Mentally reassuring herself that, of course, she couldn’t be in love with Mac, she walked through to the kitchen to check there was nothing going green in his refrigerator.
No, all clear—his mother must have checked in here as well.
Or perhaps the blonde…
Nonsense! Amelia told herself. Don’t start obsessing about someone you don’t even know.
She stood perfectly still, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, concentrating on banishing the hot stabs of doubt and jealousy from her brain. Then she thrust her face into his clothes again, and reminded herself he was hers for at least the next three days.
A tap on the window startled her, and she looked up to see the photo turned to flesh. The cliché was smiling and waving at her, and on legs so heavy with reluctance she could barely make them move, Amelia walked towards the back door and opened it.
‘I’m Jessica—Mac’s neighbour.’ The woman managed to make the last word sound so suggestive Amelia flinched.
A neighbour? Well, this one certainly wasn’t two hundred and Amelia doubted she was deaf…
Jessica was looking her up and down. ‘Ah, you’re a nurse. I see you’re taking clothes up to him. Does that mean he’s coming home?’
‘Not for a few days,’ Amelia said, feeling perkier now as she remembered Mac’s description of this woman as a witch. He hadn’t sounded as if he was madly in love with her.
Though maybe she’d left him for someone else, and his scorn was camouflage for jealousy and heartache.
‘Well, give him my love, won’t you?’ Jessica flashed a dazzling smile at Amelia. ‘The poor darling knows I can’t handle hospitals so he’ll understand why I haven’t been to visit, but I’ll be here for him when he does come home—tell him that as well.’
She flipped her fingers in another little wave, and disappeared back out the door.
‘I’d rather cut my tongue out,’ Amelia muttered savagely to herself, locking the door securely, then marching through the living room and out the front door.
Once in the car, anger suggested she drive straight to the hospital and ask Mac exactly where this Jessica stood in his life, but he’d probably be sleeping. And even with the obs cut back to two-hourly, he was being woken often enough, so waking him again wasn’t a good idea.
She drove home and carried his clothes up from the car park. Once inside her apartment, another dilemma presented itself. Which bedroom?
He’s an invalid and needs rest, she reminded herself, but she knew, from the heated kisses they’d been sharing, that rest would be the last thing on Mac’s mind when he arrived here in the morning.
She put the clothes into the spare bedroom anyway, telling herself there was no room in her cupboards and that he might like his privacy.
Then she went to bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling, unable to believe the tides of fate that had brought her to this point.
And unable to imagine where they’d wash her next.
Into bed with Mac, that’s where, Amelia realised a little over twelve hours later. Ignoring all her protestations that he was supposed to rest and definitely not get excited, he’d swept her into his arms within seconds of their arrival at her apartment, and from there the path had led inevitably to bed.
He was sleeping now, his body sprawled beside her, a suggestion of a smile on his beautifully sculpted lips.
‘Oh, Mac,’ she murmured, her eyes cataloguing the familiar features as if she needed to imprint them in her brain.
For a time when he’d no longer be lying in her bed?
She couldn’t answer because she didn’t know, but uneasiness lurked beneath the pleasant and well-satisfied weariness she was feeling. Her attachment to Mac was starting to feel a whole lot like love, but wasn’t she deceiving him, letting him think their affair had been an ongoing thing, not just a boozy, though thoroughly wonderful, one-night stand?
And then there was Jessica…
Shifting uneasily—conscience prodding, perhaps—she was about to slide out of the bed when he rolled over, and with a lazy arm drew her close, tucking her so comfortably up against his body she decided she’d accept the sheer magic of snuggling close to Mac and worry about deception later.
Mac woke to a bundle of softness in his arms, and smiled as he remembered, tucking the sleeping Peterson even closer to his body. Right now he was thinking maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea as the soft body in his arms stirred more than memory. He was convalescent and, though Doug had put no specific limits on sexual endeavours, he had explained in far too graphic detail why Mac needed to rest in order for his battered brain to heal completely.
Would he then remember more about his and Peterson’s relationship?
He had no idea!
Did it matter if he didn’t?
He thought this one through and decided it didn’t—not particularly as far as he was concerned. As long as Peterson—Had he stopped calling her that before the accident? Had he been murmuring ‘Amelia’ into her ear? Well, as long as she didn’t know he couldn’t remember, it would be OK.
Damn it all—he could recall that first momentous night so clearly, as if the unexpected magic of it was stamped in his mind, while his body only had to think of their love-making on that occasion to become excited about repeating the performance.
So he’d better not think about it now—just about the baby, and Peterson, and how fate had finally singled him out for a bit of good luck for a change.
She murmured in her sleep and he brushed a long strand of hair from her eyes, smoothing it back then twining his fingers in the softness. He could definitely remember doing that before—remember how it had brushed across his chest when she’d leaned over him to kiss him. How it had made a dark curtain around their faces, adding a touch of mystery to their journey of discovery.
Actually, he’d better get out of bed, because the combination of the memories he had retained, and Peterson’s closeness, were prompting ideas that weren’t even close to rest.
Amelia woke refreshed but anxious—she was alone in the bed.
