by Fiona Lowe
She shrugged. ‘You told me you were planning on walking home anyway.’
‘From the pub!’ He heard his voice rise. ‘Which is three minutes away, not three kilometres.’
Her stony expression wavered slightly with the tiniest mark of contrition, and he pounced on it as a sign of a chance at reconciliation. ‘Do you want a drink?’
Her brows rose. ‘Isn’t that what got you into trouble last night?’
‘I was not drunk.’ For the second time that day, he ground out the indignant words. ‘Six months ago you could have levelled that accusation at me but not last night.’
The faintest tremble wove across her bottom lip before she snagged it with her teeth. Teeth that had nipped at his lips last night in the frenzy of that kiss. The memory sent a bolt of heat through him and he realised he was staring at her mouth.
Her chin shot up. ‘So you were sober. That makes it worse. I have to say, this is one hell of an apology.’
‘I’m not apologising.’ The yelled words shot around them both, loud and uncompromising.
She blinked and then spoke quietly. ‘No, you’re not.’
She walked past him, leaving him standing in the hall, stunned.
Your manners always made me feel special.
Lisa’s voice chided him. He’d never yelled at a woman in his life so what the hell was wrong with him? He leaned against the wall and slowed his breathing before walking into the kitchen. Poppy had poured herself a glass of sauvignon blanc from the bottle he’d put in the fridge earlier, and was staring out into the night.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I don’t usually yell.’
She didn’t turn round but her shoulders stiffened so much that balls could have bounced off them. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve been known to have that effect on men. That and not being woman enough. Congratulations. You’ve gone two for two and you’re up there with the best.’
He felt like the floor was tilting under his feet and he was left scrabbling for purchase while careering inexorably into a black sinkhole. ‘What are you talking about?’
She spun to face him, her face pinched as conflicting emotions broke through her usually impenetrable armour. ‘You want me to spell it out to you?’ Her voice rose and she dragged in a breath. ‘I’m an exceptional surgeon but a lousy kisser. I’m sorry it was such a disappointment for you.’
Her words hit with the velocity of a missile, stunning him. ‘That’s what you think?’ He picked up his bottle of water, trying to assemble coherent thought. ‘You think you’re bad at kissing? Why on earth would you think that?’
A shudder whipped across her shoulders, round her torso and down her long, long legs. ‘Oh, let me see. It started at high school with my name scrawled all over the boys’ toilets, then my ex-husband mentioned it as often as he could and, hmm, last night you told me it was a mistake.’
That’s what they all say. Her words from last night lanced him and then all-encompassing anger at an unknown man erupted so fast it turned his breath fiery. ‘Your ex-husband doesn’t know squat.’
Her pupils dilated, drowning her shimmering cornflower-blue irises, and she swallowed, the ripple of movement centred in the hollow of her throat. The place he’d branded last night. The plastic bottle of water crunched loudly under his tightening fingers.
She shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, let’s not go there.’
‘Poppy, believe me, you can kiss.’ The husky words somehow passed through his tight throat and he downed some water, trying to douse his burning need for her.
She bit her lip as her hand crawled to her pendant. ‘Don’t do this, Matt. I’m not a child and you can’t muddy the truth. It stands and it has done for a long time. It stood loud and clear last night out at the point. For whatever reason, you were moved to kiss me. I kissed you back and you pulled away. End of story. We’ll both live.’
Despite everything, he knew their kiss had fired life into parts of his body that had been numb for a long time. Poppy had done that with her mouth, her tongue, her teeth and her taste. He couldn’t let her continue to believe she was a lousy kisser. So tell her why you pulled back.
But he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to have that conversation, and see and hear her pity. With a growl he forced out, ‘You’ve obviously been kissing the wrong men.’
She gave a derisive laugh, her face tight with the pain of her past. ‘Yeah, well, last night was a case in point.’
