by Anne Fraser
White lights showered in his head, and with a moan he greedily returned the kiss, taking what she offered and seeking even more.
Wet arms snaked around his neck, fingers gripped his hair and her taste exploded in his mouth as wild as the honey they’d supped on earlier. He’d never experienced a kiss like it. Frank and unabashed lust danced with a poignant tenderness. With each and every wondrous exploration her mouth managed to give and take simultaneously, threatening to shatter the wall he’d so carefully constructed around his heart.
Mia suddenly found the thin barrier of wet clothing between them more than she could bear. She wanted to feel Flynn’s skin against hers but she couldn’t bear for her lips to abandon his so she tried to push his T-shirt up his back. But the wet fabric stuck like a second skin.
Her need to be closer to him overrode her need to stay connected to the kiss and she pulled back. ‘Wet clothes suck.’
His laugh sent trails of delight shivering through her, which doubled in intensity as he hauled his T-shirt over his head, exposing a muscular chest and stomach with a smattering of dark hair trailing downwards and disappearing under the waistband of his shorts. She had to force breath into her lungs.
He held out his arms to her. ‘Is this better?’
Better? He was a gift. Her gift. ‘Almost.’ Her gaze fell to his waist. ‘But you’re not completely unwrapped.’
‘I will be in a moment.’ He bent down to shuck his shorts.
She wanted to touch him, taste him and hold him against her, but she had to get her own clothes off first. Her fingers fumbled and her arms got tangled in cloying, wet cotton as she tried to drag her shirt over her head. Need duelled with frustration. The shirt finally came free and she managed to kick off her shorts. She tossed the soggy garments onto the bank next to Flynn’s clothes and then reached down to unclasp her bra.
His hand covered hers, stalling her intent. ‘I want to do that.’
She stared up into eyes as dark as polished jarrah. ‘Really?’
He nodded almost hypnotically. ‘Really.’
With a slow and deliberate touch he trailed the fingers of his free hand down along the ruched strap of her bra, across the lacy edges and down into the cleft between her breasts.
Her breasts strained against the soft fabric as each light caress fired off a volley of sensation, both delicious and tormenting at the same time.
His fingers undid the clasp with ease and with an almost reverent touch his hands cupped her breasts, supporting their tingling and aching weight.
‘You’re beautiful.’ His thumb brushed her nipples.
A moan left her lips as her head fell back, her body quivering but demanding more.
With his hand on one breast, his mouth closed over the other, his heat roared through her like a fireball, torching every part of her and branding her as his.
Her legs buckled.
He pulled her against him and she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling his desire for her hard and firm against her thigh. The wonder that she could arouse him showered over her, giving her a taste of power, and deep inside her a pulse throbbed.
She gave herself up to every glorious sensation, letting them rule her body and her mind, letting them drive out every fear and dread for the future, and letting them take her out of her normal world into a realm she couldn’t have imagined existed.
The only thing that existed was his touch on her and selfishly she took it all.
He raised his head.
Don’t stop, please, don’t stop. Through the haze of desire she managed to focus on him. His eyes burned brightly with a fundamental craving. A craving for her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned forward, kissing him, seeking his essence and giving her own.
His palms gripped her buttocks, holding her close, and his chest shuddered against hers, his groan vibrating in her mouth. Then one hand slid between her thighs and his thumb caressed her.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
She shattered in a moment, crying out as sensation ripped through her—giving, taking, changing. Creating a kernel of hope.
She sank against him, her head resting on his neck, embarrassment staining her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry. Who knew I was this easy?’
‘Shh.’ He stroked her head, his voice soft. ‘I wanted to give that to you. I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be glad.’
Her heart soared in awe. She’d never had such a considerate lover.
He carried her through the water until his back was resting against the mossy bank. Holding her with one arm, he reached for his shorts.
She looked up over his shoulder. ‘You came prepared?’
He grinned. ‘One of us had to have a plan.’ His fingers reached into his pocket.
