The Perfect Wife and Mother?. Caroline Anderson
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children up?’
‘I do. I meant later. You could come round.’
‘To the house?’
‘No. Bad idea, they might wake up.’
‘You could get a babysitter.’
He swallowed and nodded. ‘There’s the problem of where we go,’ he said quietly. ‘Your hospital room is too public, Zach and Jilly are back, my house is out of the question and I’m just too old to mess about in parked cars.’
‘I’ll have to get a flat,’ she said.
He snorted softly. ‘That doesn’t help us tonight, does it?’
‘No. Not really.’
He grinned and stood up. ‘I have an idea. Don’t go away.’
He was gone for three minutes and came back with a wide smile. ‘Jilly’s flat’s still vacant. It’s just behind the hospital, very easy for you to get to work, it has a phone—and it’s available now.’
‘Now?’
‘As of this minute. The hospital has it on a long lease. The accommodations officer will give you the keys.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
She was sceptical. ‘What if I don’t like it?’
‘You’ll like it,’ he said confidently. ‘It’s a nice flat. It’s even got a little garden.’
‘So how come it’s available?’
He grinned. ‘Jilly handed the keys back this morning. She’s been a bit forgetful—rather a lot on their minds. They only got married two weeks ago.’ His grin widened. ‘Want a hand to move in tonight?’
‘There’s not a lot to move in,’ she told him. ‘Two suitcases, a box of books, a few bits and pieces. Certainly no furniture.’
‘It’s furnished.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well—go on, then, go and see the accommodations officer and get the keys. If you don’t like it you can tell him so tomorrow.’
‘What about work? I can’t just walk out,’ she protested.
He laughed. ‘Who’s going to tell the boss on you, Virginia?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘OK, I’m going. Sure you can cope?’
‘Oh, I’ll find a way,’ he said softly.
‘Of course there are one or two things we didn’t consider,’ Ginny said later as they looked around the flat.
‘Such as?’
‘Sheets, towels, food—nothing important!’
He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to eight. The supermarket might still be open if they hurried. ‘I can lend you sheets and towels, and we can get food now,’ he told her.
So they did a two-minute trolley dash in the supermarket, and then dropped by his house to pick up some linen. She sat in the car outside and looked around the neighbourhood at the neat little houses, all set back from the road with pretty front gardens and lots of trees and smart cars on the drives, and wondered how the frustrated sex fiend she had discovered in him fitted into surburbia.
They went back to the flat, but they didn’t get very far. The shopping was put away—more or less—and the sheets were put on the bed, but only in a manner of speaking. Ginny put the pile down on the corner of the mattress and Ryan took her in his arms and looked down into her eyes and she caught fire again.
His mouth brushed hers, his lids fluttering down as sensation washed over them, and she closed her eyes and gave herself up to his kiss. He was hungry for her, she could tell, but he held back, slowing the pace deliberately—kissing her with lingering intent until her knees threatened to buckle.
Then he laid her down on the bed in amongst the folded blankets and tired pillows, and his fingers walked down her throat and stopped at the top button of her dress. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this all day,’ he murmured.
He slipped the first button free, pushed back the edge of her dress and kissed the pale swell of her breasts. Then the next button gave way, and the next, and with each one he kissed the skin he revealed.
She hardly dared to breathe as he reached her waist and started down her abdomen. What would he say? Would he be repulsed? It had been dark before and he’d been too blinded by urgency to notice trivia.
Sure enough, he paused, a frown pleating his brows. ‘What happened?’ he asked, his fingers tracing the savage network of scars that spanned the area between her hipbones.
‘I had a car accident when I was seventeen. I had internal injuries. We hit a bridge and the railings came through the bodywork.’
Ouch.’ His fingers were gentle. ‘Poor baby.’
She closed her eyes as he bent and kissed the jagged lines. His fingers resumed their work with the buttons, her thighs and then her calves receiving his attention, and then he raised himself on one elbow and looked at her.
Her dress was gone, pushed aside in his slow exploration, and only her underwear remained. Her bra was front-fastening and, with his eyes fixed on hers, he slipped the catch and let her breasts spill into his waiting hands.
‘So much woman,’ he murmured, and she closed her eyes and bit down on the little cry that rose in her throat as his mouth fastened hotly over one nipple and suckled hard. She writhed under him, sensation ripping through her as he bit and sucked and licked and blew cold air over her sensitive skin, until she couldn’t stand it any more.
Then, shedding her clothes, she knelt up on the bed and reached for his shirt buttons.
‘Your turn,’ she told him, and with slow deliberation she slipped each button in turn through its buttonhole, and when she reached his waistband she pulled the tails out and undid the last button, then pushed the shirt over his shoulders. He rolled over—shedding the sleeves one at a time—then rolled back, his eyes fixed hungrily on hers as she reached for the buckle of his belt.
The only sound in the room was the harsh rasp of his breath, and in the near-silence the scrape of the zip was almost deafening.
She caught her fingers in the waistband of his trousers and briefs, and he lifted his hips and she peeled the clothes away. As she reached his ankles he kicked his shoes off and lifted his feet, and she grabbed his socks in passing and pulled them off too.
Then he was naked, all hers, and she thought her heart would stop beating she wanted him so much. Emotion clawed at her—love, despair, emptiness, need—and when he reached for her she fell into his arms with a little sob and buried her face in his shoulder.
‘Virginia?’ he murmured, and the soft drawl was her undoing.
‘Please, O’Connor,’ she whimpered. ‘Please…’
‘Do I need to use anything? I forgot to ask the other night.’
‘No, it’s OK,’ she said. O’Connor, please—’
‘You’re sure? I’d hate to get you pregnant.’
Her heart splintered in her chest. ‘I’m sure,’ she whispered rawly. Her eyes closed over the tears that she wouldn’t shed. He’d never promised her happy ever after, so what was the point of grieving for what she could never have?
She concentrated on what she could have—the feel of his body on hers, in hers, and as his mouth found hers and fastened on it he started to move, slowly at first and then faster, and she matched his rhythm and reached the pinnacle with him, her body contracting around his as he spilled deep within her.
And if the cry that was torn from her wasn’t one of ecstasy but of pain,