by Fiona Lowe
Her mouth dried and her well of strength drained away. Flustered, she dropped her gaze and fumbled in her handbag, searching for her car keys. She breathed out in relief when her fingers closed over metal and she quickly activated the lock release button and swung up into the vehicle. She just had to get through a short drive. How hard could that be?
He sat down next to her, filling the cabin with his fresh scent of laundry soap and everything male. She let it fill her nostrils, pour into her lungs, and suddenly her hands trembled.
Intelligent brown eyes zeroed in. ‘You OK to drive? We could always walk.’
‘I’m fine.’ Liar. She wasn’t drunk but she was a long way from fine. With Matt so close her brain had closed down under the assault of her body’s wayward pleasure-seeking mission and she couldn’t think straight. She hit the on button of the radio with the palm of her hand, filling the cabin with music, and then she planted her foot. She tried valiantly to focus on the music but even that was against her with a raunchy song about make-up sex. Her hand wanted to leave the steering wheel, reach out and press her palm against the stubble on his cheek. She turned left at the first intersection and right at the second, and then drove straight.
‘Uh, Poppy?’
‘What?’ It came out far too snappy as her body mocked her every good intention to stay aloof by sending rafts of hot and cold streaking though her.
He tilted his head, a lock of hair falling forward. ‘I’m not so drunk that I don’t notice where we are. You’re going the wrong direction and the house is back that way.’
She squinted through the windshield. Oh, God, he was right. With her mind complete mush, she’d taken the wrong turning at the first intersection and now she had no clue where she was. ‘It all looks the same at night.’
‘Sure, it pretty much does except for the bright lights of the port, which gives you a whopping big navigational tool.’ His voiced teased as he turned towards her, his face clear in the moonlight. His mouth was curved up into a broad smile, a smile that banished the usual hovering sadness as it raced to his eyes, creasing the edges and making them dazzle with fun and wicked intent.
She almost drove off the road.
She’d wondered what he’d look like when he truly smiled and now she knew—completely devastating. Hauling her gaze back to the road and loathing herself on so many levels for her total lack of control over her body, she tried desperately not to sneak another look at his sexy grin. Usually when she was proved wrong she got defensive, but there was something about the unexpected softness that had momentarily surrounded him that made her laugh. ‘I’ll concede you have a point.’ She slowed in preparation to do a U-turn.
‘Keep going. We’re pretty close to Estuary Road and you get a great view of the town from there. It looks pretty at night.’
She changed gears. ‘What, no red dust?’
‘The key to Bundallagong is to focus on the ocean. The turtles and the whales will amaze you.’ He stretched out his arm. ‘Turn here.’
The headlights beamed onto a break in the trees and she slowly navigated the vehicle down a narrow track. ‘Are you sure this is a road?’
He leaned back in his seat. ‘You’re such a city girl. Live a little.’
‘I live plenty.’ You love deluding yourself, don’t you?
The track opened up into a wide parking area with a boat ramp and she parked. Matt jumped out of the car and quickly walked round the front of the vehicle, reaching her door before she’d finished unlatching her seat belt. Surprise piggybacked on every other rampaging emotion.
He opened her door. ‘Come on, you need to see this.’
She followed him across the stony area until they stood on the curve of the bay. Across the moonlit water, the massive port with its heavy equipment that looked like a scar on the landscape during the day sparkled white, yellow, blue and orange. ‘I concede it has its own charm.’
He laughed—a rich, deep sound that made her think of the bass notes of a clarinet. ‘Careful, Poppy, you’re in danger of gushing.’
He stood so close to her she could feel his heat, hear his breathing and smell his spicy scent—all of it swirling around her, taunting her to reach out and grab it for herself. ‘It’s nothing like I expected.’
His head leaned in, his eyes smoky and intense. ‘Nothing ever is.’
‘No.’ She barely got the word out as his breath caressed her face and her heart bruised itself against her ribs. She spoke almost as much to ground herself as to reply. ‘I belong in Perth.’
