Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 2

by Various Authors

  ‘Thank you. Kate will be pleased. At least Nick is being civil to her at work again—if not friendly.’

  Oliver would have liked to ask what the issue was about but he didn’t want to intrude on a private matter between Kate and Nick, and he also didn’t want to spend this time with Chloe talking about work. He steered the conversation back to more personal things and they discussed books and music, films and motorbikes while they ate their chicken salads with soft granary rolls warmed in the oven.

  ‘That was great,’ Oliver praised when they had finished.

  ‘Would you like some ice cream?’

  Carrying the plates back to the kitchen to wash them, Oliver smiled. Chloe and her sweet tooth! ‘Please.’

  After drying up, he leaned against the counter, watching as she spooned out two bowls of hazelnut meringue ice cream. The uniform she still wore failed to mask her womanly curves. She was so beautiful, with her clear skin, luxuriant dark hair and those stunning green eyes. His body tightened with desire. To resist reaching for her and spoiling all his good intentions to take things slowly and let Chloe set the pace, he walked into the cosy living room. Sitting on the sofa, he familiarised himself with her two rescue cats. He knew the ginger one who had lost an eye was called Cyclops, while the all-white cat with a black patch over one eye was called Pirate.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Chloe asked a few moments later, eyes wide with surprise as she watched him stroke the cats.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Make friends with Pirate. He’s very wary of trusting people, especially men. He didn’t have a very happy start in life.’ Her words ended abruptly and shadows clouded her eyes, as if she realised that she could have been talking about her own past. Looking uncertain, she handed him a bowl and spoon. ‘Here.’

  ‘Thanks, babe.’

  Before she could move away, Oliver caught her free hand and encouraged her to sit beside him on the sofa. Sensing her unease, he kept things light, giving her time to relax again. The ice cream was excellent and he said so.

  ‘It’s from the Trevellyans’ herd of pedigree Guernseys,’ Chloe told him, savouring every spoonful of her treat in a way that tightened his gut more by the second. Smiling, she set her empty bowl aside. ‘Mike and Fran, along with Mike’s brother and sister-in-law, Joe and Sarah, produce some wonderful things. I love their blue cheese. They have a great farm shop and also sell at the weekly farmers’ market.’

  Oliver turned to face her, using the pad of one thumb to brush across her lips and the corner of her mouth. ‘Stray ice cream,’ he murmured, raising the thumb to his own mouth and sucking it.

  ‘Oliver…’

  He heard the uncertainty in her voice, but also the edge of arousal, which was matched by the darkening of her eyes. As much as he needed his next breath in order to survive, he had to kiss her, but he didn’t want to rush her or push her too far too soon. Slowly, he leaned closer, giving her every opportunity to stop him, to move away, to say it was not what she wanted. Needing to touch her, but careful not to scare her by pulling her against him and wrapping his arms around her as he so longed to do, he closed one hand loosely around her wrist. He could feel the rapid beat of her pulse, and he loved the feel of her soft skin beneath the light caress of his fingertips. His gaze fixed on the lushness of her lips. Chloe swayed towards him. He closed the last of the distance, brushing his mouth lightly across hers, feeling and hearing her gasp as he used the tip of his tongue to clean any remaining ice cream from her skin. She was so sweet, so pure. Being with her felt so right. He longed for the day he could kiss and lick her all over.

  ‘You taste delicious, Chloe.’

  With a soft moan, she pressed her lips to his, unskilled but enthusiastic…not that he was complaining. Far from it. Used to obvious women who knew what they wanted and how to play the game, Chloe was a refreshing change. He felt protective of her. Everything about her was different. He had never felt for another woman as he did for Chloe. Had never been prepared to spend so long wooing a woman. And it had never been so important to gain someone’s trust and friendship.

  Oliver pulled back. Raising his free hand, his fingers traced the shape of her face. Moss-green eyes opened, fringed by sooty lashes, and she surprised him by following suit, her own fingers exploring the contours and textures of his face. Just that simple touch from her set him on fire. Catching her exploring hand, he brought it to his mouth, focusing his gaze on hers, watching her reactions as he teased her palm with his lips and tongue tip, nibbling the mound by her thumb with his teeth, making her moan.

