The Doctor's Courageous Bride

by Dianne Drake

  Paul pushed the hamper out of the way, then reached over and took Solange’s hand into his own. “That’s a beautiful hand with which to throw pots,” he said. “Delicate. Soft. You would have a nice feel for the clay.” Impulsively, he kissed her hand, then he laid it back at her side and pulled the hamper back between them. “And I’ll buy the first one out of the kiln. So, now that we’ve eaten, read those stimulating medical articles and spilled all our secret hopes and dreams, I seem to recall something about a waterfall?”

  “Would you like to go for a swim?” Solange asked, sitting up.

  “With, or without clothes?”

  She studied his face for a moment—the laughter in his eyes, the crinkling of a smile around his mouth. It was so comfortable here with him, more comfortable than she’d ever been with anybody except, perhaps, her mother. And she didn’t want this day to ever end. “No subtleties in that suggestion, are there?”

  “Subtleties are required?” He arched suggestive eyebrows at her.

  “No, but skivvies are required,” she said.

  “And what if I don’t wear skivvies?”

  Solange tossed him an audacious smile. “I am a doctor after all. I’d be professional about it. Totally professional.”

  “Damn,” he muttered, standing. “Just when I was hoping for something unprofessional.”

  “Not me, Doctor. My waterfall, my rules.”

  It had been weeks since she’d been there and as she stepped off the trail over to the small lake and gazed across it to the waterfall on the opposite side, she realized what a perfect place this would be for a home. She would be standing at the picture window right now, enamored all over again with the backdrop of the cliffs and the little cascade of water spilling over them into the lake below. She would be falling in love afresh with the palisade of lush green tropical trees, with the ground cover of tropical flowers in swathes of oranges and reds and pinks.

  This little patch of heaven, which she’d inherited from her mother, was such an unblemished paradise. They’d picnicked and played under the falls here, and made necklaces of the flowers. And they’d talked about the little cottage her mother would build here someday. Just their little secret.

  To Solange, this was Kijé in its fullest splendor. Her special place. And it was where she was closest to her mother. She’d brought no one here before—not her sister or father, not Ayida or Keskeya, not even Frère Léon. Paul was the first…the first in many ways.

  Without saying a word to Paul, Solange waded into the lake until she was up to her knees. “It doesn’t get much deeper than this, city boy,” she called back to him. “No gators, no piranhas, so what are you waiting for?”

  Shrugging, Paul kicked off his shoes, then unbuttoned his cotton shirt and tossed it aside. She’d seen his bare chest before, but a glance still caused her breath to catch in her throat, and she turned away quickly, trying to ignore the feeling that this was a mistake. A total mistake that could have disastrous results.

  “One day,” she whispered, watching Paul standing on the shore of the lake, rolling his pants up another couple of hitches until they were just above his knees. “He is magnificent, maman. Beautiful in a way I never thought a man could be.” Too bad he hadn’t stripped off completely, but it was probably for the best. Especially as, in turn, he might expect the same from her, and that’s something she would never do. Not in broad daylight. She could barely look at that scar herself—the ugly reminder of an ugly time—and she would never let him see it. “Last one to the falls forfeits his swimming trophies,” she called, laughing.

  “You’re assuming that I’ll lose,” he yelled, wading out to the point where he could actually swim. By the time those words were out, Solange was breast-stroking her way across the lake, feeling nothing but the warm water sloshing over her body and hearing nothing but her own breathing. She needed this. With, or without, Paul, she truly needed this. Although, admittedly, it was much better with him.

  As Solange dragged herself up on the distant shore—the outcropping of rocks next to the falls—Paul stepped out from under the cascade, grinning at her. “How did you do that?” she squealed, pushing her hair back from her face.

  “Quite handily, actually. So, do you have any swimming trophies that I get to claim as my prize?”

