"What is it?" I rasped.
Aidan took a small sip of his drink. He held it in his mouth, as if savouring the burning sensation. "Whiskey," he answered.
He looked at the bottle carefully. "Barrel strength. I'm sorry, I should have added some water."
He placed his barely-touched glass on the table and headed past me to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a small jug of water, a ridiculously small quantity to extinguish the fire from my drink. He lifted the jug to pour some water into my glass, but stopped before a drop landed.
"You finished it all? You shouldn't have too much, not before your body temperature goes back to normal." Aidan looked worried, but poured more of the whiskey into my glass, then a tiny trickle of water. He did the same for his own glass. He handed mine back to me and carefully clinked the two together.
"To your good health," he said gravely, before taking a sip.
This time, I followed his example, taking only a tiny sip of the whiskey I now regarded warily.
It was as I suspected. The water did nothing to stop the burn, but there was flavour amid the hot sensation. I thought I tasted honey and warm chocolate. I took another sip and ventured an opinion. "This would go well with warm brownies and ice cream."
My words surprised him. He looked like he was struggling to find a reply. "I'm not giving you ice cream until you're warm again," he said finally. He set his glass down and knelt on the floor to stoke the fire. He placed several large chunks of wood in the fireplace, far more than I considered necessary. Perhaps he felt the room was chilly, or that I required additional warmth.
He unfolded to his full height and crossed the floor to me. He placed a hand cautiously on my chest at the base of my neck, where bare skin showed above the collar of my t-shirt. I met his eyes with a question, but he didn't answer it.
"You're still cold," he murmured, concern creasing lines into his forehead beneath the crest of orange curls.
I bit back the comment I wanted to make, that I would always feel cold to his warm hands. There were differences between us that I couldn't begin to categorise.
22
After a considerable time, Aidan seemed to make a decision. "Move over," he ordered, climbing over me onto the couch. I shifted to the edge of the seat, not sure where I was supposed to move to. Folding into the space behind me, he took hold of the fluffy blanket. "Now, lean back." I shifted back against him and he gave the rug a flick so it settled over me. He rested his arms lightly on top of the grey fuzz.
I drowsed in the warmth from him, the rug and the fire, until his voice interrupted my drift. "You can't sleep yet, not 'til you're warm. I may be a bad doctor, but I do know what I'm doing."
His words irritated me like the brush of a jellyfish tentacle across my skin. "You're not a bad doctor. You're doing fine right now," I mumbled. "I can feel my feet already."
I'm not sure he heard. "I should have taken you to hospital." His words were whispered with regret.
I gave a snort and struggled to sit up. "I wouldn't have let you. I'd have jumped into the water in the bay first." I closed my mouth and gritted my teeth so I didn't say anything else I shouldn't. I reached for my whiskey and drank some more, hoping to burn my voice past redemption. If I couldn't speak, then I couldn't say anything else stupid. This was precisely the sort of situation I was supposed to studiously stay away from. Oh, to be able to swim away. I stared at the fire, willing its warmth into my very bones.
"But I can't swim," Aidan said, sounding hurt.
Nor can I, right now. My frustration broke some barrier inside me and I fell back against him, helpless with hilarity. "You can't deal with a simple case of hypothermia because you can't swim?"
The man behind me turned rigid and his hands formed into fists. "No, I'm not a good doctor because when I'm under pressure, I just freeze up and can't think. So I let someone else help my patient, because I'm terrified of stuffing up and making them worse."
I lifted my arm from beneath the blanket and laid it across his arm, from his elbow to his wrist. I dug my fingers between his and forced his fist open. My hand was now warmer than his. "Today, you took care of a patient with no help from anyone else. You know what to do. Maybe all you need is the confidence to take charge."
I threw the blanket off and surged to my feet. The whiskey swirled in my head, but I maintained my balance. I headed for the kitchen and a large glass of water without whiskey.