Fine nurse you are, she chided herself. Home for a couple of hours and you’ve lost your patient.
He was in the living room, stretched out in one of her leather recliners, sleeping soundly. And seeing him there, she decided she’d forget about the deception. She’d make the most of the present—take care of him while he convalesced, enjoy having him in her apartment and see what happened after that.
When he remembers you’ve not been having an affair?
Amelia shook away the thought, physically twitching against the prickles of conscience, and went into the kitchen to check on what she could offer in the way of lunch. Some time today, she’d have to shop.
The mundane domestic considerations soothed her agitation, and she went quietly back into her room, where she showered and, with the rest of the day free—apart from shopping—took the opportunity to wash her hair. She was in her bedroom, blow-drying it, when Mac came in.
‘I’m sorry if the dryer woke you—it’s a noisy thing.’
‘I was ready to wake up,’ he said, taking the dryer and the brush from her unresisting fingers, then settling himself behind her on the bed and taking over the task.
Her arms, which always ached halfway through the process, were grateful, but the rest of her body told her it was not a good idea. Sitting so close to Mac, with his fingers lifting and brushing her hair, sent vibrant transmissions of desire scooting along her nerves.
His, too, she guessed when he used a handful of hair to gently tug her closer.
‘You have to rest,’ she reminded him.
‘Later,’ he whispered, but he continued with the task in hand, although every time he now touched her hair, it was a caress—a prelude to the loving that would follow as certainly as sunrise heralded the day.
CHAPTER NINE
THREE days with Mac, talking to him, sleeping with him—laughing, scolding, teasing—was like a lifetime, yet all too soon thi
s brief interlude had passed, and Amelia had to return to work.
‘I should be going back as well,’ Mac told her, holding her in his arms inside her front door as if he never wanted to let her go. ‘I can’t just sit around here, doing nothing.’
‘You can rest,’ Amelia whispered, pressing little kisses on his lips. ‘It’s what you’re supposed to have been doing all along.’
‘But I’m well enough to go back to work,’ he protested, between nibbling at her ear and nuzzling his lips down her neck to a sensitive spot he’d discovered earlier.
‘You’re not, and you know it.’ She moved slightly away and touched her fingers to his temple. ‘You’re still suffering headaches and I’m going to talk to Doug Blake about them today. You should have another scan.’
‘Speaking of which,’ he said, pressing his hand, as he often did, against her abdomen, ‘when do we see the first pictures of Junior?’
‘Oh, heavens! Not for ages, surely,’ Amelia replied, realising, with a jolt, that she’d forgotten about the baby.
‘You should see an O and G man. Charlotte went to Peter Chan.’
‘There’s plenty of time.’ Amelia pressed a final kiss on Mac’s lips. ‘Right now we have to get you better, and I’ve got to go to work. You can read for half an hour at a time but no television.’
‘Bossy!’ he chided, but he returned her kiss, holding her close for a minute until she pulled away, knowing she’d be late if they took the clinch any further.
She drove to work, her mind whirling. Apart from a few quick dashes to the shops, it was the first time she’d been away from Mac for the three days—the first time she had a chance to think.
So what had changed?
She felt herself blush—her sex life for a start.
Forget the sex! Get real here.
The real problem in Amelia’s life right now was how she felt about Mac. She no longer had to ask herself if she was in love with him. The knowledge sang in her veins and thudded in her heart whenever she looked at him, or heard his voice, or even, like now, thought about him.
And it changed the ‘going it alone’ scenario somewhat, because now she had to consider if being with him all the time, albeit in a loveless marriage, might not be better than not being with him…
She swung her car into the entrance to the staff car park and sighed. As far as she could make out, Mac had given no consideration to the love thing. He was certainly loving, and when he called her ‘Little Bug’, and sometimes even a huskily whispered ‘Amelia’, her foolish heart skipped with pleasure, grasping these as endearments. But, rationally, she knew they were words linked to their passion, and passion was soon spent.
Then there was his loving, eager neighbour…
Amelia glared at the driver who pulled into the vacant car space she’d noticed, then sighed again. There were too many cars and not enough spaces—too many questions and not enough answers.
And on top of that, she realised, finally finding a parking space in the far corner of the lot, she now had to walk into A and E and cope with all the questions she knew would be flung at her.
She’d answer any about Mac’s state of health—improving every day, she’d say—but that was it. Anything else anyone asked, she’d just ignore.
She got through the day by working flat out, making some changes suggested by the DON to her programme for the in-service training, supervising the young student Allison Wright through her first trauma patient, tending patients herself and chivvying her staff into more efficient responses.
‘I hope you don’t intend to keep up this pace right through your pregnancy,’ Sally said to her, as they both collapsed into chairs in the tearoom at the end of their shift. ‘I can handle obsessive-compulsive behaviour occasionally, but for an entire pregnancy?’
‘It was not obsessive-compulsive behaviour,’ Amelia said with great dignity. ‘Just putting things right. I take three days off and the place falls apart.’
