The Marriage Gamble

by Meredith Webber

  Jacinta chuckled, but he sensed relief in the way she hurried off to get her handbag and lock her consulting room.

  They left by the front door, again walking through the mall. His toe was better now so there was no excuse to hold her hand.

  Would she mind if he did anyway?

  Feeling as uncertain as a teenager on his first date, Mike strode briskly along the familiar route.

  ‘Ghosts chasing you?’ Jacinta asked, bringing his steps to an abrupt halt. ‘Not that I mind walking quickly. It was the running to keep up I found hard.’

  He looked down into her flushed face and saw doubt as well as amusement in the dark depths of her lovely eyes.

  ‘Sorry. I tend to stride out a bit when I’m thinking.’

  They walked on, though he’d shortened his steps and lessened his pace.

  ‘Thinking of closing down Abbott Road, or of stopping it being used as a meeting place?’

  Mike knew frown lines, which at his age he couldn’t afford to encourage, had gathered on his forehead. Weren’t women supposed to be the sentimental gender—ruled by emotion rather than rational thought? Yet, while he was thinking of dates, and hand-holding and the possibility of kissing her again in the not too distant future, his companion’s only concern was work-related.

  The problem was, he should be thinking of closing down Abbott Road. According to a late email from his accountant, he would have to sell the building to fund the planned expansion and the internet venture. Though now was hardly the time to tell Jacinta.

  Actually, now was precisely the time to tell Jacinta, his conscience growled, but before he could mentally debate the issue she spoke again.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Of course, you’ll do whatever’s right for you, but there are alternatives to closing down, you know. Restructuring would make it more profitable. Abbott Road doesn’t need the number of—’

  Mike stopped moving, turned towards her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Do you think we could, just for a couple of hours, forget about Abbott Road? I promise I’ll listen to your ideas tomorrow. We’ll make a time and sit down and talk about nothing else.’

  Jacinta looked up into his face, and in the light from a nearby lamp he could see bewilderment written on her face, doubt flickering in her eyes.

  ‘But if we’re not having dinner to discuss business,’ she said, her voice small and slightly wavery, ‘why are we having it?’

  Why indeed? asked the cynic in his head.

  ‘Could we pretend it’s just a…?’ He hesitated. To use the word ‘date’ might put her off altogether. ‘Social occasion?’

  He could all but see the word ‘why’ hovering on her lips, but he turned away, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and moved on, thinking of the silly, sentimental phrase ‘as high as my heart’.

  To have silly sentimental phrases or thoughts bumbling about in his head raised red flags of warning. Treacherous path ahead.

  ‘That’s a ridiculous suggestion!’ his companion said, after an interval so long he thought he’d convinced her. ‘Apart from both being doctors, we’ve nothing in common and, if you remember, you all but blackmailed me into coming out with you tonight by suggesting we discuss the clinic.’

  His mind flashed back to when he had asked her out and he remembered they hadn’t been discussing the survival of the clinic but prescription drugs.

  ‘OK, so we’ll talk, but not until we’ve had a drink, relaxed and at least started on our meal. For now, let’s enjoy the stroll. I love the city when it’s emptying of people. A cloak of mystery seems to wrap around it—as if there’s no knowing what might be going on behind the closed shop and office doors.’

  ‘Toys coming to life and dancing around the toyshops?’ Jacinta teased, though she knew she shouldn’t give in to the light-hearted mood enveloping her. Surely the kissing thing that afternoon was enough to remind her to keep their relationship on a business footing.

  But, no, here she was, her hand tucked cosily into Mike’s elbow, her body moving by his side, in step with his—and being light-hearted!

  ‘I was thinking more in terms of secret meetings,’ he countered, and she heard amusement in his voice. ‘Assignations!’

  ‘Assignations!’ she repeated, ignoring the dig about the secret meetings. ‘It has such an illicit sound. Like stolen kisses.’

