The picture sharpened and she had to draw in a ragged breath when a wave of dizziness assailed her. Were Dylan’s legs really that long or was it just a trick of her imagination? And his shoulders—could they possibly be that broad without the benefit of padding? She knew she shouldn’t look at him again but the urge to satisfy her curiosity was too strong to resist.
She glanced round, deliberately letting her gaze rest on his broad back because it seemed vital that she should answer those questions. He was reading through the patient’s notes so she had ample time to take stock without him noticing and didn’t waste a second as she began mentally listing his attributes. Well-shaped head, strong neck, broad shoulders, neat waist…
Her gaze suddenly came to his bottom and to her dismay refused to move on. She tried to make her eyes obey her but to no avail. Joanna bit her lip. There was something decidedly sinful about the idea of standing there, ogling Dylan Archer’s taut derrière so perfectly displayed by the thin scrub-suit trousers.
He suddenly looked round and Joanna flushed when he caught her staring at him. A slow grin spread across his face and she had to bite back her groan of dismay. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life and there was absolutely nothing she could do to salvage her pride.
‘Don’t worry, Joanna. I know exactly what you’re thinking.’
‘You do?’ she squeaked, her vocal cords knotting in mortification.
‘Yes. And I promise you that I’m going to stick strictly to the rules from now on.’ He waggled the folder of notes at her. ‘I understand that you need to supervise me and it isn’t a problem. Really. I can tell you’re worried about how I’ll react but there’s no need.’
He suddenly frowned, his black brows drawing together over those gorgeous emerald green eyes. ‘That is what’s bothering you? You’re worried that I’ll take offence but I promise you that I don’t mind if you spend the day peering over my shoulder.’
Maybe he didn’t mind but she did!
All of a sudden Joanna knew that the last thing she needed was to spend the day monitoring what Dylan was doing. She could just imagine how stressful it would be to have to stand behind him in Theatre, staring at…
‘No!’ She cut off that train of thought because she didn’t dare let it reach its natural conclusion. She had to stop thinking about Dylan’s bottom!
‘No?’
‘No.’ She heard the bewilderment in his voice and hurried on. She couldn’t afford to let this situation get out of hand. She had to remember that she was forty-two years old and that getting involved with a junior colleague would be professional suicide. Maybe men could bend the rules to suit themselves but she couldn’t take such a risk. She refused to let herself become the butt of a lot of puerile jokes and damaging gossip.
‘I won’t be monitoring your work, Dr Archer, because there is no need. I saw enough this morning to know that you are more than capable of working on your own.’
She elbowed the taps off and took the towel Lucy offered her, deliberately ignoring the shock on the other woman’s face. Maybe it was unheard of her to compromise but sometimes a situation demanded a more flexible approach. Tossing the towel into the basket, she slid her hands into the latex gloves that Lucy offered her before glancing at Dylan again.
‘We shall split the list between us. I’ll be working in Theatre two if you need me.’
She briskly headed for the door and didn’t pause when Dylan said softly behind her, ‘Thank you.’
Joanna didn’t reply because she didn’t want to make an issue out of her decision. She went straight to Theatre two and informed the staff that she would be operating in there that morning while Dr Archer, the new senior registrar, was working in Theatre three. The announcement caused a bit of a stir but she told herself that it was because they hadn’t been expecting her and had nothing to do with the fact that she had seen fit to bend the rules for a newcomer.
Fortunately, everyone soon settled down and within a few minutes her first patient was being wheeled in. Joanna had a brief word with the young woman who’d been admitted for surgery on her hand. She was suffering from Dupuytren’s contracture—a condition whereby tissues beneath the palm of the hand thickened and shortened, causing difficulty in straightening the fingers. Joanna planned to cut and separate the bands of tissue to free the woman’s fingers. It was an operation she had performed before successfully so she assured the patient that everything would be fine then moved aside while the anaesthetist got on with his job.
It was a scene she’d witnessed too many times to count but all of a sudden it felt as though she was seeing it afresh. Her vision seemed sharper than it had been before, her hearing more acute, and she couldn’t understand what had changed until it struck her that it was Dylan Archer’s arrival which had made the difference. The scene she was witnessing seemed far more vivid than normal because of his presence, and the realisation scared her.
Her life had been going according to plan and she didn’t want anything to change, but she might not be able to stop it. Dylan Archer’s advent into her life had added a new dimension to the equation and, whether she liked the idea or not, she might not be able to get things back to how they had been before.
‘GOOD work!’
Dylan smiled when Tom Barnes clapped him on the back as he came into the changing room. They had just finished their last operation for the day—the one to repair Ada Harper’s hiatus hernia—and he knew that Tom was as pleased as he was that it had gone so well. Ada was now in Recovery and would be transferred to the surgical ward as soon as she came round from the aneasthetic. However, Dylan wasn’t anticipating any problems.
‘Thanks, but you should give yourself a pat on the back as well. Anaesthetising a patient of that age is no mean feat, buddy!’
‘I know.’ Tom’s face split into a wide grin as he stripped off his Theatre greens and tossed them into the laundry hamper. ‘I did one heck of a job in there, too, didn’t I?’
Dylan gave a bark of laughter at such unashamed lack of modesty. ‘You certainly did. It’s no wonder Joanna overlooks your dodgy dress sense if that’s any indication of your expertise.’
‘What do you mean, “dodgy dress sense”?’ Tom tried—and failed—to look suitably offended as he took his T-shirt off a peg and inspected it. ‘This is the real McCoy, I’ll have you know. A genuine, bona fide surfer’s shirt, only given to those brave souls who’ve ridden the Big One.’
‘The Big One, as in Hawaii?’ Dylan whistled. ‘Then I stand in awe of your surfing talents as well as your anaesthetising skills. No wonder you’re the star of Joanna’s team.’
‘Thank you kindly. It’s nice to be appreciated although I might need to look to my laurels now you’ve joined us.’ Tom dragged a towel out of his locker and flung it over his shoulder as they headed for the showers.
‘What do you mean?’ Dylan paused and looked at the other man in surprise.
‘That my undoubted talents might not be enough to keep me in pole position as our revered boss’s star performer.’ Tom grinned as he reached a long arm into the cubicle and turned on the water. ‘The lovely Joanna obviously has