by Annie O'Neil
“What you got here, mate?”
A uniformed doctor appeared by his side, with another doctor running behind with a stretcher.
“Compound tib-fib. Possible comminute fracture—but that’s just from what I can see.”
“Right.” The heli-medics gave him a short nod and turned their focus to the patient. “We’re gonna get you into town, cobber...take a look at that leg. Hope you’re all right with—Whoops! He’s losing consciousness. Let’s get him on the chopper. On three.”
Raphael helped with the transfer and, satisfied the man was in good hands, felt clear to move onto the next patient.
Steadily, swiftly, he worked his way through each of the patients who were unable to leave their vehicles—or hadn’t done so yet.
The generosity of spirit amongst the drivers who were uninjured amazed him. Each time he brought a new patient to the triage area there were more sets of helping hands.
“Easy. You don’t want to put any weight on it if you can help it.” Raphael was helping a teenaged boy hobble towards the lower-grade triage area in the hope of getting some ice.
“Do you think I crushed it? I’ve got a footie match tomorrow. Do you think I’ll be able to play?”
Before Raphael could answer a couple of men ran and scooped the lad into an actual armchair.
“We gotcha, mate.”
They caught the surprise in Raphael’s gaze.
“We’ve got a lorry-load of furniture we were moving to a charity store. Figured it would come in handy for you lot.”
“What else you got in there?” the teen asked. “Is there a couch or a bed? I’m going to need to elevate and ice this baby if I’m going to play tomorrow.”
Raphael couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think you will be playing tomorrow. Even if you ice it.”
He knelt on the ground and lifted the boy’s ankle up onto his knee, noting as he did so the sharp wince the boy tried to hide.
A quick examination and Raphael was close to certain the lad had suffered a pilon fracture. It would compromise his footie career for a while—if not forever—but without an X-ray there was no point in diminishing the boy’s clear fighting spirit.
He rose to his feet as the other “furniture man” appeared with a footstool.
“Here you are, mate. Best we can do. The sofas are going for the ladies.”
Raphael jogged over to the edge of the triage area where people who had portable ice boxes—including several huge ones—had made ice, tea towels—whatever they had to hand—available.
He brought a tea towel full of ice over to the boy.
“Who have we got here?” Maggie appeared from behind the chair with a notebook and pen in her hands.
“Charlie Broughton.”
Raphael grinned as he watched the boy turn into a young man before his eyes, ratcheting up his flirt factor. Gone were the winces and groans of pain, and in their place was a broad smile and an extended hand.
“And you are...?”
Maggie gave him a quick smirk. “The woman who’s going to get you a lift into the city. What do we have here? Sprain?”
Raphael shook his head. “He will need X-rays, definitely, but his injury is not critical.”
“What? Mate...” Charlie looked at him, aghast. “The footie team is going to be absolutely furious if I’m not on the field—”
“The footie team is going to have to learn to do without you for a match,” Maggie cut in as she leaned over and took a peek beneath Charlie’s icepack. “Even if it is a sprain, there’s no chance you’re playing tomorrow.”
“Well...” Charlie managed to make the word sound flirtatious. “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a wink and another smile.
Maggie laughed good-naturedly and started taking his details.
Raphael took a moment to grab some water and take in the scene.
People were handing round water and food. Their own small but increasingly useful first aid kits. A young girl had even “adopted” Monster to make sure he didn’t overheat in the vehicle.
With rapidly dwindling resources, Raphael was being forced to rely on the spirit that had compelled him to choose medicine in the first place. Compassion. Skill. Dedication to helping people through their most vulnerable moments.
He felt like a doctor again.
And there was one person he had to thank for that.
A freckle-faced, green-eyed, redhead whose attention was now solidly with the newly arrived air ambulance teams and helicopter crews from Sydney.
She was pointing out the triage areas, handing across her notes as well as giving verbal hand-overs for each and every patient and details of the medicine they’d been given. Florence Nightingale had nothing on his girl.
His girl?
Mid-flow, Maggie looked across the crowds of people gathered on the roadside, met his gaze solidly...and smiled.
* * *
“Here.” Raphael held out a cold bottle of water to Maggie as they walked back to her car. “I hope you have been taking your own words of wisdom to heart and staying hydrated.”
“Oh, brilliant. And cold!” She pressed the bottle to her throat and gave a sigh of relief. “I always forget how much hotter it is out past the Blues.”
She shifted the bottle to one sunburnt cheek and then the other, only to realize Raphael had been watching her the entire time. She swigged down a few grateful gulps. When she lowered the bottle from her lips there was something in his gaze she hadn’t seen before.
Curiosity.
And not a brother-sister, friend-friend curiosity either.
A rush of goose pimples rippled across her entire body.
“That was pretty intense. Are you all right after all that?” Though it was a dodge away from what she was really thinking, the question had been playing in the back of her mind all day. She might as well use it as a cover for the fact that all she wanted to do was jump the man and snog him senseless.
