Did she want to be slapped around, as her mother had been?
Of course she didn’t. But there were times when she’d be drawn into a relationship with someone … well, someone her stepfather might have thought a mate. Someone who treated her as she’d learned to expect. She hated that, and it never lasted but, still, at least she knew where she stood.
So she’d never fall in love with a good man?
That thought slammed home, alarming her. She’d been sitting a mite too close to Alistair and now she edged away. He turned and looked at her and he smiled.
He had a killer smile.
He was still holding her hand.
Alistair was one of the Dresden china ones, she told herself, feeling suddenly breathless. She knew from past experience that such men couldn’t make her happy. She’d make them unhappy.
So stop smiling now!
Look at the bride and groom. That was why she was here. Not to think about Alistair-Good-Looking Carmichael.
And not to cry.
Pull your hand away, stupid, she told herself, but she didn’t.
The bride and groom were making their vows, softly but with all the sincerity in the world. Mike was smiling at his bride, making Georgie feel …
Squirmy.
‘Soppy,’ she whispered, sounding as dumb as she’d felt for her tears, and Alistair grinned.
‘Yeah, real Romeo-and-Juliet stuff. Bring on the violins.’
‘They’re happy though,’ Georgie whispered, giving them their due.
‘But we know this love bit’s dangerous.’
She frowned, thrown off balance. ‘Do we?’
‘Of course. You need to decide with your head.’ The priest was talking about the sanctity of marriage, but way back here they could whisper without fear of being overheard. The sound of the wind whistling around the old church was almost overwhelming, so bride and groom and priest needed the microphone to be heard.
‘Decide what with your head?’ Georgie asked.
‘Your life partner, of course,’ he told her, warming to his theme. ‘You and I are doctors. Scientists, if you like. We know the heart’s nothing but a bit of blood-filled muscle. If it fails you might even replace it with a transplant.’ He motioned to the bride and groom. ‘So where do you think these two would be if their hearts were transplanted? Unless there’s a fair bit of cool, calculated thought in the equation, then the marriage is doomed.’
‘Hush.’ But there was no need to hush. No one could hear.
But she needed to hush him. What was he saying—that she should choose one of the gentle ones? The guys her head told her were suitable, but her heart abandoned as they pushed the wrong buttons.
‘So what do you—?’
‘Hush,’ she said again, becoming so flustered she wasn’t sure what she was thinking. Concentrate on the wedding, she told herself. This was an overblown Greek wedding. The church was full of apricot and white tizz. The bride and groom were surrounded by a sea of apricot and white attendants.
It was over-the-top ridiculous.
It was lovely.
He was still holding her hand.
The head and not the heart?
Yeah, well, that was where she’d been in trouble in the past. The Croc Creek doctors’ house was always full to bursting with medics from around the world. Doctors used this place as a base where they could put their skills to use in a way that was invaluable to the remote peoples of Northern Australia. Doctors came here to help. Or sometimes they came just to escape.
Like her?
Yeah, but she wasn’t thinking about herself, she decided hastily. She was talking about potential lovers. So there were plenty available.
No one else seemed to feel a lack, she thought dourly, looking ahead at Mike and Emily. Maybe it was only her who’d never seemed to fit.
They were kneeling for the blessing. There was no need to say hush. Georgie blinked back more stupid tears.
It was only because she was weak, she told herself fiercely. It was because she was worried about Max. It was because her face hurt.
Alistair’s hold on her hand strengthened. She gave a feeble tug but he didn’t release it.
She didn’t pull again. She sniffed and kept listening.
Then there was a break as someone played a Greek love song, with the volume on full to drown out the sound of the rising wind. Georgie didn’t understand all that much Greek but the way all the old ladies in the church sighed and smiled, she guessed it had to be something soppy.
And then came the moment they’d all been waiting for.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’
They rose as the priest gave his final blessing. The groom lifted Emily’s veil and kissed her, oh, so tenderly.
It was just lovely. She was feeling … weird.
‘Very romantic,’ Alistair whispered dryly.
‘Be quiet,’ Georgie said for a final time, and to her fury she felt tears start to well again.
‘I’m sorry,’ Alistair said, and he sounded startled.
‘There’s no need to be sorry,’ Georgie whispered.
‘No,’ he said, and squeezed the hand he shouldn’t be holding. The hand she shouldn’t be letting him hold. ‘There’s not.’ He looked down at her in concern as she swiped angrily at her eyes with his handkerchief. ‘We’ll find him, Georg.’
But she hadn’t been thinking about Max. Her eyes flew upward to Alistair’s. And something … connected?
Their gazes held. He was comforting her, she told herself furiously, but she didn’t quite believe it. For this wasn’t a look of comfort and the confusion she felt was mirrored in his eyes.
She tugged her hand away with a faint gasp and turned her attention resolutely back to the bride and groom. They were being hugged by their respective families in the front pews.
A slate came loose from the roof above their heads. It crashed down—the sound tracking its progress on the steep gabled roof above their heads. She winced. Alistair tried to take her hand again but she wasn’t having any of it.
