Doctor's Orders (7 page)

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

Isabel looked at him, but his tanned lean face swam before her eyes. “I'm tired, Dr Blakeney,” she said. “I am so tired, I think I shall fall down if I don't get back to my room soon.” She made to turn away, but his grip on her elbow tightened, and she vaguely heard him mutter something beneath his breath.

Before she was aware of what was happening, she was sitting in his car and being driven back to his large house. She made a feeble protestation, which he ignored, and soon she was sitting in his lounge with a hot cup of tea in her hand and some biscuits.

“Have that,” he ordered peremptorily, “at least it will stop you fainting on me.”

Obediently Isabel sipped the tea and ate the biscuits. It was true the food and drink did make her feel better; at least she didn't feel sick and giddy any more. When she had finished she put down the cup. “Thanks,” she said, “I do feel better. I'll go back to my room now.”

Mike Blakeney stood looking down at her, his grey eyes dark and clouded. “I'm not taking you anywhere until you've had dinner,” he said. “I know I was in a bloody-minded mood today and it's my fault you missed lunch. The least I can do is cook you dinner.”

Isabel smiled tiredly, “There's no need for that…” she began.

“I want to,” he interrupted, “it's the least I can do.”

Without waiting for her to reply he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

Left to her own devices Isabel curled up on the settee. She was so tired, and the idea of having dinner cooked for her was tempting to say the least, and the idea of spending the evening with Mike Blakeney was tempting too. Even though he had been thoroughly objectionable all day! As she relaxed, sleep drifted over her, her long dark hair fell like a soft, silky curtain across her face. She was unaware that Mike Blakeney had come in from the kitchen, and had stood looking down at her, studying her intently for some moments before he went back to the task of preparing the meal.

“It's ready,” a gentle hand on her shoulder awoke Isabel. Startled, she sat up. For a few moments she was unsure of her surroundings. Then she found herself looking into a pair of grey eyes, this time not cold and unfriendly, but dark and, although still unfathomable, she could swear there was a hint of warmth lurking there.

Smiling, she pushed the dark curling tendrils of hair from her face. “It smells delicious,” she said.

“I hope you think it tastes equally so,” he replied seriously, smiling back at her. “I'm not the world's best cook, but I've tried my best.” Taking her by the hand he led her across to the dining table, which was set out with places laid for two, a candle flickering in the centre of the table.

Chapter Four

It was a simple meal, but beautifully prepared. Consommé with croutons to begin with, followed by steaks and salad, cheese and biscuits, washed down with a good, full-bodied claret. Isabel found she was much hungrier than she had expected, and did full justice to the meal.

His stern face seemed softened by the flickering candle light as he smiled at her across the table. “For a very slim girl, you certainly eat well,” he said. “I like that. There is nothing that infuriates me more than someone who picks at their food.”

Isabel raised her eyebrows. “I
have
been on my feet all day,” she reminded him, “apart from the short time I feel asleep on your settee. Although,” she added, “I don't eat like this all the time. If I'd been alone, I would probably only have had a small salad.”

“Just as well you are not alone then,” he said, raising his glass to her. “Otherwise you might have faded away altogether.” He sipped the dark red wine, and studied her intently. “In that blue dress you looked so frail and tired when I met you in the corridor, I was afraid a puff of wind might blow you away!”

Isabel laughed at such a ridiculous notion. “It would take more than a puff of wind to blow me away,” she said categorically, “and more than a difficult day's operating to beat me.” She added the last words defiantly, knowing that
he
knew very well what she meant.

“I suppose I was a bit difficult,” he admitted, “but I was feeling in a particularly bad mood.”

“That's no excuse for taking it out on everyone else,” retorted Isabel severely. “Just because
you
have problems, doesn't mean to say we all have to share them.” She stopped suddenly, aware of a dangerous dark flash in his grey eyes. “I'm sorry, perhaps it
is
a little rude to speak to you like this,” she said quickly before she lost the courage, “especially as you are providing me with sustenance, but I'm afraid that's the way I feel!”

“Quite right too,” he said, his lean face breaking into an unexpectedly devastating smile. “I think I need someone to reprimand me occasionally, someone to help keep my bad temper in check!”

Isabel smiled back at him, her heart momentarily captured by the smiling curve of his usually stern mouth. A smile that enhanced his rugged, lean good looks, and chased the dark shadows from his face. Involuntarily she raised her hand to the hollow of her throat, where the pulse was drumming out a wild, unfamiliar beat. She could hear her own heart hammering loudly in her ears. What was it about this man, that he had the power at one moment to infuriate her and at the next to make her heart turn turtle? It was something she had never experienced before, it was exhilarating and yet frightening at the same time. She had thought she had loved Hugh Sinclair wildly, and she had. She
knew
she had, but he had never had that sort of effect on her!

