A Very Precious Gift

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A Very Precious Gift Page 8

by Meredith Webber


  She shrugged but didn’t answer, too busy thinking how at home he looked, in her chair, in her living room.

  The eye had closed and he sipped at the drink, then she saw his chest rise and fall as he heaved a huge sigh.

  ‘That’s beautiful, and your offer sounds like heaven, but I—we—really should do the dinner thing tonight, sweet Phoebe.’

  He sat up straight, adjusting the chair to an upright position. Opened his eyes and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  ‘Particularly as you’re looking so ravishing, young lady. I can’t have you all dressed up with nowhere to go.’

  The compliment caused more of the tremors she’d been suffering, although she’d have argued the ‘young lady’ bit if he hadn’t been so obviously stressed.

  ‘I could always go back to the hospital with you,’ she suggested. ‘That’s if Peter wouldn’t mind having two visitors instead of one.’

  She saw Nick’s eyes darken, as if his thoughts were displeasing, but when he put down his drink and beckoned to her, the words he spoke were gruff but not cross.

  ‘Come here.’

  She went, stopping by the side of the chair, shifting the drink a millimetre on the coaster.

  His hand closed around her wrist and he tugged at her, surprise and tactics combining to land her in his lap where he held her captive with his arms around her waist.

  ‘You are too nice for your own good,’ he said sternly, the words a warm breath against her neck. ‘No wonder Charles took advantage of you.’

  ‘Charles never took advantage of me!’ Phoebe told him, hoping a bit of indignation might halt the escalating excitement she was feeling.

  Nick chuckled then qualified the statement.

  ‘Of your good nature, I meant, although you sound slightly regretful about the other interpretation of that phrase.’

  He pulled her closer and dropped a kiss on the top of her shoulder where her silk T-shirt must have slipped a little to expose some skin.

  ‘I thought we were talking about Peter. About visiting the hospital,’ Phoebe managed, though her nerves were on fire and her brain back in crash mode, while excitement skittered like marauding ants beneath her skin.

  She felt him sigh again.

  ‘I guess we were, though I’d far rather be talking about you. About what makes Phoebe tick and whether, beneath that serene exterior, there’s hidden fire and passion.’

  He pressed another kiss against the same patch of bare skin, and the ants went berserk.

  ‘Definitely fire and passion if those kisses are any indication,’ he murmured, while flames ignited in her blood and she wondered if he could feel her shaking.

  ‘N-nonsense,’ she managed to stutter. ‘What you see is what you get!’

  She took the opportunity of a slight slackening in his grip to remove herself from the tempting perch.

  ‘Peter?’ she reminded him.

  ‘Yes, Peter!’ he murmured, the words little louder than a sigh.

  He picked up the drink and drained the remnants of it, then stood up.

  ‘I will go back to the hospital. But first we’d better do our duty and dine with our visitors from overseas.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Phoebe told him, her heart aching for him as he fought to put duty before his desire to be with his friend. ‘You’re far too concerned about Peter to be bothered making polite conversation. It’s not as if they won’t have hospital representatives with them at dinner. Charles will be there, and Malcolm Graham.’

  She remembered Malcolm Graham’s ambiguous remark and was about to ask Nick about it when she realised he was smiling at her in a way that made her toes tingle nearly as badly as the kiss had.

  ‘I’ve never seen this “mother hen” side of you before. I can see why poor Charles ended up so muddled. It could become very addictive.’ A glint of laughter twinkled in his eyes. ‘So what do you suggest we do? Phone the restaurant and plead an emergency? No, that’s no good. You miss out as well. Why don’t you go to dinner and I’ll go to the hospital?’

  Phoebe felt a knife-thrust of disappointment so sharp she almost gasped.

  ‘Considering the only reason you asked me to go was so Charles would see us together, that’s a stupid suggestion.’ She scowled crossly at him. ‘If you don’t want me at the hospital, that’s fine. I’m not going to be broken-hearted over missing one dinner date. Especially as it was a put-up job anyway!’

