by Paula Roe
“Let’s watch that movie.”
* * *
From the very first minute, the very first strike of classical music booming through the speakers, she was hooked.
Of course, it was all in French and Marco had to translate. Her breath caught every time he leaned in, his deep voice soft over the lilting on-screen French. The music was rich and powerful, the costumes beautifully flamboyant, and she could feel her senses spike in response. And of course, there was Marco sitting close, his body heat and faint cologne a frustrating accompaniment to the period drama. She had to stop herself from squirming after one intimate scene, to firmly focus on the screen and not turn and kiss him as he bent in to translate a particularly hot piece of dialogue.
She swallowed, suppressed a shudder and made a move to rise. “I need a drink. Do you want a drink?”
She squeaked when his arm went around her, pulling her back down. “No. Wait until after this scene. It’s awesome.”
“Just let it play. I won’t be a second.”
He groaned and clicked Pause. “You always do that. I hate it!”
“It’s only a few seconds,” she said, grabbing his fingers and pulling. “Let me go.”
“No. Louis is about to confront his mother. You’ll miss something important.”
She worked at his fingers but he held her fast, and she couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. A giggle that rushed out in a gasp as he yanked and she ended up sprawled in his lap. “The drink can wait.”
“But—”
“Quiet, woman. I’m trying to watch the movie and you’re ruining the mood.”
With an exaggerated sigh she settled her head on his thigh and watched the scene.
When Marco casually draped his arm over her waist, an involuntary shiver coursed down her back. She was suddenly very much aware that his hand was curled at her hip, his hard thigh beneath her cheek and the back of her head in his lap.
Oh, dear.
She tried to focus on the movie, but it was no good. Amid the powerful scene, full of heightened tension, coupled with Marco’s soft translation, she could feel her body heat up.
Her breath hitched. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen, and she couldn’t switch off her senses because Marco was everywhere—his hand resting lightly on her hip. His scent, all male and clean. And that voice, so achingly intimate that her insides just seemed to shudder every time he opened his mouth.
When she stirred, she felt his thigh beneath her cheek shift and tighten, and she had to clench her fists to stop herself from involuntarily stroking that hard muscle.
She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly as his hand suddenly left her hip to gently toy with her hair.
* * *
So soft. Marco heard her faint sigh, barely discernible against the rich baroque sound track. Yet his senses went on high alert at the sudden tension riding her back as he continued to stroke her hair, the silky chocolate strands twining around his fingers. The sudden urge to bury his face in that hair, breathe deep and never come up for air winded him.
“Marco?”
His name, warm and whispery on her lips, sent a bolt of heat to his groin.
“Yes?”
“You should stop.”
He didn’t pretend to fake ignorance. “I don’t think I can.”
She turned her head in his lap and he groaned under his breath. Her wide blue eyes stared up at him, and he couldn’t help himself. He needed to kiss her. Now.
So he did.
She had ample time to protest or move away, but she did neither, just watched him get closer and closer until his lips gently brushed over hers, tentative at first, then with more urgency.
Her sigh ended on a groan and told him everything he needed to know.
They spent long moments that way, just exploring each other’s mouths with lips, tongue and breath until Marco finally pulled back with a soft curse.
“What the hell is this, Kat?”
She stared up at him, eyes wide. “I have no clue. But...can we just...not talk about it?”
“Kat—”
“Please, Marco. With everything else going on, let’s just not...not analyze this.”
His hand skimmed over her jaw then down her neck to finally rest across her collarbone, a frankly possessive gesture that she ignored. “We’re going to have to at some point.”
She sighed. “I know. Just not now, okay?”
When she tentatively leaned up, lips seeking his, he pulled back, and for one brief second he saw her tense, as if preparing herself for rejection, and it just about killed him then and there. With a groan, he cupped her head and captured her lips in a deep kiss.
They kissed for ages, the rich music and French dialogue a sensual background that only flamed his need, urging him to do more, to touch, to possess.
He abruptly pulled back. “We should...”
She swallowed. “Stop?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
He heard her breath rattle as he studied her, taking in the curve of her lips, the mix of emotion in her darkened eyes. Did she...? Would he...?
Impossible.
Or was it?
“You’re right.”
He gently eased off the couch and moved away to the kitchen, leaving her in silence. She’d surely stop him, say something, if she thought any different, right?
But as he went through the motions of getting a drink, the silence was loud and obvious.
He hadn’t mistaken that look—a mix of want and trepidation. He’d seen it so often in other women.
But this was Kat. His Kat.
No, not his.
Annoyed, he lingered in the kitchen as she sat on the couch, until the unmistakable ping of his phone broke the silence.
He paused. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“My phone pinged.”
“That means the towers are working,” she said.
He frowned and then quickly strode over to his phone, flicking it on. She picked up hers and did the same, hurriedly scanning through the messages.
