Chapter Eight
The sun had just about finished its journey for the day, although it was still light when Sam parked in front of Mac’s clinic. A couple of cars were also there. She tossed up whether it was worth going through the waiting room and giving the locals something to gossip about, and decided that wasn’t a good idea, so went round to the back of the house. A door with a rambling rose festooning the porch proclaimed this as Mac’s private entrance.
A short woman, possibly in her sixties, answered her knock. She smiled broadly as she gestured for Sam to enter. “Come in, come in. It’s good to see you, Sam.” Closing the door, she said, “Doctor Mac said to expect you. He’s still busy in the surgery, but he said you should make yourself comfortable and he’ll be along shortly.”
Sam followed her into a bright kitchen. It was so clean it seemed to sparkle—except for a few utensils on the bench top which Mavis had obviously been using. Sam sat on a high stool while the cook cleared these away.
“We can have a cup of tea before I go home to my Stan.” She beamed as she put the kettle on. “And how are you getting on in the big city?” she asked the question the locals all seemed interested in.
Sam told the same old lies about her life in Melbourne and how she just loved it and her work. Mavis then gossiped about some of the townspeople they knew. When she seemed to run out of news she grimaced as she said with a touch of disdain, “Now that one in there.” Her head jerked towards the front of the house. “That Clare. Nobody expected her to come back here, did they? And here she is working with Doctor Mac. Mind you, who knows what she’ll do when the baby’s born.” Mavis sighed and stared at her empty cup. “She can hardly carry on in the clinic, can she? Mind you, lots of single mothers choose to work these days don’t they? Now in my day it was unthinkable...”
Sam could barely think straight for the buzzing filling her head. She missed the end of Mavis’s sentence. “Clare’s pregnant?” The question seemed too loud.
“Yes.” With a nod of understanding Mavis patted Sam’s hand. “Of course you’ve been away so you wouldn’t know.” With the air of a born gossip she touched a finger to her nose and leaned close, saying conspiratorially, “No one knows who the father is. Clare’s not letting on, is she?” Another deep sigh. “I feel sorry for her mother. That poor woman brought Clare up to be decent, and what does she do but come back from Sydney with all these flighty notions and a baby inside her as well.”
Sam floated in a fuzzy cloud of cotton wool. The room faded and for a moment she felt so dizzy she thought she was about to fall off the stool. Mavis sat shaking her head—obviously unaware of the bombshell she’d dropped.
“I’m off now.” Mavis slid off her stool. Peering into the microwave oven she glanced about her immaculate domain. “Goodbye, dear. I expect I’ll see you again before you head back to the mainland.”
Sam mumbled some incoherent reply. Once alone, she sat for a while contemplating the news. Clare pregnant was almost as incomprehensible as her being a vet and returning to her home town. Perhaps that was her reason for coming back.
How much longer would Mac be? There was no point in sitting twiddling her thumbs, so she wandered about.
The flat was decorated tastefully, the furniture modern. Had Mac done it himself? Or had he enlisted female help? After giving the photos on the mantelpiece a closer look, she opened the door she presumed led to his bedroom. Feeling a bit like an interloper, she lingered by the door. The king-sized bed was covered with a rich damask overlay and tormenting images flashed across her mind as she stared at it. It was inconceivable that a virile man like Mac spent all his nights alone. How many times had Clare satisfied his needs?
Abruptly she turned to leave, but a flash of green caught her eye. A length of sheer fabric hung from the carved bed head. Sam went forward furtively and touched it. It was hard to believe, but it was the scarf she’d worn on that fateful night. She’d always presumed it got lost in her wild flight from the barn. Why had he kept it?
There was no way she wanted to be found in his bedroom. She hurried back into the sitting room and switched on the television. As she sat on the couch the newsreader was announcing the Tourney brothers walked from the forest at five-o-clock, after the police closed in on their hideout. It seemed that following Mac’s information they’d surrounded the area and with the help of reinforcements from the city encouraged the men to drop their arms and surrender.
The man was relating how Mac and Sam were trussed up in the farmhouse when Mac said from behind her, “Quite the celebrities aren’t we?”
