Page 37 of Prognosis Incompatible

‘Come on.’ He held out his hand to help her off the wall.

She took it then dropped it immediately her feet hit the ground. ‘Where to?’

‘There’s a good pub. It’s got a great menu. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.’

Madeline faltered and was thankful she was no longer touching him. She was absolutely famished, and he looked totally edible. She suppressed the urge to lick her lips and lean in to gnaw on his neck. ‘Famished,’ she said.

Marcus heard the husky quality of her voice and noticed the flare again, and began to think that being with Maddy tonight, fresh from her break-up, was maybe not the best idea. There’d been something between them from their first meeting and she was a free agent again.

Fair game.

But he knew how she felt about relationships and even if he hadn’t, just one look at the delicious Maddy was enough to know that she didn’t do casual.

And he didn’t do permanent.

Not to mention how coming on to her two hours after her long-term relationship had broken up was just plain icky.

They walked without talking. Fitness freaks jogged around them, power walkers paced past them, families with toddlers and prams dodged them and the sun slowly set around them. They pushed their way through the crowds thronging the night markets and made it to the pub before the beer garden had filled up for the night. They got a table and Marcus left to get them a drink.

The music Madeline had heard earlier was coming from a band inside the pub and the music drifted out, creating a pleasant atmosphere. She could smell beer and peanuts and steaks cooking and felt surprisingly good. The laid-back vibe of the pub was just what the doctor ordered.

‘One chardonnay,’ he said, placing her drink on a coaster.

Or was Marcus the remedy? He sat opposite her, gave her a sexy dimpled grin and took a long swallow of his beer. He licked the froth from his lips and she almost groaned out loud.

Suddenly, she was hot all over, and she shrugged out of her navy pinstripe jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. When she turned back she noticed he was looking at her.

Intently.

‘What?’ She lifted her arms, checking her crisp white figure-hugging shirt, wondering if she’d spilt something down her front. It was one of those new stretch fabrics and it pulled tautly across her cleavage, the button struggling to keep in place. Maybe a button had popped?

Marcus wondered how much longer the button could stay in the hole and hoped he was around when it finally gave up the battle.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nice...shirt...’ He sounded pathetic, even to his own ears, and he took another long pull of his beer.

Madeline stilled as she watched his lips press against the frosty glass. Had he just checked her out? She felt as if a finger had stroked across her pelvic-floor as those muscles clenched involuntarily.

Maybe she wasn’t the only one with a serpent in her head.

She leaned back in the chair and noted how his gaze followed the straining button. Interesting. Very interesting.

‘So,’ Marcus said, placing his beer glass back down and blinking a few times to clear the haze that had descended when he’d thought about what kind of bra she might be wearing underneath. ‘Do you want to talk about Simon or get drunk and forget him?’

She laughed. ‘That doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.’

‘Do you always do the right thing, Maddy?’

She thought about it and thought about how she so didn’t want to do the right thing tonight. How she wanted to throw caution to the wind, down her chardonnay in one mouthful, grab his hand and demand he take her home to his bed.

She swallowed. ‘Pretty much.’

He nodded thoughtfully as he kept one eye on that teasing little button. No surprises there. The waitress came and took their order and he was pleased for the distraction. He ordered a T-bone. She ordered pasta.

‘OK, so no Simon.’

‘No, we can talk about him. I promise I won’t burst into tears.’

‘Really?’ Marcus had three sisters and his mother was on her fourth husband. He’d been privy to more than one bust-up in his life. In his experience women tended to cry for days.

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