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An uncomfortable silence fell on the group of men who’d had less to drink than Jim, but Conner simply nodded. ‘He certainly did.’
Jim sniffed. ‘Couldn’t have been easy, living with that. Duncan MacNeil had one hell of a temper.’
‘You want me to cry on your shoulder?’
Jim shuddered. ‘You know what I want? I want to know who the girl was, Conner. That’s what I want.’ He winked at the others and Conner slowly lowered his glass to the table.
So they had seen. ‘No one.’
‘Bet she was pretty. You always did get the pretty ones. Hey, everyone…,’ Jim raised his voice to attract maximum attention. Then he hiccoughed again and lifted his glass in salute. ‘Conner was in the waves with “no one”.’
‘At least “no one” can’t nag at you,’ someone muttered, and Jim gave a snort.
‘She was real enough.’
‘We can torture it out of him.’ Nick suggested. ‘You have the right to remain silent—’
‘And I intend to,’ Conner drawled, his face expressionless. Inside, a slow anger burned. Anger towards himself and what he’d so nearly done. If they’d seen that it was Flora, what would that have done to her reputation? She was decent and sweet and, as she’d pointed out, she was going to be working on this island long after he’d turned his back on it for ever. She was also a shy and private person who would have hidden in a hole in the ground rather than have her name tossed carelessly around a group of men in a pub.
And with his selfish actions, he’d almost destroyed everything she’d worked for.
And not just by exposing her to gossip.
He lifted his glass again, remembering the shyness and the desperate excitement in her eyes in the last seconds before he’d given in to impulse and kissed her. She’d wanted him, badly. He should have been flattered but instead he felt…disgusted with himself. Disgusted with himself for not walking away. He had no idea how much sexual experience she’d had, but he was willing to bet that her lifestyle didn’t encompass meaningless affairs, and that was all he could offer her.
He stared at the bunch of locals gathered around the table, laughing and joking at his expense.
He should be grateful to them.
If it weren’t for them he’d now be suffering from regret instead of sexual frustration. And Flora…Flora would have assured him in that polite voice of hers that everything was fine, but deep down she’d have been horrified at herself for indulging in a moment of madness with a delinquent like him.
Or worse—she’d be looking at him with those huge, brown eyes of hers, wanting things from him that he’d never, ever be able to deliver.
Conner drained his glass, knowing that probably for the first time in his life he’d done the right thing.
With a humourless laugh he studied the empty glass in his hand, sure of one thing. If doing the right thing felt this bad, he wasn’t going to make a habit of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘HE SAVED the child, can you believe that? Anyway, I always knew there was good in him. It’s not surprising he went off the rails with everything that he had to contend with at home.’ Angela Parker watched as Flora tightened the bandage. ‘I mean, his mother left when he was only ten years old. And his father was a drunk. A violent drunk, some say. Shocking, really shocking. It’s no wonder he was wild. The poor boy.’
‘Yes, Mrs Parker. I mean, no.’ Flora was barely listening. Her mind was on other things. Although part of her was delighted and relieved that the entire island was now treating Conner as a hero, another part of her felt as though something inside her had been ripped out.
It was just because she was tired, she told herself. But she knew that wasn’t true. It had nothing to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with the kiss she’d shared with Conner.
The kiss that had been interrupted.
The kiss that she’d totally messed up.
She kept reliving that moment and wishing she’d done things differently. She wished she’d yelled out, It’s me, Flora Harris, Jim. Yes, I’m kissing Conner so could you just all go away and let us get on with it? She wished she hadn’t been embarrassed. She wished she’d held onto the moment instead of letting it slip from her fingers. She wished…
She wished Conner felt something for her.
But he didn’t.
In fact, not only had he not mentioned it, he hadn’t even talked to her. Several days had passed and he’d been so busy fielding patients eager to consult him about his various problems that she’d barely seen him in the distance, let alone put herself in the position where a conversation might be possible.
At first she’d managed to convince herself that he was just very busy. She’d lingered in the surgery long after the patients had left, hoping that he’d seek her out, and she’d sat in her empty cottage at night, waiting for a knock on the door or the ring of the phone.
