Captivated By The Single Dad. Barbara Hannay
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the cave in the middle of Gray’s shatteringly beautiful wilderness, listening to him shyly recite his poetry, something huge had happened, something totally unexpected, something guaranteed to break her heart.
The noonday sun reached deep into the gorge, warming the wide ledge of rocks where they ate their simple picnic of egg and lettuce sandwiches on homemade bread, along with doorstop slices of rich fruity cake, and oranges.
Holly leaned down, dipping her fingers into water so clear she could see tiny silvery fish feeding on the sandy bottom.
Gray was busy lighting a fire for their billy tea and he called to her, ‘Is the water cold?’
‘Cool, but not freezing.’
‘We could go for a swim if you weren’t afraid of crocodiles.’
‘Well, of course I’m afraid of crocodiles. Who wouldn’t be?’
Catching his grin, she knew he’d only been teasing.
She sat up to watch him work, to watch the smooth tanned skin on the back of his neck and the damp line of sweat on his collar, the stretch of his cotton shirt over his wide shoulders, his long fingers deftly snapping twigs and poking them into the flames.
She imagined changing into bathers and swimming with him—if there were no crocodiles—and sweet shivers ran through her.
‘The billy will take a few minutes to boil.’ Gray’s voice broke into her musings. ‘We may as well make a start on our tucker.’
Holly discovered, to her surprise that she was ravenous and the sandwiches were surprisingly fresh with just the right balance of mayonnaise and pepper.
The gorge was completely silent now. Earlier there’d been bird calls but, in the midday stillness, the birds had retreated. Gray, looking very relaxed, sat with his back against a warm rock wall, his long jeans-clad legs stretched in front of him, his face shaded by his broad-brimmed hat.
Holly was quite prepared to eat her lunch in silence, lazing like a lizard in the sun and growing drowsy. And she was sure that was what Gray wanted, too, so she was surprised when he spoke suddenly.
‘So…what made you decide to become a teacher?’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ she said. ‘I was inspired by my fourth grade teacher, Miss Porter. She was lovely and brilliant and kind. And she turned our whole class onto books and reading.’
Gray nodded slowly, watching her from beneath his shady brim.
‘I started out as a regular classroom teacher in Vermont,’ Holly explained. ‘That was fine for a few years, but all the time I was in the classroom I could feel the library calling to me, so I decided to get extra qualifications to run school libraries. That’s when I moved to New York.’
‘And you left your boyfriend behind.’
‘Yes.’ Holly waited for the slug of pain that always hit her when she thought about Brandon. It eventually came, like a delayed reaction, and it still hurt but, to her surprise, it was no longer crippling.
She realised that Gray was watching her, but he swiftly switched his gaze to the fire and the boiling billy and he lifted it from the fire, then added tea leaves and gave them a stir.
‘Are you ready for your tea?’ he asked after a few minutes.
‘Thank you.’ Gratefully, Holly accepted an enamel mug of tea that was black and sweet and hot. Sipping it helped to calm the strange new tension inside her—a tension that had nothing to do with talking about Brandon and everything to do with her present company.
‘Gray—’
‘Hmm?’ He leaned comfortably back against the rock and sipped his tea.
‘Did you have School of the Air when you were a child?’
‘Do you have to start talking about school right now?’
‘I don’t suppose it’s essential, but I just told you about my favourite teacher. And I was thinking about your lovely poem, and I wondered where you learned about poetry.’
‘It certainly wasn’t on School of the Air.’
‘Did you go away to boarding school?’
This was greeted by a deep sigh. ‘Can we give this a miss, Holly?’
‘I’m a teacher. I can’t help wanting to know these things.’
‘School is not everyone’s favourite subject.’
‘Is this another conversation stopper?’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It seems to me that every time I have a conversation with you I run into trouble. There’s always something you don’t want to talk about. Chelsea, I can understand. But what’s wrong with talking about school?’
‘The school a person went to doesn’t matter out here in the bush. We’re not snobs about that sort of thing.’
‘I’m not asking you to show off. I was just curious—anything about your school would do. Best teacher, worst teacher. Favourite subject, favourite sport—’
There was a movement on the rock beside her. A beat later, Gray was close beside her, leaning in to her, and Holly realised with a shock that he was planning to kiss her.
Small explosions detonated all over her body.
She was sure she should say something to stop him, but her brain refused to cooperate.
When Gray touched his lips to hers, her surprise melted like sugar in hot tea and—oh, man—she responded like a person in a dream.
His mouth was like the sun burning across the sky, moving over her mouth, inch by fiery inch, cautious at first, and testing. Holly remained perfectly still, afraid that at any moment she might wake up and feel obliged to behave responsibly.
She didn’t want to behave responsibly. She was too curious initially and then she was bewitched by his totally masculine enchantment.
Already, she was melting, softening and, when her lips drifted apart, Gray accepted her invitation without hesitation. His hands cradled her head and his kiss, tasting faintly of orange and tea, became clever and darkly seductive.
She could smell the sunlight on his skin, could feel its warmth on her closed eyelids, and she was sinking beneath it. Melting beneath his persuasive lips. Melting and needy. So needy. She could no longer resist him even if she’d wanted to.
A sweet, compelling ache started low inside her, urging her to lean into him, to link her hands behind his neck and to return his kiss, to communicate with her body the shocking, thrilling impatience that had taken possession.
Oh, heavens, she might die if he stopped.
A sound broke the noonday silence—half a whimper, half a moan. Amazingly, it had come from her, but she couldn’t stop to worry about decorum now.
But, to her dismay, Gray pulled away from her.
‘Holly.’
Noooo. She kept her eyes tightly closed.
In the stillness she could hear the hammering of her heartbeats and the reckless pace of Gray’s breathing.
He dropped a soft kiss on the bridge of her nose, then moved further away.
‘What—?’ she began, then had to pause to catch her breath.
His sexy blue eyes were apologetic. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
Sorry?
Oh, God. How could he share the hottest kiss of her life, possibly the most fabulous kiss since the beginning of time, and then apologise as if it were a mistake?
Distraught, Holly stared at him. ‘Why are you sorry?’
‘I