  ‘Oliver?’

  ‘Mmm?’ Feeling the tremor run through her, hearing the huskiness in her voice, he licked tiny circles in the centre of her palm with his tongue tip. ‘You like that?’

  ‘Yes. But…’

  Responding to her nervousness, he stilled, seeing her flush and glance away. ‘But?’ he encouraged, his heart in his mouth as he waited to hear what she was going to say, hoping it wasn’t to ask him to stop.

  Chloe sucked in a ragged breath. She had never known feelings of desire and need before, and she found it hard to understand what was happening to her body. When Oliver touched her and kissed her, even looked at her with that melting dark gaze, she felt strange. Tingly and warm. Excited but nervous. Needy. He brushed his fingers over her skin and her flesh burned. He kissed her, lightly, briefly, and her body quivered in a way she had never experienced before. Deep inside she felt a knot of tension, a restlessness, an ache she wasn’t sure how to assuage.

  Oliver had never laughed at her or made her feel stupid. Amazingly, he still seemed to want her. And he was so patient, so gentle…undeniably sexy. Her past may have caused her to shut down that part of herself, but she didn’t get to be a twenty-seven-year old midwife in the twenty-first century without understanding the mechanics of sex. She talked about it every day without embarrassment. Doing anything in practice was another matter entirely, and now she had Oliver here, had discovered how much she was enjoying being with him, she didn’t have a clue what to do. A self-deprecating smile curved her lips.

  ‘Chloe?’

  His husky voice drew her from her thoughts and she realised he was still waiting for her to answer his question. His fingers stroked the sensitive flesh along the inside of her forearm and she couldn’t halt the quiver that rippled through her. Could she ask? Would he mind?

  ‘I want—’ Again her words halted and she cursed herself for being so nervous.

  ‘Tell me what you want, Chloe.’ He rested his hand along the side of her neck, his thumb caressing her skin, and she leaned into his touch, seeking more. ‘Never be scared to say what you need. You can always ask me anything, tell me anything. OK?’

  She nodded, then sucked in a deep breath. ‘I like you kissing me,’ she finally admitted, bringing a dimpled smile to his handsome face.

  ‘It’s going to get even better.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do. I want…’ She bit her lip, seeing his gaze drop back to her mouth. She remembered how his had felt moving teasingly over hers. It wasn’t enough. ‘Will you show me how to kiss properly?’

  ‘You can count on it, babe,’ he promised roughly, something hot and primal flaring in his eyes, filling her with excited anticipation and a new burst of wariness as she couldn’t entirely let go of the memories of her past.

  Edging closer, she tentatively rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘What would lesson one be?’ She was surprised at her own boldness. Surprised, too, by the inner realisation that she was coming to trust Oliver to be careful with her, to not harm her.

  ‘Chloe…’ He tensed, and for a horrible moment she thought she had misread the situation and made a fool of herself. She went to pull back, but he stopped her. ‘Wait.’ His eyes were impossibly dark and she discovered with amazement that his hand was unsteady as he moved to brush some wayward strands of hair back from her face. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her answer was a bare whisper, a curious mix of certainty
and uncertainty churning inside her.

  ‘Slow and easy,’ Oliver murmured, almost to himself, she thought. His tongue tip peeped out as he moistened his lips, and her stomach jolted in response, but he paused again, holding her gaze. ‘Any time you want to stop, we stop. OK?’

  Chloe nodded, sure she was going to burst with impatience if she didn’t feel his mouth against hers again…now. And then he was moving, his hand slipping round to the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her hair, his head lowering to hers. She tried to breathe and found it was almost impossible. Her heart pounded in her chest. She felt his warmth, scented his enticing masculine aroma. Then his mouth met hers, firmer this time as it moved rhythmically, knowing and arousing.

  She gasped as he nibbled her lower lip, then he gently sucked on it, and she thought she was going to melt. Her hand tightened on his shoulder as she tried to balance herself. The urge to draw him closer, to press herself against him was overwhelming, but he deftly took charge, retreating when she impatiently wanted to move on, keeping her on the edge, desire spiralling more and more, leaving her feeling heady and out of control.

