by Fiona Lowe
Silver eyes gazed up at him from under thick brown lashes. ‘Line-dancing is pretty much all about no-touch technique.’
The words washed over him, their sultry tone leaving little to be interpreted.
He met her gaze full on. ‘Square dancing sounds like much more fun.’
‘So why am I teaching you line-dancing?’ Her arms snaked around his neck as she rose on the tips of her pink leather boots and kissed him.
Soft, luxurious lips closed over his, nipping at his bottom lip, firmly giving and demanding at the same time. White lights fired in his head.
He’d memorised the touch of her mouth but the reality of it outshone the memory, dimming it to a dull, flat grey.
For a few blissful moments he passively accepted the caresses, the kisses and the wonder of the sexiest mouth he’d ever known. But with each stroke of her tongue, with each nip of her teeth, his desire raged against his self-imposed restraint until it spilled over, hot and demanding.
He kissed her right back.
He tasted the spice of her perfume, the musk of desire and the simplicity of need.
He recognised that need. He knew it intimately.
With one gentle tug the pearl snap buttons on her blouse opened and he gave thanks for the ease of western clothing. His hand touched fiery hot skin. As he nuzzled her neck, his fingers dealt with the more complicated issue of her bra fastening. The frothy lace finally gave way and ripe, heavy flesh rested where it belonged, in the curve of his hand.
It felt so right. His thumb caressed her breast, teasing her nipple to rise against his skin.
She gasped.
Pulling back slightly, she ripped open his shirt, pressing her lips against his chest, her tongue abrading his nipples.
He locked his knees for support as his blood pounded away from his head.
He gently gripped her head, raising her mouth back to his and then his hands caressed her breasts, kneading and stroking, until she sank against him, her moans of pleasure threatening his control.
Suddenly she pulled away, panting, her lips glistening and swollen and her eyes large black discs of pure lust. She’d never looked so beautiful.
The cool evening air rushed in against his bare chest, bringing his surroundings back into focus, and some sanity along with it.
This was Emily. His friend. His hand rubbed the back of his neck. ‘What are we doing?’ Somehow his voice managed to croak out the words.
She grabbed his hand. ‘What we both want.’
He pulled her against him, staring hard into her eyes. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’ He tried to make the words sound convincing as his body screamed in protest.
Her hand cupped his cheek. ‘I think it’s a perfect idea.’
He tugged at his hair. ‘Are you sure this is what you want. I can’t prom—’
She put her forefinger against his lips. ‘Shh. It’s all right. This time I know what I’m doing. I want this. One night is all I’m asking.’
‘Em—’
Her mouth crushed his, filling him with her flavour of innocence and arousal.
Step back now! But the faint voice struggled to make itself heard against the pounding of his blood and the raging power of his desire for this incredibly sexy woman who stood in front of him.
As hard as it had been, he’d stepped back once before when she hadn’t wanted him.
But this time she was offering.
Just one night.
This time he couldn’t step back.
Somehow, on boneless legs they made it up the ladder to a mattress bedded down on hay. Emily knelt in front of him, her chin tilted, her shoulders back as she shrugged off her already open shirt and bra. The white soft glow of moonlight shone through the cracks of the corrugated iron, highlighting her alabaster skin, shadowing the curves of her body and making her look like a Florentine statue.
He gazed, mesmerised by the gift he had in front of him.
Then she smiled and reached for his belt.
In an instant he had her on her back. ‘Sweetheart if you want this cowboy to perform at his best, he shucks his own pants.’
She laughed, her eyes dancing with wicked intent.
A sudden realisation of practicalities sounded through the fog of Linton’s desire. ‘I wasn’t planning this. I don’t have a condom.’
She stroked a finger down his chest, her voice suddenly serious. ‘It’s OK. I’ve been on the Pill for a very long time.’
Take her, she’s yours. The last barrier of sense fell away and he lowered his head to hers, losing himself in her mouth, in the softness of her breasts, in the generosity of her body, which welcomed him like no other ever had.
Emily’s hands gripped Linton’s head as his mouth grazed across her body, lighting a fire of sensation that built in intensity with every stroke of his tongue. Nothing had prepared her for this. Not any of her fantasies, certainly not the controlling sex she’d known with Nathan. Nothing at all.
Pleasure morphed with pain. Her breasts ached with need, her legs quivered with longing, and a desperate emptiness inside her pleaded to be filled.
He paused for a moment, lifting his head, his eyes dark with arousal. He gently swept her hands up above her head. ‘Sweetheart, I can’t move if you immobilise my head. Lie back and enjoy, I want to give you this.’
‘But I want you, I need you.’ She whimpered the words on a ragged breath. She didn’t care that she was pleading—nothing mattered except her need of him.
‘Oh, my darling, you’ll have me, don’t worry about that.’ He flashed a wicked grin and dropped his head between her legs.
She shattered at his touch, crying out his name as her body called for his.
He cradled her close, his whispered words promising her longed-for fulfilment. Then he eased inside her slowly, her muscles straining, and she felt his hesitation.
‘No, don’t stop.’ Her hands clawed at his buttocks.
