by Anne Oliver
We. Like a couple. Her pulse did a quickstep as they parted—Luke to speak to Adam, Melanie back to her table where Carissa sat with a mineral water balanced on her tummy and a peeved Marie sucked at something colourful in a tall glass. Sophie was engrossed in conversation with one of the guys at the next table.
‘Carrie, Luke and I—’
Before she could couch the rest of her sentence in words suitable for company, Carissa looked over Melanie’s shoulder. ‘Go ahead…if that’s what you want.’ Meaning if that’s who you want.
Melanie turned and saw Luke making his way across the room, tugging his leather jacket on as he walked, his hair reflecting strands of red amongst the brown, his eyes focused wholly on her.
Her whole body yearned. It wasn’t wise, it wasn’t smart, but she wanted. She wanted with every aching beat of her heart. She wanted to take that chance Luke had talked about and see where it led.
Carissa nodded. ‘I’m having fun watching and remembering what it was like when I could slide onto a dance floor like that and gyrate with the best of them. Ben’ll pick me up when I’m ready.’
‘Okay.’ Melanie patted Carissa’s swollen tummy. ‘See you all later.’
And just like that, she picked up her bag and walked out with Luke Delaney.
For the first time in years she felt the old freedom and laughed as they stepped outside into the cold night air, feeling her hair float around her face as she spun a full circle.
Live the adventure. Something she’d believed in and followed all her life. Until life had changed. Now that same itchy feeling, the thrill of it, twitched between her shoulder blades.
The old risk-taker was emerging from the stone she’d been hibernating under. She spun again, watched the stars pinwheel with her as she revelled in the joy of it. Watched the slender crescent of moon dance dizzily.
‘Steady.’ Luke’s hands grasped her mid-spin. Solid, secure. Earth-shattering. And he was only touching her shoulders. ‘You forgot this.’
He held out the coat she’d left behind and slid its silky-lined warmth over her shoulders. ‘Thanks.’
He turned her around until they stood toe to toe. The car park’s blue lights sharpened his features. Again she noticed time had carved deeper grooves around his eyes and mouth. He looked…more rugged.
But he was still Luke and she was feeling far too good and a little too tipsy to worry about the changes time had etched on her own body. Or to think about how those changes might affect whatever was about to happen between them.
He hadn’t let her go so it was a simple matter to reach up on tiptoe and touch that rough-textured jaw. To feel it tighten beneath her fingers as he dipped his head.
She waited a moment, relishing the sharp edge of anticipation, the slow, serious burn in her veins. Then she leaned into that whisper of space between them and put her mouth to his.
Warm, firm. Welcome home. She’d relived that kiss from a week ago over and over. This was better; this time she’d taken the initiative and was ready. She let her mouth open to the flick of his tongue, tasted heat and desire against the flavour of beer.
Here was rightness. The way he feathered his thumbs over her cheeks and lifted her face up for better access, the rich melding of breath and lips and tongues.
Dark as the night, the low growl in his throat rumbled, ridged velvet against her fingertips as she skimmed them over the tendons of his neck and throat. Luke was her ultimate adventure. Take that chance.
She pulled back to whisper, ‘You can put your hands on me now,’ then deepened the kiss. Her mouth tingled and warmth settled in her belly as he slid his thumbs over the drumming pulse in her neck. But not enough, not nearly enough.
Maybe the ground trembled or perhaps it was his hands as he lowered them, tracing her shoulders, calloused thumbs grazing her collar-bones. He followed the line of the silky tie that held up her halter top and down, over the sides of her breasts…then paused.
He lifted his lips a fraction and his eyes blazed, burning coals in the dimness. No bra.
She leaned forward so her breasts swung forward a little, into the hard cups of his palms. And sighed at the aching, tingling fullness that only intensified when his hands began to move.
Sensation stabbed through every pulse point in time with the muffled bass of a nineties party hit emanating from the tavern. He massaged her breasts in slow, erotic ever-decreasing circles till he was gently pinching her nipples.
