached for it. He’d spent the last three days arguing down every urge to go and visit her. He’d fought off the guise of the friendly neighbour bringing over a house-warming gift, wrestled down the doctor who thought he should ‘follow up’ on a case, and he’d shut up the eager mentor who kept insisting he should ‘check up’ and see how she was going with her campaign to warm up the staff.

So far he’d been successful at not going over, but it was consuming every moment of his day. And night. His phone beeped; a blessed distraction, and he read the reminder that flashed up on the screen.
Jen’s b’day 2morrow bring food.
He smiled. Jen must have
put the reminder in his phone when he’d left it at the nurses’ desk.

He knew he hadn’t contributed to a staff celebration in a long time and when he did he always bought something from the bakery, but right now, on this particular night, he wanted to make something, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the perfect thing to do. He jumped to his feet and headed into the kitchen. He could only make one thing; a simple, no-cook chocolate slice his mother had taught him when he’d been a kid. She’d called it ‘hedgehog’. Opening the kitchen cupboards, he reached to the very back and found a packet of plain biscuits. Amazingly, they were within the ‘best before’ expiry date.