Disappointment curled in his belly as he read. Ridiculous. They couldn’t stay here forever. They needed to get back to their lives, to reality. Which meant work, test results. Press coverage.
He groaned softly, dragging a hand over his face. God, they’d have a field day with this trapped-alone-in-a-cyclone scenario. And Grace, she’d definitely want in on that story. Then there were Kat’s test results that frankly scared the crap out of him.
He glanced over and saw her staring intently at her phone and frowning. They’d all want a piece of her. She could skillfully avoid the press, but Grace... Yeah, Kat’s boss was demanding and challenging. It took a special person to work for her, and he knew she bugged Kat for an exclusive at least once a week. So far she’d held out, but after the past few days he wasn’t entirely sure Grace would keep taking no for an answer.
The sudden urge to escape, to take Kat somewhere where they could relax in blissful anonymity and just ignore the realities of the outside world, swept over him, and his grip tightened on the phone. Japan, maybe? The Himalayas? Alaska. Alaska was nice....
Or they could just stay here.
Her soft exclamation broke through his thoughts and he quickly busied himself with the cups.
“The geneticist called. They have my results.”
He spun around, but she’d already pulled open the patio doors and stepped outside. The soft click of the door was as final as any slam.
She’d shut him out.
Damn. He busied himself with coffee, refusing to look further into it. As always, she’d tell him in her own time, and as always, he’d be there for her, whatever the result.
He paused, and damn, the panic h
e thought he’d managed to ignore these past few days just swept right back in, leaving him floundering in a pool of helplessness.
He couldn’t lose her. Not his Kat. Not the woman he’d just realized he was totally and completely in love with.
Wait, what?
Before he had a chance to let that realization take bloom, she’d reopened the door and was standing, pale and still, in the middle of the room.
“Kat?”
“I know they’re not supposed to tell you over the phone,” she said slowly. “But Dr. Hardy and my mother go back a long way, and I wasn’t sure when we’d return to the mainland and—” She stopped, took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I just...” She dragged a hand through her hair with a sigh as he just stood there, his heart lumping in his throat, blood pounding way too loud.
“Kat, you’re killing me here,” he said softly. “What did he say?”
“They’re doing another test, to double-check the results,” she began. “But...”
“Yes?”
“Preliminary tests were...” Her eyes rounded, disbelieving. “Positive.” She swallowed, her voice cracking. “They were positive.”
Oh, dear God.
For one second the world stopped spinning. He realized he’d gotten out a thick “What?” but the shock quickly drowned everything else out. She was... She had...
No. Just no.
NO.
He realized he was staring, silent and disbelieving, until he saw her tears spilling, slowly coursing down her cheeks, and his heart just shattered into a million tiny pieces.
Nononononono—
He surged forward just as she let out a gut-wrenching sob. In a few strides he’d crossed the room, and then he was crushing her against his chest.
She collapsed into him, and when he felt her begin to shake, he just held on tighter.
Impotent fury surged because he couldn’t help her, couldn’t stop her tears, couldn’t do a damn thing but hold her, muttering totally useless sentiments while she cried and cried and broke his heart over and over.
He swallowed thick gulps of air, tightening his embrace as she trembled in his arms. She was so damn strong all the time, and it killed him to see her so broken now. After her mother’s death, she’d never allowed herself to think about this possibility. She’d been determined to live her life without a death sentence tainting every moment. But now...now...
He held on tight, feeling her body shake, her tears dampening his shoulder, and he swallowed again and again, sucked it all up and bit back all his pain even as he felt his own tears spill on his cheeks. She needed him to be the strong one here. He’d be useless to her any other way.
Yet how could he when everything inside him throbbed with pain and fury and the injustice of it all?
That anger took flame, growing with each second, until thankfully he managed to force back the tears. “We’ll get another test,” he muttered against her hair. “And then another. They could’ve made a mistake—it happens all the time.”
She muttered something unintelligible, and when she finally lifted her face to his, her expression so broken and torn, he couldn’t help himself.
He leaned down and kissed her, hard.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, her small whimper warm in his mouth, her cheeks wet against his. When he angled her head and thrust his tongue between her lips, she groaned, welcoming him, her hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer.
His brain shorted out as lust instantly exploded. He grabbed her arms and kept kissing her, her gasps of pleasure feathering over his lips, her hands grappling with his shirt, yanking it from his pants.
And then she was backing him up, and suddenly they were sprawled on the couch with her on top, mouths still locked.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. The emotion of the moment had completely hijacked any thought of common sense. With frantic hands they worked his pants open then off, then attacked her shirt, ripping it with their urgency. This was lust at its highest, the kind of clothes-ripping, skin-biting rush that left no room for soft words of love. It was just about the physical coming together of two people in desperate emotional need to connect, to prove they were still alive and were far from done yet.