She couldn’t stop the wide smile breaking across her face. He’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him. ‘Good thinking. But I think it’s my turn to give you something.’ She plucked the small blue packet out of his hand.
‘Hey!’ He reached for it, his free hand wrapping around her wrist.
She quickly switched hands, knowing his other arm held her. ‘I promise I’ll be very thorough.’
He growled deep in his throat. ‘That’s what I’m worried about.’ He suddenly let her go, grabbing the condom as she fell back, laughing.
The water slid over her as joy surged through her. She surfaced, still laughing. Flynn stood before her, tall and proud like a warrior ready for battle. Her laughter died in her throat as heady need exploded and muscles twitched, aching to be filled.
He hauled her against him, his breathing ragged, his eyes almost black with longing. Strong arms lifted her and she lowered herself onto him, taking him deeply with a hungry intensity that screamed to be sated.
‘Flynn.’ His name came out as a wail of longing.
It was all he needed.
He moved against her, filling her with heat, power and something undefinable. Something she didn’t know she’d been missing.
On a maelstrom of sensation they climbed toward ecstasy, reaching it at the same moment in a blaze of lights that cascaded over them, sending them soaring beyond themselves, tempting them never to return.
The moon rose from behind a cloud, its bright white beams lighting the sky in a fair imitation of dawn. The frogs sang, the magpie geese honked and the fire crackled and hissed as Flynn sat with his back supported by a fallen tree. Mia rested between his legs; her back snuggled up against his chest and an unfamiliar feeling of contentment wove through him.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him, her eyes a smoky blue. ‘I had no idea the bush was so noisy.’
He dropped a kiss onto her hair. ‘Between the bright moon and those geese, I doubt we’ll get much sleep tonight.’
She turned in his arms, her brows raised and her lips twitching with a smile. ‘You were planning on sleeping, were you? I thought you might have had other plans.’
A swoop of desire meshed with laughter. ‘You’re going to wear me out.’
He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He held an incredibly desirable woman in his arms, a woman who had made love to him with almost frenetic abandon in the waterhole and then gloriously slowly on the mossy bank, and she didn’t want anything from him.
Something’s not right.
He kicked the wayward thought straight out of his head, hard and fast, replacing it with the memory of how they’d lain together on a carpet of moss, exploring each other until the sinking sun and mosquitoes had forced them to retreat and make camp.
Her lips brushed his in a kiss devoid of heat but full of affection. ‘I might need some food before I wear you out again. Do you think our seafood feast is ready?’
‘It should be. The whelks have cooled and I’ll check the barramundi.’ He stood up, and hauled Mia to her feet. ‘You get the plates.’
‘Plastic or paper bark?’
‘That’s up to you. Paperbark plates just go
into the fire at the end of the meal.’
She grinned. ‘No washing-up suits me.’ She flicked on her LED headlamp and walked over to a melaleuca tree to strip off some bark.
He unwrapped the fish and with a fork checked the flesh, which separated easily. He called to Mia, who was walking back toward him. ‘Can you grab the sparkling grape juice and the salad out of the cooler?’
‘Sure. How’s my damper?’
‘It’s cooked and demanding lashings of butter.’
Five minutes later, with their paperbark plates filled with food, Flynn pulled a cooked whelk out of its shell and dangled it in front of Mia’s mouth. ‘Open wide.’
She pulled back slightly, a horrified look streaking across her face. ‘It’s bright blue.’
He loved teasing her. ‘Yes, but at least it isn’t moving, like the green ants.’
‘True.’ She sounded sceptical. ‘What about I try a mussel first?’
He tucked a few stray stands of hair behind her ear. ‘You’re stalling.’
Indignation flared in her eyes and then laughter followed. ‘You know me too well.’
‘Hmm.’ He smiled but her words snagged him. He really didn’t know her very well at all because she played her cards so close to her chest.
‘OK, here goes.’ She leaned forward.
He dropped the snail into her open mouth and watched.