Startled, she tilted her head so she could see him. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He looked tired, his face more lined than usual. But even like this he was still the most handsome man she had ever seen. Sam had the feeling that when he was old, withered and bald or grey, he would still be pleasing to her eyes.
“I must say it’s a relief they’re caught.” He moved up behind the couch and ran his hands over her shoulders. “I’m afraid we’ll be hounded tomorrow by everyone wanting to know all the sordid details.” Their faces were an inch apart, and Sam trembled. His stroking hands reached her wrists and he brought her left arm up and placed a tender kiss on the sore place there. “Sorry I was so long.” He walked around the couch and stood in front of her, his hands on his spine as he stretched.
“That’s all right.” Sam’s breath left her in a small sigh. “Mavis was good company. She kept me up to date on all the gossip.” Realizing she was staring at his flexing muscles like a love struck girl, she pulled her eyes away to gaze out of the window, where the sun had almost set for the day.
“Good old Mavis.” His fingers went to the top button of his shirt as he headed for the door. “I just need to clean some of this grime off,” he said as she turned to watch him. “You can come and scrub my back if you like.” His grin was wicked as he winked.
Sam suddenly had trouble breathing. “You’re a big boy, I’m sure you’re quite capable of washing yourself,” she said softly.
He chuckled and the sound sent her temperature up. “Spoilsport.”
Soon after, she heard the water running, and every cell in her body came alive as she visualized that magnificent body wet and naked. She clenched her fists and pressed one to her mouth. How easy it would be to get up and go to join him. Tucking her shaking hands under her legs she chastised herself. What was she thinking? She knew darn well the answer to that. It seemed since her return home, where Mac was concerned her thoughts tended to drift along one channel only.
Her gaze flew to his when he reappeared, a towel draped low on his hips. “Won’t be long,” he said as he rubbed at his wet hair with another towel. She abruptly turned her attention to the TV screen, using the time while he was in his bedroom to try and bring her erratic heartbeat under control.
When he came out dressed in light blue trousers and a short-sleeved cambric shirt, his mahogany hair clinging to his skull and curling at his nape like silk, she pretended a great interest in the discussion going on between two prominent MPs.
On bare feet he went into the kitchen. “Want to keep me company?”
Sam followed, still feeling slightly off balance. She sat on the same stool as before, while he moved about with ease, as at home here as out in the paddock, astride a horse, or in the home of one of his clients. He smelt so good; of spicy soap, minty toothpaste, masculine cologne, and pure clean male.
“Does Mavis do all your cooking?” The question sounded mundane and she wished she’d kept quiet, hoping he hadn’t detected the slight quiver in her voice.
“Most of it. She has one day off a week, and then I usually eat at home with Mum and Dad. Mum’s always on at me that I don’t go home often enough.” Opening the fridge he produced a bottle of wine. Without asking he passed her one of the two glasses he filled. Lightly he tapped his glass to hers before sipping at his.
“How are your parents?” Sam ran a finger down the stem of her glass.
; “They’re fine. They would love to see you. Come visit with me tomorrow.” He stared at her intently as she shook her head. “No?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Clare’s pregnant?”
Half-way to his mouth his glass stopped. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be interested.” He shrugged, before turning to peer into the microwave oven, so she couldn’t see his expression. When the timer began to beep he took out a dish and placed it on the work-bench. When he’d picked up his glass again, he said, flatly, “You think it’s mine, don’t you?” Bitterness threaded through the question.
Sam chewed on her lower lip. He swore beneath his breath. “God, Sam, I haven’t touched her. How can you believe I’d get the woman pregnant?” His mouth had tightened. Picking up the dish, he said, “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
The table had been set by Mavis. He pulled out a chair for Sam then went back to get his glass and the bottle of wine.
“I didn’t say that,” she said.
“You didn’t need to—it was there in your question. In your eyes. You’re so obsessed with this idea she and I have a thing going.” As he served the pasta concoction he heaved a rough sigh. “Clare went up to Sydney a while back and although she was involved with a man up there I never questioned her about him. It’s her business, and contrary to what you want to believe, she has never disclosed details about it. It suits me fine not to get involved in her personal affairs.”
