by Fiona Lowe
‘Who did you upset?’
Her hands hit her hips despite the truth. ‘Why do you automatically assume I upset someone?’
‘Come on, Poppy, you have to admit that sometimes you have a “take no prisoners” approach that steps on toes.’
She bristled at his criticism. ‘You’re not perfect your self.’
‘I’m very well aware of that, but right now we’re talking about you.’ A quiet smile wove through his dark stubble. ‘Great sandwich, by the way.’
She leaned against the bench and sighed, partly at her inability to withstand his smile but mostly because she realised she was totally unable to sidetrack him away from the topic. ‘I was covering all bases and I applied elsewhere too and was unsuccessful. News got out and now it’s being used against me.’
‘But you want the job at Perth City?’
‘I do. It’s my job.’ She tapped her chest vehemently. ‘I’ve worked too hard for it to go to some interloper from the east.’
Understanding crossed his face. ‘If it helps at all, everyone at the hospital is in awe at how much you’ve achieved in such a short time and I haven’t heard too many grumbles about staff feeling overworked.’ His cheeky wink softened his words. ‘OK, you might not have the charm quotient like Mr East Coast but you’ve generated grudging respect.’
Her stomach clenched and she pushed her plate away, virtually untouched. ‘Oh, fabulous—grudging respect. That good, huh? That’s going to look sensational on my review … not! The only way I can counteract my competition is if I do an equal or better job so I need the staff to like me!’
‘That will come with time, Poppy.’
She would have preferred simmering sexuality to this ‘father knows best’ air and she wanted to shake him. This was her career on the line and her voice rose in frustration. ‘I don’t have time on my side.’
His calm expression didn’t change. ‘So make it work for you instead of against you.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘Be a surgeon at work and a person at play.’
‘Play?’
‘Yes, Poppy, play. Get out there and go fishing with the theatre techs, call into the nurses’ clothing and product parties, comment on the holiday photos of the clerks, cluck about the cleaner’s new grandchild and make sure you show up to drinks at some point every Friday night.’
An unfamiliar sensation she didn’t want to call panic zipped along her veins and her hand sneaked up to her pendant. ‘But that’s not me. That’s not how I’ve ever done things.’
Matt’s gaze showed no mercy. ‘Do you really want that chief of surgery job?’
‘Hell, yes.’
He grinned. ‘And there’s the drive we know and love.’ He walked round the bench to plug in the kettle. ‘Use your drive but redirect it. Show them there’s another side to Poppy Stanfield.’
She’d spent years only showing the world the surgeon in charge because it was so much safer. The surgeon had steel-plated armour but the woman buried inside her did not. She crossed her arms in self-protection and her teeth snagged her lower lip. ‘What if there isn’t another side? What if what you see is all there is?’
‘I don’t believe that.’ A husky edge clung to his voice and the collegiate mentor vanished under the heat-charged words.
Her stomach flipped. Memories of their kisses swirled and eddied around them, mocking everything she’d done to convince herself they were only colleagues. He stood so close to her she could smell the peppermint scent of his shampoo. She wanted his lips on hers, his arms around her waist and his body pressed hard against her, but when she glanced into his eyes, seeking the heat to match his voice, she could only find professional concern and perhaps a hint of friendship.
He doesn’t want you. Men don’t ever want you. She hated the empty feeling that settled over her and she ducked away from him, briskly covering the uneaten sandwich with cling wrap and covering her own irrational disappointment. ‘By the way, I got the all-clear on the house. I’m moving in tomorrow as soon as the new furniture’s delivered.’
A muscle close to his mouth twitched and he gave a brisk nod. ‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased to be in your own space.’
But Poppy read the subtext. He wanted her out and was pleased she was going. For her own peace of mind, she should be pleased too.
At 10:00 p.m. Matt saw the lights go on next door and tried to ignore them. Tried to ignore the fact Poppy was home. He tried to think about work, focus on how they’d both gone out of their way to be polite professionals, but all he could do was picture her in the kitchen, making one of her enormous ‘catch-up’ sandwiches after a day of grabbing food on the run.
