his feet, struggling to forget what she’d seen. But she couldn’t.
Her eyes drifted back up and she noticed the small scar on his hip, which disappeared beneath the sheet. Her breath gushed out.
She’d always thought Gary had a beautiful body. Fit and perfectly proportioned, with that tantalising sprinkling of hair that had made her mouth water. Of course Gary had always thought he had a beautiful body too, which had taken the shine off a bit. But there was no getting round the fact that Gary compared to Brody was like Clark Kent compared to Superman.
Brody’s long, lean limbs, toned muscles, the deep and, she now knew, all-over tan and that arresting face made quite a package all by themselves—not to mention his actual package, the memory of which was making Daisy feel as if she were the one with a fever—but even more tantalising was the hint of danger about him, of something not quite tame.
One thing was for sure, Gary naked had never had the physical effect on her Brody was having right this instant— and the man wasn’t even conscious.
She couldn’t catch her breath. Her skin felt tight and itchy and nothing short of a nuclear explosion had detonated at her core. And her ovaries weren’t just quivering, they were doing the rock-a-hula—with full Elvis accompaniment.
Daisy frowned, contemplating what her unprecedented reaction to a naked Connor Brody might mean—none of the options being good—when the doorbell buzzed.
She leaped off the bed so fast she tripped on the carpet and almost fell flat on her face.
Brody must have heard her, because his eyelids flickered and he grunted before turning onto his side. Unfortunately, he took the sheet with him, flashing Daisy the most delicious rear end she’d ever set eyes on. She yanked the sheet back to cover his bare butt before her blood pressure shot straight through the roof.
Her heartbeat racing and her pulse pounding in her ears, she headed down the corridor to the front door. She took several deep breaths as she fumbled with the latch.
Get a hold of yourself. He’s just a good-looking bloke and, from his rough, arrogant behaviour earlier, not a very nice one at that.
She tugged the door open to see her friend and local GP Maya Patel on the other side.
‘This had better be good, Daze.’ The harassed doctor marched past her with a loud huff, toting her black bag under her arm, her usually immaculate hair falling in disarray down the back of a two-piece track suit. ‘I hope you realise I can’t actually treat this guy as he’s not registered with our practice. I could end up getting sued if any—’
She stopped in mid-sentence to gape at Daisy. ‘Blimey, that’s a new look for you. What are you? In mourning or something?’
Yes, for my nice, sensible, discerning libido, Daisy thought wryly.
‘It’s a long story,’ she said as she led the way down the hall. The less Maya knew about the situation, the better.
‘Who is this bloke anyway?’ Maya asked, following Daisy into the darkened room.
‘I told you, my new neighbour.’ And the harbinger of nymphomania. ‘I called round to ask about Mr Pootles and he collapsed in front of me.’ Sort of.
‘Let’s take a look at him.’ Maya sat on the edge of the bed, and plopped her bag on the floor. ‘What’s his name again?’
‘Connor Brody.’
Maya touched his shoulder. ‘Connor, I’m Dr Patel. I’m here to examine you.’ She moved her hand to his brow when he failed to reply. ‘He’s certainly got quite a temperature,’ she said, lifting her hand. ‘How long has he been out?’
Daisy glanced at her watch, and realised he’d only collapsed about fifteen minutes ago, even though it felt like a lifetime. She relayed everything she knew to Maya, who began rummaging around in her bag.
‘Would it be okay if I popped next door while you examine him?’ Daisy asked. ‘I’ll be right back as soon as I tell Juno what’s going on.’
‘Sure, it shouldn’t take long,’ Maya replied, fishing a thermometer and a stethoscope out of the bag. ‘Looks like this nasty twenty-four-hour flu bug that’s been doing the rounds to me, but I’ll check his vitals to make sure it’s nothing more serious.’
Daisy high-tailed it out of the room. She did not want any more flashes of Connor Brody’s anatomy just yet. She’d had enough already to keep her in lurid erotic fantasies for weeks.
‘Have you completely lost your marbles?’
Daisy ignored Juno’s pained shout as she walked past her down the corridor to her bedsit, the towel wrapped tight around her freshly showered body. ‘I’ve got to go back there. He’s really ill. I can’t leave him to fend for himself.’
‘Why not? You don’t know the first thing about him.’ Juno followed her into her room and slumped down on the bed. Her brows lowered ominously. ‘What if he gets violent?’
‘Don’t be melodramatic. I told you, that was a misunderstanding,’ Daisy said, riffling through her wardrobe. Connor Brody getting violent was one of the few things she wasn’t worried about. ‘He looked after Mrs Valdermeyer’s cat. I think I’ve misjudged him. He’s not a bad guy.’ Well, not in that way.
She pulled out her favourite dress, a simple bias-cut cotton sheaf printed with bright pink blossoms. ‘Once the fever’s broken and I’m sure he’s okay, I’ll leave.’ She certainly didn’t want to be around the guy when he had all his faculties back. Brody unconscious was quite devastating enough, thank you very much.
‘But it’s the middle of the night, he’s a stranger and you’ll be in the house alone with him,’ Juno whined.
Daisy paused in the act of slipping on her hooker underwear. ‘I’ll be perfectly safe. Apart from anything else, he’s unconscious.’ She presented her back to Juno after tugging on her dress. ‘Here, zip me up. I told Maya I’d be back straight away.’
Juno continued to grumble about personal safety as she zipped Daisy into her dress. Daisy tuned her friend out as she spritzed patchouli perfume on her wrists, put on her bangles and brushed the tangles out of her newly washed hair.
She knew why Juno was a pessimist, why she hid behind baggy dungarees and a scowl, and why she always saw the cloud instead of the silver lining. Juno had been hurt badly once, very badly. She didn’t trust men. Which really was rather ironic, Daisy thought as she stared at herself in the mirror. After Daisy’s grossly inappropriate behaviour in their neighbour’s spare bedroom, Brody wasn’t the one who couldn’t be trusted.
‘Why are you getting dolled up?’
Daisy stopped dead, her lip gloss in mid-air. ‘What?’ She met Juno’s censorious gaze in the mirror.
‘You’re all dolled up. What’s that about?’
‘I am not,’ Daisy replied, mortally offended. But as she focussed on her reflection she could see Juno had a point. The figure-flattering dress, the sparkle of bangles and beads, the signature scent of patchouli, not to mention the make-up she’d been applying, made it look as if she were planning a night on the town, not a night spent nursing a sick man. Shocked and a little dismayed, she shoved the lip gloss back in her make-up bag.
She most definitely was not dressing up for Brody’s benefit; the very thought was ludicrous. She didn’t even like the guy.
Daisy slipped on her battered Converse, forgoing the beaded Indian sandals she’d already pulled out of the closet. ‘I’m not dressed up—this is me getting comfortable,’ she said lamely.
She pretended she didn’t hear Juno’s grunted, ‘Yeah, right,’ as her best friend trailed after her.
‘Don’t wait up,’ Daisy said, closing the door to her bedsit. ‘I’m not