  “Obviously not.” The tan cotton of his trousers was clinging to him like a second skin and it was quite apparent to her that he wore no skivvies underneath. Immediately, she dropped her eyes to the ground, then fought with herself about taking a quick peek. When he wasn’t looking, of course. But he was looking at her…staring, more like it. She could feel the burn of his eyes on her, raking her from head to toe, without even looking at him. “The only trophy I received was for chess, but I’ll make sure you have it.”

  “Chess?”

  She braved a brief look then cast her eyes downward again. “And what’s wrong with chess?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with chess. But I would taken you for an athlete.” He held out his hand. “Care to join me under here? We did come to splash about in the falls, didn’t we?”

  “I played a bit of tennis,” she said, taking a few steps closer.

  “You’d look stunning in tennis whites,” he commented, his hand still outstretched. “Your opponent wouldn’t stand a chance, if it was a man. He’d be dazzled…”

  “I never won a trophy,” she said.

  “Playing on the same court with you would be the trophy.”

  She reached out and took his hand, but hesitated to go any closer. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered shyly.

  “Life is full of shouldn’ts, Solange. And there are so few shoulds.”

  “Paul, I just—” she started to protest, but he raised his finger to her lips.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “Do this with your heart, Solange. Not with your head.”

  Her heart. It was so full of Paul it felt it would burst. It’s what she wanted, of course. No shouldn’t about this. It’s all she wanted, and her heart wouldn’t refuse. “Just today,” she whispered. “Just this one day…”

  Finally, she braved a full look, but only at his face. His beautiful face. This was the man she loved. The only man she had ever loved. And she had no will to resist him.

  Before Solange had another chance to talk herself out of it, she was wrapped in his arms, and the feel of him pressed tightly to her exploded into a million twinkling lights through her senses, the force of it like nothing she’d ever before known. The soft mat of his wet chest hair on her cheek, the feel of his arousal through the thin cotton of his trousers…there was no turning back from this now, not that she could. Not that she would.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered. His voice so tender and full of concern it brought tears to her eyes…tears for the way he cared, and tears because after this, it couldn’t be again.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  The words were barely out before he pressed his lips to hers, parting them with his tongue. He tasted exotic, she thought. Champagne and mango. And as his soft hands sought her body, stroking her thighs first, then wiggling up under her shorts to find that she, like he, wore no skivvies, she strained to push herself even closer to him, to feel more of his tongue, more of his hand.

  Too eager, she thought as she slid her hands around his neck. Too eager, far too inexperienced for all her experience…Too wanting of it all right now.

  His hand moved upward, seeking her breast, and when he found her nipple he taunted it into a peak. “Paul,” she moaned, as he paused long enough to pull her buttoned shirt right over her head.

  “So beautiful,” he said, stepping back to feast his eyes.

  He reached out to stroke her breasts. First the left, then the right, and she sucked in a deep breath and held it, finally glancing down at the wet and oh, so deliciously see-through fabric of his trousers.

  “Shall I take them off you?” she asked, almost shyly.

  “Like I’ve never wanted anything taken off me in my enti
re life.” His voice was rough and so full of need, her own need suddenly rose to a point she’d never before known, and it surprised and delighted her because she’d feared she would never have these kinds of feelings flow through her.

  Without a word, Solange stepped forward and ran her fingers lightly over his pectorals. Nice, hard…muscles worthy of an athletic trophy. Then she moved on down the ridges of his ribs and across his rippling abdomen. When she reached the beltline of his trousers, he sucked in a sharp breath and held it as she unfastened the single button, inching the zipper slowly down.

  Her fingers brushed over his arousal as the zipper parted, causing him to hiss out his first breath and gasp in another. “I did admire you that first night at my father’s party,” she whispered, as she peeled his wet, clingy pants down over his hips. “Maybe not to this extent, but I thought about having you in the raspberry bubble bath with me.”

  “Had you asked…”

  Solange laughed, bending to grab his slacks and toss them out of the way. “Had you stayed…”

  “You’re killing me, saying something like that. Do you know how much I wanted to stay?”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes raking leisurely over him, all of him, as they trailed up to his face. “As much as you do now?”

