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Under her palms she could feel his heart thundering, the blood bounding in his veins. Sliding her hands up over his shoulders, she drew him back to her and lifted her face to his.
His mouth found hers with unerring accuracy, their tongues meshing, wild now with need, and he shifted her again so that he was lying half across her, one leg over hers, the imprint of his arousal hard against her hip.
He ran his hand up her thigh and over her other hip, drawing her harder against him, and his shuddering sigh mingled with hers and was lost in their kiss.
His hand moved again, over the inside of her thigh and up, his palm hot through the fabric of her jeans, cradling the unbearable ache that was building deep inside her.
She arched against him, his name a plea on her lips, and his deep, harsh groan answered her.
Then his hand moved, slowly now, up her side to her shoulders, and he lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes.
‘We mustn’t,’ he whispered, his voice tortured, and she whimpered and moved against him, beyond reason.
‘No, love, stop,’ he pleaded gruffly.
She reached up and touched his cheek with a trembling hand, his agony finally penetrating the fog of sensation that surrounded her. ‘What is it?’
He tipped back his head and groaned, his throat working. There was a dull flush lying over his cheeks, and his breathing was laboured and untidy. ‘I hadn’t intended — I never meant to go so far. Forgive me.’
‘Not if you stop now,’ she murmured huskily.
He groaned again, as if he was in pain. ‘Jennifer, I have to.’
‘No ——’
‘Yes. I didn’t mean this to happen ——’
‘Neither did I, but it has…’
‘No it hasn’t, not yet, and it isn’t going to — not unless you want to end up pregnant.’
She was shocked into stillness. ‘Oh, Lord. How unbelievably irresponsible — I didn’t even think of that…’
His chuckle was wry. ‘Neither did I — at least, not in time to do anything about it. Believe me, when I invited you for this weekend, nothing was further from my mind.’ His hands lingering regretfully, he re-fastened her bra, then drew the edges of her blouse together again with fingers that were not quite steady.
‘Perhaps it’s just as well,’ he said quietly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to wake up in the morning hating me.’
‘I could never hate you,’ she murmured, and laid her hand against his heart. It was still pounding, although more slowly, and he was still clearly aroused. The kind thing to do would be to get off his lap and go to bed, leaving him to cool off alone.
But she didn’t want to leave him, not when her body was still singing with need in the aftermath of his lovemaking. Reaching out her hand, she laid it against his chest.
‘Put the Requiem on again,’ she said softly.
He reached for the remote control, and the cool, pure notes poured over them like balm. She settled herself against his shoulder, her hand on his heart, and let the tension slowly seep away.
Lord, but she was lovely. Her body was soft against his, relaxed in sleep, and as he gazed down at her he remembered the way she had clung to him, the soft whimpers and little cries of ecstasy she had made.
How he had stopped he would never know, but he had found the strength from somewhere, and now he was profoundly glad. He would never have forgiven himself if she had ended up hating him, but it had just happened so naturally. It had felt so — right, as if their bodies belonged together.
The Requiem ended, the final notes dying away in the silence, and he lifted her carefully in his arms and carried her up the stairs to her room.
He debated leaving her clothes on, and decided that a little more self-control would be good for him. He removed them, careful not to wake her, and slipped her under the covers. He left her underwear, however, partly for her dignity and partly because he felt he had played with fire long enough and his self-control was getting singed round the edges.
Shutting the bathroom door, he turned on the shower and stripped, stepping into the scalding water with resignation. There was no point in even trying a cold shower. It would take the combined melt waters of both polar icecaps to cool him off tonight, with Jennifer lying almost naked just feet away from him. With a low growl of frustration, he dropped his head forwards against the tiles and let the hot water stream over him while his body throbbed and ached and called him a fool.
Sunday was another glorious day. For Jennifer it started, like Saturday, with breakfast in bed, this time accompanied by the feather-soft brush of his lips on hers and a husky ‘good morning’ to wake her.
‘We’ve had a population explosion in the night,’ he told her softly. ‘Tim and I are in the kitchen — come on down in a minute and see.’
