The Playboy Doctor. Sarah Morgan

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      ‘What you can do for me?’ The corners of his firm mouth tilted slightly as if she’d just said something funny. ‘It’s more a question of what I can do for you.’

      ‘What you—’ She broke off, temporarily rendered speechless by his careless arrogance. ‘Offhand I can’t think of a single thing that you could possibly do for me except leave me in peace and allow me to get on with the mountain of work I have to do.’

      His smile widened. ‘That’s the Joanna I remember,’ he murmured softly. ‘Work, work and then more work. Nice to know you haven’t changed.’

      His eyes left her face and wandered lazily over her body, starting with the flat, comfortable shoes, moving up past the sensible skirt, the crisply laundered blouse with the high neckline and finally resting on the severe hairstyle which she’d favoured since her second year at medical school.

      She lifted her chin, his casual scrutiny making her hot and uncomfortable. She didn’t need to see his slightly ironic blue gaze to know that he found her lacking as a woman. She knew that she wasn’t his type. And she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be anybody’s type.

      ‘I’m very busy, Dr Macaulay.’

      ‘So you keep saying. Which brings us back to the reason I’m here.’ His tone was still amused as he walked over to the window by her desk and moved the blinds aside with one long finger. ‘Nice views.’

      ‘I’m not interested in what you think of the views. What has me being busy got to do with you being here?’ Her tone was sharp and she frowned as he let the blinds drop and turned to face her.

      ‘Rumour has it that you’re in the middle of a crisis and you need a locum.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘I know that you’ll be delighted to hear that I’m that locum.’

      She stared at him in stunned silence.

      When she finally found her voice it cracked slightly, as if it had been kept in a dusty room for a month. ‘You? You can’t be my locum. There’s been a misunderstanding,’ she croaked, licking dry lips and rummaging round in her numbed brain for some sort of reasonable explanation. ‘Dr George Mills, the senior partner, has made arrangements—’

      ‘He has indeed.’ Seb inclined his head in agreement. ‘Me. He called me and I agreed to help out.’

      ‘You?’ Joanna shook her head slowly. ‘No. That’s not possible...’

      He shrugged. ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because...because...’ How could she put it without sounding horribly rude? ‘Lots of reasons. You’re not—I mean you don’t—This isn’t the sort of surgery for a man like you,’ she finished lamely, wishing that he didn’t always make her feel so tongue-tied.

      ‘A man like me?’ He threw back his head and laughed in genuine amusement. ‘And you are such an expert on men, of course. Your specialist subject, if I recall.’

      Joanna flushed at his none-too-subtle reminder that she’d barely socialised as a student.

      ‘So go on.’ He was still laughing, his eyes bright with humour. ‘I’m intrigued to hear your opinion. What sort of man am I, Dr Weston? Do tell me. This should be worth hearing.’

      Joanna gritted her teeth. ‘Certainly not the sort of man to settle down in the middle of nowhere. This is rural Devon, Dr Macaulay, not cosmopolitan London. There are no hot nightspots, no clubs or fancy restaurants, and the nearest we get to retail therapy is buying eggs from the local farm.’

      He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Damn.’ He clicked his fingers in mock disappointment. ‘If I’d known that, I never would have offered to help out.’

      Joanna felt her temper rise at his flippancy. The temper she’d forgotten she even had until he’d walked into her consulting room. Five minutes. That was all it had taken. Five minutes with Sebastian Macaulay and already she wanted to commit grievous bodily harm.

      ‘I’m glad we’re agreed that this place would never suit you—’

      ‘Agreed? Oh, come on, Joanna! Unless my memory is faulty, you and I have never agreed on a single thing since the day we first met,’ he drawled, strolling back across her consulting room and staring at a poster on asthma management. ‘And we’re unlikely to start now. But whether we agree or not is irrelevant. I promised George I’d help out and that’s what I’m going to do. If it reassures you at all, I’m sure I can struggle by without clothes shopping for a few months. I stocked up last time I was in London.’

      Joanna stared at him in barely disguised horror. ‘Are you serious?’

      He gave a nod. ‘Absolutely. My favourite designer had just launched his new collection.’

      She gritted her teeth, aware that he was laughing at her. ‘I wasn’t referring to your wardrobe, Dr Macaulay, as you well know. I was talking about the ridiculous suggestion that you should work here.’

      ‘Why ridiculous?’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I’m as well qualified as you, and you know it.’

      She was unable to argue with that fact. The truth was that, despite his casual attitude, Seb Macaulay was clever. Very clever. Not that he used his brain, of course. He’d socialised his way through medical school and had managed to pass his exams having barely attended a single lecture. In fact, he’d seemed bored with the whole thing. Until they’d started the clinical section of their course. Once he’d been allowed to see real patients, Seb had never missed a day.

      And since he’d qualified she hadn’t heard much about him. Just the odd rumour that he was doing glamorous jobs. Which was nothing less than she would have expected. He wasn’t the sort of man to bury himself in a deprived, inner-city practice.

      Suddenly she was curious about just what he had been doing last. ‘So is that what you’re doing at the moment? Locum work?’

      ‘Not really.’ He suppressed a yawn. ‘Actually, I’ve just finished a stint on a cruise ship.’

      Her mouth tightened. A cruise ship. Typical! ‘I see.’

      ‘I seriously doubt that you do.’ For a brief second the humour left those blue eyes and she caught a glimpse of a side of him she’d never seen before. A serious side. But then it was gone and he gave a careless shrug. ‘But it doesn’t matter. George didn’t stipulate that we had to understand each other—just that we had to work together.’

      ‘We can’t possibly work together, Dr Macaulay,’ she said stiffly. ‘Our approach to life is too different.’

      He gave a short laugh. ‘Yes, well, fortunately we’re not talking about life here, we’re just talking about the job.’

      ‘You see?’ She sat up straighter and glared at him. ‘That is exactly what I mean. To you it’s just a job—’

      ‘And to you it’s your whole life,’ Seb drawled, his eyes narrowing as he watched her. ‘Let’s not waste time arguing about which one of us is right. I seem to remember telling you as a student that it was possible to work and have fun at the same time.’

      She was feeling totally out of her depth. СКАЧАТЬ