‘Who really belongs anywhere?’ His warm hand slid along her jaw, and then long, strong fingers tilted her head. His dark hair fell forward, stroking her cheek, before his lips brushed hers—soft, hot, partially testing but mostly firm and sure.
He tasted of malt, tropical heat and arousal. He was kissing her and, God help her, she wanted it like her body needed air. Her hand wrapped around the back of his head and she pulled him into her, feeling the hard muscles of his thighs pressing against her and his heart thundering against her own. He murmured a groan and his tongue flicked at her closed lips, seeking entry, and she opened them to him, needing to have him inside her, wanting him to explore, lick, taste and take. Wanting him to treat her like a woman.
Every part of her burned as Matt’s expert mouth dismantled any lingering doubts that kissing him was a bad idea. She kissed him back. She kissed away the past, banishing Steven’s cold, hard voice and releasing the barrier on her femininity, letting it flood her and then flood Matt.
He gasped, his hands tangling in her hair and then gripping her head to gain access to her throat. He trailed spine-tingling kisses along her jaw before dropping his head lower, tracing the hollow of her neck with his tongue. She sagged against him as she heard a mewling sound in the back of her throat.
She hauled his mouth back to her own, needing that intimate contact and tasting salt and her own heady desire. Nothing mattered except losing herself in the heat of that hot, throbbing place, and she turned herself over to its power, allowing her mind to spin out on bliss and her body to burn.
She was boneless, wet with need, weak with longing yet strong with the power of her body and she gloried in it. His hand covered her breast, the thin material of her blouse and bra feeling like a concrete slab between them. She wanted to feel the heat of his palm against her skin, let the weight of her breast fill his hand, and she ached for the graze of his thumb on her tightening nipple. She popped her shirt open and guided his hand. ‘Touch me.’
His body stiffened against hers, rigid from head to toe, and suddenly his hands were on her shoulders, pushing. He ripped his mouth from hers, stepping back, breaking the kiss, breaking all contact.
‘This is a mistake.’ His words shredded the night air—harsh, ragged and uncompromising.
You’re a machine, Poppy, not a woman. The memory of Steven’s voice taunted and the fire in her body chilled to ice. Her legs shook, followed by the rest of her, and she desperately wanted to evaporate like water against parched ground. Instead, she lifted her chin, locked down every emotion and pulled her blouse shut tight. ‘That’s what they all say.’
She strode to the car, slamming the door against his voice, and gunned the vehicle out of the car park, not caring how the hell he got home.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘EXACTLY where is Victor Chu’s fluid balance chart?’ Matt’s head pounded and the backs of his eyes ached.
Jen frowned but her mouth moved into an anxious smile. ‘It’s clipped to his chart board.’
‘If it was there, I wouldn’t be asking.’ He spun the chart board so it skidded across the desk. ‘His pulmonary oedema is worsening and he’s now on a strict fluid intake, which I’d write on the chart, if I could find it.’
She pulled the sheaf of charts out of the folder and started going through them one by one. ‘You don’t look very well. Do you need some of my winning combination of complex B and C vitamin drink?’
‘I’m not hungover.’
She smiled overly brightly as if she didn’t believe him and produced the elusive, pink, fluid balance chart.
‘I’m not.’ He sighed and tried to swallow his defensive tone. ‘I had a terrible night and no sleep.’ He wrote his orders on the chart and added a new drug regime in an attempt to dry Victor’s lungs and maximise the effectiveness of the weak beats of an old and tired heart. ‘I just need coffee.’
‘There’s a fresh pot in the lounge.’
He nodded his thanks and backed away from her sympathetic glance. He didn’t deserve it. Not this time when his lack of sleep had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with Poppy. God, why on earth had he kissed her?
But he knew why. He’d had plenty of time to think about it as he’d walked the three kilometres home. He poured himself a large mug of the aromatic brew and closed his eyes, instantly seeing Poppy’s plump, lush lips. He forced his lids open but it didn’t help—he could still see the after-image of their shape and colour, and that, combined with those startling eyes, had him almost permanently hard. It had rendered his restraint so thin it was friable. Last night, standing so close to her under that bright, white moon, with her intoxicating perfume spinning around him and her body heat rolling into his, it had all combined to demolish the tattered shreds of his self-control. All he’d known was that he’d ached to touch her, craved to taste her, and hungered to savour her.