No, it wasn’t. In two strides he stood next to her, cupping her cheeks and pressing his mouth softly to hers. Taking a gamble to prove a point, a point she needed to understand.
She stiffened, her lips closed to him. Gently, his tongue ventured along the outline of those wondrous bee-stung lips, lips that drove him crazy on an hourly basis, and he tasted a hint of gooseberry and restraint born of hurt. But she didn’t push him away so he slowly nibbled her generous bottom lip, coaxing it to open and unlock the ambrosia he knew waited within.
He heard a strangled moan and recognised the moment her inherent sexuality defeated her control. Her mouth—hot, moist and seeking—met his with a scorch of fire, lighting a blaze that tore though him, revisiting places and invading untouched parts of him. He buried his hands in her hair and her fingers dug into his scalp, as if it was the only way she could stay standing.
His skin, slick with sweat, tingled with something he barely recognised because the memory of it had faded to fuzzy faintness—hedonistic pleasure. He lost himself, amazed at how decadent yet occasionally sweet and tender her mouth could be. His tongue met hers in a dance of wonder that ignited into a fevered duel, each of them angling for control and driven crazy by need.
The power surge of her desire lit up the back of his mind.
When did you ever kiss Lisa like this in this house?
The thought shocked him so hard his mouth slackened and he almost fell.
Poppy’s eyes, glazed with ecstasy’s bliss, instantly focused. She pulled away, her breasts rising and falling with fast, shallow breaths. ‘What the hell is happening? You’re doing it again.’
This time, with the light of the room, he glimpsed raw and pulsating pain in the electric blue of her eyes before her steely control shut it down.
He closed his eyes against his own pain, shame, guilt and utter despair. She doesn’t deserve this. Forcing himself to look at her, he knew with gut-wrenching certainty what had to come next. ‘It’s not you, Poppy, it’s me.’
Poppy stared at him, barely able to catch her breath and hardly able to believe her ears. Her heart pumped desire-fuelled blood through her, making her skittish and demolishing her usually logical thought processes. It took more than effort to clear her head. She scraped her mussed hair out of her eyes and clamped it by tightening the now loose band, the action giving her precious moments to pull herself together. ‘I don’t understand.’
His hand ploughed through his hair as his expression became imploring. ‘Please believe me when I tell you that you’re not just an exceptional surgeon.’
A kernel of belief almost sprouted inside her, but words counted little against crystal clear actions. He’d pulled away from her twice and both times had ended the most bone-melting kisses she’d even known. He’d rejected her, like all the men in her life. ‘I get the feeling there’s a “but” coming.’
His eyelids hooded his dark eyes, masking his emotions, but his body betrayed him when his left hand fisted so tightly his knuckles gleamed white. When he finally spoke it sounded like it was coming from the depths of his soul. ‘You’re the first woman I’ve kissed since Lisa died.’
Poppy’s legs gave way and she sat down hard on the couch. Oh, dear God, how had she been so dumb? She wanted to bury her face in her hands at her thoughtless and completely selfish neediness. Last night, when he’d stopped kissing her, her past had come rushing back so hard and fast it had obliterated any other possible reasons as to why he’d stepped back. By default, she’d made it all about herself, when in reality it was about him.
She had no idea what to say except the obvious. ‘You loved her very much.’ ‘I do.’
And right then, with the blinding clarity of the hindsight, she understood. ‘Kissing me is like cheating on Lisa.’
He sat down on the opposite end of the couch, his expression tinged with apologetic regret. ‘Yeah.’
She wondered what it would be like to be loved by someone so much that they considered it an act of faithlessness to kiss someone else even when you were dead. Steven hadn’t loved her enough in life to be faithful and yet she wasn’t certain she’d want a lover to be racked with this much guilt after she’d gone. Had she done something to trigger memories? ‘Do I remind you of her?’
‘God, no!’
She took the hit, feeling it reverberate through her with a dull ache, which was dumb because of course he loved his wife.
