Hers For One Night Only?

by Carol Marinelli

  His hands were everywhere, but she was just as bad—tearing at his shirt till the buttons tore, pulling out his belt, and she was delighted that they weren’t going to make it to the bedroom again, delighted by her own condom-carrying medico. Except Dominic had other ideas.

  ‘Bed.’ He pulled her from the bench. ‘This time bed.’

  ‘No.’ She pulled at his zipper. ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘Yes.’ He didn’t want the floor again. He was leading her to her room, dragging her more like as she dug her heels in.

  ‘You can’t go in there!’

  ‘Why?’ He grinned, except he’d already pushed the door open. ‘Have you got more babies stashed away that you haven’t told…?’ He just stopped. She doubted anyone as glamorous as he had seen a really messy bedroom, like a really messy one. He looked at the chaos and then at the beauty that had somehow emerged out of it.

  ‘I told you not to go in there!’ She thought she’d killed the moment. Honestly, she

  really thought she had, but something else shifted, something even more breathtaking than before.

  ‘In here now, young lady.’ His voice was stern as he pointed, and she licked her lips, she could hardly breathe for the excitement, as she headed to her bedroom. ‘You can hardly see the bed,’ he scolded as he led her to it. ‘I’ve a good mind…’

  Yes, they were bad. He did put her over his knee, but she nearly fell off laughing and they wanted each other too much to play games. It was the quickest sex ever, the best sex ever.

  Again.

  Again, she thought as he speared into her. They were still half-dressed, just mutual in want. She’d wanted him so badly again and now he was inside her.

  It was bliss to have him back, to be back, to scream out as he shuddered into her.

  Bliss for it already to have been the perfect night and it was only seven-thirty p.m.

  To be honest, as she looked over he seemed a bit taken back by what had happened.

  ‘Bridgette…’ Please don’t say sorry, she thought. ‘I had no intention…’ He looked at her stricken face. ‘I mean…I had a table booked and everything.’

  ‘You’re not sorry, then?’

  ‘Sorry?’ He looked over to her. ‘I couldn’t be less sorry, just…’ He might even be blushing. ‘I did want to talk, to take you out. We could still go…’

  ‘If you can sew on your own buttons!’ Bridgette looked at his shirt. ‘But first you’d have to find a needle. And thread,’ she added after a moment’s thought.

  They settled for pizza. Bridgette undressed and slid into bed, and there would be time for talking later, for now they filled the gap and her roaring hunger with kissing until the pizza was delivered, and then he undressed and got into bed too.

  And they did have that grown-up conversation. It sort of meandered around other conversations, but the new rules were spoken by both of them. It was difficult and awkward at times too, but so much easier naked in bed and eating than at some gorgeous restaurant with others around. They spoke about nothing at first and then about work.

  ‘I don’t get close.’ Dominic shook his head. ‘I’m good at my job. I don’t need to be like some politician and hold and cuddle babies to be a good doctor.’

  ‘Never?’ she checked.

  ‘Never,’ Dominic said. ‘Oh, I held little Esperanza, but that was more for the parents, for the abuela, but…’ He did try to explain it. ‘I said she was cute and, yes, she is, but they’re not going to get a touchy-feely doctor if they are on my list.’ He said it and he meant it. ‘I can’t do that. I know all that might happen—I can’t get involved and then in a few weeks have to tell them that the news isn’t good.’ He was possibly the most honest person she had met. ‘I’ll give each patient and their parent or parents one hundred per cent of my medical mind. You don’t have to be involved to have compassion.’ It was too easy to be honest with her, but sometimes the truth hurt. ‘I couldn’t do it, Bridgette. I couldn’t do this job if I got too close—so I stay back. It’s why I don’t want kids of my own.’ He gave her a nudge. ‘That’s why I don’t get involved with anyone who has kids.’

  ‘I don’t have kids.’ Bridgette said. ‘And I think it wasn’t just the long-term viability of our future you were thinking about that night…’ She nudged him and he grinned, though she didn’t repeat midwife-speak to him; instead she spoke the truth. ‘Here for a good time, not a long time…and not have the night interrupted with crying babies.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Didn’t Arabella want kids?’