His eyes, full of caring, gazed down at her and then she moved against him, taking him, accepting all of him, driving them both to a place way beyond the stars.
She came back to earth piece by piece, completely reconfigured, a new Emily.
She lay snuggled in his arms, languorous and sated, but at the same time feeling more energised than she’d ever felt in her life.
She loved resting her head on his chest, hearing his heart beat strongly and rhythmically beneath her ear. Loved the way a trail of pale brown hair arrowed down his washboard flat abdomen, hinting at the power that lay at its destination.
And what a mighty power it was.
Linton was the most amazing lover. Not that she had vast experience to draw on, but from what he’d just shown her, she knew he was the man for her.
The only man for her.
Her stomach suddenly rolled.
Oh, God, she loved him.
No, this couldn’t be happening. This was a one-night stand, a physical thing, pure lust, pure insanity. It was supposed to be the answer to her moving on—make love and get him out of her system.
But instead she’d fallen in love with a kind and generous man who had set her on the path of realising she could be whoever she wanted to be. A man who listened to her, took a great interest in her life and actively encouraged her to take risks, and at the same time acted as her safety net.
A man who only ever wanted one night. A man who didn’t believe in for ever.
Leave now.
Shock drowned her. Nausea pulled at her and she breathed deeply, trying to settle her stomach. She couldn’t be sick. Not here. Every part of her screamed to get away. She rolled from his side, sat up and pulled her shirt on.
He stirred and reached for her, his voice thick with postcoital relaxation. ‘Hey, where are you going?’
She tugged on her boots before another spasm hit her, making her double over. ‘Bathroom. Dodgy rodeo food.’
‘Wait, I’ll come with you.’ He pushed a muscular arm through his shirtsleeve.
Her foo
t hit the top rung of the ladder, bile scalding her throat. ‘Can’t wait.’
‘Emily!’
But she ignored his call, ignored the incredulity in his voice and she ran out of the stable and straight to the toilet block, her stomach surging.
Slamming the cubicle door behind her, she promptly vomited into the bowl.
The security guard outside the bank of women’s portable toilets gave Linton a severe look. ‘Can I help you, sir?’
Linton silently groaned. He’d been looking for Emily for ten minutes, quietly saying her name outside a few of the cubicles, trying not to draw attention to himself. What did you say to a security guard when you’d lost the woman you’d just had sex with?
‘I’m waiting for someone.’
His brain spun. He’d just experienced some of the most amazing sex of his life and now Emily had disappeared. Part of him thought he must have imagined the whole thing. But he could still smell her perfume on his skin, and feel her hands on his body, taste her on his lips. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been a glorious reality.
And lying with Emily for those few precious minutes with her warm body snuggled against his had been… He reached for a word but all he could come up with was ‘perfect’. He frowned. That couldn’t be the right word at all.
And then she’d rushed off.
Usually that’s your role.
He stiffened against the thought and ran his hands through his hair. He needed to see her, needed to talk to her. Check she was OK, not just from food poisoning but also in other ways.
He started pacing. What had he just done? He’d let desire overrule every aspect of common sense. Emily wasn’t a one-night sort of a girl. If he could just talk to her, check she was OK.
Make sure she has no expectations. The cynical voice pulled no punches.
He kicked the dirt, trying to kick the acrid thought away. No, he would take her out to dinner on a real date so they could firm up their friendship. Make sure it would survive tonight’s madness.
A squeaky door opened and he spun around. A white-faced Emily appeared.
He instantly put his arm around her, worried she was about to fall over. ‘You look shocking.’
She mustered a wry smile. ‘Gee, you sure know how to make a girl feel good.’
He tucked stray curls hair behind her ear and whispered, ‘I’ve never made a girl sick before.’
She patted his arm. ‘No need to worry, your reputation is intact. I brought this on myself. I stupidly let that aroma of salt and deep-fried fat tempt me, and it makes me sick every time.’ She sighed as contrition filled her face. ‘Sorry. It wasn’t the best way to end something that was pretty spectacular.’
‘It was spectacular, wasn’t it?’ He grinned despite himself.
‘But completely insane.’ She wobbled against him.
He tilted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. ‘Do you regret it?’
Shadows darkened her eyes before she quickly blinked several times. ‘No, of course not.’ Her words rushed out, tumbling over each other, almost too definite. ‘It was my idea, remember? Just one night and this was it.’
The firmness of her voice should have reassured him. Instead, disquiet wove through him that he had trouble shrugging off.
She cleared her throat. ‘I really need to go home to bed.’
‘I’ll take you.’
She pulled away from his touch. ‘Dad’s going to take me. I texted him.’
Her dismissal of him rankled. ‘I would have happily taken you.’
She shrugged. ‘You don’t need a forty-minute drive in both directions.’
He should be relieved that she wasn’t clingy, that she had no expectations of him. Instead, he had this crazy sensation of being discarded ‘So…you’ll be OK?’
She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’ll be fine after some ginger tea and a long sleep.’
His skin prickled with frustration. ‘I’ll see you next week, then.’
She waved to her father and Stuart, who had just appeared in the distance. ‘No, on Monday I leave for Sydney.’
