Falling For Dr Dimitriou. Anne Fraser
your day?’
She wasn’t here to hang around divine-looking Greek men—particularly married ones! ‘Thank you,’ she responded tersely. ‘I did say to Crystal that she could come and visit me again some time,’ she added as she walked father and daughter outside, ‘but perhaps you should remind her to let you know before she does?’
She stood on the balcony, watching as they ambled hand in hand across the beach towards the village square, Crystal chattering and swinging on her father’s arm. Even from this distance she could hear his laughter. With a sigh she turned around and went back inside.
* * *
Later that evening, after Crystal was in bed, Alexander’s thoughts returned to Katherine, as they had over the last few days—ever since the morning he’d seen her come out of the water. It was just his luck that the villa she was staying in overlooked the bay where he was working on his boat.
He couldn’t help glancing her way as she sat on her balcony, her head bent over her laptop as she typed, pausing only to push stray locks from her eyes—and to watch him.
And she had been watching him. He’d looked up more than once to catch her looking in his direction. She’d caused quite a stir in the village, arriving here by herself. The villagers, his grandmother and cousin Helen included, continued to be fascinated by this woman who’d landed in their midst and who kept herself to herself, seldom venturing from her temporary home unless it was to have a quick dip in the sea or shop for groceries at the village store. They couldn’t understand anyone coming on holiday by themselves and had speculated wildly about her.
To their disappointment she hadn’t stopped for a coffee or a glass of wine in the village square or to try some of Maria’s—the owner of only taverna in the village—home-cooked food so there had been no opportunity to find out more about her. Helen especially would have loved to know more about her—his cousin was always on at him to start dating again.
But, despite the fact Katherine was undeniably gorgeous, he wasn’t interested in long-term relationships and he had the distinct impression that Miss Burns didn’t do short-term ones.
However, there was something about this particular woman that drew him. Perhaps, he thought, because he recognised the same sadness in her that was in him. All the more reason, then, for him to keep his distance.
THE NEXT MORNING, having decided to work inside and out of sight, Katherine only managed to resist for a couple of hours before finding herself drawn like a magnet to the balcony.
Gazing down at the beach, she saw that Alexander, stripped to the waist, his golden skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration, was back working on his boat again. Dragging her gaze away from him, she closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the sound of the waves licking the shore. The sweet smell of oranges from a nearby orchard wafted on the breeze. Being here in Greece was like a balm for her soul.
A sharp curse brought her attention back to the bay.
Alexander had dropped his paint-scraper. He studied his hand for a moment and shook his head. He looked around as if searching for a bandage, but apparently finding only his T-shirt, bent to pick it up, and wound it around his palm.
She could hardly leave him bleeding—especially when, prepared as always, she’d brought a small first-aid kit with her and it was unlikely there would be a doctor available on a Sunday in such a small village.
The blood had pretty much soaked through his temporary bandage by the time she reached him but, undaunted, he had carried on working, keeping his left hand—the damaged one—elevated in some kind of optimistic hope of stemming the bleeding.
‘Kalíméra!’ Katherine called out, not wanting to surprise him. When he looked up, she pointed to his hand and lifted the first-aid kit she carried. ‘Can I help?’
‘It’s okay, I’ll manage,’ he replied. When he smiled, her heart gave a queer little flutter. ‘But thank you.’
‘At least let me look at it. Judging by the amount of blood, you’ve cut it pretty badly.’
His smile grew wider. ‘If you insist,’ he said, holding out his injured hand.
She drew closer to him and began unwrapping his makeshift bandage. As she gently tugged the remaining bit of cloth aside and her fingers encountered the warmth of his work-roughened palm, she felt the same frisson of electricity course through her body as she had the day before. Bloody typical; the first time she could remember meeting someone whom she found instantly attractive he had to be married—and a father to boot.
‘It’s deep,’ she said, examining the wound, ‘and needs stitches. Is there a surgery open today?’
‘Most of them are open for emergencies only on a Sunday. I’m not sure this constitutes one.’
‘I think it does.’ Katherine said, aware that her tone sounded schoolmistress prim. ‘I’m a doctor, so I do know what I’m talking about.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Are you really? The villagers had you down as a writer. A GP, I take it?’
Katherine shook her head. ‘No. Epidemiology. Research. I’m in public health.’
‘But not on holiday? You seemed pretty immersed in paperwork yesterday.’
‘My thesis. For my PhD.’
‘Brains too.’ He grinned. ‘So can’t you stitch my hand?’
‘Unfortunately, no. I could if I had a suturing kit with me but I don’t. Anyway, you’ll likely need a tetanus shot unless you’ve had one recently. Have you?’
‘No.’
For some reason, the way he was looking at her made her think that he was laughing at her. ‘Then one of the emergency surgeries it will have to be,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll clean and bandage the cut in the meantime. Is there someone who can give you a lift?’
‘No need—it’s within walking distance. Anyway, this little scratch is not going to kill me.’
‘Possibly not but it could make you very sick indeed.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I strongly advise you to find out whether the doctor is willing to see you. I’ll phone him if you like. As one doctor to another, he might be persuaded to see you.’
He was no longer disguising his amusement. ‘Actually, that would be a bit embarrassing seeing as I’m the doctor and it’s my practice—one of them anyway.’
‘You’re a doctor?’ She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. She felt more than slightly foolish, standing before him with her little plastic medical kit. If he was a GP he was probably more qualified than she to assess the damage to his hand. Now she knew the reason for his secret amusement. ‘You might have mentioned this before,’ she continued through gritted teeth.
Alexander shrugged. ‘I was going to, I promise. Eventually.’ That smile again. ‘I suppose I was enjoying the personal attention—it’s nice to be on the receiving end for a change.’
‘You really should have said straight away,’ she reiterated, struggling to control the annoyance that was rapidly replacing her embarrassment. ‘However, you can hardly suture your hand yourself.’ Although right this minute she was half-minded to let him try.
‘I could give it a go,’ he replied, ‘but you’re right, it would be easier and neater if you did it. The practice I have here is really little more than a consulting room I use when the older villagers need to see a doctor and aren’t unwell enough to warrant a trip to my practice. But it’s reasonably well equipped. You could stitch it there.’
‘In that case, lead the way.’
* * *
His consulting room had obviously once been a