It fell open at his touch, and with a ragged sigh he eased it away from her and shook his head.
‘You lied—about the topless sunbathing,’ he said flatly, and she gave a shaky little laugh.
‘I didn’t lie. I believe I was noncommittal, and told you you didn’t need to get to know me that well.’
‘I was jealous,’ he confessed, his eyes caressing her. ‘I’d never even met you before, but the thought of another man seeing you…’
He lifted his hand and grazed his knuckles over the aching, swollen curve of her breasts, along the edge of her tan line, and she closed her eyes and whimpered with need.
‘Please—Ben—touch me,’ she whispered, and then she felt the heat of his mouth on her skin and her knees buckled.
He caught her, hauling her against him, his restraint finally shattering as his frenzied mouth found hers and plundered it. Her hands raided his back, searching out the corded muscles, the hollow of his spine, the firm, taut swell of his buttocks. Moaning against his mouth, she pulled him closer, rocking against the hot, heavy steel of his erection and dragging another groan from deep inside him.
‘I need you,’ he rasped. ‘Dear God, Meg, I need you now…’
His mouth ravaged hers again, and then with a gasp he wrenched himself away.
‘Ben?’
‘Condoms,’ he muttered. ‘Where the hell’s my jacket?’
‘On the chair,’ she said, hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat.
‘Damn. Wrong pocket.’
He came back to her, his hands brimming, and her jaw sagged. He smiled grimly. ‘I ransacked the machine in the gents,’ he told her, and she laughed again.
‘I hope nobody else thought they were going to do this tonight,’ she said, and he laughed and pulled her back into his arms.
‘You are so lovely,’ he said, and the laughter left them, replaced by a tender urgency. ‘I want to make love to you.’
‘I thought you were.’
‘I haven’t even started yet.’
Her heart nearly stopped. She found a smile from somewhere and cradled his dear, beloved face in her hands. ‘Don’t let me stop you,’ she murmured, and drew him down for her kiss.
‘I’m starving.’
Ben laughed and propped himself up on one elbow. He felt happy and relaxed and more in tune with himself than he’d felt in years, and Meg was single-handedly responsible.
‘Starving, eh?’
‘Mmm. I hardly ate a thing last night—too many nerves.’
‘You were nervous?’ he said, and chuckled. ‘I thought it was me who had to be nervous.’
‘I was doing it for both of us,’ she said ruefully, propping herself up on both elbows and reaching her face up to kiss him. ‘Mmm.’ She rubbed her chin gently against his, and wrinkled her nose. ‘Stubble,’ she murmured.
‘I’ll shave.’
‘No. No, don’t. I like it.’
‘It’ll make your face sore.’
‘Depends how much you intend to kiss me,’ she said with a smile, and he slid his free hand round the back of her neck and anchored her.
‘A lot,’ he mumbled against her lips.
They came up for air a minute later, and she pushed him away. ‘OK, I agree. You need to shave. But breakfast first.’
‘It’s only five-thirty.’
‘Habit. I always wake up at five-thirty.’
He pushed back the quilt and looked down at her, scanning the soft, full breasts, the slender waist, the slight hollow of her pelvis above the dark curls. His hand ran down, palm flat against her skin, and curled around her hip, rocking her against him so she could feel what she did to him.
Her eyes widened and she smiled. ‘Well, good morning,’ she said softly.
‘Good morning.’
He lowered his head and kissed her again, but after a moment she pushed him away. ‘Uh-uh. You haven’t shaved, and I still need breakfast.’
He gave up. With a frustrated laugh he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and picked up the phone. ‘What do you want?’
‘Something exotic. Actually, I could murder a huge cup of tea.’
‘Something exotic. Right. So I’ll ask for tea, shall I?’ he teased, and she laughed and hit him with a pillow.
‘Pig. Tea and…’
‘Mmm?’
‘Toast. Hot buttered toast, and honey—Greek yoghurt and runny honey, and…’ she paused thoughtfully. ‘Grapes.’
