‘No. I was up in the village, trying to help get the kids off the rocks,’ he said bleakly, remembering how he’d helped them, how he’d watched James Althorp being washed away, and Nick’s brother Phil being smashed against the cliff by a huge wave, but none of it had reached him because he’d been numb inside, so overwhelmed with pain because she’d left him that he’d shut down. ‘I didn’t think about the house at all. But then I went back later, and it was gone, everything washed away, just broken matchwood flung up on the foreshore and a few bits of clothing lying around in the seaweed like so much flotsam. I didn’t come here again for years.’
‘Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry.’
He smiled, a fleeting, sad smile, and shook his head. ‘Don’t be. It was a long time ago, and nothing to do with us.’
Really? He was still persisting with that? OK. She took a deep, steadying breath and prodded the cool box with her foot. ‘So are you going to feed me, then, or is this going to be yet another occasion when you tease me with food and then leave me hungry?’ she said lightly, and he gave a soft huff of laughter and pulled the lid off.
‘Oh, I don’t want to leave you hungry, Gemma. That’s not my style. Not my style at all. So—what do you fancy?’
You, she thought, her heart thumping. I want you, Sam. Nothing else. Nothing more. Just you. But I don’t know if I can have you, and I don’t know if it’s fair to ask…
CHAPTER SEVEN
SUNDAY was dull.
Gemma spent the whole day ironing and daydreaming about Sam, and the night doing the other sort of dreaming—the sort of dreaming that had been more and more frequent since he’d come back, and which, since Saturday’s kiss, had started to spiral out of control.
And on Monday morning she went back to work, and he was the first person she saw, coming upstairs to the staffroom to grab a cup of tea before his surgery.
‘You don’t have to do that, my duck, I’ll bring it down to you in a moment. You go on,’ Doris said, fussing around him, and Sam thanked her and shot Gemma a wry smile over her head—a smile that said had they been alone, there might have been another kiss.
She went into her room and was buzzed almost immediately.
‘Morning, gorgeous,’ he murmured in a wonderfully growly purr that sent a shiver down her spine. ‘How’s the ironing?’
‘Done,’ she said with a smile. ‘How was the roast?’
‘Good—except that Jamie went out straight afterwards and didn’t get home till three. I had to drag him out of bed again this morning—but you don’t need to hear that. I just wanted to tell you—oh, thank you, Doris, put it there, that’s great.’ He paused, and she heard his door click shut before he went on in that deep, persuasive rumble, ‘My mother’s got an appointment at the hospital today, so I’ll be going in after lunch with her and then after that I’m free, and you did mention the other day that you’d cook for me at some point, so I thought tonight might be a good opportunity…’
She squashed a smile. ‘Are you inviting yourself to dinner, Dr Cavendish?’
She could hear his answering smile down the phone. ‘Do you know, Nurse Johnson, I believe I might be?’
And then there was a funny silence, while they both thought about that. Because of course she wasn’t Johnson any more, but she wasn’t Cavendish either, not really, and she wasn’t sure if she ever would be again. It took her a second to get her mind back in order, to remind herself that they were playing a game and she needed to stick to the rules, for now at least, and then she took a deep breath and said, ‘Well, then, I suppose it would be churlish not to extend a formal invitation, wouldn’t it?’
‘It might very well be. Seven-thirty or eight?’
‘Or earlier. I have to be at work tomorrow morning at eight, so if you don’t want to be kicked out the moment you’ve scraped up the last morsel, you could make it seven.’
‘Seven will do nicely. Can I bring anything?’
‘Just yourself. You know the way to Seagull Cottage, don’t you?’
‘I’m sure I’ll find it,’ he said with a chuckle in his voice. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
She cradled the phone with a smile, and tried to concentrate on her patients, but then a man hobbled into her room and asked if she could put something on his leg to support it, because it was swelling a bit since he’d trapped it between the boats on Friday. Alarm bells rang instantly.
‘Friday?’ she said. ‘But it’s Monday.’
‘Well, I’ve been busy, and I didn’t think it was anything to worry about really, but it’s giving me a bit of stick now.’
‘Well, let me have a look,’ she said, and when he rolled up his trouser leg she had to stifle a gasp. It was black. Literally black, from the knee down, and she couldn’t imagine how much pain he must be in. ‘I really think you need to see a doctor with this,’ she said, comparing it to his other, undamaged, leg. It was nearly twice the size, and she was worried for the circulation to his foot.
If it wasn’t too late to worry. She hoped not. The foot was cool—colder than the other one, but not too much so, and she buzzed Sam and asked him if he could pop up for a moment when he was free.