  He stepped towards her, then stepped back again, and had it been anyone but Nick she’d have read indecision into the movement. As it was Nick, she assumed his concern for the patient was overriding everything else.

  ‘I think Peter would be delighted to see you at the hospital,’ he said, then he smiled again and added, ‘Any male this side of dead would be delighted.’

  His use of the expression she’d thought but hadn’t said made Phoebe study him more closely. No hint of the smile had reached his eyes this time. In fact, if anything, they looked bleak and desolated.

  She took his arm. So what if he thought her a mother hen.

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ she said. ‘If I drive, you can phone the restaurant on the way and make our excuses.’

  ‘No, I’ll drive and you can make the phone call,’ he said, and Phoebe grinned to herself. That was more like the Nick she knew! Taking charge—giving orders—organising!

  It was after eight when they arrived on the ward and most visitors had already left. Peter was in a single room, lying with his head turned towards the wall.

  ‘How’s it going, mate?’ Nick asked, as they walked quietly in.

  The still-young man turned towards him and Phoebe saw his painfully thin shoulders lift in a shrug.

  ‘I feel so frustrated!’ he muttered. ‘I know you keep telling me I probably need more doses, but the damn disease is travelling faster than our engineered cells can conquer it. When I’ve had the treatment, like today, it’s as if I can feel those cells racing through my blood, but I can also feel the malignant tissues multiplying and I know which ones are going to win.’

  He paused, then hitched himself up in the bed so he could look Nick in the eye.

  ‘I can’t help feeling that if I die, you’ll see the trial as a failure and won’t try it on Jackie, but I know somewhere down the track it’s going to work. Maybe she’ll be the success story, Nick.’

  Phoebe swallowed hard as the import of Peter’s concerns struck her.

  ‘We’ve already applied for permission to try the protocols on Jackie,’ Nick assured their patient. ‘And we know the vaccine has decreased the size of some of your tumours. It’s going to work for a lot of people, Peter, and, yes, Jackie could well be one of them.’

  ‘Promise me that!’ Peter demanded. ‘Promise me one failure won’t stop the trials.’

  ‘Of course it won’t,’ Nick promised him. ‘Phoebe can be my witness. Though why you’re talking about such things when I’ve brought a gorgeous brunette to visit you, I don’t know.’

  Peter straightened up in bed and smiled apologetically at Phoebe.

  ‘Trust you to get the priorities right, mate!’ he said to Nick.

  ‘I think you’ve got your priorities right,’ she told Peter. ‘Why shouldn’t you be concerned about your health?’

  Peter nodded his head towards Nick.

  ‘This guy will tell you I should leave it to him. He’s been telling me that since we were fifteen.’

  Phoebe looked from Peter to Nick and repeated the words as a question.

  ‘Since you were fifteen? I knew you were friendly but hadn’t realised it was more than a doctor-patient thing. No one told me.’

  ‘Not so much friends as thrown together at an early age—twelve, in fact—and forced to put up with each other,’ Peter said, but a fondness in his voice belied the casual statement. ‘We both ended up in the same boarding school. I’d lost my parents in a boating accident and Nick’s mother felt he needed some masculine influence in his life.’

  Nick b
acked up the statement but Phoebe barely listened. Though shocked by the revelation that Peter was an orphan, she couldn’t help wondering how she’d feel if someone close to her was battling for his or her life. Being a doctor would make it worse, she decided. Add a sense of futility. No wonder Nick was under such a strain.

  The urge to touch him, to take his hand, hold him in his arms as if her body could offer comfort, was so strong it shocked her and she moved to the other side of the bed to put herself out of harm’s way.

  And thought about this revelation.

  ‘Obviously on another planet.’ Nick’s words intruded into her muddled mind.

  ‘Or so bored by your company she’s tuned out,’ Peter teased. ‘I don’t blame her. Fancy bringing a doctor to a hospital on a date.’

  ‘It’s not a date,’ she mumbled when she realised she was the subject of their conversation. ‘Not a real date and, anyway, I suggested it.’

  ‘Only because he was doing his hang-dog look, I bet. He’d get away with murder if the cop was a woman and he tried it on her.’