She gripped her hands very firmly together and kept her attention solely on the bridal party. The Trumpet Voluntary rang out—played by Charles. His splinter skill. The trumpet’s call was pure and true, almost primaeval against the backdrop of the storm, and once more Georgie found herself blinking back tears as the bridal party swept by them on their way out of the church.
But then, as the doors swung open and the wind blasted in, the bridal party stopped in its tracks.
Another slate crashed down.
The surge to leave the church abruptly ended.
‘We might rethink the exit,’ the priest announced in a voice he had to raise. Having left the technology of microphones to lead the couple out of church, he now had to raise his voice above the sound of the wind.
‘This has to be a cyclone,’ Alistair said, and Georgie blinked and bought herself back to earth. Earth calling Georgie … What the hell was she about, crying at weddings? She was losing her mind.
She didn’t cry. She never cried. Crying was for wimps.
Alistair’s dumb handkerchief was a soggy mess.
‘We’re still copping the edges,’ she managed, hauling herself together with a massive effort. ‘Despite what Dora’s waters are saying, it’s still only category three. Strong but not disastrous.’ She winced as a particularly violent gust blasted past the church, loosening another couple of slates. ‘Harry says the biggest problem is flooding inland. It’s the end of the rainy season and the country’s waterlogged as it is. We’ll have landslips.’
‘As long as that’s all we have.’
‘Scared?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, and he grinned. ‘This wind is really terrifying for a man with a toupee.’
She choked. It was lucky the combination of wind and trumpet was overpowering because her splutter of laughter would ordinarily have been heard throughout the church.
He grinned.
Her laughter faded. He lo
oked … a man in charge of his world. He was wearing his lovely Italian-made suit. His silver-streaked hair was thick and glossy and wavy, just the way she liked it. His tanned face was almost Grecian, strongly boned, intelligent …
A toupee …
She couldn’t resist. She put her free hand into his hair and tugged.
‘Yikes.’ This time they were overheard. The people in the last pew—great-aunts en masse by the look of them—turned in astonishment. One started to glare but Georgie was giggling as Alistair clutched his head, and the old lady’s glare turned to an indulgent smile.
‘It’s lovely to see the children enjoying themselves,’ she said in the piercing tones of the very old and the very deaf. ‘Look at the pair of them, canoodling in the back pew like a pair of teenagers. These will be next by the look of them. Sophie said this doctors’ house makes them breed like rabbits.’
Georgie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Canoodling,’ she muttered, revolted.
But Alistair was chuckling. ‘Come on, rabbit,’ he said, and nudged her to the end of he pew. ‘Let’s get out the side door before everyone figures that’s the only exit out of the wind.’
‘If we duck out the side door, the great-aunts will think …’
‘Yeah, but we don’t care what they think, do we, Georg?’ Alistair said. ‘We’ll just get another tattoo and say damn their eyes.’
‘How do you know I have a …?’ She paused. She swallowed. Alistair’s grin became almost evil.
‘Aha! So where?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘I told you about my toupee.’
‘It’s not a—’
‘I just have very good glue.’
‘I’ll pull harder.’
‘If you show me your tattoo, I’ll let you pull all you like. I’ll even let you canoodle.’
They were at the side door. He was ushering her through it, his arm around her waist as he propelled her forward. Behind them the entire wedding party was crowding round while they figured out the protocol of getting the bride and groom out of the church where the main door was suddenly unusable and slates might crash down on their heads. They’d have to use the side door. But not yet.
‘Em and Mike … you’ll have to go back to the altar and start the wedding procession again.’ It was Mike’s mother in full battle cry. ‘Charles, start the trumpet again, from the beginning. Bridesmaids, back into line!’
‘No mere cyclone’s going to get in the way of Sophia’s perfect wedding,’ Georgie said, giggling, and then they were out the door, propelled into the instant silence of the vestry.
Alistair closed the door behind them. The silence was suddenly … electric.
‘Hey. Um … Maybe we should go back and get in procession like everyone else,’ Georgie said, suddenly breathless.
‘But you’re not like everyone else,’ Alistair said, turning. He’d been holding her hand. By turning, she was against the wall and he was right in front of her, smiling down. ‘You’re different.’
‘I’m not different.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Alistair said softly. ‘You don’t belong.’
She stared at him, confused. ‘I do belong.’
‘Why did you come to Croc Creek?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I got a job here.’ He was so close …
‘With your qualifications there’s a job for you wherever you want to go in the world. Croc Creek’s home for those who want to devote a couple of years to a good cause. Or those who want excitement.’
‘That’s me.’
‘Or it’s a refuge for those who are escaping,’ Alistair said, as if he hadn’t heard her. It was almost as if he was talking to himself. ‘What are you escaping from?’
‘I’m not.’
‘I recognise the symptoms.’
‘You’re a neurologist, not a shrink.’
‘I’m an escapee myself.’
‘You …’
‘I like a bit of control,’ he admitted, sounding thoughtful. ‘That’s why I was engaged to Eloise. Only then I met you and I decided control wasn’t everything.’
‘Hey.’ She was suddenly really, really breathless. ‘How did we get to this? You’re really saying I influenced you in breaking your engagement?’