  Now, what had made her add that? Mentioning kisses had prompted her heart to skitter about with a dangerous delight. Not exactly a good start to the ‘business footing’.

  ‘Stolen kisses?’ His turn to repeat a snippet of conversation. ‘Is that what we shared, Jacinta?’

  They’d reached the restaurant and he paused outside it, turning so he could look down into her face.

  She met his gaze without flinching and said, with a forthrightness she was far from feeling, ‘What else could they be, Mike? We’re chalk and cheese, you and I, and even if we did have something in common, you don’t want commitment while I, if I’m going to invest my time and energy in a relationship, would definitely want to think it had some hope of lasting. I’m beyond the let’s-just-have-fun stage in my life.’

  He looked slightly put out, then his eyes sparked with what she was beginning to recognise as a smile, and she knew he’d decided to turn it into a joke.

  ‘So we can’t just have some fun?’

  For a brief moment Jacinta was tempted. In fact, part of her was arguing it was time she had a little fun. Then, attracted though she might be to the man, she remembered the volcano. If kissing him caused such reactions, ‘having fun’ with Mike Trent, a man who wanted nothing to do with long-term attachments, would undoubtedly consume her, leaving nothing but the charred ruins of the Jacinta she’d once been.

  ‘No!’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MIKE watched Jacinta slide into one side of the booth. She looked—and had sounded—so composed and cool that if he hadn’t tasted her kisses and heard the fire and passion in her voice when she’d talked about the homeless kids, he’d have wondered if there was ice-water instead of red blood flowing through her veins.

  It was only too obvious she didn’t feel the same fire and passion for him—which was just as well, given the way things were going in his business and the things he hadn’t told her.

  ‘Mike!’

  Something in her voice suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d said his name, and he glanced behind him to see Marco hovering there.

  ‘Sorry, Marco, I was thinking of something else. Real menus tonight?’

  ‘Tonight I have a real chef,’ Marco said, his brown eyes twinkling in welcome. ‘Sundays, I do the cooking myself. You’ll have a drink while you consider what to eat?’

  Once again, Jacinta ordered a small glass of dry white wine and Mike, though tempted to ask her to share a bottle of wine, decided to stick to light beer. He really did want to talk about the problems of over-prescribing, and his head was already fogged by Jacinta’s sudden incursion into his life.

  But sitting with her, seeing her across the table from him, filled him with a nameless pleasure. Had he felt the same way—in this same booth—with Lauren all those years ago?

  He searched both mind and heart, but couldn’t remember—certainly couldn’t recall a warm sense of fulfilment like the one he was experiencing now.

  A warm sense of fulfilment? When Jacinta had just told him she had no intention of investing her time or energy in him? Was he going mad?

  Fortunately a waiter appeared with their drinks and hovered, waiting to take their orders, so Mike broke the silence by asking what she’d fancy, and by the time the waiter departed he’d managed to get his mind back in order. The rest of him would surely follow.

  ‘Prescriptions—that’s what we were talking about when you suggested dinner. I’ve just remembered.’ Jacinta smiled with such delight he wondered if she, too, had been thinking thoughts she’d rather not have thought. ‘Something to do with Rohan’s pati
ents.’

  It was important, he reminded himself, but once again he stalled, only this time it was professional discretion that made him hesitate.

  ‘Let’s forget Rohan’s patients for a moment, and discuss over-prescribing in general.’ That sounded about as businesslike as he could get! ‘How can it be monitored?’

  ‘It’s already checked, to a certain extent, by the government regulatory bodies,’ she reminded him. ‘Through pharmacy records. But within clinics such as yours?’

  She tilted her head to one side and he immediately recalled her description of herself as a ‘little brown mouse’. There might be something mouse-like in that particular gesture but, from what he’d seen of her, a lion would have been closer to the mark—make that lioness, given both her gender and the mile-wide protective streak she seemed to have.