He placed the rather strange order, added scrambled eggs and smoked salmon just for good measure and took himself off to the bathroom for a quick shower and a shave, before he flayed her skin off while he kissed every inch of it all over again.
‘Room service!’
He dragged the robe on and opened the door, tipped the waiter and set the tray down on the end of the bed, moving the tea to the relative safety of the table before climbing back into bed with her and feeding her.
Perversely she decided she fancied the scrambled egg and smoked salmon, so they shared it, then the yoghurt and honey, and then he fed her grapes while she lay sprawled against the pillows, sipping tea and sighing in contentment.
‘Better,’ she said, and handed him the cup. ‘More?’ she asked, and he topped up her cup and handed it back, happy just to watch her. She truly was lovely, with her amazing eyes that went from azure to midnight when he kissed her, and that gorgeous, voluptuous body that welcomed him so beautifully.
Just now she was looking at him with those blue, blue eyes and smiling enigmatically. ‘So tell me,’ she said. ‘Do you make love to all the people you shadow?’
Ben’s mouth twitched. ‘Only the women,’ he replied, and she rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him. He fielded it with a smile, then looked back at her, his smile fading. Suddenly he didn’t want to tease her. Not about this. It was too important. ‘I’ve never done it before,’ he said quietly.
‘What, not even with the war correspondent? She was pretty.’
‘Lena Murray? She wasn’t my type.’
‘And I am?’ she said in disbelief.
‘Oddly, yes,’ he told her with a slow smile, ‘otherwise I wouldn’t be here.’
Her answering smile was contented. ‘Good,’ she murmured. Putting the cup down, she slid out of bed looking curiously self-satisfied, and disappeared into the bathroom.
So she was his type. Good, she thought as she showered, because he was certainly hers. If only he would open up to her, but she was getting there, surely? And before he left to return to London, with any luck, they would have discussed seeing each other again.
Meg pulled a face. Long-distance relationships seldom worked, but she’d give this one her best shot. She went back into the bedroom five minutes later, her bare skin still damp from her shower, and dropped her towel on the floor. ‘Now. About this shave you’ve had. It would be a shame to waste it,’ she murmured, and reached for him with a smile.
He lifted his hand to her, and she took it and climbed onto the bed, then as she knelt down beside him, she caught sight of the look on his face and had another moment of insecurity.
‘What is it?’
His fingers touched her, running over her ribs, tracing the bruise with infinite care.
‘How dare they?’ he said unsteadily, and looked up into her eyes. ‘I could kill them.’
She felt the tension leave her. ‘They’re just kids. They were panicked.’
‘They’d better stay away from me or I’ll give them something to panic about,’ he growled, and, sitting up, he bent his head and laid his lips tenderly, reverently, on the purpled skin.
‘Ben?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Make love to me,’ she whispered, and he lifted his head and met her eyes, his own stormy with desire.
‘I intend to,’ he murmured. Drawing her gently into his arms, he cherished every inch of her, until her heart felt as if it would burst with emotion and her body was screaming for release.
Then he moved over h
er, filling her, body and soul, and she fell headlong into paradise.
CHAPTER NINE
‘LAST day of filming.’
‘Mmm. Maybe my last ever,’ Ben said, his voice thoughtful.
Meg swivelled round in the car seat and stared at him in confusion.
‘Really? Pete’s talking about the next series.’
‘I know. And I’ve suddenly realised I’ve had enough. Enough drama, enough publicity, enough of him nagging at me and giving me hell and then taking all the credit.’
She could understand that. Watching them together, she was amazed their relationship had lasted as long as it had.
‘So what will you do next?’ she asked, watching him carefully.
His shrug was so slight she hardly saw it. ‘I have no idea. Drive lorries?’
‘Do you have your HGV licence?’ she asked, realising she wouldn’t be surprised if he said yes, but he shook his head.
‘No. I don’t know, I might take Sam Peck up on his offer.’
Meg felt her brows pleat together. ‘But—that’s crazy! Ben, you’re a doctor. All that training and talent going to waste.’