Like the one she’d made him on the night he’d tried so hard not to let his hunger for her take over. The night she’d actually accepted some advice. It had been a good evening and they’d shared a companionable half-hour right up until the moment she’d nibbled her full, lush bottom lip.
He could have taken her right then—in the kitchen, on the bench, against the wall, anywhere. He had no idea how he’d managed not to. How he’d pulled himself back into line so she’d had no clue what he’d been thinking. Then she’d hit him with moving out.
God, he had to stop thinking about her, but the house was too quiet and offered up no distractions. Shadows danced across the walls and the strident, singing cicadas under the deck had gone silent on him. Even the goanna was undisturbed. The sensor light on the deck flickered on, probably triggered by a cat, and a slither of light caught something red behind the barbecue. He squinted and his heart cramped.
Annie’s ball. He’d thought he’d collected all her toys but this one had refused to be found, lying in wait to layer on another fresh round of pain. He turned away from the glass and slumped down on the couch. Before Poppy’s arrival he’d thought he was finally getting used to the emptiness of the house, if not the silence.
The huge silences were why he hadn’t done anything about the goanna, because any sound was at least noise. But post-Poppy he’d realised that just by having another person in the place, even one who argued the point on almost every subject, had lessened the void that had taken over a home. Once it had known so much buzz but now silence had reduced it to a house. Four walls of loss.
Poppy had moved her two red suitcases out three days ago. Three long, quiet and lonely days. His loneliness had shocked him. Since Lisa’s death he hadn’t wanted company but tonight he ached for it. He’d spent the last three days arguing down every urge to go and visit her. He’d fought off the guise of the friendly neighbour bringing over a house-warming gift, wrestled down the doctor who thought he should ‘follow up’ on a case, and he’d shut up the eager mentor who kept insisting he should ‘check up’ and see how she was going with her campaign to warm up the staff.
So far he’d been successful at not going over, but it was consuming every moment of his day. And night. His phone beeped; a blessed distraction, and he read the reminder that flashed up on the screen. Jen’s b’day 2morrow bring food. He smiled. Jen must have put the reminder in his phone when he’d left it at the nurses’ desk.
He knew he hadn’t contributed to a staff celebration in a long time and when he did he always bought something from the bakery, but right now, on this particular night, he wanted to make something, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the perfect thing to do. He jumped to his feet and headed into the kitchen. He could only make one thing; a simple, no-cook chocolate slice his mother had taught him when he’d been a kid. She’d called it ‘hedgehog’. Opening the kitchen cupboards, he reached to the very back and found a packet of plain biscuits. Amazingly, they were within the ‘best before’ expiry date.
He started whacking them hard with a rolling pin, enjoying the sensation of doing something normal and everyday. He rummaged through the drawer where Lisa had kept the spices and found cocoa and coconut and added them before opening the fridge for butter and eggs.
&n
bsp; A cold, empty space greeted him.
Fresh ingredients? Who are you kidding?
Damn it, he hadn’t shopped. You never shop. Had he lived in a city, he could have grabbed his keys and hit the supermarket at 10:00 p.m., but he didn’t. He slammed the door closed, frustration licking along his veins. For the first time in for ever he’d actually wanted to make something and now he was stymied.
He turned slowly, looking out across the deck, and saw the lights next door were still on. Poppy. She’d have butter and eggs and, unlike all his created excuses to visit her, the ones he’d talked himself out of, this one was real. After all, Jen worked really hard and she deserved a birthday morning tea.
Oh, yeah, it’s all about Jen’s morning tea.
He ignored his sarcastic self. This visit was all about eggs and butter. He strode out of the house, across the garden and straight to Poppy’s door, where he pressed the doorbell.
Waiting impatiently, he paced on the small porch. He pressed the bell again, this time holding his finger in place.