I downed the glass of water and chased it with another. Holding tightly to the bench with one hand to keep it from moving, I turned to face Aidan across the dining table. "I'm hungry," I announced, "and I don't think I can drive anywhere safely. What do you suggest?"
23
Dinner was the result of a rummage through the freezer for anything we could throw on an oven tray. I don't remember the food, because it wasn't memorable – simply edible.
Dessert I remember, because Aidan had brownies hidden in the back of the fridge and some ice cream stashed in the freezer. Ably aided by the microwave, we devoured warm brownies topped with vanilla ice cream, accompanied by another glass of Aidan's burning whiskey.
When I stood up from the dining table, I found I was unsteady, but I managed to stagger to the couch before falling gracelessly onto it. I watched Aidan take the plates from the dining table and dump them in the sink. His steps were more coordinated than mine; the whiskey affected him far less than it did me.
Irritated, I spat out the question that burned in my mind. "Why did you choose to become a doctor if you feel you're so bad at it?"
Aidan draped himself across the couch opposite me. He didn't seem fazed. "I didn't. I chose to be an engineer, but I couldn't get a job in Ireland. So, I went back to university to study graduate medicine, like my dad wanted. The study was easy and so was the practical stuff, at first. It's not 'til now, when people expect me to know what I'm doing and take charge, that I don't want to."
Surprised, I didn't know what to say. After a moment, I asked the next question. "So, how old are you?"
"Thirty, last birthday," he replied, his eyes on me. He looked as if he expected me to contradict him.
I was surprised – I'd thought he was younger – but he probably thought the same thing of me.
When I said nothing, he surprised me for the third time, with a different question. "So, why did you choose to be a midwife? Is it because you love babies?"
I wet my lips. Perhaps it was the whiskey or perhaps it was a growing respect for the man, but I answered him honestly, if not completely. "I was pregnant, once, and my baby was stillborn. I wanted her so much, but she didn't survive the birth. I thought that if maybe I studied to be a midwife, I could help other mothers to avoid a similar tragedy."
Aidan's eyes were big and round. "What happened to her father?"
I was honest, if evasive. "He was long gone before my pregnancy was showing. He didn't even know about her."
"I…I'm sorry," he said softly. He poured another drink and handed it to me.
I wiped my weeping eyes with the heel of my hand, not wanting to drip salt water in my whiskey. I took a deep draught, savouring the burn in my throat. My head was swimming, all by itself.
A log collapsed in the fireplace and we both turned to look at the fire, which needed stoking. I tried to get up, but Aidan was both nearer and faster. He pushed the last remaining chunk of jarrah into the fire, before heading outside with the empty iron basket for more fuel.
A few minutes later, he returned, hefting a large load of wood. He piled the fire up with pieces of jarrah and unfolded a screen in front of it.
When he stood up, his face was red and sweaty from his exertions. "Is it warm enough for you in here?"
A considerable amount of warm inside air had swirled into the cold night each time he'd opened the door, so my first thought was to respond in the negative. His obvious discomfort made me hesitate.
"I should be okay," I replied after a moment. "Maybe you should take your sweater off so you
're more comfortable."
"My sweater?" Aidan looked blank. "You mean my jumper? Sure."
He pulled the garment over his head, the t-shirt underneath coming off with it.
I stared, my mouth wide open like a whale shark. I'd seen hairy men before, but not a man with red hair all down his front, from his chest to the waistband of his jeans. Aidan's fiery chest hair had me mesmerised. I blamed the whiskey in my blood.
24
Aidan caught me staring. "Have you never seen a man with hair on his chest before?" he asked testily.
I didn't know what to say. "Not the colour of fire, no," I said finally.
He relented. "Back home in Ireland, it's supposed to be good luck to rub a man's red hair, like a leprechaun." He saw my confusion. "A sort of mythical creature." He took a step closer to me, still shirtless. "Go on."
I was reluctant to touch the man at all, let alone his strange chest hair, but the hope of better luck for the future got the better of me. Besides, I felt I might offend him if I spurned his offer.