‘I’ll come now, you’ve caught me between patients,’ he said, and she heard his uneven tread on the landing and then a sharp tap as he entered.
‘This is Mr Polgrean, he trapped his leg between two boats on Friday,’ she explained, and Sam took one look at it and nodded briskly.
‘Hello there, Mr Polgrean, I’m Dr Cavendish.’
‘I know who you are, and your brother’s no better. Don’t know what your mother’s thinking about the way she’s let you both run around, causing havoc and making people’s lives a misery. I want another doctor. I don’t want you anywhere near my leg.’
Sam folded his arms and nodded from the other side of the room, but Gemma could see the withdrawal in his eyes and knew he must be hurt. ‘OK. Fair enough. But I’m the only doctor on the premises at the moment, and I don’t know if you have any idea of the seriousness of this injury, but even from here I can tell you that there’s a possibility you’ll lose the leg if you don’t get to hospital immediately. I think you have a thing called compartment syndrome—’
‘This is no time for one of your jokes, young man,’ Mr Polgrean said. ‘I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.’
Sam ignored him and carried on. ‘When you caught your leg between the boats, you bruised it, but there’s a problem with that. Each of the muscles in your leg is enclosed in a sheath, and you’ve sustained such severe injuries to the muscles that they’ve all swollen and because of the tight sheath around each one, the pressure on the muscles is going to cause them to die. And then you’ll lose your leg. And if you ignore it for too long, you could die. Now, clever money would go to hospital and have an operation to cut a little slit in each of the sheaths to reduce the compression on the muscles and save your leg, but if you like, I’ll go back downstairs and we can let nature take its course.’
Mr Polgrean stared at Sam for an age and swallowed hard. ‘You’re just trying to frighten me. You’re blinding me with science and trying to scare the living daylights out of me, but I know you and your practical jokes, Sam Cavendish, and I’m not falling for this one.’
‘No. I’m not joking,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry you don’t like me or my family, but that’s nothing to do with this. I did a lot of things when I was young that I regret, but I’m not going to let that lead me into doing something else as an adult that I’ll regret even more, and if I walk away from you now and you lose your leg, I won’t be able to live with myself. And I have to say, dumping several stone of spoilt herring on our drive was pretty good revenge,’ he added softly. ‘I was clearing it up for days.’
Mr Polgrean grunted, but his leg was obviously extremely painful, and Gemma was getting worried. Sam was standing there waiting, Mr Polgrean was lying with arms folded over his bulky chest and the faint aroma o
f rotting fish drifting from him, and she wondered what it would take to break the deadlock.
But then he started to chuckle. ‘Days?’ he said. ‘Did it take you that long, boy?’
Sam’s mouth twitched. ‘It did, and I never forgot it. I thought I’d never get the smell off my hands.’
‘I’ve still got that mermaid painted on my boat,’ Mr Polgrean said slowly. ‘You did a good job. Best endowed mermaid I ever did see,’ he mused, a smile flickering on his face. ‘But your brother—’
‘My brother is nothing to do with this, and I’m dealing with him.’
‘Not fast enough. He was outside last night with that Gary Lovelace, causing all sorts of mayhem. Wonder they weren’t all arrested.’
Gemma saw Sam close his eyes and sigh quietly.
‘So—what’s it to be? Hospital, or sit there and argue until your leg drops off?’ It was said quietly, very matter-of-factly, and after a moment the man nodded.
‘All right, then. Do your worst, young Dr Cavendish, but I tell you, if I die, I’m coming back to haunt you.’
Sam grinned wryly. ‘I don’t doubt it, Mr Polgrean. I don’t doubt it for a moment.’
The tap on her door was a minute early, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been ten minutes early, or ten minutes late, come to that, because she was still in her bedroom vacillating between the blue jeans with a longsleeved T-shirt, the black trousers with a lacy vest top and a shrug over the top, and a little sundress that was probably too thin for the cool May evening but was so pretty she really, really wanted to wear it.
And now here he was, and she still hadn’t made a decision.
‘Eeny, meeny, miny, mo,’ she said, and grabbed the little dress at random, hauling it over her head and fluffing her hair into place before running downstairs in bare feet.
‘Hi,’ she said, opening the door, and he came in, took one look at her and dumped the flowers he was carrying and kissed her.
‘Hi, yourself,’ he murmured when he came up for air. ‘You look gorgeous. I brought you some flowers and some of Mum’s chocolate stash, in the interests of preventative medicine.’
She chuckled and went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you. That’s very public spirited of you, and I’ll do my best to justify your faith in my ability to protect the community from harm.’
