He looked at her quizzically.
"Would that interest you?"
"No, it wouldn't," she said sharply.
"I'm fussy who I share my body with, and I've never been into group
sex."
He smiled.
"Don't worry, we'll leave before anyone starts taking off their
trousers, if you're harassed by a randy young stud, I'll protect you."
He picked up his clipboard.
"I have a couple more patients to check and then we can go for a
coffee.
Wait here for me, I'll be right back."
She sat in one of the comfortable swivel chairs, and spun herself round
gently.
Protect me, would you?
she thought.
Thanks for the offer,
but I think I can protect myself.
She remembered her schooldays and
the first book she had read on judo.
When one of the boys had tried to
grab her bag, she had used a throw, pulling him off balance and
sweeping his ankle, to tumble him to the ground.
She still remembered
the expression of surprise on his face.
It had probably equalled hers,
she thought, because she had never expected the technique to work.
But
success had excited her and she talked her parents into letting her
join a judo club, achieving her black belt in the minimum period
allowed.
She had hoped to take her second Clan, but working for her
A-levels, she had no spare time.
The memory of her examinations automatically triggered a picture of
Faisel.
If I hadn't passed with such good grades, I wouldn't have gone
on holiday, she thought.
My life would have been so different.
I was
able to take care of myself physically but Faisel overpowered my mind
with a few lies and a beautiful smile.
Talk about the world's most
deadly weapon.
Sexual attraction, masquerading as love, takes some
beating.
It certainly turned me into a weak-kneed victim.
She had never gone back to judo but before she qualified as a doctor,
the deceptively gentle elegance of aikido had intrigued her.
She
studied it for two years before the -pressure of exams, and then the
pressure of work, made it impossible to continue training.
When she
began working for Major Fairhaven, many years later, she found herself
being taught methods more suited to dirty street-fighting than a
martial arts DOJO.
But her past skills, and her natural sense of
timing, had given her a definite advantage over some of the others in
her class.
Peter's desk phone rang suddenly, bringing her back to the present.
She picked it up and heard an authoritative, masculine voice on the
other end, a voice she did not recognise.
"How much longer are you going to keep me waiting, Draven?"
"Dr.
Draven isn't here," she said coolly.
"This is Dr.
Muldaire.
Can I help you?"
"Muldaire?
You're the new woman, aren't you?"
There was a pause.
"Are you properly qualified?"
Jacey bit back a sharp rejoinder.
"Yes," she said abruptly.
"Come to Room Six.
Now."
The last word was an order issued in a tone
of voice that was guaranteed to infuriate her.
Before she could
respond, the phone went dead.
She hesitated for a moment, then stood
up.
This was obviously one of the patients Peter had been planning to
see.
She was tempted not to answer the abrupt telephone request but
there was some thing about the voice that made her want to go and see
who this man was, and put him in his place.
With her temper almost under control, she stalked down the corridor.
She knew that Room Six was a small consulting room in the general
accident wing.
But the man on the phone did not sound as if he was
suffering from anything other than a severe lack of good manners.
When she opened the door she saw her prospective patient standing by
the window, looking out.
He turned when she entered, smiled
charmingly, walked towards her and held out his hand.
"Dr.
Muldaire?
I'm Nicolas Schlemann.
I'm delighted to meet you at last."
Jacey wasn't often lost for words but this tall, dark figure in his
immaculate suit effectively managed to both silence and disorient
her.
She shook hands without thinking.
His grip was warm and firm.
His
dark brown eyes surveyed her.
"I'm afraid I was rather abrupt on the telephone," he said.
His German patrimony could be seen in his narrow face, and his features
were attractively angular.
His Spanish mother had given him a natural
tan and his glossy, straight black hair was beautifully cut, with
sideburns just long enough to be discreetly fashionable and a fringe
irregular enough to look rakish, without being untidy.
She realised that she was still holding his hand.
Annoyed with
herself, she pulled away from him and stepped backwards.
"Yes," she said.
"You were rather impolite."
"I am in rather a hurry."
He began to take off his jacket.
"I have a meeting with Generalissimo Hernandez."
He was unbuttoning
his shirt now and she realised that he had a bandage strapped round his
ribs.
She also noted that he had the body of an athlete, and moved with the
grace of a dancer.
His hand touched the bandage.
"This is becoming irritating.
Surely I can dispense with it now?"
"What happened?"
she asked.
"I fell off my horse," he explained.
Again that charming smile.
"My fault entirely.
I was pushing him too hard.
I broke two ribs."
"Sit down," she said.
She unwrapped the bandage and pressed his ribs
gently.
"Does that hurt?"
He winced slightly.
"No," he said.
"Senor Schlemann," she said, "I don't believe you."
"It's doesn't hurt much," he qualified.
"And the bandage is damned uncomfortable."
He flexed his arms and shoulders and she saw his muscles move
sinuously.
She was reminded of a cat preening, a cat which was well
aware of the effect it was having on her.
What effect?
she thought, almost guiltily.
This is the man I was
certain I was going to dislike.
A womanising crook.
Am I really
attracted to him?
Yes, she thought, just a little, but only
physically.
It's a purely biological reaction.
He's an
agreeable-looking man.
What a pity his character doesn't match his
body.
"Please keep still," she said.
She inspected his ribs.
His skin felt
warm and smooth under her fingers.
She prodded him a little harder
than necessary but this time he hardly reacted at all.
She stepped
back.
"You seem to have healed very well."
She kept her voice neutral.
"You can throw the bandage away.
You don't need it."
"Thank you."
He stood up gracefully, reached for his shirt, shrugged
it back on, and buttoned it.
She was certain he made the actions take
longer than necessary.
He unzipped the top of his trousers and tucked
his shirt in, hesitating just long enough, she felt certain, for her to
admire his sharply defined abdominals.
"Are you happy working here, Dr.
Muldaire?"
"Yes," she said simply.
He knotted his tie and put on his coat.
She watched him silently.
"I
imagine you're very popular with the patients," he said.
"If you're ill, you tend to like someone who makes you feel better,"
she said.
He smiled.
"And if that person is very beautiful, that's an added bonus."
He
moved his body experimentally.
"It still hurts a little," he said.
"I'm sure you'll learn to live with the pain," she said dryly.
He reached the door, opened it, and turned.
"If it gets really bad, I'll come back and see you."
His smile was
briefly inviting.
"I'm sure you'll be able to make me comfortable."
She walked past him.
"Come back and see Dr.
Draven," she said.
"You're his patient.
He's properly qualified too, you know."
"Well, the notorious Senor Nicolas didn't waste much time checking you
out," Peter commented.
He lay sprawled across Jacey's bed.
The
sunlight, filtering in through the shutters, striped his naked body
with shadows.
"What did you think of him?"
"Conceited," Jacey said.
She switched the kettle on and searched in
Peter's cupboard for the coffee jar.
"Sexist."
She smiled.
"A typical male animal."
Peter watched her lazily.
"And he didn't attract you at all?"
She turned crossly.