A group of male patrons exited the building, their raucous laughs slicing through the stillness.
‘Don’t even think about backing off,’ she warned, sensing Luke about to pull away. She grabbed Luke’s hands and pressed them against her.
She wanted his hands under the fabric. She wanted to feel his mouth on her breast, to stroke his hair while he scraped and tightened his teeth over her nipple. ‘I’ve been thinking about your suggestion,’ she said, breathless.
‘So have I.’ His breath puffed out on the cold night air. ‘I take it you’ve made a decision?’
She grinned. ‘Come on.’ Grabbing his hand, she headed for the secluded garden at the front of the building next door, laughing at the delicious idea taking shape in her mind.
She found a patch of lawn by a row of bare poplars, thin white ghosts in the dark. The air was a fresher green here away from the oil-slicked car park. The moon sprinkled silver on the dew, splashed shadows beneath the bushes. Quiet, not quite private.
Standing beside Melanie, Luke ran his knuckles down the side of her face, staring at the grass with a dubious expression. ‘Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?’
They were metres from the road. It was undoubtedly illegal, slightly dangerous, definitely adventurous. She turned into his embrace, clapped her hands on his cold cheeks. ‘Why not?’
He huffed out a half-laugh. ‘Isn’t it a trifle chilly?’
‘We’ll make our own heat. Here…’ She had to touch him, to feel his whiskery skin against her fingertips, the softer, warmer skin between neck and shoulder where his pulse beat strong and not quite steady.
‘And here…’ Breathing in the smell of leather and wool, she crept her hands inside his jacket, spread it wide.
‘And—’ she heard the huskiness in her own voice as she reached between his thighs ‘—here.’ The hard ridge of masculinity was its own blast furnace. Molten steel. ‘No risk of frostbite,’ she murmured and ran her fingers along his length, remembering how it felt flesh to flesh. Mouth to flesh.
He inhaled sharply. She tossed her jacket on the grass and watched the jumble of emotions cross his face. Then she moved in, wound her arms around his neck and tugged. He followed her down with a groan, positioning himself as a shield against any passers-by. She snuggled back against her jacket, felt the wet grass beneath her calves, felt it seep through her skirt.
His expression was one of total absorption as he fumbled with the tie behind her neck, turning to smouldering desire when he finally freed it.
‘You’re still the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on,’ he murmured, drawing the ties toward him.
And how many women had he laid eyes on since her to make that comparison? Right now it didn’t matter as his lips and hands followed every inch he bared as he slid the fabric slowly down her torso. He lingered over the skin between breast and shoulder, even longer when he found her nipples, cherry-dark in the moonlight.
She revelled in the contrast of cold air, hot hands and hotter mouth as he rubbed and nipped and suckled. Squirmed in an effort to get more. To get nearer. Her hands roamed over his chest and up under his jumper to feel hot, masculine flesh and the up-tempo beat of his heart.
With little encouragement from her his hand slid lower, his palm scorching a trail over her thighs as he pushed up the hem of her dress. ‘Mel…’ His chest heaved, his sharp exhalations sounded like a freight train. ‘Are you still on the Pill?’ he rasped.
‘No.’ Her breathless word was swallowed by his mouth as he planted
a firm kiss on her lips.
‘That’s okay.’ He pulled something out of his pocket and fumbled with his trousers.
She held her breath. Any moment now he was going to slip inside her. He was going to take care of the pulsing need gathering force low in her belly. Her fingers dug into the hard flesh of his shoulder. He was going to take her to that magical place only he could.
They were going to make love.
The moment shattered as the realization—and the implication—seeped through her mind and her hand flattened against his chest.
Reality stomped all over the romantic interlude. A crushing pain filled the space that moments ago had bloomed with bright promise. She barely noticed her moisture-slick nipples rapidly chill in the cold air as she pushed at him.
Wake up! This isn’t the young geological engineer you fell in lust with—the one you told yourself was no ties, just fun.