  When his tongue teased the seam of her lips, they instinctively parted for him. She momentarily froze as she tasted him, sweet but rawly male, for the first time. Clinging to him, a whimper escaped as he changed the angle, deepening the slow, thorough, strength-sapping kiss. The tip of his tongue stroked around the insides of her lips, teasing her, before dipping inside, making her want more. But when her own tongue ventured forward to meet his, he retreated, denying her quest. Far, far too soon, the kiss was over. Chloe moaned a protest when she felt Oliver withdrawing from her, breaking contact, pulling back.

  Confused, dazed, she finally managed to force her eyes open and focus on his face. His small smile was pure wickedness and gave another kick to her fluttering stomach, but she was gratified to hear that his own breathing was ragged. Realising how she was clutching him, one hand gripping the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, the other having become entangled with his, their fingers locked together, she forced herself to relax her hold. She had no idea what to say. All she wanted to know was when they could do it again. It had been amazing.

  Oliver’s hand slid free of her hair, grazing across her cheek before his fingertips traced her mouth which felt swollen and sensitised from their kiss. His eyes were even darker than before, heated, watchful. She wondered what he was thinking, whether the kiss had meant anything at all to him…a kiss that had completely blown her away.

  Before either of them could speak, the sound of her pager intruded on the intimate, electrically charged silence. To her regret, Oliver set her further away and released her. She felt bereft without his touch. Pulling herself together, knowing someone needed her, she fumbled for her pager with unsteady hands, anxiety gripping her when she saw who the urgent plea was from.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Oliver asked, as if reading her sudden tension.

  ‘It’s Angela Daniels. My mother-to-be on bed rest with placental abruption.’ She met Oliver’s dark, concerned gaze. ‘She’s haemorrhaging.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE THREE hours since the call to Angela Daniels’s emergency had passed in a blur. Chloe sat huddled in the passenger seat of the car and glanced across at Oliver, absorbing his strong, handsome profile in the shadows of the night. He had been a tower of strength. Having insisted on accompanying her, they had arrived at the house to find Angela’s husband, Will, in a state of shock and panic, while Angela herself had collapsed on the bedroom floor and was in a bad way. Chloe had focused all her attention on Angela. Oliver had summoned the air ambulance, and then had taken charge of calming Will before coming to assist her in trying to stabilise Angela’s deteriorating condition.

  Seeing the woman on the floor and all that blood had brought back a terrible nightmare and for a moment Chloe had frozen, fearing that the outcome of this event would be the same as the one years ago. She had been scared that she wouldn’t be good enough, competent enough. But thanks to Oliver, and the rapid dash by air ambulance to St Piran in the gathering dusk, both Angela and her baby were alive. For now. Chloe doubted whether either would have survived had they been forced to make the half-hour journey to hospital by road. As it was, the helicopter had delivered them there in minutes. Whether Angela would pull through after the amount of blood she had lost, as well as crashing twice in Resus before her baby was delivered by Caesarean, remained to be seen. Having gone along in the helicopter, Chloe now felt exhausted after the drama of the evening, drained both physically and emotionally.

  Walking out to the hospital waiting area, covered in blood and battered by distressing memories, she had been amazed, relieved and more grateful than she could say to find that Oliver had followed by car to St Piran and was waiting to collect her. He had taken one look at her face and said nothing at all. He’d just been there, which was what she had needed, the look in his dark eyes one of concern and compassionate understanding. When he had slipped an arm around her, she had stiffened momentarily, but then she’d remembered that this was Oliver, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt safe with him. Again, he had seemed to instinctively judge her reaction, and he’d kept her close as he’d led her to the car, without ever making her feel threatened or restrained.

  They were nearly back in Penhally Bay now. All she wanted was to get home. Have a shower. Face her demons. After parking the car, Oliver locked up and followed her to her front door. It was nearly midnight and the street was almost deserted, just a few tourists walking along the seafront. At the end of the eastern wall of the harbour, on the promontory beyond the church, stood the lighthouse. In the darkness of night, its beam arced out across the water, warning of the dangerous rocks where the wreck of the Corazon del Oro lay, the infamous seventeenth-century Spanish treasure ship which still drew tourists and divers to Penhally. Turning their backs on the village, Oliver took the keys from her shaky fingers and guided her inside her cottage. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he ushered her towards the stairs.

