Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss. Fiona McArthur
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She almost wore an emerald sundress and up close the way it fitted her body took his breath and his brains away. Again.
He handed over the dish of fruit and yoghurt he’d chosen without thinking but thankfully she looked happy enough with his choice.
Then his mouth let him down. ‘You look gorgeous.’ He almost slapped his hand over it. No-o-o-o. Quick recovery needed. ‘But I’m not a fan of home births.’ The words hung starkly, like the family of swallows under the scalloped roof of the rotunda.
Her sudden smile faded. ‘I noticed. Why?’
Good. She’d heard him. At least he’d said what he had to. ‘Too dangerous. Poor outcomes if something goes wrong.’ He looked away. ‘And personal reasons. I really don’t want to discuss it.’
To his surprise she nodded with more understanding than he’d expected. ‘I can see that.’ She glanced away to the waves.
When she said, ‘Do you run most mornings?’ ridiculous relief expanded inside him. He caught her eye as she looked back.
He could laugh now. ‘When people don’t cripple me with gnomes, yes.’
She bit her lip and blushed delightfully. ‘I’m sorry. And I didn’t mention it at work.’
He couldn’t pretend that wasn’t a bonus. Not the most glorious way to introduce the new consultant. ‘I’m over it.’ Actually, he was—surprising even himself—and Matilda looked happy to hear it. He let her have a full-blown smile so she could see he was telling the truth. ‘I do have some sense of humour. Eventually.’
She looked down and smiled at the steps and he felt a frown on his forehead. Had he sounded self-indulgent? Forgotten how to talk trivia to a woman? Not usually. Maybe it was just this woman.
He forced himself on. ‘So you like to swim in the mornings. And sing.’ Her eyes lit up again, like they had in Theatre last night, and they smiled at each other like two loons. Then he remembered they worked together and he needed to keep distance. He glanced around at the people in the park. No one was looking.
There was an awkward silence and he patted the rotunda they sat on. ‘Do you sit here often?’
She glanced around, encompassing the grass of the park, the sea, and finally the rotunda. ‘When it’s empty. I can see right out over the ocean. In the spring they have white daisies around the bottom. I pretend it’s my castle and I’m a princess.’
Not too far-fetched even for his prosaic imagination. She looked like he’d always imagined a fairytale princess looked. He’d never had a thing for tiny blond-haired dolls, always dark, willowy Rapunzel-type ones, and red was close enough.
Problem was she so easily enmeshed him, like those nets hanging off the boats down on the beach, and he had to disentangle himself. A liaison with a junior midwife was the last thing he needed.
He just hadn’t wanted misunderstandings at work and especially when his aunt thought so much of her. Really his only reason for being here.
He finished his breakfast in a hurry and stood up. ‘Sorry to rush off.’
‘No. You go. I’ll stay a little longer. I often eat down here when I’m working the late shift.’
Tilly watched him go with his strong brown legs eating up the distance and the incline to his aunt’s house. He didn’t look back and his spine stayed straight and tall as he moved like a well-oiled machine, though actually he was a bit of a machine, with his running and his rules for the ward and the world. Marcus The Machine. A control freak. Which was sad.
Yet somehow she didn’t think he’d planned the invitation to have breakfast with him. She smiled to herself. She’d bet that had come out of nowhere.
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