‘And then you take it from there?’
He lifted a shoulder in acknowledgement.
Nothing was certain in this life. But if it had been a test as to whether he cared enough about his patients to know their names, he had passed. With flying colours.
She was going home with him. It was inexorable.
‘I’m not one of your conquests.’ The words spilled out before she could stop them. ‘That is, I’m only agreeing to this if you promise me that no one will find out.’
‘Agreeing to this?’ he challenged, his face a picture of innocence.
She sucked in a deep breath and quelled her irritation.
‘You know what I’m saying.’
‘I don’t believe that I do.’ He raised his eyebrows but amusement tugged at that sinful mouth. ‘Elucidate.’
Anouk huffed.
But if she couldn’t even say the word then how was she going to manage to do it?
‘Casual sex,’ she clarified stiffly.
‘Indeed?’ He grinned wolfishly and she felt it like teeth against her soul. ‘Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I seem to recall simply offering you a place to stay since there was nowhere else. I don’t recall sex ever being a detail of the discussion.’
Heat flooded her body.
‘I... You...’ She faltered, hardly able to believe her own faux pas.
What was it about Sol that had her acting so out of character? So recklessly? First at the gala, and now this. Shame chased through her, and then something else.
It took her a moment to realise that it was anger. She grabbed hold of it. At least it gave her a sense of courage, even if it was a false sensation.
‘You’re right, you didn’t. I assumed,’ she ground out. ‘But then, we both know that’s where we will end up. Look where we were headed before we got called in last night.’
‘I seem to remember you muttering something about it being a sign.’ He smirked. ‘Though personally, I’ve never believed in that nonsense.’
‘No, you told me as much,’ she reminded him crossly. ‘You also told me that it was inevitable. That however much I tried to outrun it, it would catch up with me sooner or later and topple me to the ground. That the faster and further I ran, the fall would be all the harder as a result.’
‘I didn’t realise you were paying such close attention to every word I was saying.’ Sol stretched his legs out languorously. ‘Not that I am complaining, you understand.’
‘You’re playing games aren’t you?’ she realised, disappointment plummeting through her.
The air around them turned cooler in an instant, as Sol pushed himself off the wall.
‘Contrary to the low opinion you hold about me, Anouk, I don’t play games every moment of every conversation.’
‘Common consensus is that you do,’ she rallied.
She wasn’t sure what else to do, his reaction was so unexpected. As though she’d hit a nerve, even though she’d never known him to have a nerve when it came to the way he revelled in his reputation. So obviously that couldn’t be right.
‘You’re right,’ he managed flatly, moving past her and heading for the door. ‘But let’s just say that it has been a long, exhausting twenty-four hours, and frankly I’m too weary for game-playing.’
‘I see.’ Not seeing at all, Anouk grabbed her bag and hurried after him.
Actually, he did look rather...out of character.
‘So, for tonight at least, you’re safe. All I’m offering you is a place to sleep and nothing more. We’ll have to walk; the car is still by the new carers’ centre. Does that suit you?’
‘Perfectly,’ she confirmed. Lying through her teeth.
CHAPTER NINE
‘DID SOMETHING HAPPEN with one of your patients?’ she ventured after they’d been walking for a while.
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re acting...differently. And I think I get that way, every now and again, when one particular patient gets under my skin.’
He slowed, but didn’t stop.
‘It was, wasn’t it?’ she pressed him gently.
They continued walking in silence. Everywhere oddly quiet after weathering that storm in the hospital.
‘A baby boy. Nineteen months,’ was all Sol said, after what seemed like an age.
She didn’t answer. Instead she simply fell into step with him, and hoped that it was enough. She understood only too well.
It was another age before he spoke again.
‘It’s odd, the way it gets to you sometimes, don’t you think?’ he said, his head down and his hands thrust into his pockets.
The question was more rhetorical than anything, Anouk knew that, but she answered anyway.
‘You mean loss? Death?’
‘We deal with it every day. It’s so easy to become desensitised to it.’ He shrugged. ‘But after an incident like that...’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I think it’s the sheer volume of it. All at once. It makes it feel too much.’
Again, they walked in companionable silence for minutes—though it felt like a lifetime, lost as she was in her thoughts. It was only when he stopped at a shop window that she realised they had made it to the lower part of the town. Slowing down, she backed up, but she wasn’t prepared.
‘What is this, Sol?’
‘You asked me about the Christmas village scene.’
‘This is it?’
‘This is it.’
She turned to take in the scene. Even through her loathing of this time of year, she could at least admit it was spectacular. Little trains ran in circles around the quaintest village set-up; a snow-covered village green with tiny figures walking, ice-skating, or simply strolling the wintry streets in the warm glow of the orange/yellow lights.
Little old-fashioned shops lined the painstakingly constructed hillside road, which, if she looked closely, Anouk thought might be polystyrene blocks, but they looked for all the world like snowy inclines. Meanwhile, a miniature cable car ran up and down another polystyrene hill scene.
