her hand, reassure her that he wasn’t offended—well, not now that she’d apologised, anyway—only he sensed it would be a mistake to do that. Joanna would just retreat back into her shell and then he’d have an even harder job eliciting a response from her.
Heat flashed through him when it struck him that the response he wanted from her wasn’t solely a professional one. Maybe he did want her to treat him as the skilled surgeon he knew himself to be, but it wasn’t his only attribute, as he would be happy to make clear. It was a relief when Joanna suddenly stood up because it effectively put an end to such crazy thoughts.
‘I think it’s time we got down to some work, don’t you? We have a full list this morning, mainly minor elective surgery, although there is one case which you should find interesting.’
She headed for the door then glanced back when he followed her. Dylan felt his heart lift when she suddenly smiled at him. ‘It should definitely give you a chance to show off your skills.’
‘Sounds intriguing.’
He followed her out of the room, trying to control the thundering of his heart as they walked to the stairs together. Just because Joanna had smiled at him, it wasn’t any reason to get too excited, he admonished himself, but sadly the advice seemed to fall on deaf ears. It was difficult to concentrate as she outlined the case for his benefit but he didn’t intend to give her any reason to fault his work. He was good at what he did and he was going to prove it to her and the rest of the team!
‘The patient’s name is Ada Harper and she is one hundred years old. She’s remarkably fit for her age which is the reason why we have agreed to operate on her. According to our colleagues in the cardiovascular department, Ada has the heart and lungs of a fifty-year-old.’
‘Amazing!’ Dylan laughed as he pushed open the swing doors so that Joanna could pass through them ahead of him. He inhaled deeply when he caught the fragrance of her perfume as she passed him. His whole body began to tingle before he ruthlessly forced his mind back to work, but it was alarming to realise just how responsive he was to this woman. He’d had more than his share of girlfriends over the years but he couldn’t recall a single one of them having the effect on him that Joanna seemed to have.
‘Amazing is the right word.’ Joanna waited for him to catch up before continuing. ‘Ada is a wonderful old lady, full of fun and brimming with energy. She would put many people half her age to shame, in fact. Unfortunately, she has a hiatus hernia which has been making her life a misery of late. The muscle at the junction between the oesophagus and the stomach has been badly affected and she’s been suffering from severe reflux of the stomach’s contents.’
‘Nasty,’ Dylan observed sympathetically. ‘Has it just caused severe heartburn or has there been oesophagitis as well?’
‘The oesophagus has been badly inflamed for some time, plus there are increasing periods when Ada can’t eat at all because the muscles have gone into spasm,’ Joanna explained. ‘Her GP tried all the usual remedies—a bland diet, eating several small meals each day instead of large ones—but the situation has got steadily worse. The GP referred Ada to a specialist at her local hospital and he agreed that the best treatment would be an operation to repair the hiatus hernia, but he refused to put her on his list, which is why she has ended up here.’
‘That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?’ he queried. ‘If her local hospital refused to operate why did you agree to treat her?’
‘Because one of the things I feel most strongly about is that age shouldn’t prevent a person from receiving treatment. Ada is remarkably healthy apart from this problem and it isn’t fair that her quality of life should be ruined because she’s considered too old by some surgeons to undergo an operation.’
‘I agree. It’s one of the things that really angers me, too. If a person will benefit from surgery then it should be available to them.’ He sighed because he’d had an uphill struggle in his last post, putting across that view. ‘I’m afraid it usually comes down to economics. Many surgeons refuse to, quote, “waste good money operating on someone who won’t live long enough to appreciate it”.’
‘Exactly! It’s an attitude I abhor. Every case should be decided on its own merits and age should never be the deciding factor,’ she agreed, smiling at him.
‘Seems we’re in accord on that, at least,’ he said softly, his heart going into raptures when he saw the approval in her beautiful grey eyes.
‘So it appears.’ She briskly turned and hurried towards the female changing room but not before Dylan had seen the wash of soft rose colour that had tinted her cheeks. ‘I’ll see you in Theatre, Dr Archer,’ she told him, without looking back.
‘Of course.’
Dylan took a deep breath as the changing-room door shut behind her then let it out very, very slowly. It didn’t help but, then, he hadn’t honestly expected that it would. It would take more than a deep breath to cure this affliction.
He went into the men’s changing room and stripped off his clothes then slid on a cotton scrub suit. The cotton felt cool against his skin, cool and soft, and he groaned because it made him think about Joanna and how her skin would feel. It would be cool and soft as well but, unlike the cotton, it would also be velvety smooth.
How he longed to touch her, ached to let his fingers explore her body, and the sheer depth of his desire shocked him because it was way out of proportion to the stage they were at in their relationship. They were two new—very new—colleagues, finding their feet as they worked together, and yet here he was lusting after her like a lover! What the hell was wrong with him? Was he having some kind of a mid-life crisis? Was it possible to have one at his age or did age make absolutely no difference in this situation as it shouldn’t in so many others? He wanted Joanna Martin. He wanted her more than he’d believed it possible to want a woman, and it would have made no difference if he’d been ninety-five instead of thirty-five because he’d still have felt the same!
There, he’d admitted it, and it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel like a total idiot. Joanna wasn’t the least bit interested in him. He’d bet his last pound that she wasn’t standing in the other changing room, lusting after him.
The thought brought him down to earth with a thump. Maybe he did want Joanna but he wouldn’t do himself any favours by letting her know that.
Joanna slid her feet into a pair of backless Theatre clogs then went through to the scrub room. They were using Theatre three again and Lucy Porter was already in there, getting scrubbed up. She grinned when Joanna appeared.
‘Hi! I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you. Problems with the new guy, by any chance? I had a feeling earlier that things might be getting a little tense between you two.’
‘No, everything’s fine. I just needed a word with Dr Archer, that’s all. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’
Joanna went to the sink and quickly turned on the taps. Scooping a handful of antiseptic soap from the dispenser, she started lathering her arms. She felt rather uncomfortable about being asked a question like that. Normally, Lucy just wished her good day then carried on with what she was doing. She couldn’t recall the theatre sister passing a remark of a personal nature before and found herself wondering what had caused her to do so that day.
‘No problem,’ Lucy replied cheerfully, breaking open a sterile towel to dry her hands. ‘It gave us time to have a cuppa before we set to again. With Dylan bringing up that emergency, we didn’t get much chance to ease into the day. Poor old Tom looked very peaky from having to forgo his morning infusion of caffeine!’
‘Then it all worked out for the best, didn’t it?’ Joanna replied rather lamely.
She took a nailbrush off the shelf and set to work with gusto, wondering why she was so uncomfortable about making conversation. She’d worked with Lucy for several years now yet this was the most they’d ever said to one another. Their previous conversations had been confined to work but, then, most conversations