‘Hardly a waste, if I do something vital and useful like fire-fighting.’
But her heart was pounding, and she saw the clip again in her mind, the flames following them out of the doorway, and wondered what on earth was driving him.
‘Do you have a death wish?’ she asked bluntly, but he just laughed, a short, humourless laugh that spoke volumes.
‘Not really.’
‘Then—why?’
‘Because I have to earn a living, and I don’t want to do the only thing I’m trained to do.’
She opened her mouth, but he saw out of the corner of his eye and shook his head slowly.
‘Don’t go there, Meg. Please.’
So she said nothing, although her mind was churning and her heart was pounding and she just wanted to make him stop and talk to her, tell her, finally, at last, just exactly what it was—
‘It’s nearly twelve. We’d better go straight there. Have you got a uniform at the hospital?’
She nodded. ‘Yes—I’ve got the stuff I took off yesterday. It may be a little crumpled, but I can always wear scrubs. What about you?’
He glanced down at himself and pulled a face. ‘Not ideal, but it’ll do. I tend to wear the same thing so we can cut from one scene to another without the time thing being so obvious, but it’s probably better to be there, and at least it’s not my favourite jeans.’
She gave a little chuckle and rolled her head against the headrest, watching him as he drove. ‘Why do you wear them?’
‘Because it annoys Pete,’ he said frankly, and shot her a cheeky grin. ‘Do I need another reason?’
The place was heaving. The car park was always crowded on a Sunday, because of people visiting their sick relatives, but it was even busier than usual, and when they walked into A and E they saw the reason.
It was packed, and the receptionist gave Ben a pointed look in warning.
‘Uh-oh. Your fame has obviously spread,’ Meg murmured, and hustled him through the doors to the clinical area before the entire population of the waiting room could leap up and follow them.
Not that he needed much hustling. He’d taken one look at the crowd, composed mainly of women, and his heart had sunk. It was due to the television coverage of the abseiling yesterday, of course, with the local TV news crews there in force, and there was no way Pete would have wasted such a God-given opportunity. And then, just to add insult to injury, the award ceremony had been on television as well.
Damn.
‘Oh, it’s Mr Popularity,’ Angie said, appearing from Resus and grinning at them. ‘If I give you a white coat, would you like to deal with them? They seem to be here for you.’
His heart thudded against his ribs. ‘Please, don’t bother,’ he said mildly, dredging up a smile and looking around. ‘Where are Steve and Pete and Rae?’
‘Here somewhere. Pete was fretting.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he muttered, so that only Meg could hear, and he gave her a strained smile. ‘You’d better change, and we’ll see if we can get through the day without too much grief. At least Rae won’t have to struggle to get consent. On second thoughts, I’ll go and find whoever’s on Triage and pay them to send everyone home.’
Meg laughed and headed for the staffroom. ‘See you in a minute,’ she said, and he nodded and watched her go, his heart unaccountably aching.
Their last day together.
The thought was curiously unpalatable. Maybe they could see each other—carry on a relationship from wherever he ended up?
Wherever that might be. As sure as hell it wouldn’t be a hospital. He could hear the hiss of a ventilator as the door to Resus opened behind him, and the bleeps and urgent commands and the smell of blood assailed his senses and brought bile to his throat.
He was about to bolt when Meg reappeared, dressed in clean scrubs and with her hair caught back in a ponytail. As she walked briskly towards him, the others in tow, he noticed her lip. His finger touched it lightly, his brow creasing in consternation.
‘I’ve given you whisker-burn,’ he murmured, and she smiled ruefully.
‘It has been noticed,’ she said, and he flicked a glance over her head to Pete, watching him with a mocking half smile on his face.
He wanted to flatten him and, as if she’d read his mind, Meg laughed and shook her head.
‘Not him—Rae. She’s lent me her make-up. I’m going to touch it up. I won’t be long.’
