days seem reluctant to go bush.’
He was nodding. ‘So Flora told me. She also explained the sort of commitment a doctor would have to make if he came to work here. The money might be good but the workload and hours are horrendous. Not too many doctors are prepared to make such a commitment.’
‘Commitment does seem to be a problem with men these days,’ she said, trying not to sound sour.
‘Not all doctors are men,’ he pointed out. ‘Maybe a woman doctor would be better suited. Or were you thinking of killing two birds with the one stone?’
‘In what way?’
He smiled in what seemed like a secret amusement. ‘Why, supplying the town with a doctor and yourself with a suitable life-partner, of course. I would imagine a highly intelligent and attractive lady like yourself might be hard to satisfy in that regard. Tell me, Miss Pride,’ he said, teasing lights glittering in his beautiful blue eyes, ‘do you personally interview all the applicants? Is that why the right man hasn’t been found for the job yet?’
Clare could have reacted to this provocative sparring in a few different ways. She could have blushed prettily—except she hadn’t blushed like that in years and didn’t think she could rustle one up. She could have come back with a suitable put-down. Hell, she should be good at those. Living with her mother had given her plenty of practice at sarcasm. Or she could try a hand at the sort of witty repartee she hadn’t indulged in for three years. There hadn’t been anyone in her life lately who liked that kind of thing.
Clare knew that to do so went against the way she had vowed to act tonight, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
‘Well actually, Matt,’ she murmured, leaning his way in a highly flirtatious fashion, ‘there was this one divinelooking chap last week who had potential, but I took him to dinner then back to my flat for a more in-depth interview, and quite frankly, he just didn’t measure up.’ With this, she dropped her eyes down to his crotch, then back up to his face. ‘It’s a pity that you’re not a real doctor, because I’m sure I’d give an application from you one hell of a thorough looking into.’
His delighted chuckle did things to her nerve-endings that should have been warning enough. But, like all forms of intoxication, such dizzying effects were easy to become addicted to. Clare had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of an attractive sexy, clever man, and to have him dance attention on her. Quite suddenly, she was loving it.
‘This evening is turning out to be far more entertaining than I ever imagined,’ he said smilingly, his eyes caressing hers. ‘So tell me, Clare, how long did you live in Sydney?’
She noted his dropping of the Miss Pride tag, but could find no fault in it. She liked the sound of her name on his tongue, liked the way Matt had rolled off hers.
‘Seven years.’
‘Seven years! You must have gone into withdrawal when you came back here. Don’t you miss the bright lights, the faster pace of living?’
Yes, she did miss those things, had never stopped missing them. Sometimes she simply longed for a night out at the theatre or the ballet. Or just a stimulating evening’s chat with the circle of friends she’d once had. No…be strictly honest, a tiny voice said. They were David’s friends. Never yours.
‘I…I like Bangaratta,’ she defended, but not with much conviction.
‘You surprise me. You look…out of place here.’ He picked up his wine glass and as he sipped, his eyes continued to hold hers. God, they were beautiful, those eyes, and far, far too intuitive.
‘What looks out of place,’ she said, glancing away as she pushed her plate away, ‘is the dress.’
Her breaking eye-contact plus the memories the dress brought back snapped Clare out of her momentary weakness. God, what did she think she was playing at here? Where was her damned pride? Get this conversation back on track before you make a right fool of yourself.
‘So, will Bush Doctor continue into the New Year?’ she asked abruptly. ‘I only ask because the women around here would die if the wonderful Dr Adrian Archer wasn’t there to fill their empty Tuesday evenings.’ She hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, merely matter-of-fact, but somehow a caustic tone had crept in.
‘I see you’re not a fan yourself,’ he returned slowly.
‘I watch it occasionally,’ she lied.
‘But you can live without the wonderful Dr Adrian Archer.’
His drily mocking tone got to her. ‘I certainly can. I can live without the man behind the mask too.’
He was stunned, she could see, jerking back in his seat to stare at her. For her part, she was instantly consumed with shame and guilt.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out. ‘That was unforgivably rude of me. Please…I…I don’t know what got into me. You’ve been so kind, coming all this way, and now I’ve spoiled things.’ Tears of frustration were distressingly close.
His hand unexpectedly closed over hers where it lay clenched on the table and when she looked up she noticed for the first time the dark shadows around his eyes, the weary lines of exhaustion. My God! The man’s tired, she realised. Terribly, terribly tired.
‘It’s all right, Clare,’ he murmured. ‘Obviously I must have said or done something to upset you. Perhaps you thought I overstepped the mark earlier, that I was coming on to you. If that’s the case, then I’m sorry.’ He looked deeply into her eyes, holding her. ‘Really sorry…’
For a few breathtaking moments she was almost taken in.
Wait on there, experience jumped in to warn her. Maybe he is tired, maybe his defences are genuinely down, maybe his irritation backstage was just exhaustion talking and not contempt. But only maybe. I’m the lost sheep here, remember? The only one around not worshipping at his altar. Tread carefully.
‘I think we should get on with our dinner, don’t you, Mr Sheffield?’ she said stiffly.
He nodded and Clare sighed inwardly with relief. God, she’d almost made two faux pas then. Not only insulted the man but almost been won over by him. Not that she could entirely blame herself. He was even more devastatingly attractive than David. He exuded sex appeal and threw charming lines as cleverly as a fisherman. Plenty of women would be caught by such a bait, but not sensible once-bitten Clare.
As if to prove her wrong, they had just finished the main course when he leant close. ‘I have a favour to ask of you.’ His breath was warm against her cheek. It stirred her hair and much, much more.
‘When the dinner and débutante business is over,’ he continued in that same low, husky tone, ‘don’t leave me in the clutches of Flora Whitbread. Stick by my side. Promise?’
She nodded, all coherent thought and resolve gone out the window. She hardly noticed the lady taking her empty plate and replacing it with dessert.
‘And do call me Matt,’ he added quietly.
Matt…
A smooth name for a very smooth man. God but she was weak. How could she possibly be letting herself be taken in by him?
‘Something