So he had.
And she’d flooded him with unforeseen and unrestrained passion. Passion that had roared through him, feeding his desire with so much fuel that he’d almost combusted on the spot. His body had taken over, emptying his mind of everything except the white-hot pleasure of sex. And he’d revelled in it. It had been so long since he’d felt alive like that and nothing had existed except two hot bodies seeking each other.
Touch me. Her tremulous and breathy voice had sliced through him, penetrating his lust-fogged mind like a knife and dumping reality upon him as he’d realised who he’d been kissing.
Not Lisa. Hell, he’d had his tongue down the throat of another woman and it hadn’t been enough: he’d wanted so much more.
So he’d pulled away, despising himself for betraying Lisa.
What about betraying Poppy?
He stifled a groan and slugged more coffee. He hadn’t seen her since she’d stormed away from him and he’d been in no state then to even try and call her back. Even if his mind and voice had worked, he knew she would never have stopped to listen and he’d been incapable of telling her the truth.
‘Matt, ambulance is pulling in,’ Jen called out as she hurried towards the ambulance bay.
Matt joined her, glad to be distracted from the mess he’d created, and he pulled on gloves, ready to treat the young man writhing in pain on the ambulance’s stretcher. ‘What happened?’
‘His apprentice said he’d been lifting concrete slabs and went down screaming. I gave him some nitrous but he’s still in pain.’ Doug Finlay, the senior paramedic, gave a brief handover.
‘Hernia?’ Jen muttered, before moving to transfer the man onto the trolley, but as she reached his side she paused in surprise. ‘Liam?’
Matt instantly recognised one of the town’s builders and based on what the ambulance officer had said thought an abdominal or spinal disc hernia were very possible. ‘Where does it hurt? Your back?’
Liam shook his head, his expression a combination of pain and embarrassment. ‘It’s not my back.’
Matt caught the look. ‘Ah, Jen, can you go and start the paperwork.’
‘Sure.’
As the door closed behind her, Liam started to dryretch and Matt grabbed a kidney dish. ‘As soon as I’ve examined you, I can give you something for the pain.’
‘I remember being kicked in the balls when I was aa kid but this—’ He seemed to have trouble breathing against the pain. ‘This is absolute agony.’
Matt nodded sympathetically. ‘I want to rule out a couple of other possibilities.’ He palpated Liam’s abdomen and groin but he couldn’t feel a hernia. ‘I need to examine your testicles.’
Liam barely nodded as his white-knuckled hands gripped the silver railing of the trolley.
‘I think you’ve got a torsion of the testicle.’
Liam looked blank. ‘What?’
‘It’s twisted.’ He pulled the ultrasound over and examined the area. He pointed to the screen. ‘There’s the problem.’
Liam looked like he could hardly focus. ‘It’s absolute agony.’
‘That’s because the blood supply is being restricted.’ He saved the picture, wiped the Doppler and returned it to its holder.
A knock sounded on the door and Matt tossed the modesty sheet over Liam as he called, ‘Come in.’
Jen entered the room, followed by a woman who appeared to be a similar age to his patient. She rushed towards Liam, picking up his hand. ‘I came as soon as Tim called me.’
Jen slung the clipboard over the end of the trolley and said quietly to Matt, ‘Should I page Poppy?’
Matt tilted his head in agreement.
Jen returned it as she spoke. ‘This is Emma Water-son—Liam’s fiancée.’
Emma, still holding Liam’s hand, looked up, her forehead creased with worry. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
Matt filled her in on his diagnosis and watched her face pale.
‘Why …? I mean, how did it happen?’
‘It’s not an uncommon condition in men under twenty-five and I’d say Liam probably has a genetic or structural weakness. Combine that with heavy lifting, and it would be enough to cause the twist.’
