style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Leo ——’
‘You didn’t have your lights on.’
She blinked. ‘Oh — right. Thanks.’
His grin was infuriating. ‘My pleasure. I didn’t realise one little kiss would throw you so badly.’
‘It’s nothing to do with your kiss!’ she protested, and the grin widened.
‘You’re telling porkie-pies again, Abbie, darling,’ he murmured, and, slipping his hand through the partly-open window, he brushed her cheek with his knuckles.
It sent a shiver through her, as did his softly voiced, ‘Sleep well, princess. Dream of me.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Leo, go away,’ she said unsteadily, but he was gone, leaving her in a tangle of wild and unfamiliar emotions, not least of which was a most unsettling feeling that she would, indeed, be dreaming of him — with or without his permission!
She didn’t dream of him, in the end — largely because she didn’t sleep until almost dawn, because every time she closed her eyes she felt the brush of lips on hers and her whole body screamed to life.
Unable to bear it, incapable of sweeping aside such unfamiliar and overwhelming sensations, she paced her little flat over a shoe-shop in the centre of town and wondered how she was going to get through the next year.
By ignoring him whenever possible, was the conclusion she eventually came to, and after a drink of hot milk and another severe lecture to herself she finally crawled exhausted into bed shortly before dawn to fall instantly and deeply asleep until the traffic woke her at almost eight-thirty.
Predictably, she was late, and, equally predictably, her surgery was less than straightforward. To add insult to injury, she found that when under pressure the computer was even less co-operative, and she finally, in desperation, asked Peggy if she could come in and sit with her and show her what she was doing wrong.
‘No,’ Peggy told her, ‘I don’t think the patients would like it, but Leo’s here. I’ll send him in; it’ll get him off my back while I type these letters.’
Seconds later there was a tap on the door and Leo appeared clutching two cups of coffee and the computer manual.
‘Problems?’
‘It hates me!’ she wailed despairingly.
He chuckled. ‘Nonsense. It’s an inanimate object. It’s incapable of hate.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ she snorted. ‘Tell it to the fairies.’ She glanced at him, took in the cool cotton trousers and the turned-back cuffs of his shirt, exposing strong, hair-strewn wrists, and turned quickly away. After that kiss the night before, the very last thing she needed was him beside her looking sexy as all get-out. She forced herself to concentrate. ‘Look, how do I recall previous prescriptions and history?’ she asked, her voice a little strained to her ears.
Leo, apparently oblivious to her discomfort, leant over her, his body brushing hers, casually tapping buttons, and the information on her next patient appeared as if by magic. She blinked. The vital manoeuvres were still lost to her, drowned out by the clamouring of her hormones.
‘How did you do that?’ she asked faintly.
He grinned. ‘Easy — you should have watched.’
‘I did,’ she lied. ‘It takes me ages to get it to do that, and I’m sure I go through a far longer process —— Right, show me again.’
He shook his head. ‘Finish your surgery and I’ll go over it with you afterwards. I’ll just sit here and help you get through the rest of your patients for now.’
One or two of the patients looked askance at Leo, but he smilingly explained that they were having problems with the computer and he was fighting with it to try and save the patients’ waiting time.
‘Just ignore me,’ he said, but Abbie found it intensely off-putting and difficult.
Until, that was, she had a patient with a seemingly innocent mole just below her collarbone. She examined it, asked all the appropriate questions and was on the point of telling the patient to go home and stop worrying when Leo’s toe connected none too gently with her ankle.
She glanced at him, but he was staring fixedly at the computer screen. She followed the direction of his eyes, and saw ‘Excision and histology’ on the screen.
She cleared her throat, smiled at the patient and shot up some thanks for Leo’s presence at her elbow. ‘Right,’ she told the patient, ‘what we need to do is remove it, just as a precaution, and then send it to the lab to have it checked, just to be on the safe side. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but removing it is such a minor procedure it seems silly not to do so. Now, the only thing is I’m not an expert in minor surgery, but I believe Dr Chandler here could remove it for you, couldn’t you, Dr Chandler?’
He turned a charming smile on the young woman. ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and he told her to book in with the receptionist for surgery the following day. ‘Dr Pearce will, of course, assist me and continue with your follow-up,’ he added, and the woman smiled gratefully at both of them and left.
Abbie turned to Leo. ‘Is it really necessary to remove it?’ she asked, her confidence shaken yet again.
He shrugged. ‘Probably not, but it’s the sort of blemish that could easily turn into melanoma, if not now then in the future, and it’s so dead easy to take them off and check. We have a set procedure, by the way, for follow-up of any mole or skin lesion removed in the surgery. All material excised is sent for histology, always, without exception, and the patient is always recalled automatically when the result comes back because if they’ve gone to the lengths of consulting their doctor they’re going to worry till they know the answer one way or the other. The only time we don’t do it ourselves is if we’re sure it’s gone too far for simple excision or in the case of a difficult site.’
‘Difficult as in cosmetically difficult?’
‘Or in one of the areas where nerves are likely to be implicated, like the anterior triangle of the neck, or eyelids, or over the flexor tendons of the fingers, for instance. Cheeks can be difficult, too, both cosmetically and because of the nerves and glands over the jaws. We do what we can, but it’s important to know your limitations. We aren’t plastic surgeons, and some procedures require other skills.’
‘What about this lady?’ Abbie asked doubtfully. ‘Won’t she have some scarring?’
He grinned wryly. ‘No faith, have you? I’m not a complete butcher, Abbie. She might have a tiny scar, but I won’t disfigure her for life, my love. Right, who’s next?’
Abbie, completely fazed by his endearment, floundered on with her surgery until all her patients had been dealt with and the computer had gobbled up Leo’s instructions, obediently spewed out various prescriptions and gone quietly back to sleep.
She glared at it. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she grumbled crossly. ‘Horrid thing.’
Leo grinned. ‘Think of the writer’s cramp it’s saved you.’
She snorted.