“You must get yourself a girlfriend,” she answered lightly, hoping her voice didn't betray her turbulent feelings. “Someone who
will
reprimand you occasionally.”

“What makes you think I haven't got one?” he asked.

Isabel blushed at his sudden challenge, flustered. “I…er, I didn't think. I just assumed,” she faltered.

“My advice to you is never assume anything,” he said drily, reaching across the table for her glass. “Shall I pour you some more wine?”

Isabel's hand, that reached out to take the glass from him, was not quite steady. It had happened again, one moment he was friendly, and then suddenly he closed up like a clam. She was sitting opposite a total stranger again, but still a stranger with a strong latent sex appeal to which she felt herself responding.

He made a deliberate slow study of her face, his gaze locking on to hers, compelling her to look back at him. Then slowly, almost casually, he let his gaze wander idly down her body, lingering for just a split second on the swell of her breasts outlined by the thin blue cotton of her dress. His glance was almost like a physical caress, and against her will she felt rebellious fires kindling within her, and she was uncomfortably aware that he knew very well what she was feeling.

Swallowing nervously, she tore her gaze from his and took a sip of her wine. Trying to appear cool and calm, endeavouring to keep her agitation under control, she said, “I think I ought to go soon,” forcing the words out casually. “I could do with an early night tonight.”

“Ah, yes of course,” he said silkily, “you were out on the tiles last night, weren't you!” His voice had a barely veiled mocking note to it.

“I went out with Cliff Peterson and some friends, if that is what you mean,” retorted Isabel, suddenly remembering his figure standing in the hospital entrance watching Cliff kiss her.

“You and Cliff Peterson seem to have got
very
friendly, very quickly,” he observed.

“Just because you saw him give me a good night peck, which doesn't mean a thing,” said Isabel, “and anyway it's none of your business,” she added defiantly.

“It looked a damned sight more than a good night peck to me,” he answered disdainfully.

Isabel stood up angrily; what right had he to say such things? “I don't care
what
it looked like to you,” she snapped, piling up the plates. “I'm taking these through to the kitchen and then I'd be glad if you would take me back to the hospital.”

“You can't dictate to me when I should take you back,” he replied dourly, leaning back in his chair, one elbow on the table. From his stance he looked as if he intended to stay that way for the night!

“Oh
really,”
exploded Isabel crossly, “if you are going to be so difficult, I shall walk!” With that, she picked up the plates and marched smartly into the kitchen. She was fully aware that he had followed her, but ignored that fact and dumped the plates into the sink. “I shall do the washing up, and then I shall go,” she announced staring straight ahead, out of the window, trying to ignore his disturbing closeness.

“There's no need,” he replied sounding amused, “there's a dishwasher.” He indicated the machine standing in the corner of the room.

“Then I'll load everything into that,” said Isabel crossing to the dishwasher and proceeding to stack the dishes inside. Her task finished, she straightened up, only to find herself about an inch away from him, her eyes level with the knot in his tie.

“Look at me,” he commanded curtly.

Against her will Isabel reluctantly looked up, her annoyed gaze disintegrating before the disconcerting lights in his dark eyes. She tried, but couldn't stop her mouth trembling slightly, as with a quiver she attempted to say lightly, “Well?”

“Well,” he echoed slowly, “don't I deserve a kiss for preparing and giving you dinner?” he asked.

“I wasn't aware that we had entered into any such agreement,” said Isabel. Her voice faltered and she quickly turned her head away, trying to avoid the mocking gleam in his eyes. “I reserve my kisses for people I like,” she said stiffly.

“I see, you like Cliff Peterson,” he asked quickly, his voice stinging, “but not me?”

“I didn't say that,” replied Isabel, trying to keep her voice steady, wondering at the same time how it was that she had suddenly got herself into deep water! She shivered, chill fingers feathering along the length of her spine. “I like you both, but…”

“Then why kiss him and not me?” he demanded, and putting his hand firmly beneath her chin he tilted her face to his. “I've tried to say sorry for today,” he said, “can't you be nice to me?” He didn't wait for an answer. His mouth came down on hers with a sort of hunger that shook her to the core of her being. She had been kissed before, but never before had any man's kiss awakened such a tumultuous eruption of raw, untamed passion in her.

Before she was aware of what was happening, she found she was kissing him back with a hunger that matched his, her slender arms sliding up around his neck, pulling his head closer to hers, her body yielding and pliant in his strong, sensuous hands. He wasn't holding her tightly, against her will. She could have drawn away at any time, but she didn't. She didn't want to. His mouth, moving with a soft gentle sensuality over her own, was sending delicious tremors quivering throughout her being, alerting her capricious nerves to a height of awareness she never dreamt she even possessed. The kiss went on and on until she felt that she was melting and being fused into one with him.