Show no hurt. She tilted her head in irony. ‘Just as long as you’re sure.’
He had the grace to look abashed. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ She grabbed her wine and took a gulp, trying to dig down to find the mature adult. His emphatic reply spoke volumes: she was nothing like his wife and no matter how that made her feel it gave her the opening to ask the question that had been on the tip of her tongue from the moment she’d discovered he was a widower. ‘So what was Lisa like?’
Her name. Matt stared at Poppy for a moment, realising that no one in town ever said Lisa’s name to him any more. He turned away, doggedly looking out through the patio doors, uncomfortable about the comparison he was about to make. ‘She was blonde to your black and short to your tall.’ Her mouth wasn’t as full as yours. He banished the thought by trying to focus on Lisa but his mental image of her face clouded around the edges. ‘She had a way with people, an ability to find something uniquely special about them. It made you feel like you were the only person who mattered to her at that moment in time. She made friends easily but she also kept them. There was something about her that made you want to try and be the best person you could.’
‘She sounds … exceptional.’ Poppy’s voice was strained and she cleared her throat.
‘She was.’ He kept staring out into the night as memories sucked at him, threatening to drown him, and he fought not to go to that dark place.
Poppy placed her glass on the side table and the noise of glass on wood brought him back to the present. She rose to her feet, the movement fluid yet extremely controlled, right down to the way the last hair on her head settled into place. He remembered the first time he’d met her and thought her all sharp angles and harsh lines. But that had been before he’d kissed her and discovered how wrong he’d been. Her air of command hid a raw sexuality that when unleashed had rocked him in ways he’d never imagined.
She jutted her chin in that precise way that meant she’d made up her mind about something. ‘It’s late.’
‘It is.’
‘See you in the morning, Dr Albright.’
He stared at her, realising she’d just played the colleague card, putting the boundaries firmly back in place, cutting the attraction off at the knees. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Restoration of equilibrium? ‘Coffee at seven, Ms Stanfield.’
‘Seven it is.’
He ignored the scud of disappointment that gnawed at his gut.
CHAPTER SIX
‘SO HAS he put a foot wrong yet?’ Poppy held her phone hard to her ear as she took the call in Matt’s kitchen while making a late night ‘catch-up’ sandwich with chicken and salad.
Luke Davies, her favourite anaesthetist, filled her in on Alistair Roland, her competitor in Perth. She’d made the call after coming home from the first choir practice, needing to get her head firmly back in the game of her career rather than letting herself be sidelined by Bundallagong and a man with the smokiest gaze she’d ever encountered.
Not that it mattered that Matt could reduce her to a quivering puddle of need with one gaze, because he didn’t want her. Her rational self didn’t want him either but her body craved him so badly it sobbed continuously. If past history had taught her anything it was that she doomed relationships, familial and sexual. Even if she had any relationship skills, she couldn’t compete with the memory of a dead woman who, unlike her, had made friends with ease and been admired by all she’d met. Matt had made that more than clear three nights ago.
So she’d been very sensible and pragmatic over the last few days, as had he. Whenever they consulted at work they were polite, professional and courteous. No one observing them would have any reason to think they’d once kissed each other senseless. As a result, it was getting easier with every day.
Is that so?
Yes!
You are so deluding yourself.
Luke’s voice rumbled down the line, bringing her back to the point of her call. ‘You might be in trouble. Alistair’s got the nursing staff eating out of his hand.’
‘That’s not good news.’ She opened the fridge, scanning the now considerable contents she’d purchased, and looked for her favourite mayonnaise.
‘You wanted facts. I’m just the messenger.’
It was just the sort of information she didn’t want to hear. ‘Exactly how has he achieved that in such a short time?’
‘Sorry, PICU is paging me. I have to go. Hang in there.’
The phone beeped as the call disconnected and Poppy felt the hitch in her gut. She didn’t have the XY chromosome to make a predominantly female nursing staff ‘eat out of her hand’ but she’d always prided herself on being fair. Why didn’t that ever seem to count for much?