  ‘It’s probably time all prescriptions were computer-generated. I understand they are in some of your clinics, but at Abbott Road we’re still in the Dark Ages. If they were computer-generated, and all the computers linked to a central system, then it would be easy enough for a programmer to set up something that would automatically scan and monitor the prescribing of all drugs, or specifically chosen drugs, or whatever you happened to programme it to do.’

  Mike nodded, pleased she’d diverted him with her common sense.

  ‘All the individual office computers are already linked, but we’ve only computerised the patient files and script generation in the two most recently opened clinics.’

  He smiled at her.

  ‘You’re right—about Abbott Road and about how easy it would be to keep an eye out for the dangers of overprescribing.’

  Now was the time to tell her about selling Abbott Road, but she was smiling back at him, and he didn’t want to see that smile fade.

  Particularly didn’t want to see the anger he knew would spark in her eyes.

  Not tonight.

  So he talked about the people at the meeting, then asked how she’d persuaded so many government employees to become involved.

  ‘Most of them really care about the work they do—or they did when they first began in their positions. But they become swamped in the paperwork, and office politics, and the business side of things, and lose sight of the people. Coming to the “Optional Extras” meetings brought them back in touch with the reality of homeless youth.’

  ‘They met some of the people to whom their funding goes,’ Mike said. ‘Makes sense to me, but they still have their paperwork to do—surely they can’t find time to attend your meetings on a weekly basis?’

  Jacinta’s smile grew perceptibly brighter, as if his interest were a gift.

  ‘It’s not every week—we don’t meet on the first Tuesday of the month. You could use that night for CPR lectures if you wanted. You haven’t forgotten them?’

  He hadn’t, neither had he done any more about it, in spite of the death of the man they’d tried to save still weighing so heavily on his mind. But before he could bring up the subject, Jacinta was speaking again.

  ‘The meetings differ. Tonight the focus was on permanent accommodation, so all the people involved in that, right through to a member of the Minister’s staff, attend. The third Tuesday in the month is always on training and education so, as well as kids who are interested in furthering their education, we get a range of teachers and career specialists and guidance officers from various high schools and day and evening colleges. We get people in to talk about what they do as well, from plumbers to university professors.’

  ‘And the fourth Tuesday?’ Mike asked, fascinated by what was being achieved in evening meetings at his old clinic.

  Another smile flashed his way.

  ‘Mainly for kids—it’s form-filling night. How to apply for anything from youth allowance to admission to one of the private colleges now offering scholarships to these kids. A lot of social workers and psychologists come along so it’s developed into a bit of a group therapy night as well. The kids can have a one-on-one chat with someone if they have specific problems, or they can bring up their problems in a general forum and have everyone discuss it. We seem to hug each other a lot on the fourth Tuesday.’

  Mike made another mental note— ‘Attend meeting on the fourth Tuesday.’ Even if he didn’t get to hug Jacinta, he could check on who else might be doing it.

  ‘Does it worry you so much, using the clinic waiting room for these meetings?’

  The question startled him.

  ‘Worry me? Not at all. I’m surprised by how much you’ve achieved, but not worried.’

  ‘Then why are you frowning?’

  He’d have liked to have said he wasn’t, but undoubtedly she had seen a frown or she wouldn’t have asked the question.

  But he didn’t want to think, let alone admit, that the thought of Jacinta hugging someone made him frown. Hugs were fairly impersonal after all.

  ‘You’re doing it again,’ she told him. ‘Something’s obviously bugging you.’

  Fortunately, their meals arrived at that moment, so Mike was able to turn the conversation to food.

  Which was delicious, Jacinta admitted to herself, pleased she’d resisted pizza earlier. But something she’d said had aggravated Mike. Though she’d been quite rude to him about ‘investing in a relationship’, he hadn’t seemed to take offence, and she’d been able to relax and enjoy his company and their conversation.

  Until he’d frowned.

