we’re in accord on that, at least,’ he said softly, his heart going into raptures when he saw the approval in her beautiful grey eyes.
‘So it appears.’ She briskly turned and hurried towards the female changing room but not before Dylan had seen the wash of soft rose colour that had tinted her cheeks. ‘I’ll see you in Theatre, Dr Archer,’ she told him, without looking back.
‘Of course.’
Dylan took a deep breath as the changing-room door shut behind her then let it out very, very slowly. It didn’t help but, then, he hadn’t honestly expected that it would. It would take more than a deep breath to cure this affliction.
He went into the men’s changing room and stripped off his clothes then slid on a cotton scrub suit. The cotton felt cool against his skin, cool and soft, and he groaned because it made him think about Joanna and how her skin would feel. It would be cool and soft as well but, unlike the cotton, it would also be velvety smooth.
How he longed to touch her, ached to let his fingers explore her body, and the sheer depth of his desire shocked him because it was way out of proportion to the stage they were at in their relationship. They were two new—very new—colleagues, finding their feet as they worked together, and yet here he was lusting after her like a lover! What the hell was wrong with him? Was he having some kind of a mid-life crisis? Was it possible to have one at his age or did age make absolutely no difference in this situation as it shouldn’t in so many others? He wanted Joanna Martin. He wanted her more than he’d believed it possible to want a woman, and it would have made no difference if he’d been ninety-five instead of thirty-five because he’d still have felt the same!
There, he’d admitted it, and it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel like a total idiot. Joanna wasn’t the least bit interested in him. He’d bet his last pound that she wasn’t standing in the other changing room, lusting after him.
The thought brought him down to earth with a thump. Maybe he did want Joanna but he wouldn’t do himself any favours by letting her know that.
Joanna slid her feet into a pair of backless Theatre clogs then went through to the scrub room. They were using Theatre three again and Lucy Porter was already in there, getting scrubbed up. She grinned when Joanna appeared.
‘Hi! I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you. Problems with the new guy, by any chance? I had a feeling earlier that things might be getting a little tense between you two.’
‘No, everything’s fine. I just needed a word with Dr Archer, that’s all. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’
Joanna went to the sink and quickly turned on the taps. Scooping a handful of antiseptic soap from the dispenser, she started lathering her arms. She felt rather uncomfortable about being asked a question like that. Normally, Lucy just wished her good day then carried on with what she was doing. She couldn’t recall the theatre sister passing a remark of a personal nature before and found herself wondering what had caused her to do so that day.
‘No problem,’ Lucy replied cheerfully, breaking open a sterile towel to dry her hands. ‘It gave us time to have a cuppa before we set to again. With Dylan bringing up that emergency, we didn’t get much chance to ease into the day. Poor old Tom looked very peaky from having to forgo his morning infusion of caffeine!’
‘Then it all worked out for the best, didn’t it?’ Joanna replied rather lamely.
She took a nailbrush off the shelf and set to work with gusto, wondering why she was so uncomfortable about making conversation. She’d worked with Lucy for several years now yet this was the most they’d ever said to one another. Their previous conversations had been confined to work but, then, most conversations she had nowadays were work-related. When was the last time she’d exchanged a bit of idle gossip with anyone? It was faintly alarming to realise that she couldn’t remember.
‘Aha, so you’ve drawn the short straw and got the new guy again, Lucy.’ Dylan came into the scrub room and Joanna swung round when she heard his voice. Just for a moment her gaze rested on his powerful frame before she hurriedly resumed what she’d been doing, but it was already too late because the sight of him had imprinted itself in her mind by then. The gushing water and frothing soap-suds suddenly blurred as his image swam before her eyes, and she gulped. That scrub suit had clung to every powerful line of his body, highlighting muscles that looked far too fit for someone who spent his working life bent over an operating table!
The picture sharpened and she had to draw in a ragged breath when a wave of dizziness assailed her. Were Dylan’s legs really that long or was it just a trick of her imagination? And his shoulders—could they possibly be that broad without the benefit of padding? She knew she shouldn’t look at him again but the urge to satisfy her curiosity was too strong to resist.
She glanced round, deliberately letting her gaze rest on his broad back because it seemed vital that she should answer those questions. He was reading through the patient’s notes so she had ample time to take stock without him noticing and didn’t waste a second as she began mentally listing his attributes. Well-shaped head, strong neck, broad shoulders, neat waist…
Her gaze suddenly came to his bottom and to her dismay refused to move on. She tried to make her eyes obey her but to no avail. Joanna bit her lip. There was something decidedly sinful about the idea of standing there, ogling Dylan Archer’s taut derrière so perfectly displayed by the thin scrub-suit trousers.
He suddenly looked round and Joanna flushed when he caught her staring at him. A slow grin spread across his face and she had to bite back her groan of dismay. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life and there was absolutely nothing she could do to salvage her pride.
‘Don’t worry, Joanna. I know exactly what you’re thinking.’
‘You do?’ she squeaked, her vocal cords knotting in mortification.
‘Yes. And I promise you that I’m going to stick strictly to the rules from now on.’ He waggled the folder of notes at her. ‘I understand that you need to supervise me and it isn’t a problem. Really. I can tell you’re worried about how I’ll react but there’s no need.’
He suddenly frowned, his black brows drawing together over those gorgeous emerald green eyes. ‘That is what’s bothering you? You’re worried that I’ll take offence but I promise you that I don’t mind if you spend the day peering over my shoulder.’
Maybe he didn’t mind but she did!
All of a sudden Joanna knew that the last thing she needed was to spend the day monitoring what Dylan was doing. She could just imagine how stressful it would be to have to stand behind him in Theatre, staring at…
‘No!’ She cut off that train of thought because she didn’t dare let it reach its natural conclusion. She had to stop thinking about Dylan’s bottom!
‘No?’
‘No.’ She heard the bewilderment in his voice and hurried on. She couldn’t afford to let this situation get out of hand. She had to remember that she was forty-two years old and that getting involved with a junior colleague would be professional suicide. Maybe men could bend the rules to suit themselves but she couldn’t take such a risk. She refused to let herself become the butt of a lot of puerile jokes and damaging gossip.
‘I won’t be monitoring your work, Dr Archer, because there is no need. I saw enough this morning to know that you are more than capable of working on your own.’
