Their Meant-To-Be Baby. Caroline Anderson
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hand out to stop him as he reached for them.
‘Your turn,’ she said, stalling for time, and he smiled wickedly and dumped his wallet and keys and phone on the bedside table before he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks and shucked his jeans, kicking them away to land in a heap with hers.
There was nothing unusual or remarkable about his snug jersey shorts, but the contents...
‘Keep going,’ she ordered, and he quirked a brow and peeled them slowly down, letting them drop to the floor as he stood there bold and unselfconscious and gloriously naked.
How wonderful to be so sure of yourself, she thought as he pushed her down onto the bed and tipped her back, reaching out his hands to draw the dark blue lace with its pink ribbons slowly down over her hips, her legs, her feet...
‘Now that’s more like it,’ he said, and the searing flame of his eyes stroked her with fire.
She whimpered, clenching her knees together to stop the blaze from burning her up, but he reached out a hand, pressing her knees apart, his wicked, clever fingers replacing the stroke of his eyes as his hand slid up her thigh and found its target unerringly.
The intimacy shocked and yet excited her, the tension winding tighter and tighter in her body with every touch, and then suddenly he was gone, leaving her lying there exposed and aching, screaming for release.
‘Sam—?’
‘Two seconds.’
She heard a slight rustle, a faint tearing sound, and then he was back. A condom, she realised. Thank God one of them was thinking straight, although he didn’t need it because she was on the Pill, but she knew nothing about him—
‘Shove up,’ he muttered, and she wriggled into the middle of the bed as he followed her, peeling away her bra, his mouth taking its place, fastening over one breast and suckling hard as a hand found the other and cradled it in his warm palm.
His knee nudged hers apart and she yielded to him, her body aching for his, arching into him as she begged incoherently, her hesitation forgotten, pleading for something out of reach, something special, and so elusive.
‘Easy,’ he murmured, and then he was there, filling her, her face cradled gently in his hands as he kissed her. His mouth was hot and sweet and coaxing, his body taut and so, so clever, and the feeling inside her escalated wildly. She felt the pressure building, tried to squirm away, to stall it because suddenly to give him so much of herself seemed too great a step, making her too vulnerable to this stranger who could play her body like a violin.
He held her, though, his body claiming hers, refusing to free it, to let her escape the thing she’d yearned for and now dreaded because it would tear down her defences and leave her wide open to hurt.
‘Look at me, Kate,’ he demanded softly, and his eyes captured hers and held them, steady and sure, the flame burning bright as he drove her over the edge and crumbled all her defences into dust.
Then, and only then, did he close his eyes, drop his head against her shoulder and let himself go.
SAM PROPPED HIMSELF on one elbow and watched Kate sleeping, her rich toffee-coloured hair an unruly tangle, her limbs sprawled in exhaustion.
He knew how that felt.
Their mutual thirst was finally slaked, but on the way there he’d wrung every last gasp out of her, taken both of them to the limit of their endurance over and over again. It had been amazing, astonishing. Compelling beyond anything he’d ever felt before.
Guilt plagued him at that, but he pushed it away. It was only sex, nothing more. It wasn’t disloyal, because this wasn’t a relationship, just a crazy night out of nowhere. Surely to God he was allowed to have fun sometimes, to forget, just for a few hours?
A curl lay across her cheek, and he lifted it away, careful not to disturb her. Not that he thought he would. She was sleeping like the dead—
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was only six thirty, but the man who owned the boat was going out on the tide before nine so they’d arranged to meet at seven, but then he should be done. He could be back in town by eight, nine at the latest. Maybe she could meet him then?
Her jeans were in a heap on the floor, and her phone was lying beside them. He picked it up, and his own, went into the bathroom and called himself from her phone to get the number, then sent her a text.
Meet me for breakfast? Café by the restaurant at nine? S
He put the phones down, showered and towelled himself roughly dry, cleaned his teeth and then on the spur of the moment reloaded the new emergency toothbrush he’d found her before he pulled on his clothes and packed. He tried hard not to disturb her, but he could have slammed the door and she wouldn’t have heard she was so heavily asleep. He’d ask Reception to give her a call at eight. That would give her an hour to get ready for breakfast.
He hesitated a moment, then bent, breathing in the scent of warm skin and sex as he touched his lips to her flushed, sleep-creased cheek.
She didn’t move. Just as well. He was out of time.
He picked up his things, put her phone where she’d see it and let himself quietly out of the room.
* * *
A phone was ringing.
Kate struggled up out of the depths of sleep and registered her surroundings as she groped for the room phone. ‘Hello?’
The recorded, electronic voice was horribly cheerful. ‘This is your alarm call. The time is eight a.m.’
Alarm call? Why...?
Sam, she realised, looking round at the empty room. All his stuff was gone. He must have left for his meeting, but why hadn’t he said goodbye? After all they’d shared, he’d just left without a word?
Her brain slowly coming to, she dropped the receiver back on the cradle and slumped against the pillows.
Dammit, would she never learn?
She stumbled out of bed and opened the bottle of spring water on the hospitality tray, dragged on her clothes and shoved her phone in her pocket. She was so bone tired. She was going home for a shower and then she’d fall into bed—
Her mobile rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket and stared at it in dismay. Her ward manager, which could only mean one thing. Her finger hovered over the phone, then she gave in to the inevitable guilt and answered it reluctantly.
‘Hi, Jill.’
‘Kate, I’m so sorry, I hate to do this to you on your day off but is there any way you can come in?’
Again? Her heart sank and she plopped down onto the bed in despair. ‘Can’t you get an agency nurse? I’ve just done seven days straight—’
‘I’ve tried. Please, Kate? Jane’s called in—she’s got norovirus, too, and we’re so short-staffed we’re going to have to close the Emergency Department if we can’t get more nursing cover. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.’
She gave in. The winter vomiting bug had swept through Yoxburgh Park Hospital in the last few weeks, which was why Petra had been called in last night, and there was no point fighting the inevitable. ‘OK, I’m on my way. I just need time to shower and grab some breakfast—’
‘Quick shower. I’ll make you some toast when you get here. We really need you now.’
Oh, dammit. ‘OK, OK, I’m coming. Give me ten minutes.’
Which meant she didn’t even have time to go home and change. It could have been worse. At least she hadn’t gone out last night in a tiny dress and six-inch stilettos or she’d be doing the walk of shame.
Not that it would be the first