She turned accusingly to her fiancé. ‘You told me you were getting the bobcat in to lift that concrete.’
Liam blanched as another wave of pain hit him. ‘Em, I’m sorry. I couldn’t get it today and I was trying to get everything done so we could have a two-week honeymoon.’
Emma let out a wail. ‘Oh, God, the wedding. Can you untwist it?’
Matt tried to suppress a shudder. ‘Liam needs surgery. The good news is that we have a surgeon here.’ Good news for Liam, anyway.
‘Good news?’ The soon-to-be bride swayed on her feet. ‘That means there’s bad news too. Will it mean we can’t have children?’
‘If the testicle has to be removed, the other one won’t be affected.’
‘And the honeymoon?’ Liam grimaced as he moved.
Matt gave a wry smile. The guy was in agony but still thinking about sex. It’s all you’ve been thinking about today.
He rubbed his temple. ‘You’ll be a bit tender for a day or so but the second week you should be just fine.’
Liam sunk back on the pillows. ‘In that case, do your worst—just stop the pain.’
‘I can do that.’ Poppy strode into the room, her blue eyes flashing brightly.
With her green theatre scrubs floating around her and concealing the soft curves Matt knew nestled underneath, she gave him an almost imperceptible nod before studying the ultrasound screen.
Liam choked. ‘You’re the surgeon?’
Poppy gave a restrained smile. ‘I understand you’d probably feel more comfortable with a man but think of it as taking one for all the women in the world who find themselves being treated by male gynaecologists.’
Emma laughed. ‘I like her.’
‘You’re not the one going under the knife,’ Liam grumbled.
‘Poor baby, I’m sure she’ll be gentle.’
Matt didn’t disillusion either of them with his thoughts.
After Poppy had explained the procedure and obtained consent, he followed her out of the room, thankful they had a patient to discuss. ‘I’ll put in an IV, take some blood for FBC, U&Es and cross-matching, and then he’s all yours.’
She raised her well-shaped jet brows. ‘As long as you’re sure. I’d hate it if you made a mistake.’ Hurt shimmered around the sarcasm.
He swallowed a groan. It was time to make some sort of restitution. ‘I wanted to talk to you t
his morning but you left before dawn.’
She folded her arms, scrunching the scrubs tightly over her breasts. ‘Ah, the apology. No need, heard it before.’
Apology? What apology? But his gaze snagged on the outline of her bra and he swallowed, hard, forcing his mind to stay on track with the conversation. ‘How can you have heard it before? I haven’t ever apologised to you.’
She rolled her eyes, azure deepening to midnight. ‘You’re a man, I’m a woman. Believe me, I’ve heard it and I’ve heard every single excuse in the book of sorry. I don’t have time for this, Matt. I’m due in surgery.’
He trapped his angry retort and watched her walk away. Believe me, I’ve heard it. What the hell did that mean? Did she think she could throw off some line and just keep walking?
Well, what did you really expect? He had no clue. Damn it, he hadn’t actually planned on apologising. She’d been an equal participant in the kiss and this was 2011. Surely people had a right to change their minds.
You touched her breast; it had gone way past a kiss.
He tried to recall the sequence of events last night after his head had roared so loudly with the realisation of what he’d been doing—when betrayal and lust had collided and he’d pulled back.
This is a mistake.
That’s what they all say.
Who the hell were ‘they’?
This time Matt didn’t cook. He didn’t go to bed at 10:00 p.m. Or eleven. He opened the door to Poppy at eleven-fifteen.
Shocked surprise crossed her face and she quickly glanced towards her house before staring straight back at him. ‘Two houses, both have rats.’
Anger scorched his intention to invite her to sit down and calmly talk this mess out. ‘Oh, and that’s really mature.’ He ran his hand through his hair, trying to find the calm he’d once been known for. ‘Look, we have to work together and right now we’re sharing a house, so what do you need me to say so we can go back to being semi-civil with each other?’
‘Nothing.’ She tried to move past him.
He blocked her. ‘That’s rubbish. If it was nothing you wouldn’t have left me out at the point last night to walk home.’