  ‘Up for a bath or shower, then into bed, babe,’ he instructed, his voice soft but brooking no argument. ‘I’ll make you a drink.’

  She felt she had to attempt a token protest. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I know. But I want to. Now go,’ he finished, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

  Too tired and shaken to manage further disagreement, she walked slowly up the stairs, feeling Oliver’s gaze on her all the way.

  Oliver watched Chloe head upstairs, a frown of concern creasing his brow. He wasn’t sure what but something had happened. Something other than the emergency with Angela Daniels. Chloe had been amazing with the terrified mother-to-be—calm, professional, reassuring and skilfully efficient—but there had been a shadow in her eyes, such inner pain it had rocked him. No way was he leaving her until he knew she was all right. And, hopefully, he could encourage her to talk it out, to share whatever burden she had carried tonight.

  He headed for the kitchen and hunted out the necessary ingredients for hot chocolate. It wasn’t the weather for it as the night was sultry after another sweltering July day, but Chloe needed something comforting. And as he couldn’t take her to bed and love her into a state of pleasured oblivion, the hot chocolate would have to do for now. Waiting for the drink to heat, hearing the shower running upstairs, he leaned against the counter and thought back over the evening.

  Chloe’s innocent eagerness to experiment, her shy boldness in asking for what she wanted, had both delighted and encouraged him. And it had been increasingly difficult to keep a rein on his desire as he had kissed her—less chastely than before. She had been nervous but she had enjoyed it, and he had been careful to call a halt before she had been ready to stop, leaving her disappointed and wanting more. He couldn’t wait for the day he could kiss her freely, letting loose all the passion and hunger he had for her. But it was too soon. That had been reinforced by the way Chloe had tensed when he had put
his arm round her at the hospital. Apparently kissing was one thing, being held was something else entirely. Something he would have to work on gently now he knew of her anxiety. Now he had admitted to himself that, whatever his doubts, no way could he walk away from this woman. Chloe needed someone to coax her out of her inner prison. He wanted to be that man. To be good enough for her. He wanted to discover what it was that haunted her and to try to make it right.

  Tonight wasn’t the time to ask, but he did hope to learn what had affected her so deeply with Angela. By the time the hot chocolate was ready, the shower had stopped. He found a container of tiny marshmallows and dropped a couple into her mug to melt, then headed upstairs, unexpectedly meeting her emerging from the bathroom. He stopped, unable to move, scared he’d drop the drinks or go into meltdown like a marshmallow himself at the sight of her dressed only in a soft, figurehugging, sleeveless vest top and a flimsy pair of cotton boxers that revealed the length of her legs.

  Great legs. Not too slender, but shapely and well curved. He could imagine all too clearly how they would feel wrapped around him as he…No, he couldn’t afford to think erotic thoughts right now. He dragged his gaze upwards, only to halt at the delectable view of her full, firm breasts. Oh, hell. To torment him even further, pebbled nipples pressed out the thin cotton fabric of her top. His mouth watered. His hands craved to be free to fill themselves with her tempting flesh. Instead, his fingers tightened round the mugs in desperation and he valiantly sought to ignore the clamour of his own body as it responded to the sight of hers.

  He cleared his throat, his voice gruff. ‘Bed.’ For a moment he closed his eyes. If only he could join her there.

  Chloe, apparently innocently unaware both of the image she presented and his reaction, complied without comment. He followed her into her room, knowing he had to have taken leave of his senses…and that a cold shower was going to do little to stave off the state of his raging desire for Chloe tonight. Painfully aroused, he watched as she moved to the bed, sliding beneath the single light sheet that was her only covering for the heat of the summer night. Handing her the mugs, Oliver toed off his shoes. Propping himself next to her, on top of the sheet, he accepted his mug and then took her free hand in his, waiting for her to relax before even thinking of drawing her closer.