How she wanted to believe him. His explanation sounded sincere. He picked up his fork and gestured for her to do the same.
“The main reason I offered her a partnership was because I knew she’d been having a rough time of it. When she jumped at my offer I was as surprised as everyone. But when she told me about the baby I was flabbergasted.” Topping up their glasses he cocked an eyebrow. “I can only state facts and hope you believe me.”
“I want to believe you, Mac.” Desperately.
“Then do it.”
He began to eat, talking about casual things, the town, the dogs and horses he treated, as they finished their meal. Then he brought a desert of cheesecake topped with cream from the fridge.
“I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she said on a replete sigh when she’d finished a second helping. “We never did get lunch, did we?”
“That’s a fact—we were rather busy.”
Sam stood and began to collect their used dishes and plates.
He rose too and put a hand on her arm. “Leave that,” he said. “That’s what I pay Mavis for. Come and sit down.” Going to the couch, he sat, patting the cushion beside him. “Tell me about your life in the big city.”
Sam kept a space between them as she joined him on the couch. “There’s not a lot to tell you really.”
“Come on, you’ve been over there a long time, you must have lots to say about it. For a start, what’s your flat like?”
“Comfortable. The complex has an underground car park, and there’s a security guard on duty at all times. I don’t live far from the shop where I work.” She shrugged.
“And you really like this job?” He sounded as if he didn’t believe she did—perhaps saw through her charade.
“Yes, why shouldn’t I?” How she hated lying to him.
He gazed at her, unblinking. “I don’t know—I just have this picture of you.”
“What sort of picture?”
One shoulder lifted. “Not of you behind a shop counter. That’s for sure.”
Sam laughed. “Hardly that. You have a misguided idea of what I do.”
“So tell me.”
She explained about how she was in charge of the ordering of new stock, the responsibility involved in foreseeing what would sell and what would be a flop. But, she didn’t tell him she had few friends either at work or in her private life, or that her nights were long and lonely. Or that she longed with every fiber of her being to turn her back on city life and return to this well-loved town.
It grew so dark she could barely see his face. He pushed himself up, switched on a table lamp and pulled the drapes across the window. When he sat again he moved nearer to her—but not quite close enough to touch. Not once, thankfully, did he ask about Peter or her engagement plans.
Soon they were laughing over old times and the fun-filled days they’d shared.
“Remember when you slipped over Pixie’s head and landed in that muddy patch down by the dam?” he asked on a grin.
“Trust you to remind me.” Sam returned his grin. “All right, mister smarty pants, what about when you were showing off in front of that bunch of your mother’s gardening club and that brumby almost tossed you over the fence.”
“Hmm. I forgot that. Let’s put it down to a learning curve. I quickly found out that a horse will always play up when you especially want him to show how good a rider you are. And he was just fresh in from the plains, don’t forget.”
“I remember.”
The wine worked its magic, and as if by mutual agreement his arm worked its way across her shoulders, and her cheek rested on his chest. For a while they sat in companionable silence.
But soon the mood changed and she began to tremble in anticipation.
“Sam.” At his whisper of her name she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him, fresh and masculine.
Shivers ran through her as he picked up her hand and with infinite tenderness caressed each fingertip with his mouth before biting gently on them.
Her eyes flew open when he said hoarsely, “I want to make love to you, desperately.” His roving hands moved to her waist, then one meandered across her hip to rest on a thigh. “Tell me you want me too.”
“Mac.” A shivering began inside her and her body burned everywhere his hands touched. Sam tried to draw back but was snared by the look in his eyes, and the hands holding her captive, but without pressure.
“No, don’t fight me,” he ordered, before his mouth met hers in a kiss that was fierce, yet so sweet.
Cupping her face in his palms he kissed her again and again until she was shaking and helpless—had no desire to fight him.
Why deny this attraction she felt? She wasn’t that dumb. “Mac,” she whispered on a shuddering breath as reason fled.
“Admit you want me as much as I want you.” The heat in his eyes was searing. It was the truth. She’d wanted him forever and certainly had known it was inevitable since he’d walked in the room earlier.
