Sydney Harbor Hospital: Marco's Temptation

by Fiona McArthur

  ‘Last night at the fair you worried about my happiness.’

  ‘Last night was an illusion.’ She sighed. ‘A really fun one but still an illusion. Look, Marco. You’re a great guy. Too great. And I haven’t got the best track record in not falling for the wrong guys. You’re leaving in three weeks and I don’t want to get any more used to you being around. It’s too good. So there won’t be any repeats.’

  ‘What about lunch?’ He glanced at his parcel.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please?’

  She couldn’t throw him out. ‘Lunch I could probably manage but only because I need to know what that incredible smell is coming from those bags.’

  He obliged in relief. ‘Let me show you.’

  ‘That’s what you said last night.’ She flicked a look at him from under her lashes and the other man was back.

  Emily sighed because she knew she was in trouble. ‘Come through to the kitchen.’ It was just too hard to maintain distance when he was grinning and producing delicacies like rabbits from a hat.

  ‘Si. The rolls are crusty, the butter fresh churned, and many cheeses.’ He pulled out some plastic takeaway containers and she realised the aroma came from there.

  ‘Fresh sage?’

  ‘No festive Tuscan meal would be complete without chicken liver crostini.’

  ‘We’re not having a party.’

  ‘It is Saturday. We should. Crostini di Fegatini di Pollo.’ Emily wasn’t really sure she could eat liver.

  As if he’d read her mind. ‘Even those who dislike liver enjoy this on thinly cut crusty bread. Trust me.’

  That was what it all boiled down to, she thought glumly. Trust him. Or trust herself. If either of them dropped control, she doubted trust would have a look in.

  He pulled out a dish of pasta. She could see mushrooms and red peppers, could smell the provolone cheese and the basil. It made her mouth water and he saw. He smiled.

  ‘We will have a picnic in your tiny back yard. Perhaps you could lay the table and I will serve these.’

  So now he was ordering her around in her own kitchen. Was opening and shutting Gran’s cupboards as he looked for dishes to serve from. She couldn’t take it all in. Was bemused by his energy and sudden good humour and becoming fixated on the way his shoulders moved and his biceps flexed as he reached for highly placed articles.

  Might be best to leave him to it and grab a checked tablecloth and some cutlery and bolt outside.

  The air cooled her cheeks. It was a glorious day. Funny she hadn’t noticed that this morning. Not too hot. Outside anyway.

  She glanced over her shoulder and he was singing in her kitchen. She’d never heard a man singing baritone in her kitchen before and she paused as the sound teased her. Made her smile. Chased away caution again because, darn it, it was good to have so much fun.

  She set the table with new vigour, wondered about that bottle of cold Chablis she had in the fridge, and a rainbow lorikeet flew down and scratched in the empty bird feeder and then glared at her.

  ‘Okay. Okay. I’ll get some.’ Gran had always fed the lorikeets. It was a bit early in the afternoon for this bloke but maybe he was having a bad day. She could relate to that.

  She almost walked into Marco and he put his hands out to steady her. ‘Who are you talking to?’

  ‘The lorikeet is complaining there’s no seed.’ She tried not to stare at his chest but it filled her vision. She wanted to bury her nose in him. ‘Do you need something?’

  ‘Glasses. I brought Lambrusca.’

  All she could think of was how good his hands felt on her arms. ‘Aren’t you driving?’ No matter she’d been going to offer him white wine.

  ‘Not yet, and we can have a glass. You keep the rest.’

  ‘Trying to loosen my morals again?’ She stepped past him and his hands fell.

  ‘There is nothing wrong with your morals, Emily. I look forward to sharing your lunch.’

  That had been rude. She turned back. ‘Sorry. I’m not good at this.’ Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Marco watched her go. She was very good at this. He was a mess.

  He didn’t follow. Gave her a moment to gather her composure. He should not have come but had been unable to stay away. He should know better.

  He stared at the brilliantly coloured bird on the steel feeder, iridescent red and lime green and vibrant yellow all mixed in the lorikeet’s plumage as if painted by a

  colour-hungry child. So much of this country was bright and brash and brilliant so it hurt your eyes.