She obediently ate her breakfast while she puzzled over the fact that she was in her underwear. She hadn’t been that drunk, surely? She could remember — her cheeks flushed, and she groaned. Had she gone to sleep and he’d carried her to bed? Oh, well, it could have been worse, at least she’d had decent underwear on — not that her underwear was any surprise to him after doing her washing.
She groaned again, and then, pulling on her dressing-gown, made her way downstairs.
Tim was sitting on the floor by the airing cupboard, his eyes like saucers, and on a pile of once-clean sheets the black and white cat who had adopted Andrew reclined with her four tiny little kittens.
‘Oh, aren’t they adorable?’ she breathed. They were all different colours; ginger, black, tortoiseshell and white, and black and white like her.
‘We mustn’t touch them or she might eat them,’ Tim warned her seriously. ‘Especially as she doesn’t know us very well.’
‘Perhaps we’d better let her have some peace now,’ Andrew suggested. ‘I’ll put the top sheet in a box and put them all back in it in a minute.’
Jennifer straightened up and met his eyes. ‘Six cats?’
He groaned and laughed softly. ‘Don’t.’
She smiled. ‘You’re just an old softie, aren’t you?’
‘That’s me. Why don’t you go and wallow in the bath for a while and Tim and I can make her a box and see if we can get her to eat something?’
In fact, the whole day revolved around the cat. They went out to give her peace, then came back to give her food, then went out again for another walk to give her more peace. Finally, at five, he took them home, complete with washing, homework done, and feeling more spoilt and pampered then she had ever felt in her life. He refused her offer of a cup of tea, saying he wanted to check on William Griffin again, so they said their farewells at her door.
‘We’ve had a wonderful weekend,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’ And she stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
‘Thank you for having me,’ Tim said spontaneously. ‘I’ve had a lovely time — look after the kittens.’
‘I will,’ Andrew assured him gravely. ‘We must do it again.
‘Next weekend?’ Tim asked hopefully.
‘No, I’m sorry, I have to go away next weekend.’
‘And you’re with your father, Tim,’ Jennifer reminded him.
Andrew said, ‘Someday soon, though. We’ll sort something out, perhaps one day after school. OK?’
Tim nodded enthusiastically. ‘Can I feed the hens again?’
Andrew tousled his hair and hugged him to his side briefly. ‘Of course.’ He looked up at Jennifer. ‘Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She nodded and watched him go, her heart full of some indefinable emotion that for no very good reason made her want to cry.
On Monday she popped up to the paediatric surgical ward before clinic to see William. He was doing well, still on tiny amounts of fluids only but his drip was down and he looked brighter even than he had on Friday.
She exchanged a few words with Mrs Griffin, who was full of praise for both Andrew and the surgeon, Ross Hamilton.
‘I’m just so relieved — you have no idea how worried ‘I’ve been!’ she confided in Jennifer.
‘Oh, I have,’ Jennifer, told her. ‘I’ve got a son of seven, so I know just what agonies a mother goes through. Still, he’s looking very good now — I’m sure it won’t be long before he’s driving you mad again!’
They exchanged a laughing goodbye, and she headed for the door just as Andrew swung it open. They exchanged slightly stilted greetings, conscious of the milling crowd of nurses and patients all around them.
‘I came up to see William — he’s looking well.’
‘Isn’t he? Ross did a good job. Have you got Peter’s clinic?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I must go, I don’t want to hold up proceedings. I’ll see you this afternoon.’
He lifted a hand in a wave, and she left him and made her way down to Children’s Outpatients, her day already immeasurably improved for having seen him even so briefly.
He did that to people, though, she realised, because he was always pleased to see them, always had a ready smile and a sympathetic ear.
Even when he was exhausted, which he quite often was, she had never known him lose his temper or get short with anyone. Unlike Nick, who had always been crabby and irritable when he was tired. During his house year she had kept Tim out of his way whenever possible, so that Nick could rest. Now, she wondered if she had done the right thing, because in the end he had accused her of avoiding him, and although she had denied it at the time later she had realised there might have been an element of truth in it. But then, if only Nick had been able to deal with his tiredness in the same way as Andrew, perhaps she wouldn’t have grown to dread his return, and might have been a more willing wife. Who knows? she thought. Perhaps we might still have been together. And the old guilt came seeping back, drowning out her happiness.