But some small part of her still fought with her conscience and she whispered, “No,” but then lost the battle with herself as that sexy mouth of his seduced her. Lifting helplessly into his embrace, her fingers twined into his thick hair, loving the feel of its richness.
Either he hadn’t heard that small denial or he chose to ignore it, for he muttered, “This has always been there, hasn’t it? It’s been waiting to explode between us since you left your childhood behind.” His voice sounded thick and slurred with desire.
It had. Sam felt as if she’d waited forever to see this fire in his eyes, to feel his reaction to her nearness. Certainly since she’d been a teenager these feelings had simmered beneath the surface.
Mac’s hands pursued a pilgrimage from her breasts to her thighs and back again. She was fire and silk in his arms, beyond rational thought. Somehow she’d moved and was lying across his lap, wiggling and moaning his name. Sliding his fingers up her thigh, he found the warm skin at the top of her leg, then he quested further until he’d found the target they both knew he’d been seeking.
Sam was a mass of yearning, her body reacting fiercely to his touch. So lost was she that it was a while before she registered he’d said something.
“Stand up.” For a moment she stared up at him, misunderstanding. Did he mean to put an end to this pleasure? But no, he said, “I want to undress you.”
She complied. Her legs turned to water as she gripped his shoulders while he reached up to push the straps of her dress over her shoulders. She turned around to allow him easier access to
the fastenings at the back and in the blink of an eye the green dress slid to pool about her feet. He lifted each foot and tossed the garment to the end of the couch.
“You’re so beautiful, like a vision,” he said, as he discarded her bra and then hooked his thumbs into the top of her gossamer panties. He kissed his way down over her stomach then her hips, bypassed the mound at the juncture of her thighs, as he stripped the lacy piece of nonsense and tossed that aside. Sam was drowning in the fiery heat of his eyes, as he removed her shoes.
When he pressed small hot kisses on her stomach Sam thought she would melt into the carpet. Which she would have done if she wasn’t clinging to him.
He smoothed his palms over her hips, up over her bottom, where they rested. Panting, a whimper tore from her throat as his tongue, hot and silky, probed the indentation of her belly-button. She felt like hot butter. Arching her spine she moaned in delicious agony, her hands tightening on his shoulders.
His thumbs excited her nipples to hardness, and as his mouth moved over her with wild possessiveness, he demanded, “Has anyone else seen you like this?”
Mutely moving her head from side to side, Sam was incapable of speech. Didn’t want to think of anyone else—no one else existed for her except Mac. Couldn’t he see that? She’d never known it would be like this; this surge of feeling, this ecstasy. Frightened, yet exhilarated she trembled as she whispered his name over and over. This was where she’d always wanted to be, here in his arms. This was what she’d always wanted to feel; Mac’s passion, for her. Only her.
“That’s right, baby.” A smile of satisfaction curved his mouth as he pulled her across his lap, wrapping her legs about him as his mouth covered hers.
She became pliant, his to do with as he wished. Their tongues touched, receded, the kiss becoming deep and erotic. Sam moved against him sensuously, adrift in a sea of sensation that was exquisite; in a place she’d never been before, where touch and taste ruled the senses.
Mac stroked her from the sensitive undersides of her arms to her tender nipples, lingering there to tease and knead her breasts. Nothing else mattered but this need that had her clinging to him in wild abandon.
“Help me.” His plea barely impinged on her senses. How could she help him when she was as helpless as a kitten herself? A whimper tore from her throat when his hands stopped their exquisite caressing.
“No!”
“I just need to get rid of my clothes,” he whispered hoarsely, and she nodded in understanding, helping him remove the offending garments with so much haste that both were fumbling by the time they got to his briefs. But once he was as naked as she, Sam breathed a sigh.
Never had she seen such magnificence. His hard, yet supple body had every muscle perfectly placed. But he gave her no time to appreciate its beauty before he returned to his task, this time his mouth paying homage to her breasts, obliterating all else, except the sound of her heart drumming in her ears, and the feel of his hot skin beneath her hands. Was it him quivering or her?
