The Playboy Doctor. Sarah Morgan
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‘When did you last eat?’
‘I’m eating now,’ she said pointedly, taking another bite out of her toast.
‘I mean proper food,’ he growled. ‘That’s no good for you at all.’
Shaking his head with disbelief, he turned on his heel and strode back through to the hall, delving into his jacket pocket for his car keys.
‘Where are you going?’ She followed him, torn between outrage that he’d been so blunt and a faint hope that he’d decided he couldn’t possibly work with her and was leaving her in peace.
‘Shopping.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders into his jacket and turned to face her, his expression ominous. ‘You’re almost burnt out, Joanna. You’re starving hungry and exhausted, and unless you do something about it fast you’re going to collapse. Go and have a relaxing bath—that’s if you know what the word ‘‘relaxing’’ means, which I seriously doubt—and I’ll go out and buy us both something decent for supper. Something that isn’t covered in mould or hairs and isn’t at least two months past its sell-by date.’
With that he yanked open the door and crunched across the drive to his sports car without a backward glance.
* * *
Fate was definitely not smiling on him.
Seb opened the boot of the car, removed the shopping bags and glanced at the house.
Joanna Weston. Who would have thought it?
Of all the women in the world he had to be marooned with, it had to be Joanna Weston. The irony of it nearly made him laugh. When George Mills had rung him and asked for his help, he’d anticipated a few months of peace and quiet in Devon. A complete contrast to his normal life. To be honest, he’d been pleased at the offer. The past year had been particularly hectic and traumatic, and he’d been looking forward to leading the fairly normal existence of a GP in a semi-rural practice. When he’d heard how small the community was and how isolated the house, he’d been imagining it as his desert island. Somewhere he could relax.
He walked up to the house and pressed the doorbell. The trouble was, Joanna Weston was most definitely not his idea of a desert-island woman. Being marooned with her was likely to be an extremely irritating and uncomfortable experience. The woman didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘fun’.
It was strange really, he mused as he waited for her to answer the door. Normally he got on well with women. In fact, it was keeping them at a distance that was usually the problem. But that had never been the case with Joanna. She was one of the few women he’d ever met who was totally uninterested in him as a man. Actually, she seemed totally uninterested in any man. Since the day he’d met her at medical school she’d had her nose buried in a book.
He gave a wry smile and rang the bell again. Maybe he should look on the bright side. At least he didn’t have to be on his guard with her. Normally he was very careful in his interaction with women, very careful to avoid misunderstandings. But at least with Joanna he could relax. There was absolutely no chance at all that she would ever fall for him. Which was actually rather refreshing.
Realising that she had no intention of letting him in, he gritted his teeth and stepped back, glancing up at the windows.
Was she playing games again or was she in the bath? Or maybe she’d already fallen asleep? The woman had looked totally wiped out, which was hardly surprising considering her lifestyle. Joanna Weston was a workaholic.
With a muttered curse he dumped the shopping on the gravel and strode round to the side of the house, looking for another entrance.
‘Sebastian?’
Hearing his name, he turned and crunched back along the gravel to the front door. Joanna was hovering awkwardly, dressed only in a long white dressing-gown, her hair wrapped in a towel. Obviously she’d just stepped out of the bath and she looked strangely vulnerable, clutching the dressing-gown in her small fist, the dark shadows of tiredness under her eyes accentuated by the pallor of her skin.
She looked different and he frowned slightly, trying to work out why. Her eyes. Blue. Deep blue. Almost violet. Like a Caribbean sea on a bright summer’s day. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before?
Because, he reflected thoughtfully, he was normally so busy being irritated by her that he never gave a thought to how she looked.
‘I’m sorry. I forgot to give you a key.’
Suddenly she seemed aware of his scrutiny and took a step backwards, clutching the dressing-gown as if she was afraid he might drag it away from her.
Seb almost laughed at the mere thought. It took more than a pretty pair of eyes to bring out the animal in him. Despite what many people thought, he was extremely choosy about his female companions.
‘I’ve bought us some supper.’
Without giving her time to argue, he strode past her into the hallway and made straight for the kitchen.
He hauled the shopping onto the table and started unloading the contents of the overstuffed bags into the cupboards and the fridge, still staggered by how empty they were. What had the woman been living on?
Turning his attention to supper, he quickly stir-fried some chicken with fresh ginger and garlic and added some vegetables and noodles.
‘I didn’t know you could cook.’
She’d swapped the dressing-gown for a blue T-shirt and an old pair of faded jeans that clung lovingly to her slim thighs. Until that moment he’d never actually noticed her body before, but he saw now that she was tiny—more delicate than he’d realised.
Pulling himself together, he lifted the pan off the cooker and served the contents onto two plates then watched in amazement at the speed with which she devoured her portion.
She might be slight in build but there was absolutely nothing wrong with her appetite.
‘Do you want some more?’ He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice and she raised her small chin defensively.
‘I was hungry. And it was delicious.’
‘Then eat—I suspect you’re catching up on a week’s worth of food,’ he said gruffly, standing up and heaping another large helping onto her plate. ‘The fridge is now full so there’s no excuse for you to faint in my arms again.’
She glared at him, her fork frozen in mid-air. ‘I didn’t faint in your arms—’
‘Joanna you’re exhausted,’ he said flatly, ‘and it’s hardly surprising. You’ve been carrying the workload of two GPs, and on top of that you obviously haven’t been eating properly. You nearly fainted.’
Her eyes shot daggers at him and then suddenly her slim shoulders slumped. ‘Maybe I did,’ she mumbled, ‘and I suppose I owe you a thank you. For shopping and for cooking.’
‘Well, that’s a first.’ He leaned back in his chair, a smile playing around his mouth. ‘Joanna Weston thanking me for something.’
‘Yes, well, don’t get too used to it,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I haven’t slept properly for four nights. I’m not myself.’
He could see that she hadn’t slept. She looked exhausted. And pretty.
He shook himself slightly. Joanna Weston was definitely pretty. Why hadn’t he ever seen it before?
Because normally she hid herself behind drab clothes. Suddenly he was intrigued. Maybe there was more to her than he’d thought...
Seeing her almost dropping off at the table, he cursed under his breath. Joanna was totally exhausted.
‘You ought to be in bed.’ He stood up, the chair scraping on the kitchen floor. ‘Just tell me where I’m meant to sleep and then you can go and get some rest.’
The drowsiness was gone