Her jaw moved up and down and then she swallowed. ‘It’s kind of like a leathery oyster but if I had my choice I prefer the barramundi.’ She sipped her drink. ‘I’ve always enjoyed fish. Dad used to take Michael and me fishing in a tinny and we’d catch flathead.’
Flynn took the mention of her brother as an invitation to find out more. ‘Were you and you brother close?’
‘We were close in age.’ She broke open the damper, and steam rose into the night air. She sighed. ‘I didn’t see very much of him in the last couple of years after he moved to Melbourne.’
‘Work?’ Flynn ate a whelk himself, enjoying the strong flavour.
Mia busied herself with buttering the damper. ‘Michael had been struggling for a while. He took a job in Melbourne to get away, to make a complete change.’
He wondered at her hesitation in answering. Why did she find it so very hard to talk about her family? ‘Did the move help him?’
She raised her eyes to his, the moonlight reflecting her sadness. ‘His death is listed as a car accident, which it was, but he was the sole occupant of the car. It ran off a straight stretch of road at four in the morning, hitting a tree.’
Code for suicide. As a doctor, Flynn knew that many single-vehicle accidents masked men who in the darkest hour of their depression decided to take their own lives. He put down his plate and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Hell, Mia. I’m sorry.’
She shuddered against him. ‘I should have done more, I should have gone over to visit him but I was—’ Her voice stopped abruptly.
He stroked her hair, trying to soothe. ‘You were taking care of your elderly mother.’
Her head shot up off his shoulder as if she’d been struck. She stared at him, her face pale and her expression shocked. ‘How did you know that?’
Her accusatory tone surprised him. ‘It’s not that hard to work out, Mia. You’re a nurse, a caring person, and your mum was unwell, so all the pieces of that story go together and lead to that conclusion.’ He kissed her cheek, wondering at her reaction. ‘It’s not a state secret, is it?’
She dropped her gaze and sat back. ‘No, sorry, of course it isn’t.’ She scooped up her plate and picked up a chunk of fish. ‘Talking of state secrets, I’ve wanted to know for ages, why do they call you turtle man?’
He knew she’d just deliberately changed the subject and he shouldn’t let her, but he didn’t want to push and ruin a perfect day and soon-to-be perfect night. He rested his hand on the back of her neck. ‘You realise, if I tell you, I might have to kill you or at the very least extract some sort of payment.’
‘I’m willing to take the risk.’
Her husky laugh raced through him like Kirra wildfires. ‘I see you’re the type of woman who likes to live on the edge.’
Her laughter, so freely given, faded quickly and she turned to take a drink, but not before he’d caught a glimpse of stark resignation in her eyes. She turned back and smiled almost too brightly. ‘Right now I’m living for the moment.’ She suddenly lunged at him, her hands finding his ribs and meting out a severe tickling.
Any disquiet he had about her was lost in a sea of mirth and aching ribs. He finally wrapped his arms around her and caught his breath, breathing in the minute traces of her perfume that had somehow withstood the combination of water and mud.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. ‘As a kid, one of my strongest memories of my time on Kirra was coming to North Point. I’d lie in the dunes and watch the turtles lumber up from the sea, digging their nesting holes in the sand and laying their eggs. It was the most awesome sight.’
He chuckled as the memories came back. ‘I used to try and convince the Kirra kids that they shouldn’t eat the eggs and they used to look at me as if I was stark, raving mad. When I came back to Kirra as an adult, one of the first things I did was help get a wildlife programme off the ground that tracks the Olive Ridley turtles.’
She trailed her fingers along the back of his hand, sending his blood pounding.
‘And they gave you the name of turtle man.’
‘That’s right.’
She snuggled closer to him, and shot him a cheeky look. ‘So you’re telling me I can’t serve turtle eggs to Susie and the crew tomorrow night even though that is the one thing I can find without too much trouble?’