It was Mike Blakeney who drew away at last, his dark grey eyes looking down at her with something like mocking amusement gleaming in them as he said, “Don't tell me you would have wanted to miss that?”

Isabel felt herself blushing, flustered and shy beneath his derisory, but still sensual, gaze. “It was just a little kiss,” she muttered, trying to back away.

But he would have none of it. This time he
did
hold her tightly, his arms closing around her and drawing her towards him in an iron grip. “Just a
little
kiss!” he echoed sarcastically. “Well, well, well! In that case, perhaps I'd better do something to make it more memorable.”

Before Isabel could protest his mouth descended on hers once more. This time not so gently, but with a demanding sexuality she couldn't deny. Willingly, her trembling lips parted, allowing his invading tongue to plunder her mouth and her senses. His strong hands slid slowly and surely along her body in a caressing, erotic stimulus, and Isabel found herself responding, an unnamed desire driving her along the path towards fulfilment. She knew she was drowning in deep waters beyond her experience, but felt powerless even to try to do anything. Again, it was Mike Blakeney who broke the moment and, drawing away from her, said, “Don't tell me
that
was ‘just a little kiss!'” His voice sounded strangely hoarse as he added softly, “Come to bed.”

“No,” protested Isabel, her voice faltering. “I can't.”

“Why not?” he demanded huskily, preparing to kiss her again, but this time Isabel was ready for him, and neatly sidestepped his reaching arms.

Trembling violently, she leaned against the fridge, grasping its cold sharp edge as if to reassure herself that she was still on the same planet she had started off on that evening! “I think you've got the wrong idea about me,” she said, trying to make her voice sound firm and matter-of-fact. “I'm not in the market for casual relationships, and I certainly don't feel that I have to pay for my dinner by going to bed with you!”

Turning, she walked quickly out of the kitchen on legs that moved with a wooden jerkiness. Every nerve in her being was screaming out to be taken in his arms again, but commonsense and a touch of fear forbade her to turn back. It was true, she was
not
in the market for casual sexual relationships. That had been one of the problems with Hugh Sinclair, something had always held her back then, just as it was holding her back now.

“What a pity,” he said scathingly, coming up behind her, “we could have had such a good time.”

“I can have a good time without going to bed with you!” retorted Isabel tartly, annoyed at his sarcastic tone of voice. “I don't need any favours from
you,
thanks.”

He folded his arms as he observed her through half closed eyes. “You surprise me. I didn't think you'd be the old-fashioned type!” he said, raising his eyebrows in an infuriating expression of amusement.

“You can call me what you like,” replied Isabel firmly, “I just don't believe in sleeping around.”

He shook his head impatiently, “I'm not asking you to sleep around. I'm asking you to let me make love to you.” He came closer, his voice low, “I know you would enjoy it.”

Isabel raised her head and looked him full in the face, challenging him, her blue eyes flashing an icy fire. “You say making love,” she said scornfully. “That is just the point as far as I'm concerned. Love with a capital ‘L' has got to come into sex, and where you and I are concerned it doesn't. I don't even know you properly, I'm not even certain that I
like
you!” She turned away, staring out into the darkness of the garden. “It wouldn't be love, it would be lust, and I would lose my self respect.”

He gave a short laugh. “Is that so important?”

“To me, yes,” snapped Isabel, “although I realise it is unlikely to be high on your list of priorities!”

She heard him sigh angrily behind her. “What a difficult woman you are,” he said.

“Sorry,” she said lightly, desperately bottling up her seething and confused emotions. “But you've picked the wrong girl tonight!” She started out of the kitchen, towards the front door. “I'm going back to the hospital now, are you going to take me, or shall I walk?”

“I'll take you, of course,” he snorted irritably, “although why I should bother I don't know.”

“Then
don't,”
flashed Isabel angrily, and before he could stop her she ran to the front door and wrenched it open.

With one swift stride he was at her side, his hand snaked out and gripped her wrist in a vice-like grip. “Don't be so damned stupid,” he growled, “I said I would take you. It's dangerous to walk back at his late hour.”

“Oh
really!”
said Isabel sarcastically, vainly struggling to wrest her wrist from his grasp. “I can hardly believe it is any more dangerous than staying here with you!”

Muttering a stifled oath under his breath, he gripped her wrist even tighter and walked with her towards his car. “Get in,” he rapped tersely, holding open the door.

On the drive back to the hospital neither of them said a word. Isabel knew what it must be like to be sitting on the edge of a precipice, afraid of falling at any moment to go spiralling off into space. On reaching the residence block he pulled the big car to an abrupt halt.