‘Of course you influenced me. Just the way I reacted … I’m not saying I want to take it further …’
‘That’s good because—’
‘Shut up and let me speak,’ he said, quite kindly. ‘All I want you to know is that what happened six months ago was a really big thing for me. Huge. I don’t usually proposition complete strangers.’
‘You’re saying that between us …’
‘Something happened. Yes.’ Something was certainly happening in the church behind them. They could hear Sophia giving directions right through the massive door. ‘But I don’t know what,’ he said. ‘And before you think this is a line, I need to say I’m not interested in doing anything with it. At least, I don’t think I am. As I said, I like control and you don’t make me feel I’m in control. But I also know … Georgie, I recognise you’re running, so maybe you need to be honest enough to admit it to yourself.’
‘Why?’ She was suddenly angry. What the hell was he playing at, psychoanalysing her like this? For what purpose?
‘So you can move on.’
‘To what?’
‘To … life? It’s not all that scary.’
‘Like you’d know.’
‘I—’
‘Look, I don’t know what’s happening here,’ she muttered. ‘You’re talking about something I don’t understand.’
‘You do understand it,’ he said, and before she could respond he tugged her into his arms. ‘Or at least you understand that what’s between us is … well, it just is.’
‘It isn’t,’ she gasped.
‘It’s not?’
She should fight. Of course she should fight. This was crazy. What was she doing, standing in the vestry with the wedding party on the other side of the door, letting him tug her against him, letting him lift her chin, letting him …?
No. She wasn’t fighting. For every fighting instinct had suddenly shut down.
Everything had shut down.
He was going to kiss her and she wasn’t going to do a damned thing about it.
Alistair.
And that was her last sane thought for a long time. His lips met hers and everything faded to nothing.
Everything but him.
The feel of him … The strength of him … She was standing on tiptoe to accept his kiss—despite her stilettos, she was dwarfed—but he was holding her so strongly that it was no effort to stand on tiptoe. He was lifting her to meet him.
Alistair.
It was like some magnetic force was locking her body to his. This was how it had felt six months ago when she’d danced with him. He was a great dancer. So was she. The dance had been Latin swing, and they’d moved as if they’d been dancing together for years. But every time he’d tugged her against him, preparatory to swinging her away, twirling her, propelling her into the next dance move, she’d felt exactly as she was feeling now.
As if his body was somehow an extension of her own.
No wonder she’d wanted him to take her. No wonder …
But the time for remembrance was not now. Here there was only room for wonder. Room for him. He was kissing her urgently, as if he knew that this kiss must surely be interrupted. As indeed it must. But his fierceness seemed entirely appropriate. It was a demanding kiss, a searing convergence of two bodies, a declaration that this was something amazing, and how could she deny it?
She couldn’t deny it. She allowed his mouth to lock onto hers. Allowed? No, she welcomed it, aching for his kiss to deepen. Her arms came around his solid, muscled body and held him to her. She kissed back with the fierceness that he was using as he kissed her.
Her whole body felt aflame. Every nerve was tingling, achingly aware of him. Every sense was screaming at her to get
closer, get closer, here is your mate …
Her lips opened, welcoming him, savouring him, wanting him deeper. Deeper. The kiss went on and on, as if she was drowning in pure pleasure, and she was, she was.
Alistair.
He was all wrong for her. For so many reasons he was wrong. But for now he was right and she was taking every ounce of pleasure she could get.
Alistair.
But suddenly he was drawing back. He was holding her face in his hands, forcing them apart so he could look into her eyes. The confusion she saw in his matched her own.
‘Georgie,’ he whispered, and there was confusion there, too.
‘Don’t stop,’ she begged.
‘We can’t—’
‘Just kiss me,’ she begged, and she linked her hands behind his head and tugged him down.
‘Georg—’
‘Just kiss.’
He smiled, that achingly wonderful smile that had her heart doing handsprings.
He kissed.
The sound of the trumpet crescendoed behind them.
The door of the vestry flew open.
And here was the wedding procession, diverted from the main door.
The priest came first. Then came bride and groom, as if propelled by the mass behind. Then bridesmaids and groomsmen and pageboys and flowergirls and guests after them, tumbling into their private space, funnelled into the vestry with the door to the outside still not open.
The priest stopped in shock. As did the bride and groom. There was a moment’s blank astonishment.
Then …
‘Hey, get in the queue, guys,’ Mike growled as he held his bride close. ‘Today is our day. Gina and Cal are next Saturday. You two can take the Saturday after.’
CHAPTER SIX
THE muddle forced them apart. Blushing furiously, Georgie disappeared into the crowd and Alistair let her go. She might be confused but he was even more so.
He fell back to the edge of the crowd and then made his escape.
He wouldn’t go to the reception. He was too … disoriented? Plus he hadn’t been invited. It was one thing to go to the wedding ceremony and sit unnoticed in the back of the church, he thought. Not that he’d been unnoticed, but this was the theoretical etiquette scenario he was talking himself through. It was quite another matter to go to the reception, where he’d be eating food prepared for other guests, mingling with people he didn’t know …
The Australian's Desire (Mills & Boon By Request) Page 10