  Paul reached for Solange, pulling her up to him, to his full measure, then he pushed the hair away from her neck and planted a row of quick, red-hot kisses there. “Need help with your shorts?” he growled. “I’ve got some sexy possibilities on how to get them off you.”

  Remove her shorts! Oh, no! She was so close to that, but she couldn’t. Not like this. “In the water,” she gasped, trying to fight back the momentary panic trying to rise up and ruin everything. “Under the falls.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he breathed, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her through the water until they were nearly waist deep, and situated directly below the cataract. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, cupping his hand around the sleek curve of her breast, then bending to kiss it. “And I’ve wanted to do this since that first night.” He brushed his thumb over the crown of her nipple, then again and again, each stroke causing her to breathe harder and deeper, each stroke sending delectable jolts of electricity and arousal out to the very last nerve ending in the tips of her fingers and toes. And just when she thought she would explode, he pressed both her breasts together and kissed first one, then the other, then caught the sepia tip of her left nipple in his mouth and nibbled lightly.

  Solange trembled with delight, wanting much more of it, and when Paul took her hand to draw her over to a round granite boulder sunken halfway into the water, then leaned her back against it, she didn’t protest when he reached under the water’s surface to pull off her shorts and pleasure her in ways she’d never known. Instantly, she was aching with the sheer, raw need of wanting him, thrusting herself at him when he stopped for a second to toss her shorts up onto the rock. When he reached around to cup her bottom in his hands and pull her hard against him, she gasped from the feel of his desire. “Paul,” she choked, reaching down into the water to pleasure him as he had done her.

  “You don’t know how much this pains me,” he choked, “but I’m not…”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “Not what?” she whispered, curling her mouth into a sexy smile. “Because from what I’m feeling, you definitely are.”

  Stupid! To come out here with her, wanting this like he did, and not be prepared for it. Even more stupid to coax her out then tell her he couldn’t finish. But he had to. “Not prepared,” he groaned. “No…”

  He heard a small gasp slip through her lips, then saw a look of hesitation shadow her eyes. But only for a moment. “I am,” she said, the sexy smile returning to her lips.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. And that’s all it took. Paul pulled her back to him, and kissed her hard. She tasted like sex, like a pure, sweet ambrosia he’d never tasted before, and as much as he wanted to indulge in so many more pleasures to be found in her, it wasn’t to be. The urgency of his need was crashing at him so hard it was nearly painful. And the sweet inebriation of having the most beautiful woman in the world here in his arms like this was driving him to a place he’d never before known. As he pressed himself to her, the water lazily licking their bodies up to their waists, he so desperately wanted to say the words imploring to be let out, but he wouldn’t, for fear she would take flight like a bird to some far-off branch, and he would never again get her back.

  But as he joined with her, the words exploded in his brain, over and over, beating at him as no emotion ever had. I love you, Solange!

  Dear God, he did, like he’d never known could be possible.

  “Cheese?” Solange asked, cutting off a wedge for herself. She was famished, all afterglow and starving. And nervous, of course. How to react to him now? That was a huge question and an even huger concern, because she didn’t want to throw away the friendship with him. It was too precious to toss aside, and now her head had overtaken her heart, and the logic of the moment dictated that they shouldn’t have done what they had, that friendships never survived after something like that had happened, because once you’d gone forward, you could never go back.

  And she desperately wanted him for a friend, even though she couldn’t have him as a lover. So, yes, she was definitely feeling the afterglow, but she was also feeling apprehension. Besides that, what were you supposed to do after you put your clothes back on? Sit and chat? Smoke a cigarette, even though she didn’t smoke? Mauricio had always turned over and gone to sleep straight away, while she’d stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, sometimes for hours, trying to figure out why the longing was still there. Right now, though, Paul was definitely not sleeping, and she definitely didn’t have any leftover longings.

  Paul grinned over at her lazily, and reached for the slice she was handing to him. “So, I thought maybe we’d read another article in the medical journal now, before we lose the light.”