  ‘God, no,’ Dominic said.

  The conversation sort of meandered around, but it led to the same thing.

  They both knew it.

  ‘I will be moving back to Sydney.’ He was honest. ‘It’s not just work. It’s family and friends.’ And she nodded and took a lovely bite of cheesy dough and then without chewing took another. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to be with them. She took another bite and he told her about his brother, that he’d been thirteen when Chris was born. ‘To be honest, I was embarrassed—I was a right idiot then. So was my dad,’ he said. ‘They broke up when he was three. I was doing my final year school exams and all stressed and self-absorbed and Chris would just come in and want to talk and play—drove me crazy.

  ‘He didn’t care that I had my chemistry, couldn’t give a stuff about everything that was so important to me—except clothes. Even now he likes to look good, does his hair.’ Dominic grinned. ‘Loves to dance!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Loves women…’

  ‘Must be your brother!’ Bridgette smiled—a real one.

  ‘When I was doing my exams I’d be totally self-centred, angry, stressed. “What’s wrong, Dom?” he’d ask. And I’d tell him and he’d just look at me and then go and get me a drink or bring me something to eat, or try to make me laugh because he didn’t get it. You know, I stopped being embarrassed and used to feel sorry for him. My dad didn’t have anything to do with him, but then I realised Chris was the one who was happy and feeling sorry for me!’

  ‘We’ve got it all back to front, you know,’ Bridgette admitted.

  ‘He’s great. And you’re right…’ He saw her frown. ‘I’m not like a paediatrician. I was like my dad growing up—just me, me, me. Without Chris I would have been a sports doctor on the tennis circuit or something—I would,’ he said, and she was quite sure he was right, because he had that edge, that drive, that could take him anywhere. ‘I’d certainly have had a smaller nose.’

  ‘What?’ She frowned and he grinned. ‘My father thought I needed a small procedure. I was to have it in the summer break between school and university. He had it all planned out.’ He gave a dark laugh. ‘The night before the operation I rang him and told him to go jump.’

  ‘Do you talk now?’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked over. ‘About nothing, though. He never asks about Chris, never goes in and sees him on his birthday or Christmas, or goes out with him.’ He gave her a grin. ‘I can still feel him looking at my nose when he speaks to me.’

  ‘He’d be wanting to liposuction litres out of me!’ Bridgette laughed and he did too.

  Dominic lay and stared up at the ceiling, thought about today—because even if he did his best not to get close to his patients, today he hadn’t felt nothing as he’d stood and had that photo taken. He’d been angry—yes, he might have smiled for the camera, but inside a black anger had churned, an anger towards his father.

  He’d walked up to NICU and Tony had walked alongside him, had stood with his baby for every test, had beamed so brightly when the good news was confirmed that her heart was fine.

  ‘I’ll come back to Maternity with you in case Maria has any questions,’ Dominic had said, even though he hadn’t had to. He had stood and watched when Tony told his wife the good news and wondered what he’
d have been like had he had Tony as a father. He didn’t want to think about his father now.

  ‘How long have you been looking after Harry?’ he asked instead.

  Bridgette gave a tense shrug. ‘It’s very on and off,’ she said.

  ‘You said she was a lot younger…’

  ‘Eighteen,’ Bridgette said. He’d been so open and honest, yet she just couldn’t bring herself to be so with him. ‘I really would rather not talk about it tonight.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Dominic said.

  So they ate pizza instead and made love and hoped that things might look a little less complicated in the morning.

  They didn’t.

  ‘Do you want to go out tonight?’ he asked, taking a gulp of the tea she’d made because Bridgette had run out of coffee. ‘Or come over?’

  ‘I’d love to, but I truly can’t,’ she said, because she couldn’t. ‘I’ve got to pick Harry up.’

  ‘When does his mum get back?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Bridgette said. ‘I think.’