He wound a strand of her hair around his finger, rising to her seductive teasing with a bit of his own. ‘Well, you could but there are saltwater crocodiles in the ocean and they’re quite happy to charge up the beach to take a pretty RAN.’
Her squeal of horror filled him with delight.
She turned, resting on her knees and wrapping her arms around his neck. ‘How about tomorrow you shoot me a goose? By the sounds of all the honking there’s a huge flock down on the billabong. I’ll cook it with melaleuca leaves, which will give it a lemon flavour.’
‘Great idea.’ He rested his forehead on hers. ‘I’ve got another great idea.’
‘Have you?’
Her fingers trailed through his hair, coaxing and luring.
‘I have. One that involves a full moon, a fire and a swag.’
Her lips curved upwards in a slow and sultry smile. ‘I like the way you think.’
His banked desire for her flared, reducing all thoughts to ash. But he didn’t need to think with this amazing woman in his arms because he knew exactly what he wanted to do and it started with a kiss.
Mia tied off the rubbish bag and headed outside to dump it in the disposal unit. Thunder rumbled teasingly in the distance as it had done for days, and on the horizon a vivid white scar of lightning jagged across the dusk sky. The dry season was coming to an end and the humidity had reached breaking point, but still the rain hadn’t come. Yet.
She mopped her forehead with a small hand towel that rested on her shoulder for that purpose. The wet air gave no relief to the heat and every day she virtually ‘steamed’. Between the humidity, the sandflies and the skin fungal infections, everyone was itchy and scratchy. No wonder they called this pre-wet the ‘troppo’season. Susie and Jenny had been busy with their ‘strong women’ group and closely monitoring people with depression, making sure they took their medication.
She headed back inside to turn off the lights and head home. Home to Flynn? She glanced at her watch and gave herself a good shake. No expectations, remember. Time meant nothing to Flynn and today he’d been out on the west side of the island. Chances were he’d stay for a campfire meal and some dancing. Besides, her house wasn’t his home, although, for the last few weeks when he’d been in Kirra, he’d been cooking in her kitchen, relaxing
on her couch and sleeping in her bed, his arms wrapped snugly around her.
Since their campout they’d only been apart when he’d been working on the other islands. She smiled at the treasured memory of their wonderful two days in the bush. The love-making had been spectacular but her most treasured times had been spending the day gathering and preparing the meal for Susie and company. They’d talked and laughed and cheerfully argued over the state of the coals and how long it took to cook the magpie goose.
It had been a huge success and Susie had even complimented her on her yams. It had been a consolidation time with the indigenous health workers and now they were a solid team. Right now, life was good.
Life is good because of Flynn.
No. Life was good because she was taking one day at a time and embracing the time she had left before her behaviour became more impulsive, before she struggled for words, before her concentration failed her and she had to give up work and leave Kirra.
Flynn was just for now. Flynn was part of ‘one day at a time’.
She did the final lockdown check and slung her bag over her shoulder.
‘Miss!’
She glanced up to see a young girl running toward her, holding a bundle, and a few steps behind her a man followed, his step brisk, his expression anxious.
Mia hurried over, her brain running through a list of possible medical dramas. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Wide green eyes brimming with tears looked up at her. ‘Can you help?’ The girl shoved the bundle at Mia.
Mia peeled back outer layer of the bundle to find a tiny baby joey nestled inside a pink windcheater. Surprise mingled with awe. ‘Oh. But I’m a nurse, not a vet.’
‘We’re terribly sorry.’ The man spoke. ‘It’s the last hour of our holiday and the plane’s leaving shortly. Megan found the Joey and the store told us there’s no vet on the island so we thought perhaps you could take care of it.’
‘Please.’ Megan put her hands together. ‘I can’t leave until I know he’s going to be all right.’
Mia looked at the young girl’s hopeful expression and her father’s expectant smile. She knew nothing about raising wildlife. The joey wriggled, its brown eyes staring up at her, and something inside her melted. ‘Sure, leave him with me and I’ll do my best.’