‘At a fundraising ball,’ she mumbled. When the silence dragged on painfully she desperately tried to fill it. ‘Hugh’s a plastic surgeon—they’re raising money for overseas children.’
‘Splendid.’ Richard smiled. ‘So it’s a work thing, then?’ There was no mistaking the edge to his voice, and the silence she had tried to fill before widened to an abyss as she realised the implication to his question.
‘No,’ she said slowly, her eyes darting to Hugh who sat with a slightly questioning look on his face as he awaited her response. ‘I was there with Hugh.’
‘Come on, Wichard,’ Susie simpered in a baby voice, tugging at his sleeve as she made to go. ‘My feet are positively killing me.’
‘Yes, quite.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Better be getting back. The other partners will be wondering where I got to. Lovely to see you again, Rachael.’
Only when he was gone, when even if he turned around he wouldn’t be able to see her, did Rachael bury her burning face in her hands and moan. ‘Oh, God, I am so, so sorry,’ she groaned. Parting her fingers a fraction she was stunned, utterly floored to see Hugh nearly falling off his chair, laughing.
‘Don’t,’ she squealed. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’
‘Why?’ he roared, wiping a tear from his face with the back of his hand. ‘What better time to meet your ex-husband than when you’re sitting with a gorgeous blond toy boy, looking fabulous? If anyone was embarrassed, it was him.’
‘Do you think?’ Rachael asked, only then daring to peel her hands away from her face. ‘That Susie didn’t look too fazed.’
‘She was spitting chips,’ Hugh said assuredly.
‘Well, she didn’t look it.’
‘Susie couldn’t look anything other than impassive with a face full of Botox. I can assure you, darling, she wasn’t happy.’
Darling. That small endearment brought the whole world into perspective. She was sitting, on a balmy summer night, with the most wonderful, gorgeous man who could make even the most awkward difficult situation funny all of a sudden. Ten Richards could have appear right now and she couldn’t have cared less.
‘Women like that are ten a penny, Rachael. If that’s what you want to look like, book in for an appointment.’ His hand was back now, holding hers tenderly. ‘It’s you I want, exactly as you are.’
‘Honestly?’
He nodded, slowly, definitely. ‘Yep.’
‘And what’s this about a toy boy? Just how old are you exactly?’
‘Thirty-five.’
‘Hardly a toy boy,’ Rachael said with a grin.
‘Don’t ruin the picture,’ he whispered. ‘When you tell the story later, it has to be perfect.’
Rachael swallowed, ‘It already is.’
Pulling out a note, Hugh slapped it on to the table and stood up, holding his hand out for her to join him. ‘Come on, Wachael, there’s a certain part of my anatomy that’s positively killing me.’
The water did jet from all angles, hot, sharp jets hitting their tightly coiled bodies, knocking the breath out of them as their lips met, sated with desire. One by one Hugh pulled the pins out of Rachael’s long chocolate locks, massaging shampoo as the goo and the mousse slipped down her shoulders. He gently rubbed every last trace of make-up off her flushed face as he kissed each slender shoulder, every last hidden crevice.
And Rachael … The soap slipped through her fingers, bouncing onto the floor unnoticed as she worked the rich lather through the blond mat of his chest, working the suds downward till she held him slippery and warm and splendid in her trembling hands. Massaging more gently now but with a deeper urgency, she felt his hands on her shoulders gently but firmly pushing her down and she knelt on the floor, running her tongue along the inside of his muscular thigh working her mouth upwards as she felt his muscles tense, the water cascading around her as she took him into the soft warmth of her mouth. His fingers tightened in her hair and she felt him shudder, his broad back resting against the cool tiles, his thighs rhythmically rubbing against her swollen breasts as she took him ever deeper. Never had she thought she could get so much pleasure from giving. Her own body was trembling with desire, the blood rushing to her groin like mercury, her temples pounding as they both hovered on the brink of oblivion.