  ‘You think.’ Some things he could not ignore. ‘Bridgette, you seem to be taking on an awful lot.’

  ‘Well, she’s my sister,’ Bridgette said, ‘and she’s looking for flats and daycare. It’s better that she has a few days to sort it out herself rather than dragging Harry around with her.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  And he didn’t run for the hills.

  Instead he gave her a very nice kiss, and then reached in for another, a kiss that was so nice it made her want to cry.

  ‘Have breakfast,’ she said to his kiss, trying to think what was in the fridge.

  And he was about to say no, that he had to go to work in an hour and all that.

  Except he said yes.

  He thought of the frothy latte he’d normally be sipping right now.

  Instead he watched Bridgette’s bottom wiggle as she made pancakes because she didn’t have bread.

  Watched as she shook some icing sugar over them.

  How could you not have bread? she screamed inside.

  Or bacon, or fresh tomatoes. She had thrown on her nursing apron—it had two straps with buttons and big pockets in the front. She had ten of them and they were brilliant for cooking—so the fat didn’t splat—but she was naked beneath.

  ‘We should be sitting at a table outside a café—’ she smiled as he watched her ‘—or at the window, watching the barista froth our lovely coffees.’

  She must have read his mind.

  As she brought over two plates of pancakes, where Bridgette was concerned, he crossed the line. ‘How long ago did you break up with Paul?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ She gave him a very odd look as she came over with breakfast. ‘I don’t remember discussing him with you.’

  ‘You didn’t.’ He gave a half-shrug. ‘You really don’t discuss yourself with me at all, so I’ve had to resort to other means.’ He saw the purse of her lips. ‘I didn’t just happen across it—I asked Vince for your e-mail address. Guys do talk.’ He saw her raise her eyebrows. ‘He said there had been a messy break-up, that was all he knew.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t very messy for me.’ Bridgette shrugged. ‘It might have been a bit messy for him because he suddenly had to find somewhere to live.’ She shook her head. She wasn’t going there with him. ‘It’s a long story…’

  ‘Short version,’ Dominic said.

  ‘We were together two years,’ Bridgette said. ‘Great for one of them, great till my sister got depressed and moved in and suddenly there was a baby with colic and…’ She gave a tight shrug. ‘You get the picture. Anyway, by the time Harry turned one we were over.’ She had given the short version, but she did ponder just a little. ‘He felt the place had been invaded, that I was never able to go out.’ She looked over at him. ‘Funny, I’d have understood if it had been his flat.’ She gave Dominic a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. He could see the hurt deep in them and knew better than to push.

  ‘I’ll see you at work on Monday,’ she said as she saw him to the door.

  ‘I’m still here for a while,’ Dominic said.

  ‘And then you won’t be…’

  ‘It doesn’t mean we can’t have a nice time.’ If it sounded selfish, it wasn’t entirely. He wanted to take her out, wanted to know her some more, wanted to spoil her perhaps.

  ‘Like a holiday romance?’ Bridgette asked.

  ‘Hardly. I’m working sixty-plus hours a week,’ he said to soften his offering, because, yes, a brief romance was the most he could ever commit to. But she hadn’t said it with sarcasm. Instead she smiled, because a holiday romance sounded more doable. She certainly wasn’t about to let go of her heart and definitely not to a man like him. A holiday romance maybe she could handle.

  ‘I won’t always be able to come out… I mean…’ Bridgette warned.

  ‘Let’s just see.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Who knows, maybe your sister will get that job, after all, and move up to Bendigo.’

  And you should be very careful what you wish for, Dominic soon realised, because a few days later Courtney did.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AT FIRST it was great. Out had come the silver dress, and he had taught her the

  flamenco—not that he knew how, but they’d had fun working it out.

  In fact, with Courtney and Harry away, it had been Dominic who had found himself the one with scheduling problems.

  ‘I’ll get back to you within the hour.’ There was a small curse of frustration as Dominic put down the phone and pulled out his laptop.