‘Hang on, I’m coming.’
Poppy’s voice sounded deep inside the house, followed by running feet slapping the bare floorboards. A moment later the door opened and Matt swallowed.
Hard.
She stood in front of him, her long, black hair cascading over her shoulders like a silk shawl. His eyes followed the line of her hair, across shoulders almost bare except for the slash of the pink spaghetti straps of her camisole top. His gaze skimmed across her round breasts and down to the edge of the top. Here an expanse of tanned belly with the gentle swell of healthy roundedness was met by the band of a skimpy pair of royal-blue pyjama shorts, which clung low on her hips and high on her thighs. And then her legs; her long, long legs stretched on for ever.
He lost the power of speech.
‘Matt?’ Her blue eyes spun with confusion and concern.
Eggs and butter, remember? ‘I need …’ The words sounded way too husky. He cleared his throat. ‘I need an egg and some butter.’
Her eyes widened and filled with surprise. ‘You’d better come in, then.’ She turned and walked towards her kitchen, the fabric of her pyjama shorts outlining the sweet curve of her behind.
Heat slammed through him, making him hard, and somehow, with superhuman effort, he managed to keep walking. Talk about normal stuff. ‘It’s to make something for Jen’s birthday morning tea.’
‘Oh.’ She snagged her bottom lip with her teeth and disappointment sounded clear in her voice. ‘I didn’t know or I would have made something too.’
He stifled a groan. ‘Seeing as you’re donating the butter and egg, I’ll say the hedgehog came from you.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’ She opened the fridge, handing him an egg from the container in the door.
The egg felt thankfully cold in his hot and itchy palm. ‘Sure I can. It’s not like anyone’s going to believe I cooked it.’
She laughed—a deep and throaty sound. ‘Yes, but will I want to put my name to it?’ She bent over, reaching for the butter, her pants riding up and exposing a glorious expanse of skin.
Heat fired through him, replacing air with all-encompassing need. He dropped the egg.
‘Damn it.’ He grabbed for a cloth and kneeled down at the same moment Poppy did, her hands filled with paper towel. Their foreheads banged.
‘Ouch.’ She laughed, her eyes sparkling with life.
Life. She was here, warm, real and, oh, so sexy. For months he hadn’t wanted sex but every time he saw her he wanted her. Wanted her badly, and right now he couldn’t think of anything else but sex.
Sex with Poppy.
He waited for the gut-wrenching guilt that had pulled him back every time but it didn’t come and he didn’t understand why but he wasn’t going to question it. Poppy was nothing like Lisa and perhaps that was why it didn’t feel like a betrayal. All he knew was that his hands burned to cup her bottom and her breasts, his mouth ached to trail kisses along her neck and across her glorious bare skin and he wanted to lose himself in her hair and breathe in her scent of being alive.
He slid his palm along her cheek, tilted her head and kissed her.
Poppy felt his hot lips on hers, felt her body melting, but the protective part of her brain screamed, Stop! Somehow she managed to grip his shoulders and pull back. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’
Unfocused eyes, loaded with the haze of lust, stared at her. ‘Kissing you.’
The words came out thick and hoarse, sending tingling need strumming through her and sucking at the edges of her control. ‘What about the hedgehog?’
‘I’ll buy a chocolate cake.’
She wanted to smile but instead she rose slowly, dignity demanding she speak. ‘You’ve kissed me twice before and pulled back.’
His face tensed and a sad smile curved his mouth. ‘I promise you, I’m not going to stop this time. I want to keep kissing you until neither of us can stand.’
She bit her lip as she saw the turmoil of the lust of now and the pain of the past in his eyes, and felt her own hurt. ‘I’m not Lisa.’
His hand played in her hair and he spoke softly. ‘This has nothing to do with Lisa.’
She didn’t know if she should believe him or not. ‘Then what is it to do with?’
‘Us. This living, breathing “thing” that swirls constantly between us every time we’re together, and even when we’re not.’ His eyes almost pleaded. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’
She nodded silently. God help her, she did.