‘Rachael,’ he gasped, his voice almost drowned by the gushing water. Pulling her reluctantly up, he held her against him. ‘Not yet.’ His voice was a hoarse, reluctant whisper. In one lithe motion he hoisted her up, kicking the glass door of the shower open. Not bothering to turn off the taps, he carried her through to the bedroom then, sitting her on the bed, he wrapped her in a towel, drying her gently.
Without the make-up, without the skilfully blow-dried hair, she looked almost childlike. Like a child pulled from a storm. He dried her, his hands working every inch of her, behind her ears, between her toes, massaging her scalp with the thick white towel in the most sensual of massages, working the towel in small circular motions up her leg behind her knee till she lay back on the bed gasping in anticipation, till every inch of her was dry.
Everywhere except the dark warm sweet place that was as moist and welcoming as he knew it would be. The towel forgotten, he explored her with infinite finesse, tender skill, his tongue flicking till she moaned with frenzied desire, unable to hold on a second longer. He sensed from her urgency that now was not the time to be holding back, and neither could he.
With one powerful thrust he slipped inside her, groaning with ecstasy as she gripped him tighter, moving with her, for her, pushing her further and longer than she’d ever thought possible, until all that mattered was this moment pushing away the dark clouds the silver lining of oblivion, their primitive needs fulfilled.
The joining of man and woman.
‘Don’t go.’ Rachael pulled him back but he kissed the tip of her nose and slipped out of the bed.
‘I’m only turning off the taps.’
The short time it took saw her climb into the bed, a smile shining on her face as she surveyed the chaos they had created in the room. And then Hugh was walking towards her and her heart melted all over again. Mentally pinching herself that this man adored her, had made love to her, and from the glorious length of his manhood wanted her over again.
‘I thought union rules stated a ten-minute break between shifts,’ she said with a breathless laugh as he climbed into bed beside her, nuzzling her neck, his body stretching beside her, primed and deliciously ready.
‘Maybe in the public sector,’ he drawled in that effortless superior voice that made her insides turn to liquid. ‘But you’re on my team now and, I warn you, I make a merciless, demanding boss.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ she murmured as she slipped into his arms, submitting again to the mastery of his touch. ‘In fact, it sounds just about perfect.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘COME down to breakfast.’ Hugh was standing knotting his tie, just as Rachael had imagined that day in the treatment room, and the vision was just as perfect as her imagination had been.
Better even.
‘They won’t bite.’
‘Maybe not,’ Rachael conceded. ‘But I hardly think a crumpled silver ballgown and fluffy hair are really on.’
‘We’re at south bank. There are shops everywhere, it will be no problem to nip out and get you something.’
Rachael laughed. ‘On a Sunday morning? Come on, Hugh, only the tourist shops will be open now and I hardly think a T-shirt with a koala bear on it and a pair of I-love-Australia boxers will exactly endear them to me.’
‘I just don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you. I can give it a miss, the world won’t stop if I skip breakfast.’ Which was so like him, Rachael realised so straightforward, no guarded reasons, no second-guessing his motives, a world away from Richard and his corporate games.
‘What, and miss the pats on the back for last night’s speech? You go, Hugh. Take as long as you have to, I’ll be fine.’ Picking up the folder by the bedside, she cast a ravenous
eye over the menu. ‘More than fine actually. I love eggs Benedict.’
‘I’d rather be here with you.’ His words were soft, but there was something in the seductive drawl in which they were delivered that made her eyes flick up.
‘I’ll still be here when you’re finished.’ The reference was to breakfast but as they held each other’s eyes she knew the meaning was deeper. Last night had been so much more than a fling, a release of sexual tension. It had been a coming together, a brief but heady interlude on a much longer journey. ‘Your work is important, Hugh.’
His lips tugged at the edges, teasing her with a smile as his eyes raked over her body, barely covered by the rumpled sheet. ‘So I’ve finally managed to impress you, huh? You finally realise that I’m not just about breast enlargements and Botox.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I’m suitably impressed.’ Her light-hearted response grew more serious. ‘I really am,’ Rachael admitted. ‘And it’s important that you go to the breakfast. Carry on the work, Hugh, those children need all the help they can get. Your speech really made people sit up and take notice, there was hardly a dry eye in the house.’
‘Except yours.’
His two words stilled her. The teasing game had ended and they were on the verge of something deeper, somewhere dangerous, somewhere Rachael wouldn’t, couldn’t go. She felt the mattress indent as he lowered himself beside her, pulling her hand to his. She felt like Hugh was a hospital visitor sitting there fully dressed as she lay there vulnerable, exposed. A visitor who felt they had to ask all the right questions, only there wasn’t the saving grace here of the bell, no ward sister to shoo him away when the questions got too much.
‘I’ve never seen you cry, Rachael.’
She must have read the breakfast menu ten times now but still she worked her way through it again. ‘The pink grapefruit juice sounds nice.’
‘Rachael, put the menu down.’
She tried to joke her way out of it, wrapping her hands around her mouth in a poor imitation of a megaphone. ‘Put down the menu and come out with your emotions in the air.’
‘I’m not joking, Rachael. Put down the menu.’
‘Why?’ she answered smartly, her voice firm and steady.
‘So that you can stop avoiding me. I’ve never seen you cry,’ he said again.
‘So from that you conclude that you don’t know me?’ She gave a rather shrill laugh. ‘What? Do men need to see a woman broken, at her absolute worst, to make them feel better?’ she asked angrily as he sat there silently. ‘We’ve only know each other a few weeks, and might I point out I haven’t seen you sobbing into a handkerchief too many times?’
‘I haven’t lost a baby.’ The words hung in the air, the horrible truth summing up so very neatly the sheer hell she’d been through. ‘I haven’t just come back from maternity leave and had to face the world. And, yes, we might have only met relatively recently, but we’ve been through quite a bit,’ he said gently. ‘You told me about Amy, your divorce, Sheila’s death, a couple of movies that just about set me off, even meeting up with your ex-husband, and I’ve never seen even a hint of a tear.’ His eyes were burning into her and she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear that he might see her so exposed and see the murky depths of her despair. ‘Hell, Rachael, when I hear what you’ve been through, I feel like crying.’
‘Maybe I’m not the emotional kind,’ she responded flippantly, picking up the menu again, but Hugh grabbed it from her, tossing it across the bed.
‘Rubbish.’ His hand gripped her wrist. ‘You’re the most emotional woman I’ve ever met, and if I needed any proof, last night proved it beyond a shadow of doubt.’ He ran his free hand through his hair and let out a ravaged sigh. ‘I want you to know that I understand.’ The dubious look that darted across her taut face didn’t go unnoticed. ‘Or as much as I can,’ he corrected. ‘I know you come with a lot of pain, Rachael. I want you to know that I understand that it can’t all be fun and romance and making love, that there will be dark times.’ He hesitated for a second. ‘It will be her birthday soon, won’t it?’
A tiny forward movement of her head was all the answer he was going to get. ‘I know that if we’re going to make this work, and I want this to work more than you know, Rachael, then we have to trust each other, maybe open up a bit earlier and sooner than other couples. I want to be there for you in the bad times, too. I can’t bear to think of you crying alone.’
‘I don’t cry alone,’ Rachael said quickly, ignoring his puzzled expression as she continued. ‘I don’t cry at all, in fact, so you don’t have to worry about me.’
‘But you must, after all you’ve been through …’
‘Where would it get me?’
‘So you’ve never cried about Amy?’ His voice was filled with sheer bewilderment.
‘I cried the day she was born,’ Rachael admitted. ‘The same day that she died. And I haven’t shed a tear since.’
‘What about the funeral?’
Rachael closed her eyes, battling with the painful memories of that bleak, dark day. ‘No,’ she admitted.
‘When you left Richard?’
A second’s silence and she briefly shook her head.
‘Do you know why I don’t cry?’ Her voice was rising, her eyes flashing angrily at him for daring to unearth her reluctant secret. ‘Do you really want to know why?’ He nodded calmly, ignoring the anger in her voice, sitting patiently as she struggled to continue. ‘Because I’m scared.’
‘Of what?’
She swallowed and took a deep breath, her eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at Hugh. ‘Because I honestly believe that if I give in, if I start crying, I won’t be able to stop.’ Her eyes found his. ‘It’s as simple as that.’ She took a deep, cleansing breath and forced a rather watery smile. ‘You’d better go. The guests will be waiting.’
‘Let them wait.’ He pulled her towards him, held her stiff and unyielding in her arms as she tried to wriggle away.
‘Don’t, Hugh,’ she pleaded. His touch, his tenderness was the last thing she needed now if she were to stay in control.
‘Rachael, I’m here,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘I’m here for you, and one day, maybe soon, maybe ages away but someday, when you’re ready to let it out, I’ll still be here.’ He stroked her hair, softly, tenderly, and he held her as any man would have held the woman he loved, but for the first time his touch wasn’t sexual, just loving, comforting and infinitely safe. ‘And when you stop crying …’ He felt her stiffen but carried on talking gently. ‘Which I promise that you will, I’ll still be here, and we’ll move on together.’
She let him hold her then, relaxed her body against his, revelling in the warmth of the quiet strength in his body, allowing herself to be comforted. ‘Please,’ she said finally when she could hold out no more, when the tears were only a breath away. ‘Please, Hugh, just go.’
Hugh let her go, reluctantly but without argument.
The offer was on the table—it wasn’t for him to dictate the terms.
Thank heavens for late checkout. For those delicious extra four hours between ten and two when the bed remained unmade where the newspapers Rachael had been languorously reading on Hugh’s return were tossed to the floor as he arrived back from his breakfast meeting, impatient and aroused, his casual attire discarded more easily than the formal wear the previous night. Their love-making was more leisurely this time, deliciously new still but with a heady touch of familiarity as they retraced each other’s erogenous zones.
‘We’re going to be the talk of the street.’ Rachael laughed as they neared her house. Every husband in suburbia seemed to have chosen today to mow his lawn, and a speedy dash up the garden path in her silver frock was going to raise more than a few eyebrows.
‘I’ve got a blanket in the boot,’ Hugh said. ‘I could always put on my white coat and carry you in. They’ll think you had a fall last night or something.’
‘Since when did the healt
h service offer door-to-door service?’
The motor idled as he turned to her. ‘OK, forget the blanket. They’ll think I’m carrying you over the threshold.’
‘How about I hold my head high and just plain walk? I don’t have to explain myself to my neighbours.’ She watched the colour literally drain out of his face, the laughter die on his lips as his knuckles clutched the steering-wheel. With a surge of nervous energy she turned her head to where he was staring.
‘What about Richard?’ His words were like pistol shots. ‘Do you have to explain yourself to him?’
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She didn’t even think Richard knew where she lived, yet there he was, pacing around on the garden path, her garden path. ‘I definitely don’t have to explain myself to him,’ Rachael answered with a steely determination that belied the dive her stomach had taken. Today had been so perfect, too perfect, and now it was payback time. ‘Hugh, I’ve no idea what he’s doing here.’
‘I have.’ His jaw was clenched so tight his mouth barely moved as he spoke. ‘He wants you, Rachael.’
‘He doesn’t.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s over.’
‘Is it?’ The pistol shots were fired again. ‘For a marriage that’s over, he seems to be around one helluva lot.’
‘I haven’t seen him in months,’ she pleaded. ‘Hugh, you have to believe me.’
‘Believe this.’ His voice was ominous and there was no mistaking his jealousy. ‘Get rid of him, Rachael. I can’t do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘This …’ He gestured wildly in the air. ‘I won’t be a fling on the rebound.’
‘But you’re not,’ she replied. ‘You’re overreacting.’
‘The ink on your divorce papers is barely dry, it’s near the anniversary of your daughter’s death and Richard is on your doorstep. I saw the way he looked at you last night, and he wants you.’
‘But I don’t want him.’
The Surgeon’s Gift Page 11