Page 50 of Prognosis Incompatible

CHAPTER EIGHT

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THE next six weeksflew by and they were the most incredible of Madeline’s life. She and Marcus were pretty much inseparable. He would call in and pick her up from work each evening and they would rush to her place, the closest, falling on each other the second they were alone, like lovers who hadn’t seen each other for a century instead of only eight hours.

He was perfect. Life was perfect. It had gone from being in the doldrums and her vigilantly guarding herself from life and love and hurt to being spectacularly wonderful. He didn’t put a foot wrong. He was funny and sexy and kind and patient. He was a good cook, a great masseur and a fantastic listener. A true gentleman who opened her door and picked up the cheque.

And, in bed, he was adventurous and generous and he just couldn’t get enough of her.

Nor could she of him.

She hated being apart from him and when he kissed her after a day’s absence it was like that first night all over again. Sweet and desperate, lustful and greedy. She never knew she was capable of such passion. Or that she could throw all caution to the wind and allow herself to live in the moment.

It was liberating.

And she steadfastly avoided thinking about where she and Marcus were headed, preferring to think only in terms of what they were doing today. Because, whether they admitted it or not, they’d moved far from the realms of rebound sex. In fact, they had broken every rebound sex rule that apparently existed.

They were in a relationship for crying out loud. And Madeline was going to enjoy the perks while it lasted.

Everyone had been surprised. Veronica had been ecstatic. She kept grinning stupidly at Madeline and muttering stuff like, “You go, girl,” and “Hubba hubba,” as she passed by.

Mary adored him. ‘I knew he’d be right for you. About time you found yourself a young man who couldn’t keep his hands off you,’ she had declared to a pink-faced Madeline a few hours after she had sprung them kissing in her office.

Not that long ago Madeline would have been mortified by her behaviour but now she revelled in it, enjoying the carefree flush of being desired.

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Marcus ushered in hisfirst patient of the day. His practice had been building nicely. He was three-quarters booked most days. And his nights were just as full. Maddy was amazing. Life was pretty damn good at the moment.

Jenny Smith entered the room, carrying her six-year-old son, Trent and sat on the chair opposite.

‘Hi,’ said Marcus, noting the boy’s pallor instantly.

‘Ouch,’ said Jenny, indicating the specimen jar on his desk, full of gallstones.

Marcus laughed. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he said holding up Gail Wust’s successfully passed stones. ‘Thirty of the blighters. Better out than in.’

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