  There might be more pain in store for him here. Seeing Emily’s pain hurt his eyes and his heart when she was upset and his stomach when she was away from him. He should go in and help her bring the food out.

  She reappeared before he could move. ‘I’ve brought the wine out. It looks good.’

  ‘And for after... Limoncello.’ He wondered if she’d like the liqueur and looked forward to her reaction. ‘Nectar of the gods. I will help you carry the rest.’

  Soon they were seated, shaded by the tree that hung over the fence from next door, and Marco felt a peace settle over him that defied description and warned him to be careful.

  ‘Gran always said that tree was the best of both worlds. The trunk didn’t take up any room in our yard and we got the shade.’

  He glanced up at the thick, glistening foliage. Little brown birds flitted around in it. ‘Tell me about your gran. Was she a widow?’

  ‘My grandfather died in the Vietnam War. His family owned this whole block all the way down to the water. There’s a magnificent old home over that fence and this was the dower house. The big house left the family years ago and this little house was left to my gran, and I always think of her here.’

  He glanced around and the feeling of peace deepened. ‘No doubt she is here.’

  ‘I’d like to think so.’

  He smiled. ‘My grandmother came from a long line of gypsies and we can tell these things. This tiny house is very beautiful and full of character. Like its mistress now, and no doubt also the one from the past.’

  ‘Thank you, Marco. That’s a lovely thing to say.’ She tilted her head. ‘So tell me about the gypsies?’

  His peace seeped away. Serve him right. ‘There’s not much to tell. My father was not one, yet still we moved a lot.’

  She put her chin in her hands. A willing listener eager to hear his exotic tales. ‘It sounds very romantic.’

  She would be disappointed. ‘I can assure you it was not.’

  ‘So what made you want to become a doctor?’

  Marco shook his head and realised it would take more to daunt this woman or her curiosity. He owed her a little more than he usually gave.

  Why had he become a doctor? Many reasons, but the need had been strong enough to drive him along the hard road his career had carried him. He tried to verbalise it. ‘To help others? To stretch my brain. To find solutions to pain. Perhaps a need to feel worthwhile.’

  She frowned. Stretched her hand across and took his. Lifted his palm and placed a kiss in his hand as a gift. ‘Worthwhile doesn’t even begin to describe you and your work.’

  Her words made his heart ache and he tried to harden himself against her. As if she knew, she shook her head. ‘All those babies, parents, grandparents who needed your help. Families like us. Like June.’

  He shrugged. ‘Everyone does their part.’

  She squeezed his hand and then let him go. ‘And some strive to achieve the impossible when others fear to push boundaries.’ She shrugged and smiled at her seriousness.

  ‘But I see this isn’t helping your mood so instead we will toast.’

  She glanced around for inspiration and he watched her eyes light up with amusement. Up went his own spirits.

  ‘To lorikeets, and harbour boats and wild mice.’

  ‘Especially wild mice.’ She captivated him. ‘I will certainly toast that.’ He smiled. ‘And I am partial to the idea of your rotor. Can
not help but wonder what could be achieved without the benefit of gravity.’

  She blushed and concentrated on her antipasto. ‘See. No fear to push boundaries.’

  He laughed and they ate and sipped and laughed again until the afternoon shade brought a chill and they cleared up their picnic together.

  The kitchen was small, and smaller still as Marco dried the dishes while she washed, and Emily tried hard not to bump into him. Every time she did, awareness grew, every ‘Excuse me’ made her mouth dry as she reached past, and gradually the laughter of the lunch changed to a slowly rising tension that burned in the pit of her belly and warned her of imminent danger.

  Glances collided, hands brushed, and as the last dish dried Emily’s nerves screamed to create some distance or give in.

  In the end, Marco took her shoulders and held her. Stared down with those dark eyes, like the coffee she’d made that still sat on the bench. ‘It is not coffee I want, Emily.’

