The Surgeon's Marriage. Maggie Kingsley

wondering what else Tom might have told him, and just where this conversation was going.

      ‘It must be very difficult for you—holding down a full-time job, running a home, looking after your kids.’

      ‘Tom does his share,’ she said swiftly. Well, he’d been trying to recently, she told herself, though at the moment his efforts were proving more of a hindrance than a help. ‘It’s not a solo effort.’

      ‘I can’t imagine Tom as a New Age man.’

      He hadn’t make it sound like a compliment. In fact, he’d somehow managed to make Tom sound both boring and dull, and before she could stop herself she said, ‘I don’t know about New Age, but he’s certainly a lot more adult than men who flit from girlfriend to girlfriend, with no roots or purpose in life.’

      Mark grinned. ‘I’ve no doubt he is. But I bet he’s not nearly so exciting.’

      There was no answer to that—at least none she could immediately think of—and she strode to the staffroom door and opened it. ‘Our ward round, Dr Lorimer?’

      ‘Didn’t think he was,’ he said, his green eyes dancing.

      And you’re too smart by half, Helen thought as she followed him down the corridor. Too smart, too charming, too everything.

      Well, maybe he wouldn’t be quite so smart and charming after a couple of hours on the ward, she thought waspishly. Maybe a couple of hours of examinations, blood pressures and sheer exhausting hard work, would dent his charm and overweening confidence.

      It didn’t. Not even when Mrs Foster launched into her usual round of complaints the minute he appeared at her bedside.

      ‘A week is how long I was told I’d be in here,’ she declared, her beady eyes sweeping over him with no appearance of being in the least impressed. ‘One week, and now no one can tell me when I’m going home. If my stitches had been inserted properly—’

      ‘The trouble is, you tried to go to the toilet too soon after your hysterectomy,’ Mark interrupted, his face a picture of warm solicitude. ‘I can understand why you wanted to—an active, independent person like yourself—’

      ‘Well, I’ve never been lazy,’ she said, her eyes softening slightly, ‘but—’

      ‘And I appreciate that you’re anxious to go home, what with having little ones to take care of…’

      ‘My youngest is twenty-five.’

      ‘Good grief, you must have been married very young,’ he exclaimed. ‘I wouldn’t have put you a day over forty.’

      Mrs Foster pinkened, and simpered. ‘Well, I’ve always tried to take care of myself, but—’

      ‘And that’s what we want to do for you now,’ he continued with a dazzling smile. ‘Take care of you. I want to take care of you, and surely you’re not going to deny me that opportunity, or the pleasure of your company?’

      Helen heard Liz choke behind her, and she only just managed to maintain her own composure by staring determinedly at the wall over Mrs Foster’s bed, but when Mark had moved on down the ward she couldn’t restrain her laughter.

      ‘That was the most outrageous example of flattery I’ve ever heard,’ she gasped.

      ‘It worked, though, didn’t it?’ he protested. ‘And you’re not telling me that dreadful woman hasn’t been a thorn in your side for the past week.’

      ‘No, but—’

      ‘And it got you to smile at me, instead of shooting daggers, so it was worth it.’

      Mark’s eyes were deep, and warm, and she shook her head. ‘You’re completely incorrigible.’

      ‘But likable?’ he suggested, and she shook her head again, and laughed.

      He was likable. Dangerously likable. In fact, in the space of a week he had somehow managed to make her feel more feminine, more attractive and more desirable than she had done in years, and it had to stop.

      She had to start distancing herself from this man. For her own peace of mind and safety she needed to distance herself from him, or…

      Don’t go that way, her mind warned. You’re married, and he’s Tom’s friend, so don’t let your mind go down that road even for a second.

      ‘Helen?’

      A smile was playing about his lips, and again she had that uncanny feeling again that he was reading her mind.

      Abruptly she turned on her heel. ‘We’ve two more patients left to see. Which do you want first—Mrs Alexander or Mrs White?’