I stretched a hand out, lightly stroking the wiry orange hair trailing down Aidan's stomach. He pulled away, doubling over. I drew my hand back.
"That tickles," he apologised. His expression turned to a broad smile. "Now, your turn."
It took me a moment to understand what he meant. "But I don't have any chest hair and it wouldn't be red, even if I did."
Aidan's smile turned cheeky as he continued. "No chest hair? You expect me to believe that? You must have some insulation, not to have frozen solid in the wind out on the boat today."
I shook my head. "None. Even if I did, it would be too fair to bring you any luck."
I looked away and refilled our whiskey glasses so I didn't have to look at him. I gulped the contents of mine down as quickly as I could.
"Go on." Aidan's eyes held a challenge. He turned his back to me and picked up the poker, shifting the logs in the fire to burn better.
The man was a doctor. How many chests had he seen in the course of his profession? What was one more? I shrugged and pulled my t-shirt off. My frozen fingers had been too cold to fasten a bra earlier in the day, so my chest was now as bare as his.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God!" Aidan's eyes were as round as two puffed-up blowfish.
The poker clattered to the hearth.
25
His gave a convulsive shiver and fixated on my face. "I never thought you'd do it! We work together. I'll get done for sexual harassment for this. I can't..." He reached for the fluffy rug and draped it across my shoulders.
I waited, but he didn't finish his sentence.
"First you ask me to take my shirt off, then you panic when I do. And we don't work together any more." I held his gaze.
Aidan closed his eyes. "What if I run into you at another hospital in the future? It's bound to happen one day. I'd never be able to look at you again, without thinking about…"
He didn't look like he was going to finish that sentence, either, so I finished it for him. "Without thinking about my chest hair?" I offered.
His eyes popped open. For a moment, he looked like he was having trouble controlling his face. Then he exploded with laughter. "A moment ago, you said you didn't have any chest hair! Now you tell me you do?"
I spread my arms wide, the blanket hanging down, like a cormorant drying its wings. "Judge for yourself. I can't have you wondering about my chest hair when you're supposed to be working."
Aidan nodded gravely. "Right, then." He swallowed and his eyes travelled down my body.
Is this what it feels like to be Vanessa, with men staring at her boobs instead of her face? This kind of scrutiny unsettles me.
"May I?" Aidan raised his hand, but not his eyes.
I shrugged.
He touched his fingers to my collarbone, tracing along my sternum between my breasts to my stomach.
I held still. "What's your prognosis?"
Aidan looked me up and down, meeting my eyes again. "I don't know. You don't have any chest hair. But you look like a shag on a rock." He started to laugh again.
"A shag?" I asked cautiously. I knew only one meaning of his word and I didn't understand the reference to a rock.
"One of those birds that sit on a rock and stretch out their wings to dry. Don't you call them shags?" He looked uneasy.
"You mean a cormorant? You're comparing me to a cormorant on a rock," I replied carefully.
Aidan swallowed. "Of course. Nothing else."
I don't believe you. "So you didn't just suggest that I sleep with you."
His voice was firm. "No." He wavered, judging my expression. "Unless you want to," he said finally.
I kept my tone level, my expression giving nothing away. "And if I want to?"
Aidan's resolve crumpled. "I need another whiskey. Do you want one, too?"
I was thoughtful. "Yes, I do."
26
I drifted to the kitchen as Aidan took his time splashing more whiskey into our glasses. I drank deeply from the tap, feeling the chill of the night air through the kitchen window, though the glass was closed. When I'd drunk my fill, I hurried back to the warmth by the fire.
Aidan held up the whiskey, glowing gold in the firelight. I crossed the tiles to claim mine. The floor felt like a heaving sea as the whiskey swirled within me, but I touched my fingers to Aidan's shoulder to steady myself before reaching for my drink.
His face split in a wide grin beneath his ocean-deep eyes. "I think you've had enough. What'll you give me for it?"
The whiskey must have cost him a fair bit of money, so it seemed fitting that I paid for my share of it. I shrugged. "What do you want for it?"