Her soft words hit with the force of a punch. ‘What do you mean, you’ll be in Sydney?’
‘I’m taking some annual leave to finish two assignments, as well as doing my residential week for my Master’s. I’ll be gone almost three weeks.’
All control seemed to be streaming away from him. ‘Hang on, you can’t just leave.’
She sighed and shook her head. ‘Do you ever read your memos, Linton? Cathy and Michael are back from their honeymoon so you’ll have your old team back. You’ll have a great time and you won’t even miss me.’
She turned and greeted her father. ‘Sorry, Dad.’
Jim rolled his eyes. ‘Honestly, Emily, you know you shouldn’t eat rodeo food. Come on, I’ll take you home.’ He put his arm around his daughter’s shoulder.’ Night all.’
‘’Night.’ Linton watched them walk away with an inexplicable feeling of isolation.
Stuart clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You any good at pool?’
The question startled him. ‘Fair, although your sister’s whipped me at it twice. Why?’
‘Mark’s off romancing the kinder teacher so the Tippett team is one short. And I wouldn’t worry about Em, she whips most of us.’
He should say no. He should go home. This wasn’t his family. But his family had never offered him anything like this sense of belonging. The feel-good flush at being included overrode the amber caution light that started flashing in his brain, telling him his inclusion in this family’s life was getting way too deep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SYDNEY’S unseasonably warm winter sun sparkled off the blue water of the harbour. Emily sat in the park at Circular Quay, admiring the architectural brilliance of the Opera House, the distinctive sails glowing white in the sunshine. Street theatre drew crowds, with young English and American backpackers doing feats of brilliance with fire and chainsaws, their engaging banter filling the air.
There was colour and movement, cosmopolitan sophistication, big city verve but, as much as she enjoyed it all, she was counting down the days until she returned to Warragurra.
Her mobile phone rang, the display unreadable in the bright sunlight. ‘Hello, Emily Tippett.’
‘Why aren’t you in lectures?’
A deep voice tinged with mock seriousness rumbled down the line, warming her in places sunshine never could. She instantly smiled. ‘Why are you ringing me if you think I won’t answer?’
Linton had been calling and texting with increasing frequency during her time in Sydney. It had been the last thing she’d expected and it totally confused her. But she refused to dwell on that confusion. Instead, she lost herself in the sound of his voice.
He laughed. ‘Good point. I should have texted you but I had a few minutes spare after a frantic morning.’
She heard the warbling of magpies over the phone and a wave of homesickness hit her. ‘Where are you?’
‘Down by the river.’
She pictured the gnarly river red gums lining the ancient watercourse, casting their much-needed shade over the often dry and dusty park.
‘Where are you?’
His welcome voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Outside the Museum of Contemporary Art.’
‘Exactly what course are you studying?’ His teasing warmth radiated down the phone. ‘So will patients now be getting a dissertation on modernism in Australia as well as an ECG?’
She laughed, loving the buzz that vibrated inside her when they had these silly conversations. ‘That’s right. And I was thinking we need fluorescent gel for the ultrasound so we can create works of art on abdomens.’
‘It has interesting possibilities. Of course, I think the professional approach would be to workshop it first.’ His voice became husky. ‘I’d happily donate my abdomen to the cause.’
The image of his flat, toned stomach flooded her mind. Her fingers tingled as if they could still
feel the strength of it and her mouth recalled the salty taste. Puffs of heat spiralled through her and she had to force her voice to sound normal, rather than breathless, which it so wanted to be. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
His flirting was killing her but, tragic case that she was, she lived for his daily phone calls and his supportive texts, which seemed to pop up just when she thought her head would explode from too much academic jargon. He made her laugh and that in turn made her put her studies into perspective.
She dusted lint off her fine corduroy skirt. ‘I just needed some air. I’m completely over having to apply theory to everyday things which are as much a part of me as breathing. I can’t wait to come home.’ I can’t wait to see you in person, even though it will only be at work.
‘Well, not long now. You’re flying back on Saturday afternoon, right?’
‘Yep, right in the middle of the grand final match.’ She could hear her brothers groaning from here. ‘Somehow I don’t think familial devotion is so strong that the lads will abandon the match to collect me, so I’ll bring my book and wait until half-time, when a taxi might take the chance at a fare.’
‘I’ll pick you up.’
The offer came instantly, shocking her, sending her blood to her feet. But at the same time buoying her up. ‘Really? Are you sure? I wasn’t dropping a hint.’
‘Emily.’ The stern doctor’s voice had materialised.
She could imagine him rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
‘It would be my pleasure to pick you up. It will be great to see you and, besides, I owe you dinner.’
‘You do?’
‘I do.’ His voice was firm. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday, then. Bye.’
‘Bye.’ I love you. The unspoken words boomed in her head.
Suddenly a blast of energy whipped through her, urging her to deal with the final outstanding assignments required by the end of her residential week. Then she could head home. Home to Linton.
Hugging the thought close, she grabbed her backpack and jumped to her feet. The Opera House tilted sideways, the green grass at her feet spun upwards and her stomach flipped over and over before surging up to scald the back of her throat. She sat down heavily on the seat and waited for the spinning to stop.