Just sex.
Hadn’t she learnt anything from that experience? That actions had consequences? The last time they’d been together, they’d done more than make love.
They’d made a baby.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘MEL?’ Luke’s hand stilled on her thigh, his voice thick with restrained desire, his breathing ragged. ‘I thought you wanted this. Did I get it wrong?’
‘No, but I’m sorry, I can’t.’ I want to, but I can’t; it brings back memories I thought I’d gotten over.
Blowing out a heartfelt sigh that echoed her own sentiments, he touched her cheek with a gentle finger. ‘It’s okay, Mel. It was a mistake—this place. I should’ve taken better care of you.’
He pulled her top up over her still-tingling breasts and knotted it behind her neck. Took her trembling hand and helped her up. Grabbing her coat, he shook it once, then pulled it around her shoulders.
She couldn’t look at him and see the heat in his eyes turn cold, to acknowledge the confusion she knew she’d read there, so she pulled out of Luke’s arms when he would have held her closer. Hugged her coat tighter against the chill that had suddenly grown icy. The worst part, the part that scraped every nerve in her body raw, was that Luke didn’t know why.
Without thought she half ran, half stumbled across the grass. Away from his proximity, his potency. She only knew she needed to put distance between them. From the relative safety of the footpath she looked back to see his eyes narrowed at her and a furrow between his brows. The thump of bass from inside the tavern seemed to echo inside her skull and was giving her the headache Luke had mentioned a few moments earlier.
This thing between them was a lot more scary and a lot more complicated than she’d imagined.
Luke let her go. He needed a few moments anyway to get his raging hormones under some sort of control. If he’d planned better he wouldn’t be standing here with a fire in his groin and the only woman who could put it out clicking her heels a cold, long-distance stare away.
Damned if he knew what that plan was.
He huffed out another long breath that left a trail of vapour on the air as he crossed the car park towards her. Slow. Easy. If they were going to have any sort of relationship he’d have to tread carefully. Right now it was as fragile as fuse wire.
‘Hey,’ he murmured when he reached her. The air crackled with the same tension that snapped in his veins. Her eyes were glazed and over-bright, her lips drawn tight.
‘I…I’m sorry.’ She rubbed at the dampness on the arms of her coat. ‘It was a stupid idea—I forgot it’s winter. Last time we… Last time it was January.’
Which gave him no hint about what she was really thinking. ‘It should be me apologising.’ He stroked a hand over her hair, hating the fact that something had chased away the vibrant spontaneity she’d shown him a few moments ago. Her taste remained hot and potent on his tongue; the scent of her lingered in his nostrils.
But any chance of taking what they’d started tonight to the next logical step vanished quicker than a lump of coal down a mine shaft.
‘Is it something I did? Something I can help you with?’
She shook her head, the shadowy depths of her eyes flickered in the stark lighting. ‘My problem, I’ll deal with it. I just want to go home.’
‘I’ll take you.’ He steered her towards a taxi outside the pub.
Her fingers felt cold and fragile in his as they climbed into the cab. The atmosphere remained chilled and formal as they drove back to her apartment. His groin tightened as all the scenarios of how the evening might have ended burned through his brain.
In her bed. Her on top, her ebony hair brushing his chest, his thighs. Those magic healing fingers working over his muscles. And then sliding into her warm, wet centre as she arched that amazing body over him, her moans as she came, squeezing him dry. Begging for more.
One glance at the rigid posture of the woman beside him, the knotted fists on her lap, the way she preferred the passing scenery to looking at him, put that notion to rest.
But more worrying than the knowledge that he wasn’t getting naked with Melanie tonight was the change he’d witnessed in her. For a few precious moments she’d been the Melanie he knew. Then it was as if she’d flicked a switch. Damn, damn, damn. What the hell had happened?
At her door it kicked him in the gut to see clouds in the depths of those grey eyes as she stepped back inside and told him, ‘I’m not good company right now. I think it’s best if you leave.’