  Nick started to argue, but Peter lifted his hand to stop him.

  ‘Get out of here!’ he ordered. ‘You’ve already made a career of me, but I don’t want you mooning over me every time I get new treatment. Take Phoebe somewhere nice—and I don’t count going out to dinner with those visiting Americans as nice, so you can jolly well do better than that! Off you go!’

  He waved his hand as if to shoo them from his room.

  Nick studied his friend’s face and guessed he was tireder than he was willing to admit.

  ‘OK, I can take the hint,’ he said. ‘Not that you fool me for an instant with this concern for Phoebe. You’ve got that sexy red-headed nurse coming on duty and you want us out of here.’

  He leaned forward to touch Peter lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘See you, mate!’

  He glanced towards Phoebe who was standing uncertainly by the bed.

  ‘Come on, we’re out of here. Patient’s orders!’

  She smiled, but at Peter not him.

  ‘Take care,’ she said softly, then she, too, touched their patient lightly on the shoulder—her fingers lingering against his skin.

  ‘Heed your own warning, young lady,’ Peter told her, waggling his head towards Nick as if to warn her of danger.

  Her smile widened, something mischievous coming into it.

  ‘Oh, I will,’ she promised Peter, then she walked out the door, some mechanical combination of high heels and a tight skirt making her rear view so seductive Nick felt his groin tighten with desire.

  ‘She’s too innocent for your games,’ Peter warned him, and Nick groaned.

  ‘Don’t I know it, Pete!’ he said. ‘And you’re no help. Practically pushing us out the door.’

  Peter ignored this accusation, merely eyeing Nick speculatively for a moment before saying, ‘Have you told your mum you’re seeing her?’

  The change in subject startled Nick.

  ‘Of course not! Actually, I’m not seeing her at all. She’s using me to make Charles jealous.’

  ‘And I’m going to walk out of here a cured man tomorrow!’ Peter retorted. ‘Get out of here. Go!’

  Nick went, but although his legs moved, his mind was stuck, bogged in uncertainty.

  ‘What did Peter mean about telling your mother about me?’ Phoebe demanded, as they walked the maze of corridors leading out of the hospital.

  ‘Peter talks too much!’ Nick growled, hoping his ‘date’ would let the subject drop. He was having enough trouble thinking straight, especially now the perfume she was wearing had infiltrated his senses and was adding to the addled state of his brain.

  But the hope was doomed to disappointment, he realised, when Phoebe pressed closer to avoid a group of nurses heading on duty and said, ‘Surely you don’t tell your mother about all your women!’

  ‘You make me sound like Casanova, or some Arab sheik with a harem,’ he grumbled, while the effect of soft breasts pressed against his arm added to the tightness in his lower abdomen. ‘But if you must know, yes, I do tell my mother about all my women! Like most women, she’s a master strategist and this is a defensive ploy I’ve developed.’

  Phoebe stiffened and drew away from him, probably upset over his generalisation of her species. At least it put a little space between them. Heaven forbid she should detect his reaction!

  ‘Defensive ploy indeed!’ She iced the words with scorn. ‘Sounds more like boasting to me.’

  Nick sighed. His brain was numb, his body was misbehaving and the only thing he knew for certain was that he didn’t want to be having this conversation with Phoebe Moreton.

  ‘Where would you like to eat?’ he asked, and silently congratulated himself on such a successful change in topic. A woman who enjoyed her food as much as Phoebe did would obviously have to give the question serious consideration.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said, shooting that theory out of the sky. ‘I’m not particularly hungry.’

  She sounded slightly puzzled by this phenomenon—as well she might.

  ‘Perhaps you’re sickening for something.’

  The suggestion was greeted with a wry smile.

  ‘Now, there’s a dreadful thought,’ she said. ‘It takes a mighty strong bug to put me off my tucker.’

  She spoke lightly, but Nick thought he could detect concern in the dark liquid depths of her eyes.

  Though she looked healthy enough.

  Radiantly so.

  Dangerously so!