He nodded with an assurance that put her at ease. She’d seen a change in him today. Glimpses of the “old” Raphael. Assured, confident. And more than that. There had been genuine compassion in the care he’d provided for those people today. Not that frightening hollow look in his eyes.
Today he had been present. Today he had been the man she’d always imagined he would become.
She balanced the water bottle on the car bonnet and rubbed her hands along her arms. “Whoo! You’d think I had a bit of heatstroke from my body’s reaction to that water.”
She tried to laugh, but when her eyes caught with Raphael’s again it died in her throat.
“Do you think you might? You were pushing it today.”
Raphael took a step towards her that caught her by surprise. So much so that she stumble-stepped backwards, only to bump into the car.
“Do you feel dizzy?”
Again, Raphael closed the distance between them, his eyes searching hers for answers. Or for dilated pupils. Which he would definitely see. And that wasn’t just because the sun was beginning to set behind him.
“Maggie,” he persisted, “are you feeling unwell?”
Dizzy. Weak-kneed. And a bit dreamy-eyed.
“No.” She tried to shake her head, but couldn’t.
Raphael reached up and cupped her face between his hands, searching her features for symptoms. She knew he’d feel heat in her cheeks. An acceleration in her heart-rate. Her breath had become shallow, her lungs impossible to fill, because everything in that instant was... Raphael.
And then he was kissing her. Softly at first. Tentatively. As if asking for permission to continue.
He didn’t need to ask twice.
Her lips parted as his kisses gained confidence. And when she felt the initial sweep of his tongue along her lower lip a soft whimper of pure longing hummed from her chest. As the kisse
s deepened their breath intermingled to exhilarating effect, as if they were at long last joined as one.
One of Raphael’s hands dropped to Maggie’s waist, firmly tugging her closer to him as he wove the fingers of his other hand into the thick fistful of hair at the base of her neck.
For thirteen years she’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him... It was even better than she could ever have imagined.
The kisses...his touch. Everything about him was sensual. Erotic in its simplicity of purpose. The culmination of a day’s intense work was pared down to these perfectly intoxicating expressions of desire and pent-up longing.
At last she knew in her heart that he felt it too.
The kisses came in so many variations it was impossible to keep track. Some were so passionate she thought her heart wouldn’t be able to keep up and others were so exquisitely tender she could hardly breathe.
The world had long since blurred around them, but traffic was beginning to make its way away from the crash site.
Snail’s pace? Lightning speed?
She didn’t have a clue. All that mattered was Raphael. The sweet taste of his lips. The tang of salt on his skin. The rough bristles of growth upon his cheeks shifting past her fingertips as she swept her hands into a loose cinch behind his neck.
She was half tempted to sling a leg up onto one of his hips when a sharp wolf whistle broke through the thick heat of the afternoon air.
They pulled apart, surprised to find themselves the object of an entire fire crew’s attention. More wolf whistles began to ring out from passing cars, along with cheers and cries of, “Good on ya, mate!” and “Nice one, cobber!”
Maggie didn’t know whether to shrivel up and die of embarrassment or laugh and scream, Finally!
Feigning a demureness she knew she didn’t possess, she sought her cue from Raphael.
But instead of withdrawing in horror, Raphael rested his hands on Maggie’s hips—protectively, almost—and smiled, tipping his chin toward the firemen and drivers before returning his gaze to her. And that bright twinkle in his blue eyes was alight for the first time in... It had been a while. And a long time coming.
“Do you mind? The attention?” he asked, his gentle accent adding an extra level of sensuality to the question.
She shook her head—no. It was a lot better than being the center of attention because she was the only one who knew how to get grease stains out of work overalls. Better by a mile.
She squinted at the setting sun, the brilliant wash of colour doing its magic behind him. Though she would have happily stayed on the roadside, woven into Raphael’s arms, absorbing the full impact of just how incredible it was—how incredible he was—practical Maggie kicked into gear.
“We’d probably better hit the road. We’re going to be driving all night from the looks of things.”
“It’s too far, Maggie. Especially having worked flat-out today. Non. Is there not a town nearby where we can stay?”
“What? You mean like in a motel or something?”
OMG! One room or two? One room or two?
Raphael pulled back and examined her, his fingers hooked on her hips with a sense of familiarity that unleashed another thrill of expectation in her heart.
One room. Definitely one room.
That was what his eyes were saying...what his hands were saying. The lips just about to meet hers—
“Maggie!” The police officer who had been coordinating the accident scene—Scott Roland—was jogging towards them, waving something vaguely familiar-looking in his hand. “Don’t forget your knickers!”
Flames of embarrassment streaked across Maggie’s cheeks.
Why, why, why had she used her superhero panties as triage color tags?
Scott slowed to a halt in front of them, eyeing the pair of them with a smirk. “I’m not interrupting anything private, am I?”