‘This is what the kids work so hard to raise the money to buy,’ Anouk murmured. ‘For you, and for Malachi. Why?’
There was a beat of silence.
‘Why, Sol?’ She pressed her fingers to the glass, as if proximity could solve the riddle she was sure existed.
‘It’s become a tradition,’ he offered simply.
‘What makes it so traditional?’ she repeated.
There was no logical explanation for why it should matter to her to know.
Yet it did.
The still night began to hum with anticipation. She turned her head to watch him but his gaze was fixed on the scene, not on her.
‘Please, Sol?
He scowled, drawing in a deep breath before answering.
‘Malachi and I were kids when we first saw a village like this,’ he began, falteringly at first. He hadn’t told this story in...well, ever. ‘There was a toyshop in town which had one every Christmas—not that we were ever allowed in, of course. The owner would chase us down the road if we even peered into the window, for steaming it up with our snotty noses.’
‘He really said that?’
‘He said a sight worse than that. Even clipped our legs with the back of a broom handle on more than one occasion.’ Sol shrugged. ‘Anyway, sometimes we would wait until it was dark and sneak out of the house if we could leave Mum for long enough. There was a guy with a sugared doughnut stall and if he was still there cleaning up, he used to give us any leftovers, which would otherwise get thrown away.’
‘That’s nice.’ Anouk smiled as though her chest was tight and painful at the thought of Sol’s childhood.
She’d had no idea. But then, no one did. Clearly that was the way Sol liked it.
‘He was a decent guy. Years
later, when Mal had made his first real money as a boxer, he bought the business from the guy for about five times its worth, just to repay him.’
‘Did he know?’
‘Yeah, he was so damned grateful, it was really nice to do. Mal then gave the business to a couple of kids he knew would appreciate it, from the first centre we built. They ended up getting four stalls between them and they’re still going strong.’
‘Wow.’
She thought Sol was going to say more but suddenly he caught himself. As if he didn’t know why he’d told her that. Possibly it had all been stuffed down in the same box for so many years that now she’d sprung the lid, random snippets were springing out left and right, completely out of his control and in no logical order.
Or maybe he was just playing her.
‘Anyway. Mal and I used to sneak down to watch the little trains going around, and the carousel, and the people going in and out of buildings on that turntable. And we vowed that we would make it through to the other side and we’d buy every damned piece of that village in existence. We swore we’d become the kind of people who idiots like that toyshop owner would fawn over. Never again would we get chased from a shop doorway or window.’
‘You guys must have had the kind of money to buy a village world years ago. Several times over. But you didn’t?’ Anouk eyed him thoughtfully. The deep blue pools were fathoms deep.
‘We did, as it happens.’ He smiled a genuine smile. ‘We bought the lot. Just to know what it felt like.’
‘And?’
‘And it felt good.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘A bit surreal, that first time we set it up. Young adults reliving a childhood moment that had once been denied them. But after that we felt like we’d made our point, if only to ourselves. So we split it out and sent a bundle to each of about five or six kids’ community centres.’
‘And one of them was Care to Play?’ Anouk guessed.
‘Yeah. Once the kids there found out, they decided that was what they wanted to do for us, buy a new piece every year. It’s a matter of pride to them, to do something to raise money for a new toyshop, or ride, or ice-skating rink.’
‘That’s really nice.’ She glanced around ruefully. ‘Even I bought into the idea. I thought you’d love this, but you just do it for the kids.’
‘Why not? They get pleasure from it, too.’
‘That’s another thing which confused me,’ she admitted. ‘At the centre you’re an inspiration for making good from nothing. At the hospital, the rumour is that you both came from money?’
‘At the hospital it’s just that,’ he growled. ‘A rumour. Malachi has become a multimillionaire thanks to his boxing, but I’m not.’
‘You must earn a decent salary as a neurosurgeon?’
He raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Did I say I was complaining?’
‘Well, no,’ she conceded. ‘So why not just tell people that?’
‘Why bother? It isn’t any of their business and because it would invite questions, more interest, delving into my past—and Malachi’s.’
‘Surely that’s a good thing? Two boys, with humble beginnings, have done incredibly well for themselves. It’s the fairy tale, people would have lapped it up. You’d have had even more women falling at your feet.’
She hadn’t intended to sound so cross when she’d made that latter observation.
‘I told you,’ he cut across her, ‘it would have been an invitation for people to rifle through our lives like they’re some kind of public property.’
Surprisingly, Anouk was beginning to realise just how protective both Sol, and particularly Malachi, were about their private lives.
Who would have thought it?
But she couldn’t ask anything more, she didn’t dare. Not after he’d effectively shut down that line of conversation. And still, his gaze held hers and she couldn’t move. He might not have told her a lot, but, given his driving need for privacy, she felt as though he’d told her more than she could have hoped he would.