She disappeared again, and Ben took the initiative. ‘Well, you’ve done a good job at pulling in the crowd,’ he said to Pete, the sarcasm in his voice thinly veiled. Pete just sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.
‘What does it take to satisfy you? They pay your salary. Either you want this show to be a success or you don’t. So you’re popular. It got you an award—two, in fact—so don’t whinge.’
‘One of the awards had nothing to do with me being popular,’ he pointed out bluntly. ‘And I didn’t want either of them, so don’t bother to hold them over my head. And for what it’s worth, I’ve had it with your damned show, so make the best of today. It’s my last.’
‘All set!’
He turned towards Meg’s voice with relief, and ignored Pete’s furious explosion behind him. ‘Right. Let’s go.’
‘What’s eating him?’ she asked as they walked towards the waiting room.
‘I just told him I’m leaving,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect him to take it lying down. The first thing he’ll do is tell me to pull myself together, then he’ll offer me more money. Then he’ll threaten me with legal action, and finally he’ll let me go, because he has no choice. It won’t be pretty, but frankly I don’t give a damn.’
‘Well, it’s certainly going to be an interesting afternoon,’ she said with a grin, and opened the door to the waiting room.
It was hellish.
OK, the waiting room had more than its fair share of malingerers, but there were still plenty of people in need of medical attention, and Meg spent the next four hours stitching and swabbing and strapping, while Pete stewed quietly in the background and prayed for drama.
Ben was wonderful. He entertained the children, charmed the women and sympathised with the men. The whole lot of them were eating out of his hand by the end of it, and just about all of them had seen the abseil or the awards on television the night before.
And then, finally, Pete’s prayers were answered. In spades.
‘Meg, I need you,’ Tom said, sticking his head round the cubicle curtain. ‘Sophie can finish up here—we’ve got a call-out to an RTA. They want a team and you’re the only free senior nurse.’
She nodded, apologised to the patient for leaving her in the lurch, filled Sophie in and then went quickly to the staffroom. She pulled on green overalls that said NURSE on the back in yellow letters, grabbed the bag of kit from stores and ran after Tom,
with Ben and Steve in tow, and Pete and Rae bringing up the rear.
‘Ben, Steve, you come with us in my car—you two follow,’ Tom told them, and it was only as she climbed into the front of the car and turned to talk to Ben in the back seat that she got a good look at his face.
She could see the muscles bunching in his jaw, his throat working, the pulse in his neck leaping in time to his racing heart. She’d seen him like this yesterday, just before they’d abseiled down the surgical block, but now there was no trace of humour and as Tom recounted the information he’d been given, the tension in his face seemed to mount.
‘Five adults, two children in two cars. There’s at least one fatality, and three entrapments. It won’t be pretty, I’m afraid.’
Ben’s jaw clenched and unclenched. It was obvious this was the last place on earth he wanted to be, but there was nothing she could do about it. Tom put the siren on and they sliced through the traffic and arrived at the crash scene within five minutes. Forgetting about Ben, she ran with Tom to Mike, the paramedic, who brought them up to speed.
‘Three adults in the taxi here. The driver’s dead, the others are still in the back but seem all right for now. The fire brigade are here, they’ll unjam the doors to let them out when they’ve finished with the other car, but it’s in much worse shape. Kenna’s there, holding the driver’s head still till we can get a rigid collar on. Head, neck and internal injuries, I reckon, and possibly lower limb. She’ll fill you in. Female front seat passenger was unconscious when we arrived, but she’s come round now and is in pain—trapped by the legs—and one of the kiddies in the back’s looking bad. We can’t get to him, though, till they’ve finished with the cutting gear, and Mum’s fretting.’
‘I’ll start there, Meg, you triage these for me,’ Tom said, and Meg quickly checked the three in the first car, then ran over to Tom.
‘Right, they’re both stable and relatively unharmed. Couple of fractures and contusions, but nothing major obvious. They’re crying and talking, and Mike’s with them. They’ll be OK for a while, but there’s not a mark on the driver. I think he might have died at the wheel. What about you?’
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