  ‘Problem?’ Bridgette asked.

  ‘Mark Evans wants me to cover him till eleven a.m. I’m supposed to be picking up Chris from the airport then.’ He pulled the airline page up. Chris had been missing his brother, and with Dominic unable to get away for a while, a compromise had been reached and Chris was coming down to Melbourne for the night. ‘I’d say no to Mark except he’s done me a lot of favours. I’ll see if I can change his flight.’

  ‘You could just ask me,’ Bridgette said, unable to see the problem. ‘Surely if Chris can fly on his own, he won’t mind being met by a friend of his brother’s.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘It’s no big deal.’

  To Dominic it was a big deal. Arabella would, he realised, have simply had Chris change his flight, which was maybe a bit unfair on her, because Arabella would have been at work too. Bridgette was, after all, not starting till later. ‘What if the flight’s delayed? It doesn’t leave you much time to get to your shift as it is…’

  ‘Then I’ll ring work and explain that I’m delayed. What?’ She misread his curious expression. ‘You don’t think I’d just leave him stranded?’

  Chris’s flight wasn’t delayed. In fact, it landed a full ten minutes early and he had hand luggage only, which left plenty of time for a drink and something to eat at an airport café before she started her late shift. He told her all about his first time flying alone and then they drove back to Dominic’s, getting there just as he arrived. There was no denying that the two brothers were pleased to see each other. ‘Come over tonight if you want,’ Dominic said, ‘after your shift. We’re just seeing an early movie so we could go out for something to eat if you like?’

  ‘I’ll give it a miss, thanks,’ Bridgette said. ‘I don’t want to spoil your party and anyway I’m on an early shift tomorrow.’ And he was always defensive around his brother yet not once did he think it was a snub. He knew Bridgette better than that—well, the part of Bridgette that she let him know. And he knew that she wouldn’t even try to win points by hanging around to prove she was nothing like Arabella.

  She was nothing like Arabella.

  ‘See you, Chris.’ She gave him a wave. ‘Have a great night.’

 
‘See you, Bridgette,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the cake.

  ‘We went to a café,’ Chris explained, when she had gone. ‘Is that your girlfriend?’

  ‘She’s a friend,’ Dominic said.

  ‘Your girlfriend.’ Chris grinned.

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ Dominic admitted, ‘but it’s not as simple as that.’ It wasn’t and it was too hard to explain to himself let alone Chris.

  There was a reason why holidays rarely lasted more than a few weeks—because any longer than that, you can’t pretend there are no problems. You can’t keep the real world on hold. Perhaps selfishly Dominic had wanted Courtney to leave, wanted to get to know a bit better the woman he had enjoyed dating, but once Chris had gone home, he realised that it wasn’t the same Bridgette when Harry wasn’t around. Over the next few days she couldn’t get hold of Courtney and they were back to the morning after he’d met her—Bridgette constantly checking her phone. There was an anxiety to her that wasn’t right.

  He wanted the woman he’d found.

  But Bridgette had that bright smile on, the one he had seen when they’d first met. She gave it to him the next Friday afternoon at work as she dropped off a new mum for a cuddle with her baby and he gave her his brief work nod back. Then she stopped by the incubator, as she often did, to speak with Carla.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Good today!’ Carla smiled. ‘Though it all depends on how Francesca is as to how I’m feeling at any moment, but today’s been a good day. Do you want a peek?’ There were drapes over the incubator and when she peeled them back Bridgette was thrilled by the change in the baby. She was still tiny, but her face was visible now, with far fewer tubes. It had been a precarious journey, it still was, but Francesca was still there, fighting.

  ‘She gave us a fright last week,’ Carla said. ‘They thought she might need surgery on the Friday, but she settled over the weekend. Every day’s a blessing still. I’m getting to hold her now—it’s fantastic. Frank and I are fighting to take turns for a cuddle.’

  It was lovely to see Francesca doing so well, but Bridgette’s mind was on other things as she walked back to the ward, and she didn’t hear Dominic till he was at her side.