He yanked up her skirt then dragged down her knickers, briefly reveling in her soft skin, in the warm, throbbing life of her, before she was bracing her hands on each side of his head. With mouths still locked in a desperate kiss, he grasped her hips, shifting her slightly, before plunging her straight down onto his aching manhood.
Her gasp rent the air and he groaned against her hot mouth, feeling the hard pulse of his arousal buried deep inside her. For a dozen breathtaking moments they remained still, intimately joined but unmoving as their eyes locked and they shared one breath.
It was...she was...incredible. Amazing.
With shaky hands, he swept his thumbs over her cheeks, sweeping away the last of her tears, before placing a slow, agonizing kiss first over one eyelid then the other.
“Kat...”
Her expression crumbled. “Please, Marco. Don’t talk.” Then she swooped down for a kiss, silencing him, and began to slowly, sensuously rock.
Instinctively he gripped her hips, taking charge of the rhythm, commanding her body. His heart pounded thickly, blood racing. He may have heard her whimper; he wasn’t sure because his heart was beating so damn fast it felt as if the whole room echoed with it. And past that, there was the faint, sensuous sound of flesh on flesh coupled with their heavy breathing.
She rolled into him, biting her lip. “Marco...”
“Yeah?” His gaze met hers, and the raw need etched on her face blew him away.
“Touch me...”
He did as she asked, and her eyes closed in pleasure, her hands covering his as he skimmed over the velvet flesh of her stomach, her waist, then up over her ribs to finally cup her breasts. His thumbs teased her already sensitive nipples and she hissed, grinding harder into him.
She leaned down and he took her mouth in breathless kisses over and over, until he was about to explode, until the friction and heat where their bodies joined escalated to the point where they were both on the brink.
He felt her tighten around him and he groaned, gripping her hips and thrusting hard, until she panted against his mouth, her eyes squeezed shut. Then, with a soft cry and a ragged breath, he felt her go over the edge.
He shuddered, a deep, satisfied groan wrenching from his lips as he followed her. She collapsed on his chest as he murmured her name, his breath against her cheek, arms tight, holding her close. He felt her response against his neck, her body damp and shaking as she wrapped her arms around him, legs tightening with a sigh. “Don’t move. Stay right here.”
“I’m not going anywhere, chérie.” His fingers went into her hair, stroking her nape as the tight throb in his body began to slowly ease.
He blinked.
He loved her.
Just when the hell had that happened? And how? He searched his memory, going over each moment with determined concentration. Had it happened since that night ten weeks ago? Or sooner?
A frown furrowed his brow. It really didn’t matter when, just that it was. He loved her as a best friend, as a lover. As a smart, amazing, funny, gorgeous and incredibly vulnerable woman. He loved that fourteen-year-old girl with the perfect hair and bright blue eyes, who’d stood up to his teasing. He loved that vulnerable, crazy nineteen-year-old, the one who’d needed him so desperately, the one who’d leaned on his shoulder, who’d needed him in her moment of grief. The woman who’d made mistakes in love and life and still continued to get back up, to forge her way and give the finger to all her critics.
The woman who had just received the worst possible news you could ever get.
No. He
couldn’t stop reality from intruding, but damn, he gave it his best shot. He knew the moment she felt it, too; her breath shook just a little on the intake and her arms tightened around him.
“No, don’t,” he said softly.
Too late.
She slowly slid off him in silence. As she fiddled with her underwear and pulled her skirt down, he took the moment to quickly adjust his pants. When he swung his feet to the floor, his breath snagged at her expression. How much effort was she exerting now, just to remain so calm, so in control? She was trying to hold it all together so he wouldn’t see her at her absolute worst.
When she turned her back to him to do up her buttons, the curse he swallowed hurt like jagged glass. Don’t you dare lose it. Not when she’s managing to keep it all together.
“We should find out when we can go back to the mainland,” he said softly, her back still to him. He had a few seconds to admire the smooth skin of her thighs, the gentle curve of her hip, the strong shoulders as she squared them and finally turned to face him, pushing back that mane of hair.
“Yes. I’ll need to make some more calls, too.”
“Kat.” He leaned forward, looped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Surprisingly she offered no protest, just went into his arms silently. He held her, without passion and without subterfuge, just two friends sharing an embrace.
Finally he said, “Let’s not jump to any conclusions here. They want to retest you. We should wait until that happens before we start making decisions.”
He felt her nod against his chest, knew without confirmation that she was already thinking, planning. Making decisions. Her brain never stopped working, and now, of all days, she needed to make logical, sensible choices.
With a sigh she finally pulled away from him, and reluctantly he let her go. She went over to the table and grabbed her phone. “I have to make a few calls.”
Seven
After Marco confirmed that the port at Cairns would reopen in a few hours, Kat used all her negotiation skills—and a few pleas—to wrangle an appointment with the geneticist for the very next day. Then they made a number of calls to let people know they were alive and well.