The Playboy Doctor. Sarah Morgan
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for a moment that rural Devon was on his list of desirable places to visit.
As their eyes met she saw recognition flicker in those blue depths and she braced herself for his reaction.
‘Well, well, it’s Joanna Weston...’ His voice was a soft, cultured drawl and Joanna glanced quickly at Laura, her face expressionless.
‘Thank you, Laura. I’ll call you if I need you.’
Whatever derogatory comment Sebastian Macaulay was about to make about her, she didn’t want him doing it in front of Laura.
Laura hovered, clearly wanting to stay around. ‘Shall I get you some—?’
‘I’ll call you,’ Joanna snapped, and Laura gave her a puzzled look, clearly taken aback that her normally mild-mannered, kind boss was behaving so uncharacteristically.
Joanna sighed, feeling instantly guilty. It wasn’t Laura’s fault. ‘Thank you, Laura. If we need you, we’ll buzz.’
Laura stared at her for a moment before turning and leaving the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Sebastian Macaulay...
For a moment Joanna just stared at him and then she pulled herself together.
‘Well, this is a surprise.’
‘It is indeed.’ His blue eyes sparked with wry humour. ‘Although I suppose I should have guessed that it would be you. When I was told that this place was being run single-handed by a female GP, I was intrigued as to what sort of woman would want to bury themselves in the middle of nowhere.’
Nowhere? Joanna felt herself bristle. He thought this was nowhere? Well, someone like him probably would of course. She counted to ten and forced herself to be civil. She was not going to let the man wind her up.
She lifted her chin and gave him a cool look. ‘I’m not buried, Dr Macaulay, and I choose to live and work here because the people are lovely and the countryside and the beaches are wonderful. Although this might surprise you, I consider this village to be somewhere, rather than nowhere. But I can understand how someone of your...’ she paused for emphasis ‘...sophisticated tastes might consider this to be nowhere. Which leads us to the question of what you could possibly be doing in this area.’
Instead of answering immediately, he strolled round her consulting room, pausing to examine pictures, posters and photographs.
Personal photographs!
She felt a flash of anger and forced herself to calm down and analyse her feelings.
What on earth was the matter with her? How could someone she hadn’t seen for at least six years provoke such hostility in her? She was confused and puzzled by her own reaction. She didn’t normally respond that way to people. Normally she was placid and gentle, a real peacemaker. But Sebastian Macaulay had always brought out aspects of her character that she had trouble identifying. Just being in the same room as him made her insides boil and churn.
It was just because they were so different, she reasoned. Not just in terms of background—although that too, of course, because she knew for a fact that Seb Macaulay was wealthier than even Laura was probably imagining—but in terms of personality and attitude. How could she ever expect herself to have anything in common with a man who approached life as a game to be played and enjoyed, a man who shunned commitment and responsibility in favour of short-term pleasure?
No, she assured herself, her hostility towards him came from the simple fact that she disliked the man. She disliked the flippant way he approached life, the way people fell at his feet, his flashy lifestyle...
She bit her lip, forcing herself to face the truth. What she disliked most of all was the fact that he reminded her of—
Instantly she closed her eyes and pushed the thought away. She wasn’t going to drag the past up now. Not twice in one day. First with Alice and now with Seb Macaulay. For years she’d managed to keep those hurtful, uncomfortable feelings totally buried. She was happy and she didn’t want anyone or anything disturbing that.
Anyway was the man ever going to tell her what he was doing here? ‘I’m very busy, Dr Macaulay.’
‘So I hear.’ There was a pause as he leaned closer to study a favourite of hers, a painting of the moor on a wild, winter day, and Joanna curled her fingers into her palms.
‘Look.’ She cleared her throat and kept her tone businesslike. ‘Why don’t you just tell me what I can do for you?’
He turned, subjecting her to the full force of his gaze. She stiffened, forcing herself not to react. She’d never met a man with eyes as blue as his. Just one flash of those killer eyes and women had fallen over themselves in their undignified haste to climb into his bed. Except her, of course.
‘What you can do for me?’ The corners of his firm mouth tilted slightly as if she’d just said something funny. ‘It’s more a question of what I can do for you.’
‘What you—’ She broke off, temporarily rendered speechless by his careless arrogance. ‘Offhand I can’t think of a single thing that you could possibly do for me except leave me in peace and allow me to get on with the mountain of work I have to do.’
His smile widened. ‘That’s the Joanna I remember,’ he murmured softly. ‘Work, work and then more work. Nice to know you haven’t changed.’
His eyes left her face and wandered lazily over her body, starting with the flat, comfortable shoes, moving up past the sensible skirt, the crisply laundered blouse with the high neckline and finally resting on the severe hairstyle which she’d favoured since her second year at medical school.
She lifted her chin, his casual scrutiny making her hot and uncomfortable. She didn’t need to see his slightly ironic blue gaze to know that he found her lacking as a woman. She knew that she wasn’t his type. And she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be anybody’s type.
‘I’m very busy, Dr Macaulay.’
‘So you keep saying. Which brings us back to the reason I’m here.’ His tone was still amused as he walked over to the window by her desk and moved the blinds aside with one long finger. ‘Nice views.’
‘I’m not interested in what you think of the views. What has me being busy got to do with you being here?’ Her tone was sharp and she frowned as he let the blinds drop and turned to face her.
‘Rumour has it that you’re in the middle of a crisis and you need a locum.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘I know that you’ll be delighted to hear that I’m that locum.’
She stared at him in stunned silence.
When she finally found her voice it cracked slightly, as if it had been kept in a dusty room for a month. ‘You? You can’t be my locum. There’s been a misunderstanding,’ she croaked, licking dry lips and rummaging round in her numbed brain for some sort of reasonable explanation. ‘Dr George Mills, the senior partner, has made arrangements—’
‘He has indeed.’ Seb inclined his head in agreement. ‘Me. He called me and I agreed to help out.’
‘You?’ Joanna shook her head slowly. ‘No. That’s not possible...’
He shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘Because...because...’ How could she put it without sounding horribly rude? ‘Lots of reasons. You’re not—I mean you don’t—This isn’t the sort of surgery for a man like you,’ she finished lamely, wishing that he didn’t always make her feel so tongue-tied.
‘A man like me?’ He threw back his head and laughed in genuine amusement. ‘And you are such an expert on men, of course. Your specialist subject, if I recall.’
Joanna flushed at his none-too-subtle reminder that she’d barely socialised as a student.
‘So