Four Weddings. Fiona Lowe
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He sighed. ‘I met men like your father during my psychiatric rotation. They have a pathological hatred of women. Once their daughter grows up they see that normal development as a betrayal of their love.’ He hated how trite the theory sounded against Bec’s reality.
She shrugged. ‘Whatever. All I know is that things got pretty bad and I had to leave home for my own safety. Only I mistimed my departure and he arrived home to find me with my bags packed.’ A flinching shudder vibrated through her body.
The same shudder he’d seen when his hand had accidentally brushed hers at the clinic. The same flinch as earlier that day at the market, moments after she’d playfully elbowed him. Hell, all this time she’d been on alert, ready to dodge and duck, thinking he might hurt her.
Nausea rolled in his stomach. He wanted to flatten the lowlife who’d created this fear within her. He wanted to make things better but rationally he knew he couldn’t. Yet he had to try. ‘You don’t have to relive this if you don’t want to.’
Her mouth firmed and her chin jutted. ‘A half-told story is as bad as a suppressed one. Surely you learned that in your psych rotation?’ Her eyes flashed with pain and resentment.
His heart took a direct hit with her jibe. ‘I apologise. I ignored your signals that you didn’t want to talk, I asked you a question and I’ve pushed for an answer. You’re right, now I need to listen.’
She blinked. Twice. A look of incredulity raced across her face as if she didn’t believe what she’d just heard. She cleared her throat. ‘To cut a long story short, after I refused to return to my room he threw my bags down the stairs. Then he threw me. In a way it got me out of his life for good. Child Protection stepped in and court orders prevented him from making any contact.’
His gut ached for her but he knew she didn’t want sympathy. ‘At sixteen, though, you were still a kid. Where did you live?’
For the first time in a long time she smiled at a memory. ‘With my aunt—my mother’s sister. He’d not allowed contact with any family so at least that gave me the chance to get to know my real family.’
My real family. He chased away the thoughts her words generated in him. His real family, the one he hadn’t been able to find. Yet.
‘Hey, don’t look so pensive on my account. I got out. Some kids don’t.’ Her pretty face took on a hard edge.
He recognised that expression. He’d seen it cross her face once before. The time she’d talked about the money she had for the clinic. I won’t have anything to do with that money.
‘That two hundred and fifty thousand dollars you want to use for children—it’s your father’s money, isn’t it?’
She bit her lip and nodded slightly. ‘He left it to me in his will. It was the only paternal thing he ever did. You don’t miss much, do you?’ She stared at him, the look long and intense.
A look that saw through him, carving deeply, all the way down to the essence of his soul. His gut, which had ached in pain for her, suddenly lurched. Unexpected longing poured through him. What would it be like to have those eyes gaze at him without their shadows?
The thought shocked him. He fought to clear his mind, stay fixed on her story. ‘I guess putting the pieces of a puzzle together are part of my job. After all, that’s what diagnosis is.’
‘I guess it is.’ She trailed some fine gravel through her hand.
He spoke to her bowed head. ‘I understand now why you don’t want to use any of that money for yourself.’
Her eyes glittered hard and sharp for a moment. ‘He will not buy me from the grave.’ A softer expression wafted across her face. ‘But I will use his money to work for the greater good.’
Everything fell into place. ‘And that’s why you want to use the money to improve children’s lives?’ He stood up and stretched his hands out, pulling her to her feet.
She rose up toward him, nodding so vehemently that her hair slipped out of its band. ‘Every child deserves a childhood. Without a childhood how can they grow to adulthood and take on a productive place in society?
‘They need a guarantee of their basic human rights, to live without fear, to have access to food and clean water, health care and education.’ She looked up at him, her sparkling eyes a stunning shade of iris blue. Her lithe body pulsed with the passionate conviction of her beliefs.
His blood heated, surging through his body and pooling in his groin. Her passion and fervour set off a chain reaction, bringing alive every nerve ending in his body, sensation stacking on sensation, driving down to the tips of his toes.
He knew he should let go of her hands but he wanted to soak up her enthusiasm, her innate goodness. His thumbs stroked the backs of her hands, the gentle circular motion absorbing her heat, sucking in her energy, trying to claim a part of her for himself.
Her eyes widened, two translucent discs unfettered by shutters, barriers and guards.
He thought he glimpsed a woman’s naked need, a flare of desire.
For an infinitesimal moment she swayed toward him.
He recognised the precise moment she stopped herself.
Regret surged through him. His arms ached to hold her, to feel her body moulded against his own, just like on the ride up the mountain. He wanted to feel her face snuggled against his shoulder, wanted to let his head drop down against her silky hair and lose himself in her distinctively fresh scent of cinnamon apples. Wanted to taste her, feel her soft lips yielding against his own.
It scared the hell out of him.
He specialised in detachment. He didn’t get involved with anyone. Never had. He couldn’t offer a woman anything until he’d found the missing piece of himself. And Bec didn’t want his touch.
So why did the thought of changing the rules even enter his head?
* * *
‘Leprosy?’ Bec couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘There’s leprosy in this country?’
She and Tom were pulling medical kits out of the back of a truck. They’d left the far northwest of the country yesterday after three weeks in the village. She hadn’t wanted to leave.
She’d never worked so hard in her life as she had during the cholera outbreak. Amidst the hard work and heartache she’d fallen in love with the tenacity of the villagers and the glorious mountains that isolated them.
She’d learnt more in three weeks than in all her years at university.
Now they were on the coast. Wide sandy beaches edged with tall coconut trees extended both north and south as far as the eye could see.
‘There’s still some leprosy, although we’re winning and the rates have dropped dramatically. According to the World Health Organization we’re pretty close to eliminating the disease. But the stigma causes social problems and the health of the lepers needs constant monitoring.’ He handed her a medical kit backpack and smiled. A restrained smile.
She swallowed a sigh. She missed the wide, cheeky grin he used to give her and still gave everyone else. She hadn’t been the recipient of that smile since their trip to the Sunday market.
When he’d stood so close to her at the lookout, holding her hands and caressing her skin with his thumbs, coils of yearning had unravelled inside her like silk streaming in the wind. Glorious sensations had spread through her, making her knees buckle. She’d desperately wanted to lean into him. Wanted to rest her body against him and snuggle into the shelter of his arms.
But stepping into his arms would have been a huge mistake. Way too big a risk.
So she’d pulled back and a dull pain had started to throb under her ribs. It had never completely left her.
When he’d