  She selected another mouthful of food then glanced across at him. A little shadow of the frown remained, though he did seem to be enjoying his meal.

  A strong face, with a good bone structure…

  He caught her staring.

  ‘Do I pass muster?’ he asked, and she hoped she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt.

  ‘Actually, I was thinking what a good skull you must have—under the hair and skin and flesh.’

  His shout of laughter rang out, causing heads to turn their way, while Jacinta squirmed with even more embarrassment that she’d blurted out the first thing to come into her head.

  ‘I suppose I should be grateful you’re thinking about me at all,’ he said, when his laughter had died down to occasional chuckles. ‘But a skull? Did you have murder on your mind?’

  No way! But she could hardly tell him that attraction had led her to the comment, when she’d been adamant she wasn’t interested in having fun with him.

  ‘You’d be the one more likely to be thinking murder,’ she replied. ‘It was wrong of me to use the clinic after hours for meetings, but I did try to contact you for permission.’

  His chuckles died away and the frown returned.

  ‘Am I really so inaccessible?’

  Jacinta nodded, pleased she had a mouthful of food and wouldn’t be expected to reply. There’d been nothing inaccessible about him earlier, when he’d kissed her…

  She cut another piece of chicken and added a small sliver of mushroom to her fork, then glanced up at him.

  He was watching her this time, and something in his eyes suggested he might also be thinking of the kiss.

  Jacinta felt her nipples peak, pressing almost painfully against the lace of her bra. She wanted to rub them, to ease the tension his look had caused, but a strange lethargy was stealing over her, weighing her body down with the heaviness of desire.

  ‘Maybe I could afford just a little time for fun,’ she muttered, only realising the words had been loud enough for Mike to hear when his eyes lit up and his lips—those, oh, so kissable lips—tilted into a smile.

  ‘I hope that muttered remark wasn’t connected to your “lame ducks”.’

  ‘That remark was my subconscious taking over.’ Jacinta tried valiantly to regain lost ground. ‘Doesn’t mean a thing!’

  ‘No?’

  The inflection in the word, uttered in that dark gravelly voice, sent feathery ripples of sensation down her spine. Tingles tangled with them and her body thrummed with such anticipatory pleasure she looked around, wondering if an
yone had noticed this almost silent seduction.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’

  Jacinta nodded, then shook her head. She was about to say she hadn’t finished her meal when she realised she must have pushed her plate away earlier. It was definitely gone—taken no doubt, while other appetites ran riot through her body.

  ‘Sure you wouldn’t like dessert? Another glass of wine? Coffee?’

  The booth was too dimly lit for Jacinta to see the expression in his eyes, but she was reasonably sure there was a teasing subtext to the words. The wretch knew exactly how she was feeling. Knew she needed fresh night air to cool the burning in her body.

  ‘No, that was lovely, thank you,’ she said politely, though right now she couldn’t remember what she’d eaten.

  ‘Then shall we go?’ he murmured, rising to his feet and holding out his hand.

  She slipped her fingers into his—aware that this was the physical equivalent of standing on a diving board, about to plunge into her fantasy volcano.

  Pheonixes rose from ashes, she reminded herself as she followed him through the throng of people near the bar and out the door into the night-time quiet of the mall.

  And fire regenerates much of the Australian bush.

  Could she look on it as a regeneration?

  He didn’t break into her silent debate with words, though he did tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow and hold it there so her body was drawn closer. As well as peaking nipples, she now had breasts aching with a longing she’d forgotten existed.

  Then Mike turned down a side street, startling her into an awareness of where they were. He must have felt her hesitation for he said, ‘I thought as both our cars were in the car park off the lane, we’d walk this way. Do you need to go back into the clinic for something?’

  My common sense? My determination not to get involved with you?

  Not things you could bottle to take as cures or preventatives, she knew, so she shook her head and kept walking in step with him while his body whispered silent messages to hers and she wondered if people ever screamed aloud with frustration.