A Perfect Hero. Caroline Anderson
they just give them the confidence to be themselves—or take it away.’ He cupped her cheeks. ‘So you’ll come with me?’
She nodded. ‘I’d love to. I wasn’t really looking forward to it because I don’t know all that many people there myself. They’re all a bit exalted, really.’
He laughed. ‘I thought you said there was no hierarchy?’
‘Well, there isn’t really, but most of the people who’ll be there are older than me or married——’
‘Not part of the singles set, you mean?’
She shot him a surprised look. ‘I’m not part of the “singles set”, Michael,’ she said reprovingly.
‘No, of course not, you don’t have a lover and you don’t want one.’
She met his laughing eyes. ‘Are you teasing me?’
He remained deadpan, except for the eyes. ‘Would I?’
‘Yes, you would!’
‘Perhaps a little.’ His face gentled into a smile. ‘What time shall I pick you up?’
‘I’m on a split, so I won’t be ready to go until after nine—does that matter?’
He shook his head. ‘That’s fine. I don’t imagine it will get off the ground much before then, anyway. Tell you what, I’ll go and get changed when I finish here, and I’ll come up to your flat and wait for you—how’s that?’
Too intimate, she wanted to say, but Sister O’Brien came into the kitchen and smiled cheerily at them.
‘Making coffee for that poor woman?’
Clare flushed guiltily, ‘Yes, I was, Sister.’
Michael winked at her over Mary O’Brien’s frilly cap. ‘We’ll leave it like that, then, Staff,’ he said and sauntered out, giving her no option but to agree.
She was just putting the finishing touches to her make-up when she heard the knock on her door at five past nine. ‘Come in,’ she called, and carried on with her face.
Glancing up in the mirror seconds later, she saw Michael lounging in her bedroom doorway, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his immaculate cream trousers. The cornflower-blue silk shirt he wore was the same shattering colour as his eyes, and in the V at the neck she could see a cluster of golden curls nestling in the hollow of his throat. He looked ruggedly male and devastatingly sexy. She blinked and smudged her mascara.
‘Damn.’ Picking up a tissue, she wiped the offending mascara off her lid and touched up the shadow.
‘Sorry—didn’t mean to startle you,’ he apologised with a grin. Her heart flipped and she had to make a conscious effort to steady her hand.
Giving up, she dropped the eyeshadow brush and stood up, smoothing down the skirt of her cotton lawn dress. It was a splashy floral print in warm pastel shades, the perfect complement to her pale gold hair and English rose complexion, and she loved it.
‘Will I do?’ she asked with a twirl, and was rewarded by the bright flare of interest in his eyes.
‘Oh, yes, you’ll do,’ he said with wry emphasis. ‘My blood-pressure must have gone up to over two hundred in the last thirty seconds. Come on, out of here before I do something you’ll make me regret!’
She scooped up her shawl and bag, and clicked her heels.
‘Ready when you are, sir!’
‘That’s what I like—a woman who knows her place!’
He ushered her out to the car, and all the way to the Hamiltons’ house she was conscious of him as she had never been before.
‘What a fabulous place!’ she breathed as Michael parked the car on the sloping lawn and led her across to the sprawling, split-level house.
‘Gorgeous, isn’t it? He must be stinking rich.’
‘He’s quite old—thirty-eight or -nine.’
‘Oh, ancient!’ Michael said with a laugh. ‘I can assure you I won’t have accumulated this sort of wealth in five years.’
‘Private practice?’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘Too busy with the boat. Maybe later.’
He ushered her through the front door, and they were greeted by their host and hostess, looking wonderfully relaxed and blissfully happy. They made a beautiful couple, Lizzi with her astonishing violet eyes and pale blonde hair, Ross tall and distinguished, his thick, prematurely silver hair a perfect foil for the healthy glow of his skin.
Clare hugged Lizzi warmly. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Hamilton!’ she said, her voice full of emotion.
Lizzi hugged her back. ‘Thanks, Clare. I’m glad you could come. Ross, do you know Clare Stevens? She’s Mary O’Brien’s staff nurse.’
Ross shook her hand, and Clare was struck again by the wealth of warmth and understanding in his gentle grey-green eyes.
‘Take care of her, she’s a super girl,’ Clare admonished him.
‘Oh, I intend to cherish her until she begs for mercy,’ he said with a laugh, but she noticed his eyes met Lizzi’s in a look so intensely private and filled with passionate commitment that she felt almost embarrassed to have witnessed it. He turned to Michael. ‘Hello, Michael. Glad you could make it. Go on through and make yourselves at home. Drinks are in the kitchen—Callum will help you.’
‘Who’s Callum?’ Michael asked as they walked away.
‘Ross’s oldest son. He’s been married before.’
They collected their drinks and made their way out into the garden and down the terrace of steps.
‘Lord, a pool!’
‘Oh, yes—all mod cons! I expect things will deteriorate later and at least one person will end up chucked in—it was Lizzi last time!’
He chuckled. ‘Remind me to keep well out of the way—these shoes wouldn’t survive a dunking. Now,’ he said, tucking his arm round her waist and guiding her away from the crowd, ‘what’s a lovely young thing like you doing all on your own at a party like this?’
‘I’m not,’ she reminded him.
‘Ah, but you would have been if I hadn’t turned up in the nick of time. So why? You can’t tell me no one’s offered?’
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that if I go to a party with someone, that someone might get the wrong idea——’
‘But you’re here with me. Aren’t you afraid I’ll get the wrong idea?’
‘No.’ She turned to face him and met his gaze unblinkingly. ‘You have the same problem—because you look the way you do, no one will take you seriously. I know you understand,’ she told him frankly.
That doesn’t make me immune to your charms,’ he said softly.
‘Michael, don’t …’
‘OK, OK!’ He held up his hands in laughing surrender. ‘I take the hint. Now, who are all these people?’
They circulated, Clare introducing Michael to those people that she knew, and in turn being introduced herself to others who she knew only by sight. By ten-thirty they had talked themselves hoarse, and there was a welcome interruption when the music was turned down and Oliver Henderson, one of the other consultants, called everyone’s attention from the top of the steps.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I don’t want to bore you with speeches, but I’m sure you would all