‘Tell that to the marines!’ Sally scoffed. ‘My guess is you’re missing Mac, and working hard makes the time go faster, so before you know it you’ll be back in his loving arms.’
She hooted with laughter at the thought of anyone wanting to get back to Mac’s arms, but Amelia acknowledged Sally was partly right. She’d worked flat out so she’d had no time to think of anything but the job. When she was with Mac, all her doubts and fears were set aside, her mind and body consumed by the delight of being with him. But when he wasn’t there, the black thoughts flooded in.
Along with images of Jessica…
There was only one way to tackle the Jessica matter, she decided, arriving home to find her house guest once again asleep on her reclining chair.
She’d ask.
‘Bug? You’re home? How was it? How are things at work? Who’s doing my job? Tell me it’s not Rick Stewart—that bastard’s had his eyes set on my position since he first started practising medicine. I know he thinks I’ve forgotten, but I remember him as an intern. Flashy looks the girls all fall for, and no substance.’
Amelia forgot about Jessica and laughed.
‘Oh, Mac, you should hear yourself! As if the hospital would ever replace you—especially now when, Colleen was telling me, there’s a chance St Pat’s will get the nod as Lakelands’ major trauma centre.’
She walked past him to the kitchen to put down some groceries she’d bought on her way home, then turned to find him right behind her.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he muttered, while the crooked smile accompanying the words suggested he might actually have meant them.
He reached out and drew her close, just holding her as if to reassure himself she had returned.
And Amelia, taking comfort from this simple hug, nestled closer.
‘If I start to kiss you we’ll never eat,’ he whispered, pulling pins out of her hair and combing it down her back with his fingers. ‘And as I’ve got dinner almost cooked, and I’m not skilled enough to keep things warm, why don’t you have a shower, slip into something comfortable, then come back and have a drink before I serve up?’
Amelia looked up into his face and frowned.
‘You’ve cooked dinner?’
‘I can cook!’ The defensive retort was more like the Mac she knew, and she smiled.
‘I’ve never doubted it for a moment, but—’
He silenced her with the kiss he’d said they shouldn’t have, then broke off before it became too heated.
‘Go shower, woman!’ he ordered, turning her and giving her a little push in the direction of the bathroom.
Amelia went, but she was worrying again. Isn’t it getting all a bit too domestic? was what she’d been going to say. Had Mac guessed this, that he’d silenced her?
Was he already thinking of returning to his own soulless townhouse?
To his sexy blonde neighbour?
Was he having second thoughts about the future he’d mentioned earlier—about marriage?
And if so, what would happen when his convalescence was over?
CHAPTER TEN
NOTHING! That’s what happened when Mac’s convalescence was over. Not only did he show no sign of moving out, but gradually more and more of his clothes materialised in Amelia’s apartment.
‘You didn’t drive over to your place, did you?’ she demanded, when she returned from a late shift to find a bundle of suits slung over the back of her lounge.
As well as being car-less, his having been written off in the accident, driving was still on the list of things he couldn’t do. She drove him to work when she was working the early shift, and he took a cab when she was, like today, working late.
‘No, Carl picked me up from the hospital and drove me over to the townhouse. I tell you, Bug, you’ve got the most obliging set of brothers, but I can’t help feeling they’re being so helpful so they can keep an eye on how I’m treating you. And they’re all such big lads, too. I hope they never think I’m doing the wrong thing.’
He lifted the pile
of clothes and walked away, taking them through to the second bedroom where she’d first put his clothes.
She watched his broad back disappear down the passageway and wondered if, somewhere among the clothes, he’d tucked the picture of Jessica. Amelia was considering the ethics of a bit of snooping—and coming down against such low behaviour—when he returned.
‘He thought it was a bit odd we were still maintaining two homes.’
Amelia, tired after a long shift, eyed her lover warily. She knew him well enough by now to know he didn’t say things simply to break the silence or hear his own voice. Most of Mac’s conversations led somewhere.
But even as she was considering this, another bit of her brain was thinking about the ‘Carl drove me over’ statement, and realising just how far he’d inveigled himself into her life. Once news of her pregnancy had whipped through the family, Carl and Rob, the two brothers who lived in this same building, had appeared, apparently to offer congratulations, but Amelia knew it had been to check out the man who’d suddenly entered their sister’s life.
Far from being any threat to Mac, their approval had been obvious, and often Amelia had returned from work to find one or other, and sometimes even Alistair, who hated city living and had a house in an outer suburb, playing war-based board games with Mac around her dining table.
‘I suppose it’s only because Rowley’s touring that he’s not half living here as well,’ she muttered grouchily, then, as Mac frowned, she realised how far her mind had strayed. ‘What were we talking about?’
He walked around the lounge and dropped down to sit beside her, putting his arm along the back of it so she could feel its closeness even though he wasn’t touching her.
Mac lifted his hand and automatically began to take the pins from the thick bunch of shiny dark hair, already imagining how it would look and feel as it tumbled from captivity. Would his fascination with it ever wane?
Would his attraction to Peterson ever grow less?
He rather hoped so—just marginally perhaps—as surely he’d be old and burnt out before his time if his sex life kept going the way it was.
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