  Emerrrleee. She savoured the sound of her name on his lips again. Relished the power in his hands as he held her. Acknowledged the lust that rose like a wraith inside her. She wanted him too.

  His hand brushed her cheek. She stepped closer. That was all the permission he needed and once more she was swept up. Spun in the confines of the kitchen, carried across and under the arch into the hall, and in through the door to her bedroom.

  She let her head fall back. Closed her eyes. Acknowledged the surge of power she felt to ignite his passion and accept her femininity. She was a woman. She did have needs. And she wanted Marco so badly the centre of her being ached with that need.

  Then he placed her on her bed. Gently. And stepped back. ‘Perhaps this time you would like to undress me?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Mmm.’ She crawled off the bed, accentuating the wiggle of her bottom, and his voice deepened with amusement and definite intent.

  ‘Although if you persist with that movement, you will not have the chance.’

  She stood up. Sidled up to him. Ran her finger down his chest and he laughed with delight. ‘I have created a monster.’

  ‘You have no idea.’

  Marco was dazed. Stunned and enthralled by the sexy innocent who had suddenly shed her shyness and had taken control. It was dream and fantasy and to think that she could trust him enough to allow her playful side to surface when she had been so hurt in the past.

  She ran her hands down each side of the buttons on his shirt, feeling his chest, until they dipped under his belt. Deftly undoing the buckle, she opened the top button of his trousers and he couldn’t help the sigh of relief at the extra room afforded.

  Then she flitted back to the neck of his shirt. Skipping from button to button, a kiss for each opening, a kiss down his chest until the last button ended back at his trousers. She looked up at him. Mischief, and still that tiny hint of vulnerability, and suddenly he could not take any more of this.

  He captured her face in his hands. Drew her up until he could reach those perfect lips, hugged her against him, then in a flurry their clothes were slipping from their bodies with minds of their own. He could only see Emily. Her face, her mouth and her truth shining out at him.

  He thanked her in the only way he knew how. With reverence at first and then with mounting passion, mutual need creating a maelstrom that seemed to intensify each time he joined with this woman.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THIS time when she woke she knew her survival depended on not seeing this man again. But she had the horrible feeling it was too late.

  And this time it was Marco who was leaving. He turned when she stirred. Strode back to the bed fully dressed. Kissed her one last time, thoroughly, and stroked her face. ‘I must go. Ciao, bella.’ And left.

  ‘Ciao. Bye.’ She didn’t ask why he had to go. She had an idea. This connection, rapport, infatuation, whatever they were going to call it, had been more than either of them had expected. And he was leaving at the end of the month. Not the most sensible thing to continue.

  She rose, wandered into the shower, dressed again and tidied the wreckage of her bedroom. She had to smile. With a slightly embarrassed smugness. He’d said he was good. Judging by his response, she was a fast learner.

  * * *

  Marco had had to get out. He’d been a fool. Did he think that reciting the reasons he was a loner would be good enough to insulate him from falling for Emily? He was no long-term prospect for any woman, let alone one as special as this woman, and his gut had told him that from the first day.

  He needed to leave. Move on. Needed to keep presenting his best side to the world and avoid the chance others would find out that he was irrevocably tainted by his dubious background and should never be trusted. He didn’t trust himself.

  Look what he had done to Emily.

  He had seen the light in her eyes when she’d looked at him. No doubt that same light had shone from his own stupid face. Bastardo. He was as bad as her daughter’s father. But he had been unable to back away when he should have. Had been seduced when he was the one who normally did the seducing. She was incredible.

  He parked his car in the garage and took the stairs to his unit, changed quickly, and left again. He needed exercise. He needed to drive himself to exhaustion. He needed to run until he dropped. Run until his legs ached and his head drooped. Run until he could forget that he was tempted to risk all and even think about a life that existed in one city with one woman.

  * * *

  Emily had to get out of the house. She stared at herself in the hall mirror. Her eyes shone, her face gently glowed and a small smile tilted her mouth even when she tried to look serious. ‘I’m falling in love and I can’t. He’s transient,’ she told the mirror. ‘He’s going to leave me, like Annie’s father left me. Though, to be fair, Marco had always said he wasn’t planning on staying.’