“Hardly!”
Maggie scooted out of Raphael’s loose hold on her hips and reached out to grab her knickers.
“Not so fast, little lady.” Scott’s features broadened into an ear-to-ear grin. “I think the press might be interested in hearing about the real-life superhero of today’s accident.”
“I don’t think so. You’re the real hero and no one’s interested in your undershorts!” Maggie ground out, trying again—unsuccessfully—to nab the brightly colored bits of cotton that no one was meant to know about apart from her.
So what if she wore superhero knickers to give herself a little private motivation as she worked her way through the inevitable piles of debris and gunk that had built up at the Louis household in her absence? Her secret little charwoman’s outfit. Fit for no eyes other than her own!
“Let’s see...” Scott was relishing her discomfort. “What do we have here...?”
From perfect moment to perfectly mortifying...
This was the cringe-worthy material nightmares were made of.
If she could just grab them before Raphael—
“I particularly like these ones, Maggie,” Scott said, holding up her favorite pair—the Wonder Woman knickers—for one and all to see.
“Stop it!”
“What? Or what about these? Don’t you want the world to know you’ve got Cat Woman panties? I wouldn’t mind a glimpse of you in these, if you don’t mind me saying.”
He put his fingers at either end of the black knickers with sassy cat’s eyes on them—one for each buttock—and tipped them back and forth like a cat about to pounce.
“I do.”
Raphael reached out, took the knickers, handed them back to Maggie and then pulled her close to him, snugly wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
If swooning was still a thing she would be doing it. And then crawling beneath her car and crying fat, hot tears that said, Why, oh, why can’t I be the cool one? Just once!
“I’m guessing these are Bat Girl?” Scott pulled one final pair out of his back pocket.
Raphael held out his hand for the panties and made a put ’em here gesture as Scott held them out: black, with a bright gold bat embossed on the behind.
Unfazed, Scott gave him a wink. “I suppose you’ve got the matching Superman boxers, then, big boy?”
Raphael tipped his hand back and forth in a move that said, Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Superheroes don’t tell.
If Maggie hadn’t thought she was in love before, her affections were cast in stone now.
* * *
“Right!” Maggie pulled the car into a huge dusty rectangle that served as a car park. “This is us, I guess.”
Her state of mind was the same as Raphael’s: one part Why are we still wearing clothes? to one part Are we really ready for the next step?
The hour-long ride to the motel had seen the sun set and their expectations of what was to come rise.
Now that they were here...
In unison, they looked up at the large neon sign blinking in front of them. With its blood-red lettering and handful of blown-out letters, the level of invitation to come on in and stay the night was questionable.
Big Pe e’s Road use & ottleshop
Monster made a noise expressing his doubts from the back seat.
“Do you think they have room service?” Raphael asked.
Maggie laughed, then echoed Raphael’s dry tone. “If you’re after a hunk of cheese stuck between two bits of bread and an ice-cold stubbie I think you might be all right.”
“That’s more than I grew up with most days.” He shrugged nonchalantly, before remembering Maggie still didn’t know that side of his upbringing.
She squinted at him, hands still braced on the steering wheel as if she hadn’t entirely decided whether or not she was going to let go. “What are you talking about? Compared to me, you had a lovely upbringing.”
Something instinctive and fier
ce rose up in Raphael. From what he could remember, her upbringing had been similar to Jean-Luc’s. “What do you mean, compared to you?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “No, no... Nothing bad. Just...no fancy Parisian neighborhood with all the trimmings.” She tipped her head toward the back seat. “Shall we give Monster a bit of a stroll?”
Raphael agreed, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs and enjoy the cooler night air.
After a few moments of strolling around Raphael tried again, adding as much of a light-hearted tone to his voice as he could. “What was so bad about your upbringing? If I should have brought my sword to your home, you could have warned me.”
Maggie laughed and shook her head. “Honestly, it was nothing like that. My family are goofballs, but they’re all very loving. It was more...what the town wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
She huffed out a laugh. “Suffice it to say Broken Hill doesn’t really throw a patch on Paris. Trust me. You’re in for a bit of a shocker tomorrow.”
He sucked in a breath. Was she ready for the real Raphael? Warts and all?
He reached across to her and took one of her hands in his, tracing along the lines written into her palm. Before things went any further—and he knew in his heart he wanted them to progress—he owed her this much.
“If you think back,” he began softly, his eyes trained on hers, “you never actually came to my house.”
Maggie’s lips parted in protest, but just as quickly she screwed them into a little moue and thought. “It never really occurred to me...”
Her fingers covered her mouth and she drummed them along her lips for a minute—lips he would do anything to be kissing again.
“We did everything at the Couttard’s or around Paris, didn’t we?”
He nodded.
“Why was that?” She looked utterly baffled.
“My parents were both...how do you say?...fond of a drink. Or eleven. Do you understand?”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “It’s not strictly a saying, but I get your drift.”