It was another busy afternoon clinic, a special care baby unit follow-up with all the attendant crying and screaming and breast-feeding and consequent nappy-changing. While Jennifer ran backwards and forwards undressing and weighing and measuring and trying to orchestrate the timing so that the next patient was ready for Andrew before he needed to see them, he, of course, was in his element.
‘Anybody would think you liked the smelly, leaky little things,’ she teased, and he grinned.
‘At least they aren’t insubordinate! I mentioned a cup of tea hours ago.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ she laughed, and went and found Beattie, repeating his request.
When she took it in he was busy cooing at another baby, and she rolled her eyes and carried on with her weighing.
‘I must get on,’ he told her later as they cleared up after the last patient. ‘I have to go back and feed Mummy-cat and make sure the kittens are all right, and I ought to check in SCBU before I go home.’
Jennifer laughed and shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured, ‘between the babies and the kittens, you’re just a pushover, aren’t you?’
He shrugged her teasing off with a laugh. ‘That’s my life,’ he said smilingly. ‘Some of us are meant to nurture.’
‘And you do it so beautifully. It’s a shame you aren’t married — all that pampering going to waste.’
‘Are you volunteering?’
Her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped and looked up at him.
‘Are you serious?’
He looked faintly surprised. ‘Yes, I believe I am.’
She searched his craggy, lived-in face for an endless moment, then a slow smile curved her lips. She could do far worse than to hand herself over to this gentle man’s attentions for the rest of her life. Warmth, comfort, security — it had a lot going for it, and she was sure in his gentle hands their lovemaking would be filled with tenderness, if not the passion of first love. Lord knows that can wane, she thought wryly. There was no mention of love, but at their age there were more important things, like Tim. And he would be a wonderful father, of that she was certain.
She looked up into his eyes. ‘You’re sure?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yes — oh, yes, I’m sure.’
‘Then yes, I believe I am volunteering.’
‘Perhaps you’d better think about it.’
She shook her head. ‘No. There’s nothing to think about.’
He opened his arms and she stepped into them and found herself wrapped hard against his massive chest.
‘You won’t regret it, I promise you,’ he told her, his voice gruff with emotion. ‘I’ll do everything in my power to make you both happy.’
‘You already have,’ she told him, and, tipping back her head, she sealed the pact with a kiss.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5406c764-d6fd-5abb-9f10-19ed91a7a932)
TUESDAY was one of those chaotic days when children were sick in the clinic and babies screamed endlessly. Jennifer’s staff nurse, Sarah Bright, was off sick and Peter Travers was coping without an SHO because Maggie Bradshaw, plagued by morning sickness, and given up work three months early and her replacement hadn’t yet materialised.
She hadn’t seen Andrew since the end of yesterday’s clinic as his evening had already been totally committed. Now he was on the wards and she didn’t see him until he popped down at lunchtime and cornered her in the kitchen snatching a cup of coffee.
This place is like Piccadilly. I don’t suppose you can get away?’
She laughed mirthlessly. ‘Are you kidding? This is my first cup of coffee all morning.’
He glanced round and smiled. ‘I suppose I am. Look, I know it’s short notice, but could we make dinner tonight? I could bring a takeaway if you can’t get a babysitter.’
Jennifer shook her head regretfully. ‘No, sorry. Tim has Cubs and it’s impossible to get him organised and fed and into bed at a decent hour. How about tomorrow?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m giving a lecture — oh, damn. Thursday? No, I’m on call again.’
‘The weekend?’ she suggested hopefully. Tim is away with his father…’
Andrew closed his eyes and let out a harsh sigh. ‘I’ve got to go to a conference. Next Monday?’
‘You’re on call again.’
Oh, hell. This is ridiculous.’
She laughed softly. ‘You’ll forget what I look like soon.’
‘No chance,’ he said softly, and his voice held a wealth of warmth and emotion. ‘Marry me soon, Jennifer. Then maybe between midnight and six in the morning we might get time to say hello when we aren’t surrounded by people.’
She chuckled. ‘Do you suppose we can find the time to do the deed?’
‘We’ll make time,’ he growled softly. ‘I must go, you’ve got work to do.’ He leant over and brushed her lips with his, then, turning on his heel, he strode out through the department, exchanging greetings with the secretary on the way past.