  She sighed. ‘What is it about me that men don’t want to stay around?’

  Maybe Annie would welcome her for a short time. She winced at this morning’s hurt at her daughter’s dismissal. Well, she was always there for Annie and right at this moment her mother needed her.

  She glanced at the grandmother clock on the wall. It was almost the end of visiting hours. She could take an ice cream, sit with her daughter for the last fifteen minutes. Then maybe she would be able to come home and settle for an early night. She started her week of night duty again tomorrow night so it was important she feel refreshed before the new week began.

  Refreshed? She felt like she’d been plugged into a power source. ‘If that’s what sex does for you, my battery must have been low for years,’ she muttered to herself as she locked the door behind her.

  When Emily walked into Annie’s room in the hospital a little later, at first glance she thought she’d taken the wrong doorway. The woman on the bed was wrapped in the arms of a dark-haired tattooed boy and their absorption in each other forcibly reminded her of what she’d been doing earlier in the day.

  ‘Ahem...’ She cleared her throat, and the couple on the bed jumped apart. No mistake on the room number, then.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Annie.’ She waited.

  ‘Um. This is Rodney.’ Annie looked at the young man and lifted her chin. ‘My baby’s father.’

  Tattoos. Undernourished. Torn jeans. Emily tried not to cry. ‘Hello, Rodney. Nice to meet you.’ She paused. ‘At last.’ Very dry.

  Rodney stood up awkwardly. Wiped his palms on his jeans and held out his hand.

  Emily forced a smile and shook. ‘So is this an unexpected reunion or the reason I wasn’t supposed to visit today?’

  ‘Um. Hello, Mrs...Miss...’ He glanced agonisingly at Annie, and then struggled on manfully, ‘Emily. I’m sorry we haven’t met before.’ He sent one last agonising look at Annie. ‘I—I have to go.’ And hurried from the room.

  Marco stepped out of the lift as a young man, his face painfully red from embarrassment, hurried past. Christo. He remembered that feeling. Unworthy. Scorned by someone he
wanted to impress. Too many times this had happened to him at his age. He wanted to take the boy aside and tell him he must love himself before others could love him. But for all his efforts he had never learned that lesson. He shook his head and walked on to the nurses’ station, the memories circling like bats around his head. Work. He needed work.

  In Annie’s room the young girl sat higher in the bed. ‘Look what you did.’ She adjusted her pyjamas and glared at her mother.

  Good grief, times had changed, Emily thought. Imagine if she’d said that to her mother. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand? What I did?’

  Annie crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You made him leave.’

  ‘Not guilty.’ Emily held up her hands. ‘I did no such thing. Not my fault Rodney didn’t want to stay while I was here.’

  Annie fumed. ‘You shouldn’t have been here. I asked you not to come.’

  Emily took a step closer to the bed. The idea of a cosy chat with her daughter, a mutual salve for unstable times, lay in tatters around her feet. ‘You said friends. When were you going tell me you were seeing your baby’s father again? You went behind my back. Sneakily. Annie? Where has all this come from?’

  Annie glanced away. ‘I knew you’d judge him just because he doesn’t come from a good family.’

  Emily shook her head. ‘That’s unfair. Since when have I ever—’ she stressed the ‘ever’ ‘—tried to influence your choice of friends?’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Mum!’ Annie’s voice rose.

  Marco paused outside the room. Unwilling to interrupt when he was obviously not wanted but unable to avoid the conversation.

  ‘I know how you looked at Rodney. As if he’s not good enough for me.’

  Emily’s voice. Quieter. Calm. ‘That’s unfair.’

  ‘He’s tainted by a family that doesn’t live in the best part of Sydney. Doesn’t work all day.’ A bitter pause then a little softer and Marco tried not to strain his ears. ‘Or all night, like you.’ Ouch.

  Annie went on, ‘I know it’s going to be because his brother’s done time.’ Marco straightened as if stung.