Frustrated by the report and the paralysis of distance, she snapped her phone shut with one hand, grabbed the mayo with the other and bumped the door closed with her hip.
‘What’s not good news?’
The mayonnaise and her phone clattered onto the bench as her heart thundered hard and fast. Matt. She couldn’t be certain how much of her reaction was due to fright and how much was the result of her body’s natural response to seeing him.
Her heart hiccoughed.
Question answered.
It was a lot safer to hide behind fright and find indignation. ‘First there’s the goanna thundering in the roof at 3:00 a.m. whenever a cat disturbs it and now this.’ She righted the mayonnaise bottle. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a person?’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘Sorry. I thought you heard me call out when I came through the door. Is there a problem?’
Never show weakness, Poppy. Her father hadn’t been around a lot but when he had, he’d hammered that message home hard, loud and clear. ‘No.’ Deflect. ‘Well, there is the goanna. It’s like an elephant in the roof. How do you sleep?’
His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. ‘The goanna and I have an understanding and you’re changing the subject.’ His perceptive gaze shone with questions. ‘You’re wearing a frown as deep as a mineshaft and it isn’t goanna related.
Admit nothing. ‘I’ve got a lot on my plate, that’s all.’
Matt lowered himself onto the stool by the bench, his manner interested but slightly detached, just like it had been at work ever since they’d buried the entire kissing incident. ‘I’m happy to listen.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’ The words shot out, defensive and self-protective, with the intent of warning him off. Steven had never understood.
Instead of looking offended, Matt just shook his head slowly as if he felt sorry for her. ‘Try me. You might be surprised.’
His long fingers reached out and she watched mesmerised as he snagged a piece of chicken, tilted his head back and dropped it into his mouth. The mouth that had created such delicious havoc the other night and in the process had been branded on her memory for ever.
It had been years since she’d confided in anyone, having vowed never to again after the debacle with Steven. Usually she blocked people with snappy replies and if that didn’t work, she crossed her arms. She didn’t know if she was overtire
d, surprised by his interest or just a sucker for chocolat-noir eyes, but before she could second-guess her decision, she blurted out, ‘I’m fighting for the chief of surgery job back in Perth.’
‘Good.’
Indignation roared through her and she slapped mayo and mustard onto wholemeal bread. This was the sort of patronising response she’d got from Steven and the exact reason she never opened up to anyone. ‘Good? Exactly how is it good?’
‘You’d be great in that position.’
Surprise barrelled through her, dismantling her righteous anger and leaving behind a trail of confusion. ‘Oh, um, thank you.’
Matt raised his brows as he sliced an avocado. ‘Now, was telling me that so hard?’
Stop whining, Poppy, and just do the job. ‘Yes.’
This time he laughed.
‘Seriously, you have no idea.’ She pushed her father’s and Steven’s voices out of her head but thoughts about work took their place. She waged a constant battle—emotionally and physically—to get the same deal as her male counterparts, which meant staying one step ahead at all times. She’d given up so much and she deserved the Perth job, but it was hard to keep fighting for it when she’d been taken out of her own work-place.
His laugh faded. ‘Well, you did it, you told me, and life as we know it is still happening, so keep going. What’s the specific problem?’
She loaded bread with moist chicken, avocado, thin slices of peppered tomato, fresh basil leaves and lettuce, before adding the top layer of bread and slicing the squares into neat triangles.
‘Poppy?’
She knew she was stalling. She pushed one plate towards him and saw intense interest underpinned with support. ‘My competitor is currently doing the job, shovelling charm by the bucketload and winning over the staff, while I’ve been sent up here to languish in the backblocks.’
‘Ah.’ He bit into the sandwich.
‘Ah, what?’ She pulled a piece of avocado out from between the slices of bread, her appetite vanishing.