Caught up in a maelstrom of sensation she barely heard his whispered plea. “Tell me, Sam. Tell me you want me.”
Want him? She would die if he stopped this torment that was close to ecstasy. “I want you so much I feel as if I’ll die of wanting.” Was that her voice? It sounded alien to her.
When he lifted her in his arms, she opened her eyes so she could see his face above her. Cupping his jaw in one of her palms she ran her thumb across his lips, and he caught it gently between his teeth, sending a dart of something animalistic through her.
As he lowered her feet slowly to the floor beside his bed, letting her body slide sensuously over his, Sam succumbed to the drowsy lethargy that was like a drug and closed her eyes again. A sound like a purr left her mouth as she arched her neck to allow him easier access. His mouth paid homage to her throat, slipped across her collar bone, then moved lower. Bending, he tossed back the bedcover, and Sam shivered as the cool sheet touched her back.
For a moment he stood over her, his eyes sending a sultry message to her that made every nerve ending sensitized. “Are all men as beautiful as you?”
Chuckling softly he came down beside her—a hand roving up and down from her waist to her knee. “Sam, baby, you’re beautiful. I’m just a run-of-the-mill man.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Not you.” He was like a work of art. Sculptured for her pleasure. Tall, his muscles corded and toned through hard work, his shoulders broad, his stomach rock-hard and flat. Her eyes followed the smattering of dark hair on his chest to where it narrowed to a thin line over his belly, then to the thatch where his proud manhood nestled.
His throat worked as he swallowed. “Saints. What you do to me with your eyes.” They both sighed and groaned together as their flesh joined, the sensations exquisite as his hardness met her softness. The feel of his chest hair against her breasts brought her out in goose bumps and she trembled with her need.
“Tell me you belong to me.” Was that uncertainty she heard in his plea? To her heightened senses he appeared vulnerable.
Cupping his jaw in her palms she admitted on a trembling sigh, “Mac, I’ve always belonged to you.”
Those words seemed to set off something wild in him and she gave herself up to the eroticism of his touch as he explored every part of her—leaving not one inch untouched by his mouth and hands on his voyage of discovery. The feelings that swamped her surpassed all her wildest imaginings.
Sam reveled in his moans and soft pleas as she returned the pleasure in equal measure, caressing his taut body. As she sought out the essence of his manhood, her fingers closing around him shamelessly, his muscles clenched, his jaw tightened. There could be no hesitancy, no holding back, this was right, ordained.
“You’re driving me crazy.” The words were pushed through gritted teeth and she knew he fought for control. There was something pagan about the gratification she felt, knowing he was at the mercy of his emotions like this.
“Me, too.” She writhed beneath his administrations. “Please. I can’t take any more.”
She parted her thighs willingly when he moved over her, kneeling between them. For a moment he gazed down at her, his look all-consuming. But then they groaned and sighed in unison as he made them one, sinking into her with absolute gentleness. Sam knew what his control cost him as he pressed his lips together.
She expected pain, but there was none. For a terrifying moment she thought he might leave her as he lay perfectly still. Reaching out, she wrapped him in her arms and legs, ensnaring him in her silken web. Swamped by sensation as he withdrew then sank once again into her she felt weightless, drifting in a world where no one else existed, just the two of them.
“Ah, it seems I’ve waited forever to see you like this, beneath me. Mine. You feel so good.”
Incapable of speech she gave herself up to the delicious sensations, gasping in bewilderment and wonder when she reached the pinnacle she’d been seeking and convulsions racked her. They clung, their moist skin sliding together as they both sought the exquisite goal. Mac murmured endearments as he carried her with him while they crested the waves of ecstasy.
Minutes, or possibly hours later, as she drifted hazily down to earth, she heard him whispering, “That was far better than all my dreams. Are you all right?”
“Never felt better,” she mumbled from where her face was pressed into his shoulder. Never had she felt so completely relaxed and lax. Her limbs still held him prisoner. “I’m fine. No, better than fine, I’m great.”
How tired she felt. With a small nod she succumbed to sleep, drifting into sweet oblivion.
Lonely Pride Page 22