As though she was significant.
‘Did you know that ridiculous pudding hat of yours was on inside out?’ he told her, lifting it gently and turning it right side out before lowering it back on her head. Infinitely tender, infinitely thrilling.
She waited, pinned to the spot, as he released her hat and cupped her face instead, like a blast of heat in the cold winter air.
‘Sol?’ she breathed, when neither of them had moved and it was clear that neither of them was going to move.
Still, they both remained motionless. And then, just when Anouk had finished telling herself that she had to be the one to step back, to break the contact, however much she railed against it, he bent his head and brushed her lips with his.
It ignited a fire in an instant, sending the surrounding people, the coffee shop, the entire street, reeling into the background.
With a low moan, she stepped towards him, her arms raised to grab his jacket with her hands. Whether she deepened the kiss or Sol did, it hardly mattered.
His mouth was hot and demanding, his taste every bit as exhilarating as she remembered. It confirmed the one truth she’d suspected since the gala ball—one night with him hadn’t been enough. She wanted more. She needed more.
He kissed her with ruinous skill, turning her inside out and upside down. He plundered and claimed, teasing her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth; he pulled her body to him until she was sure she could feel every last muscled ridge of that washboard body that had stamped itself so indelibly in her mind, and he made a low sound as he kissed her as if, like her, he needed more.
And she was lost. As enchanted by the man as every other woman before her had been.
She who should know better.
‘My place?’ he broke contact long enough to mutter.
Anouk didn’t even try to speak, she just nodded.
* * *
They barely even made it through the door of his apartment before they were undressing each other.
Sol’s touch was fire over every millimetre of her skin, smouldering over her wherever he trailed those expert fingers of his. Setting her ablaze every time he lowered his head, and that skilful mouth, to brand her somewhere new.
Her neck, her shoulder, the rise of her breast. One hand laced itself through her hair, cupping the nape of her neck and making her feel cherished and precious, whilst the other hand played a wicked concerto on her body as if it were the most exquisite instrument.
And with every accomplished stroke the fire inside her grew hotter and brighter, until it was too painful to look at. And so Anouk closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sheer beauty of it. She was singing in her head, arias she had never known before. Certainly not like this.
Again and again Sol moved his fingers, his hand, his mouth, over her body, testing her and tasting her. Paying homage to every inch of her, he supported her neck with one hand while the other skimmed over her back and then spanned the hollow at the base of her spine with enviably long, strong fingers, making her feel infinitely delicate.
He took his time, as though they were in no rush. As though there was no end goal, trailing his fingers up one side and down again, leaving shivers of delight in his wake.
Up and down.
Up again, and down again.
Pleasing and punishing her, until every molecule of her pulsed with burning, intense need. All she could do was respond to him. As if she’d been waiting for this moment for ever. As if she were his to command.
As if she were his.
Time stood still for Anouk. She stayed there in his arms, letting all this desire swirl around, and move through her as Sol branded her with every touch, leaving her feeling as though she would never be the same again.
This is his skill, a tiny voice urged silently in her head. He makes you feel special, unique,
and as long as you don’t fall for him, it will be fine.
But the voice was too hazy, too muffled, too deliberately easy for the sensations tearing through her to drown out. Or perhaps it was more that she wanted to drown in the sensations. To drown in Sol.
It was only when she heard the loud, delectably rude sound of a zip sliding that she realised he had unfastened her jeans and was sliding his fingers under the material.
They hadn’t even made it to the bedroom.
‘Do you want to... I mean...here?’ she began weakly, the words catching in her throat as, without warning, he brushed one finger tantalisingly over the front of her underwear.
Then the damned man lifted his head and shot her the most devilish grin.
‘Sorry, what were you saying?’
But it was the dark, oddly intent look in his eyes that snagged at her the most. As though he wasn’t quite as in control as he wanted to appear. As if she was affecting him that little bit more than he wanted to reveal.
It was a heady thought. And then, before she could find her voice, he hooked the material back and repeated the action, this time with no barrier between them.
‘Did you want me to stop?’
There was no mistaking the rawness in his voice just then, but before she could answer he let his fingers move over her, stroking her once, twice, before dipping into her heat.
Everything in her clenched in delicious anticipation. But then her eyes flew open as he drew his hand back up, and she was powerless to prevent a small sound of objection from escaping her lips.
‘Relax,’ he commanded, his tone purely hedonistic. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Except here.’
And before she could say a word he lifted his finger to his mouth and licked it. Very deliberately.
‘What...’ she managed to find her voice, as jagged as it sounded ‘...are you doing?’
He fixed her with a lazy, hooded look.
‘Tasting you.’ His voice was thick, loaded. ‘And you are as intoxicating as I remember.’
She had no idea how she managed to speak; her whole body was jolting with need.
Unwrapping the Neurosurgeon's Heart Page 11