  After they’d made love, they’d splashed around in the water like children for a while, then had swum back to their blanket. She wasn’t yet dry, neither was he, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes off him as he’d yet to put his shirt back on. But one long look, and she knew she would start it again. There was no will left in her. And she so desperately needed that will—that resolve—back, because her one day was almost at an end now. The sun would be setting shortly, and it would be over. Which was the way it was meant to be.

  “How about you read that article, to yourself, while I sit here and watch the sunset?”

  “May I share the sunset with you?” he asked, reaching over to take her hand. The hamper no longer separated them on the blanket. Nothing did.

  “I’d love for you to share it with me,” she whispered, scooting over closer to him. As she did, he sat up and pulled her into his arms, and they stayed that way, clinging together, breathing as one, being as one, until the night skies overtook the end of the day. “We have to go back,” Solange finally whispered, regretting that she had to break the perfect mood.

  “In a little while,” he said, as he unbuttoned her blouse. “You had your day, and now it’s my night.”

  She wasn’t sure how long it had been raining when she opened her eyes, but it was still dark and the blanket in which they were wrapped was soaked all the way through. She was nestled tight into Paul, though, and the chill of the dampness had not yet set in.

  In the near distance she could hear the sound of the rain beating down on the trees. It was a hypnotic sound, its methodical rhythm lulling her, and Solange gave thought to staying there with Paul, as they were, in the rain. But common sense prevailed. She had clinic in the morning, then later she intended to set out for one of the villages a good three-hour hike from The Mission and spend the night there so she could start fresh the following morning.

  All of this meant she had to get back home, sleep if there was any time left, and start the morning
like she should—bright, alert and ready to face whatever the day brought.

  “Paul,” she said, nudging him. “We’ve got to get back.” She pulled back the soggy picnic blanket and started to emerge from the cocoon they’d made around themselves.

  “Another ten minutes,” he moaned.

  “So you’re one of those…always wanting ten minutes more, then another ten, then another ten.” She yanked the blanket all the way off him, then leaned over and smacked him playfully on his bare bottom. “Won’t work, Doctor.”

  “Don’t know the way back in the dark,” he protested.

  “I do.”

  “You’re not going to be talked out of this, are you?” He sat up and stretched, then rubbed the rain from his eyes. “And I was in the middle of such a nice dream.” He grabbed Solange by the hand, pulled her over to him and placed a kiss on her forehead. “There was this gorgeous jungle doctor who was witching me…”

  Solange pulled away, laughing. “Like it or not, we’ve got to leave here, city boy, and stalling won’t do you any good. As soon as I’ve gathered our picnic things, I’m hiking back down the trail.”

  “With or without me?” Paul asked, reaching for his shirt, even though it was soaked.

  “Want your pants, too?” she asked, holding them out for him.

  “What I want is more than one day and one night, Solange. I want to be more than friends. And before you stop me, I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. It might not be a traditional arrangement, with me going one way and you going another, but neither of us have the expectation that we can, or even want, to hold the other one back. So we might not get quantity hours together, but we can make up for that in quality. And I’m convinced of it. My turnaround, Solange. You are my turnaround, and I can be yours if you’ll let me.”

  “No,” she choked. “That’s not what this is about, Paul. Not getting involved in something more than what we have.”

  “Isn’t it? I’m not going to be traveling for ever, Solange. In another two or three years I hope to have the hospital solid financially so I don’t have to go out looking for money nearly as much. And then we can work on a real life, you doing what you do and me…well, maybe being a doctor at the hospital again, and if we’re lucky, I’ll stay behind to raise a few children while their mother is doing marvelous things in the mountain villages. We’ll work that out when the time comes. And I know this sounds like an incredible way to live, but we can do it, Solange. It wasn’t meant to be in my first marriage because that relationship wasn’t meant to be. I’ve spent a lot of time telling myself it was the lifestyle that broke up Joanna and me when it was always the two people involved in the lifestyle. But for us…we know how we have to live, and we would be going into it knowing what it was about. The highs, the lows, the absences…”