‘Okay.’ But he laid his palm against the door when she would have closed it. ‘We’ve still got it, Mel, tonight proved that. Whether you want to explore it some more is up to you.’
* * *
Melanie sagged against the door and waited until she heard the cab leave. Her headache was marching up on her, throbbing in time with her pulse. A migraine. And a reminder, a red flag warning her that any involvement with Luke had consequences.
Her breath sighed out and tears prickled the backs of her eyes. What would Luke have done if he’d known she was pregnant? She’d asked herself that question many times over the years. She asked herself again now. She didn’t know if he liked kids.
Frowning, she hissed out a breath between her teeth as pain sledgehammered her temples. She thought she knew him, what he did and didn’t like. His interests and idiosyncrasies. But she didn’t know the most important thing of all: she didn’t know if he liked kids. Because it was the one thing she’d never been game enough to explore. They had been temporary lovers; kids hadn’t come into the picture.
Pushing away from the door, she moved quietly through the empty apartment using the light filtering through the open curtains to guide her to her room. She closed her door, switched on her lamp and adjusted it to low.
From the back of her wardrobe she drew out her mother’s old jewellery box. She didn’t look often these days; over the years she’d learnt to accept her loss as one of life’s turning points, but with Luke’s scent on her skin, his voice still in her ears, she felt the need to look now.
The wooden box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, was wrapped in a silk scarf and one of the few items she’d kept as a reminder of her mum. The familiar scent of her perfume still lingered inside the box as she opened it.
Inside was the stuff of her life. Her own hospital ID tag from when she was born. A child’s gold charm bracelet. Her ticket to her favourite rock band’s concert.
She withdrew the photo of her first ultra-sound. The grainy black and white image was all she had left of that tiny life. She traced the delicate outline with a fingernail. She’d never had the chance to feel it grow inside her, to count fingers and toes and know the sound of its cry.
‘If your father had known about you…’
Would it have made a difference? Luke might never have taken that job in Queensland. Never fulfilled his dreams of becoming a successful engineering geologist. Instead he might be working for his father, a situation she now knew wouldn’t sit well with Luke.
Resentment and bitterness would have followed. At least now he’d beco
me his own person. ‘I never wanted to trap you, Luke.’
Her eyes lingered a moment before she set the photo where it belonged—in her memory box—rewrapped the silk and put the box back in its place.
They’d been lovers for three months. Hardly time to build a solid and trusting relationship. She hadn’t known she was pregnant when they’d parted. She hadn’t known an upset stomach could nullify the Pill’s protection.
But she’d wanted to tell him, to give him the opportunity to be a part of his child’s life, even if he’d had no desire to be a part of Melanie’s. That hadn’t worked out. Then she’d had the miscarriage in her second trimester. Over the years it had grown easier to let go of the loss, to look forward, to build a new life. On her own. She’d carved a career for herself through sheer stubborn will and damn hard determination. But she’d never, ever forgotten.
Just as she’d never forgotten how deep her feelings had been for the father of her baby.
Before he left again, she owed it to Luke to tell him.
* * *
Melanie went off duty at eleven p.m. after a fourteen-hour stint. In addition to her own little patients who were all sleeping soundly, she’d helped out in Emergency with a spate of accident victims, one asthma attack and a suspected appendicitis. If she stayed any longer she was likely to do more harm than good.
At least she could take a bath and crawl into bed and sleep without the dreams that had kept her awake for the past how long? Since Luke had walked back into her life. He was detrimental to her well-being, a definite health hazard.
In the two days since she’d seen him, she’d worked hard, taking extra shifts to block out the images of Luke. He hadn’t called—he’d left it up to her.
She missed him.
Which only proved it would be a mistake to get involved again. She’d end up being hurt when he left, just like the last time.
The hospital doors whooshed shut behind her as she stepped outside, wrapping her purple sheepskin jacket tight over the uniform she hadn’t bothered to change out of.