  Then, in full awareness of all the implications, he heard himself saying, ‘My unit is only a few minutes’ drive from here. I’ve a gem of a cleaning lady who stocks up my refrigerator every Friday. Would you like to check out what’s available in the way of a snack?’

  Phoebe felt a quiver of alarm race along her nerves, and warning signals, as loud and insistent as an ambulance siren, sounded in her head. Then she remembered how lost she’d felt during Jess’s lunchtime conversation, and the seed of an idea it had planted.

  The Plan!

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ she said, imbuing the words with just the right amount of casual, although her heart was beating wildly and her intestines knotting in such a way eating would be impossible.

  Nick took her arm, which made things worse, and steered her through the wide foyer and out into the night air.

  The shiver was involuntary, a reaction to her decision to pursue this foolish whim.

  ‘Cold?’ Nick murmured, picking up on the shiver and putting his arm around her so she could draw warmth from his body.

  ‘N-not really,’ she managed to stutter, while her brain told her the whole idea of getting Nick to help rid her of the burden of virginity was ridiculous. And the likelihood of his doing anything tonight was as far off as the moon.

  Her upward glance was involuntary, so she was quite surprised to find there was a moon tonight—already riding high and gleaming silvery golden in the sky—shedding moondust with blithe disregard for the consequences.

  ‘Full moon,’ she heard Nick murmur, then his head blocked out the pale orb and his lips met hers, tasting rather than claiming, then going beyond claim to demand.

  She gave in. Without the slightest hesitation or show of uncertainty, caught by the insidious magic his lips could weave, answering the demands with questions of her own. Kissing him back as desperately as if her life depended on it.

  Warmth curdled in her blood, making thought impossible. It pooled in her abdomen and set up an ache in her thighs. She felt his hands on her shoulders, around her waist, one moving to her breast. She pressed closer, drawing heat and excitement in equal measure from his touch, his body.

  Her fingers, skimming up his neck, drove softly into his hair, the silky feel of it sending ripples of sensation along her nerves. As the kiss deepened, she pressed closer to his body, clinging to him as if afraid to let go lest she be lost in the wondrous depths of sensations she didn’t understand.

&
nbsp; He moved away first, lifting his head and leaving her lips cold and lonely, releasing his grip on her so suddenly her legs had trouble taking over her support. She removed her hands more slowly, wanting to cry out with disappointment—and possibly frustration, if that’s what the other feeling was. But it was important that he shouldn’t guess at her reaction so she rallied—forced her mind to work.

  ‘Pity Charles wasn’t around to see that one,’ she said, hoping the glib remark would diffuse the sexual tension.

  For tonight at least.

  It was far too early in the planning stages to be throwing herself at Nick in the hope that he’d relieve her of her virginity.

  Nick’s reply was a growled comment she didn’t catch, but something in his slow steps as they crossed the car park towards where he’d left the car suggested he was having second thoughts about inviting her back to his place.

  ‘And as he isn’t around, there’s no need for us to eat together,’ she added. ‘You could drop me home.’

  He stopped and turned towards her and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her again.

  Hoped?

  Yes—but there was a tremor of fear there as well.

  She was definitely swimming in dangerous waters.

  She looked up at him but was unable to see his expression, his face in shadow, his eyes hidden by the darkness.

  ‘I know you keep bringing up Charles in these conversations, but is that all your scheming little heart is considering here?’ he demanded.

  ‘My scheming little heart?’ she said, hoping indignation would hide the spurt of fear flickering in her body. ‘I like that, when it was your idea in the first place.’

  ‘So you keep reminding me, sweet Phoebe,’ he said dryly. ‘Yet I can’t help feeling you’re playing some deeper game. And don’t try that innocent “who me” look on me. I’ve three sisters who’ve been using it for years, and I can tell you it no longer works.’

  He paused for a heartbeat then added, ‘Though it’s never before prompted an urge to kiss it away.’

  This kiss surpassed the earlier one, fiery tendrils of sensation coiling around Phoebe’s heart and clutching at her lungs. They spread like liquid fire into every corner of her body, heating the tissues to a white-hot need she felt but couldn’t understand.

 

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