His smile shrank, becoming more thoughtful. "You could start with a kiss."
I looked into those yearning, deep-water eyes of a man who seemed all fire. It's been a long time, but I think I still remember how.
I cautiously placed my hands on the sides of Aidan's face and touched my lips to his. His mouth was open, so the draught of his breath cooled my lips for the briefest moment before I pulled away.
"Fuck that!" He strode to the coffee table and clunked the glasses down. His hands were empty for barely a moment before they were splayed warmly on my back. "Belinda. That's not a kiss."
I moved with him as he pulled me closer, one of his hands travelling up to the back of my neck as the other drifted down to the small of my back. My nipples tightened as they touched the fiery hair on his chest, yet I leaned in closer still.
He bowed his head as I tilted mine up. I wet my lips and parted them, feeling fear for the first time. Perhaps I have forgotten how to do this. This is a stupid idea.
Aidan pressed his mouth to mine, layering our lips as we shared a breath. His smiling blue eyes drooped to show blue-veined lids as his tongue stroked mine.
I haven't forgotten. This is new and I'm going to…I'm going to…
His shoulders were smooth beneath my questing fingers, his lips warm and responsive as I deepened my kiss. I felt his chuckle rumble through both of us, though I couldn't see him with my eyes closed. He tasted of whiskey with a hint of chocolate and I wanted more…
"Now that's a kiss."
I opened my eyes to meet his triumphant smile, softening even as I watched.
"Wow, Bel. What do I need to do for another one of those?" Aidan asked, his happiness clear on his face.
My heart swelled in my chest, like a froth of bubbles begging to be released. I laughed my merriment aloud. My smile matched his as I said, "Give me one."
The second kiss was easier than the first, for my fear and reserve had melted clear away. Not the whiskey's fire in my blood. This fire is all mine. And I'm going to enjoy him to the fullest.
I threw my head back to laugh, breaking his lip-lock. His chest hair tickled my breasts, inflaming more laughter.
Aidan looked at me, mystified. "You're drunk," he guessed.
I shook my head. "Maybe. I don't know. Now, isn't it my turn?"
His smi
le returned. "No, mine."
A slow smile spread across my face. "If you insist…"
27
Aidan's hands seemed content to press me close against him. Mine explored his body – or as much of it as I could reach – but I kept coming back to stroke the fascinating fiery hair between us, sprouting between his nipples and trailing down in a narrowing ribbon to where his jeans started. My fingers itched to follow the fire-trail to its end, but the hard denim guarded my way.
I paused between kisses to catch my breath. Please take your pants off so I can stroke you, I wanted to ask him, but it seemed such a strange thing to say. I wasn't sure what his reaction would be, so my fingers stroked as I fixed my eyes on the offending clothing, wishing I could see through it.
"Can you blame me?" Aidan asked.
I looked up in confusion.
"You're beautiful, Bel. And a pretty fair kisser, as well. Of course you've got me excited."
I shook my head. "I was thinking that I wanted you to take your pants off." I smiled to soften my embarrassment, hoping he wouldn't be too shocked.
He gave a snort and jerked his head at me. "You first."
Without hesitation, I dropped my pants and kicked them aside. Standing in front of him, wearing nothing but my knickers, I looked up, a challenge in my gaze. "Now, your turn."
The fervour of his kiss took me by surprise, almost as much as the suddenness of the kiss itself. His fingers wove their way into my hair, sealing our lips together as if he didn't intend to let me go.
My hands fluttered at first until they came to rest on his chest, tickled by the tantalising hair. He wouldn't bare all of it for me. Irritated that I'd done as he asked and yet he kept his jeans on, I tugged at the button, framed by a tendril of tempting, rust-coloured hair.
Aidan's laughter was a vibration between us, but he kept on kissing me as his hands dropped to help mine. The button slipped from my fingers through fabric as I heard the sound of the zip. Denim scratched my skin as his jeans grazed my leg on the way down.
Water and Fire Page 5