‘So we need to have sex to defuse it and bring this “thing” back under control or we’re both going to go insane over the next few weeks.’ He pressed his mouth to the hollow of her neck.
Stars spun in her head and she clung to rational thought by a thread. ‘Sex to defuse it?’
‘Exactly.’
She could hardly think straight to follow his so-called logic. She had her own issues to face and she sucked in a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I’m not very good at sex.’
‘I don’t believe that for one minute.’ His mouth pressed nipping kisses along her jaw. ‘I plan to show you just how good you really are.’
She swallowed hard, trying to stay strong against the delicious rafts of pleasure pouring through her, but she could feel herself slipping under the waves of desire and drowning in their headiness.
His finger tilted her chin so she looked directly at him. ‘Sex for the sake of sex. No promises, no regrets, no future and no past, and absolutely no apologies.’ His hands gripped her shoulders. ‘Are you in?’
Just sex. Nothing more, nothing less.
Why not? It wasn’t like she believed in ‘happy ever after’, and she knew she sucked at relationships and was never going down that torrid path again. She filled her life with work but right now her career hung in the balance, she was a hell of a long way from home and her body constantly hummed for this man. He wanted her body, which was more than any man ever had. Really, what did she have to lose?
Everything and nothing.
She circled his neck with her arms and sank into him with a moan that came all the way from her toes—the bliss of giving in to the longing that had consumed her for days and days. His mouth invaded hers: furnace-hot and with unleashed, potent desire that pulsated through her. She lost herself in his mouth, filling herself with his taste of mint and anticipation, exploring with teeth and tongue. With each foray he met her with one of his own, deepening the kiss, urging her to do the same until all thoughts vanished, the past imploded and nothing existed except his mouth and this kiss.
This time there was no holding back. This time Matt’s hand sought her breast, slipping easily under her top, and while his thumb abraded her aching nipple his tongue sabotaged her mouth with bliss. The star-filled night sky had nothing on her body and mind as she lit up, every part of her igniting and burning for his touch. Gasping for breath, she pulled her mouth from his.
He groaned and could barely speak. ‘Ar
e you … changing … your mind?’
Her body screamed in protest that everything might come to an abrupt stop right now. ‘God, no, but what about protection?’
Matt ran his hand through his hair as an expletive hit the air. Then he kissed her hard and fast and came up laughing. ‘Every hospital house has a medical kit.
Where is it?’
Her brain spun with bliss and she fought to think. ‘I put it in the bathroom.’ He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hall. ‘Matt, it won’t have condoms.’
He grinned. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere and we have everything.’ He flicked the latch and lifted the top tray.
Dipping her hand in, she pulled out a sheet of distinctive square foil wrappers. ‘Plenty.’ ‘Speak for yourself.’
His eyes darkened, sending shivers of anticipation scudding through her. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head, and her eyes feasted on a broad chest, slick with the sheen of the sweat of desire. Desire for her. She could hardly believe it as she reached out her hand, pressing it against hard muscle, feeling his heart thundering against it. ‘You’re magnificent.’
‘So are you.’ With a flick of his fingers the three silk-covered buttons of her top opened and he slid the material down her arms to the floor. ‘That’s so much better.’
His mouth closed over her breast and she cried out with sheer amazement as sensations cascaded over her. Sensations she didn’t ever want to stop and she sagged against him as pleasure stole the strength from her legs.
He raised his head from her breast and trailed tantalising kisses back along her breastbone to the hollow in her neck. ‘Time to move this to the bedroom. I want room to move and room to see you.’ He linked his fingers through hers as he scorched her mouth with another kiss.
She sagged against him. ‘I won’t make the bed if you keep doing that.’
He tore his mouth away and grinned. ‘Can’t have that.’
He pulled her down the hall, stopping twice to kiss her. The second time she pressed her back against the wall, her body melting into a puddle of paradise as she clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist.