The Australian's Proposal (Mills & Boon By Request): The Doctor's Marriage Wish / The Playboy Doctor's Proposal / The Nurse He's Been Waiting For

by Meredith Webber

  He’d never looked at Grace’s ears before, he realised as he reached over and used his forefinger to lift the ribbon from the ear then tease it gently out of her sodden hair. He had, of course, intended giving it back to her, but when she eyed the tatty wet object and muttered, ‘What a fun way to end a wedding,’ he decided she didn’t want it, so he dropped it into his shirt pocket, did up the button and patted it into place.

  He wasn’t going to accept Grace’s ‘frozen robot’ description, but he couldn’t deny anger had been churning around inside him for the last few hours. Why was he so cranky?

  Because he was worried, sure, but if he was honest with himself it was more than that. He could only suppose it was because Grace had added to his worries. From the moment she’d appeared at the accident site, he’d felt a new anxiety gnawing at his gut, and every time he saw her, each time wetter and paler than the time before, anxiety had taken another vicious bite.

  That it was related to the kiss and the new attraction he felt towards her he had no doubt, but on a treacherous mountain road as a cyclone roared towards them and trees came crashing down, this was neither the time nor the place for introspection.

  Or distraction.

  Although maybe if he kissed her again, it would sort itself out. He could spend the waiting time kissing her, which would also make talking impossible. His body liked the idea, but his head knew that was the worst possible way to pass the time.

  However appealing it might seem.

  ‘You didn’t answer about the kiss.’

  Her statement startled him. There she was, still staring at the tree, yet picking up on some vibe he didn’t know he was giving out.

  But this was Grace—she deserved an honest answer.

  ‘It was physical attraction, Grace,’ he began, and waited to see if she’d turn towards him. Perhaps speak and save him the necessity of saying more.

  She didn’t, although she did glance his way momentarily.

  ‘Strong physical attraction—we both felt it—but physical, that’s all.’

  Another glance, then all he got was her profile, although he fancied now she might be frowning, so he waited some more.

  ‘And that’s bad?’ she finally queried.

  ‘I believe it is. Well, not necessarily bad in a right and wrong sense, but dangerous, Grace. Misleading. Troublesome.’ There, it had been said. Now they could get back to being friends.

  Or as close to friends as they’d be able to get after his comments earlier.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GRACE stared out through the windscreen at the fallen tree as she ran the explanation through her head, suspecting it might be Harry’s way of saying that physical attraction was all he could feel for a woman these days. Putting it like that was less blunt that telling her he was still in love with his dead wife and always would be.

  And although she’d always kind of suspected this, the confirmation of the idea caused Grace pain—physical pain, like a cramp around her heart.

  The hateful, hurtful words, you’re not my wife, took on a whole new meaning.

  Perhaps she was wrong, and he wasn’t saying that at all. One last gulp of hope remained in the balloon. Forgetting she was supposed to be distancing herself, she turned back towards him, determined to sort this out once and for all.

  ‘Why is it dangerous? Misleading?’

  Harry was staring at her, frowning slightly as if he wasn’t certain who she was, and showed no sign of understanding her questions, let alone answering them.

  ‘You must have a reason for believing it’s bad,’ she persisted.

  Harry, who’d been thinking how pretty her eyes were and wondering why he’d never considered Grace’s eyes before any more than he’d considered her ears, shrugged off the remark, although he suspected she wasn’t going to let this go. But how could he explain the still bruised part of his heart that was Nikki? Explain the magnitude of their mistake?

  ‘We should start walking.’

  ‘No way!’ She nodded towards the radio which had just advised them the car was forty-five minutes away. ‘Even if it takes us half an hour to get over or around the tree, we’d still be waiting in the rain for fifteen minutes, and that’s if the road’s not blocked further down.’

  He nodded, conceding her point, but said nothing, pretending fascination with the babble on the radio—trying to forget where physical attraction had led once before and trying to block out the insidious desire creeping through his body every time he looked at Grace.

  He patted his pocket.

  One more kiss won’t hurt, his physical self tempted, but a glance at Grace, wet curls plastered to a face that was pinched with tiredness, told him that it would hurt.

  If not him, then definitely her.

  And he hated the idea of hurting Grace any more than he had already.

  Hated it!

  Another glance her way told him she was still waiting for an answer.

  Would wait all night …

  ‘It confuses things,’ he said. ‘I mean, look at us, good friends, and suddenly we’re all hung up over a kiss.’

  ‘We weren’t exactly good friends when it happened,’ she reminded him. ‘And I’m not hung up over it.’

  ‘Maybe not, but you’re only pushing this kiss business because you don’t want to talk about why you were so uptight at the wedding.’ Good thinking, Harry, turn defence into attack. ‘That, if you remember, Grace, was where this conversation started. With the fact that we don’t really talk to each other. And now I know about your father, I would think you’d be as wary of physical attraction as I am. Or did he fall madly and totally in love with all four of his wives?’

  It was a low blow, and he sensed she’d cringed a little from it, making him feel a bastard for hurting her. But it would be better this way—with the kiss passed off as the aberration he was sure it was and the two of them getting on with the friendship they’d always shared.

  Not totally convinced by this seemingly sensible plan, he checked the weather, acknowledged an ETA call from the car coming to collect them, waited until the wail of the three hourly cyclone warning coming from the radio stopped, then pushed his companion a little further.

  ‘Do you know what I know about you, Grace? Really know about you?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer, but held up two fingers. ‘Two personal things—that’s all. You hate being called Gracie, and you think you’re too short.’

  ‘I think I’m too short?’ Grace repeated, confused by that accusation and disturbed by the ‘Gracie’ echo of her own thoughts earlier. ‘What makes you think I think I’m too short?’

  He had the hide to smile at her! Smug smile of a man who thought he’d scored a point.

  ‘Because of the way you throw yourself into things—especially the SES. You told me you joined the equivalent operation down there in Victoria the moment you were old enough—why? I bet it was because people had always seen you as small and cuddly and cute but in need of protection, and you had to prove to them and to yourself that you could hold your own both with bigger, taller women and with men. I see it every time we’re on calls together and even when we’re doing exercises—you have to go first and go highest, or deepest, or whatever. You’re proving you’re not only equal to other team members but better than most of them.’

  ‘And you think that’s because I’m short?’ Grace demanded, hoping she sounded incredulous, not upset because he’d read her so well—although she’d got past proving her stuff a long time ago.

  ‘I know it was, but now it’s probably because you are the best—or one of the best—that you do the things you do.’

  Conceding her point was definitely a low blow but, unable to refute this statement, she went back to the original bit of the ‘short’ conversation.

  ‘You can add a third thing to what you know of me—I hate being thought cute!’

  Harry smiled again, causing chaos in Grace’s body—palpitations, tingling nerves, butterflies swarming in her stomach
. Not good things to feel towards a man who’d more or less admitted he’d never love again. Not good things to feel when she was in her getting-over-him phase.

  ‘You’re especially cute when you’re angry,’ he teased, sounding like her friend Harry once again, although the palpitations persisted, accompanied by a twinge of sadness for what couldn’t be.

  Attack—that would be a good distraction for both her heart and her head.

  ‘Well, I don’t know how you can talk about always going highest or deepest—at least I don’t take risks,’ she told him. ‘You’re the one who plunges into situations the rest of us feel are too dangerous.’

  ‘I’m not a volunteer like you guys. It’s my job.’

  No smile, and he’d turned away so all she could see was his profile. Hard to read, Harry’s profile, although it was very nice to look at. Very well defined with its straight nose and black brow shadowing a deep-set eye. High cheekbones with shadows underneath, and lips—

  She had to stop this! She had to push her feelings for Harry back where they belonged—deeply hidden in her heart.

  For the moment.

  Just till she got rid of them altogether.

  Returning to the attack might help …

  ‘Oh, yes? Like every policeman in Australia would have gone down in those shark-infested waters, with a storm raging, to rescue that diver?’

  ‘Every policeman who can swim,’ he said, smiling to lessen the lie in the ridiculous statement.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Grace dismissed both smile and lie with a wave of her hand. ‘If your guess—and I’m not admitting it’s right, Harry—is that I went into the SES because I was short, then my guess is you do all this dangerous stuff because you don’t give a damn about what happens to you. That’s understandable to a certain extent, given the loss of your wife. Taking risks might have helped dull the pain at first but now it’s become a habit.’

  Sheesh! Was she really doing this? Talking to Harry about his wife, and his attraction to danger? The very subject he’d warned her off last night?

  And how was he reacting now?

  He’d turned away, the profile gone, and all she had was a good view of slightly over-long hair.

  Silky hair—she’d felt it when her fingers had somehow made their way to the back of his head as they’d kissed.

  Her fingers were remembering the slide of his hair against her skin when he turned back to face her.

  Half smiling …

  ‘I asked for that,’ he said quietly, reaching out and touching her face, perhaps pushing a wet curl off her forehead. ‘Saying that we never talked.’

  Then he leaned towards her and very gently pressed a kiss against her lips.

  ‘Time to move, my tall, brave SES friend. Where’s your hard hat?’

  The tender kiss and Harry’s softly teasing voice caught at Grace’s heart and made her vision blur for an instant. But Harry was right—they had to move, and she had to get her mind off kisses and tenderness and concentrate on getting around the tree.

  She felt around her feet for the hard hat then remembered she’d given it to the volunteer who’d climbed into the bus to tend that final passenger while others had cut her free. The helmet had a lamp on it that meant he’d been able to see what he’d been doing.

  She explained this to Harry who made a huffing noise as if such an action had been stupid.

  ‘Not that it matters now,’ she told him. ‘They never do much to keep off the rain.’

  But Harry had other ideas, reaching behind him for the wide-brimmed felt hat issued to all police officers up here in the tropics and plonking it down on her head.

  ‘There, it suits you,’ he said, and she had to smile.

  ‘Because it’s so big it covers all my face?’

  The hat had dropped to eyebrow level, but she could still see Harry’s face, and caught the frown that replaced the smile he’d offered with the hat.

  ‘That’s another thing I know about you,’ he said crossly. ‘You’re always putting yourself down. Not like some women do when they’re looking for compliments, but it’s as if you genuinely believe you’re not smart, and pretty, and …’

  Grace had her hand on the catch of the door, ready to open it and brave the wild weather outside, but Harry’s pronouncement stopped her.

  ‘And?’ she asked, half wanting to know, half uncertain.

  ‘And tonight in that blue thing you looked beautiful,’ he said. ‘Bloody beautiful!’

  He was out the door before Grace could react. Actually, if he hadn’t opened her door for her he could have been halfway to Crocodile Creek before she reacted, so lost was she in a warm little cloud of happiness.

  Harry thought she’d looked beautiful …

  Bloody beautiful …

  Harry shut the car door, took Grace’s hand and drew her close to his body. Since Grace had forced him to think about it, he’d realised his problem was physical attraction mixed with angry concern. The combination was so unsettling it was muddling both his mind and his body at a time when his brain needed to be crystal clear and all his senses needed to be on full alert.

  On top of that, his inability to do anything about their current precarious situation—to protect Grace from this fury Nature was flinging at them—had his jaw clenched and his muscles knotted in frustration.

  And his leg hurt …

  He tried to tuck Grace closer as they followed the beam of light from his torch, clambering over the lesser boughs and branches, heads bent against the wind and rain. She was so slight—had she lost weight lately and he hadn’t noticed?—she could blow away.

  He gripped her more tightly.

  ‘Harry!’

  Had she said his name earlier that this time she pressed her lips against his ear and yelled it?

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think that way’s clearer,’ she yelled, pointing towards the base of the tree. ‘There’s a branch there we can use to climb onto the trunk, and even if we have to jump off the other side, it might be better than scrambling through the tangle of branches up this way.’

  She was right and he should have worked it out himself, but the mess on the road was nothing to the mess in his head. He had to get past it—to rid his mind of all extraneous thoughts. Tonight, more than ever before, he’d need to be clear-headed in order to protect the people of his town.

  She’d moved away though still held his hand, leading him in the direction she’d indicated, picking her way over the fallen branches. A sudden whistling noise made him look up and he dived forward, seizing Grace in a flying tackle, landing with her against the protective bulk of the huge treetrunk.

  The branch that had whistled its warning crashed to the ground in front of them.

  ‘This is ridiculous. I want you to go back and wait in the car,’ he said, holding her—too tightly—in his arms, desperate to keep her safe.

  ‘Are you going back to sit in the car?’ she asked, snuggling up against his chest, which didn’t help the mess in his head.

  ‘Of course not. There’s a cyclone coming. I have to get back to town.’

  She reached up and patted his cheek.

  ‘So do I,’ she said softly. ‘So maybe we’d better get moving again.’

  ‘No thank-you kiss for saving your life?’

  Oh, no! Had he really said that? What was wrong with him? The very last thing he needed to be doing was kissing Grace.

  ‘I think kissing has caused enough problems tonight, don’t you?’ she replied, but the hand that was resting on his cheek moved and one fingertip traced the outline of his lips, reminding him of the heat the kiss had generated earlier—stirring the glowing coals of it back to life.

  He stood up, still holding her, controlling breathing that was suddenly erratic, while looking around for any new source of danger. But though the wind still blew, it seemed relatively safe.

  ‘I’m going to boost you up onto the trunk. Get over the top and into the shelter of it on the other side as quickly as yo
u can.’

  He lifted her—so light—and set her on the trunk, then heaved himself up, his leg objecting yet again to the rough treatment it was getting. Then he followed her as she dropped swiftly down to road level again. There were fewer branches to trip or slow them down on this side, so he took her hand again and hurried her along the road, sure the car would meet them before long, although driving through the storm had its own problems.

  ‘Lights!’

  Grace pointed as she yelled the word at Harry. Even if he didn’t hear her, he’d surely see the lights. She couldn’t wait to get to the car, not because the wind and rain and flying leaves and branches bothered her unduly but to get away from Harry—out of touching distance, where it was impossible to make sense of all that had happened during the course of this weird evening.

  The thought that Harry might be physically attracted to her had filled her with joy, but his evident distrust of such attraction could only mean he still had feelings for his wife. In his mind, physical attraction to another woman must seem like betrayal—a form of infidelity—although Nikki had been dead for nearly three years.

  Then there was the question of whether they were still friends.

  And her determination to move on from Harry—now made harder than ever because of the kiss.

  Grace sighed. If she wanted a husband and family, she had to move on. She may have looked beautiful in her blue dress earlier today, but what chance did she have against the memory of a woman who’d not only been tall and slim and elegant, but a former local beauty queen—the Millennium Miss Caneland—and a popular television personality?

  Even when she was dying, Nikki Blake had been beautiful. Grace had seen enough photos of her to know that much.

  And nice with it, according to the staff who’d nursed her.

  Grace sighed again.

  ‘Not right. The lights aren’t getting closer.’

  She caught the end of Harry’s sentence and peered ahead through the worsening deluge. Not only weren’t the lights moving, but they appeared to be pointing upwards.