He laughed and pulled her back up against him and kissed her once more, then he freed her slowly and sniffed. ‘Something smells good. What are we having?’
‘Moules marinière, and fresh home-made bread—well, it will be, when it comes out of the breadmaker—and steak from the Trevellyans’ with a green salad and some new potatoes, and I’ve got a nice bottle of Chablis in the fridge and some Merlot if you’d rather. Except of course you’re driving.’
He grinned. ‘That’s fine. I can still get you tipsy and have my evil way with you,’ he murmured, and she felt a quiver of need race through her.
‘Ever the gentleman,’ she murmured, and turned away to the stove, only to find his arms sneaking round her and easing her up against his hard, muscular body.
‘You wouldn’t really want that,’ he murmured into the angle of her neck, his lips nibbling at her skin.
‘Maybe not, but I want to eat first,’ she said, and then there was a breathless silence before he reached out and switched off the hob, then turned her slowly into his arms.
‘First?’ he said, his face taut, his body rigid with tension.
She gave in. ‘Oh, Sam,’ she whispered, and going up on tiptoe, she cradled his face in her hands and drew him down for her kiss. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
‘Hell, Gemz,’ he muttered, and then his mouth was plundering hers, searching it hungrily, his lips moving over her face, her throat, over her collar bones while his right hand slid up inside her dress, dragging it up so he could curl his fingers over her hipbone and haul her closer.
‘I need you, Gemma. It’s been so damn long and I just want to hold you.’
She eased away from him, took his shaking hand in hers and led him up the steep, narrow staircase to her bedroom. The bed was made, the linen freshly washed and ironed, courtesy of yesterday, and she threw the jeans and trousers off it and then gasped as he seized the hem of her dress and peeled it over her head.
‘Oh, God, you look the same,’ he said, his eyes, as black as midnight, trailing over her and leaving fire in their wake. ‘So lovely—so damned lovely.’
‘And you’re overdressed,’ she said, and heard her voice shake a little.
She reached for his belt and unbuckled it, her hands trembling so much she could hardly shift the zip, and he took over, heeling off his shoes and shucking his jeans and boxers and socks in one smooth movement.
His shirt was next, dragged over his head with a muffled groan as he raised his left arm too high for his torn shoulder to tolerate, but it slowed him down, gave him time to draw breath and get himself back under control before he reached for her again.
Because he wanted to do this right. He had no idea what had been wrong before, but something had, he was sure of it, and he wasn’t making any mistakes this time; not if it killed him, but after eleven years his control was hanging by a very frayed and tattered thread.
He held out his arms to her, and she walked straight into them, wrapping her arms around him so that he felt her warm, soft body against his for the first time in so long, and he gave a shuddering sigh.
‘God, I’ve missed you. That feels so good,’ he mumbled into her hair. ‘So soft, so warm. Gemma—’
‘Shh. Come on,’ she said. Taking him by the hand again, she led him to the bed and turned back the covers, then lay down beside him and drew him into her arms and lifted her face to his.
Oh, dear heaven, it felt so good to hold him, to kiss him, to hold his big, strong body against hers after so long. She was shaking all over, and she could feel the tremors running through him every time she touched him.
And she did touch him. She had to, her hands greedy for the feel of him, starved of his touch for too long. Their mouths sought each other, their breath mingling on gasps and sighs as they each rediscovered yet another place, another area of skin that seemed suddenly unreasonably sensitive.
And then he was moving over her, his body shaking as he held himself poised above her, his eyes burning like black coals as they held hers and he entered her with one long, slow, steady thrust that took her clean over the edge.
‘Sam!’ she screamed, and he drove into her, again and again and again, until with a savage, agonised cry he followed her into oblivion.
‘I’m starving. All I can smell is that fresh bread, and I am so damn hungry my stomach’s attacking me.’
She chuckled and lifted herself up on one elbow, staring down into his eyes. They were smoky now, the pupils back to normal, the expression slaked—for now, at least, as other needs took over.
‘I’d better go down to the kitchen and get stuck in, then, hadn’t I?’ she said. Throwing off the covers, she pulled her sundress on over her head and padded down the stairs, turning on the stove again and throwing the mussels into the pan on top of the softened onions and garlic and humming softly.
She was stirring them when he appeared, dressed only in his jeans, with the top button undone and that delicious arrow of hair tempting her to follow it down…
‘Don’t look at me like that or we won’t eat tonight and I swear I really will fade away.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she said, but she turned back to the stove, smiling to herself, and he came up behind her and inspected the food over her shoulder.
‘If you want a job, you could take the bread out of the breadmaker, but mind you don’t burn yourself.’
‘I’m not six,’ he reprimanded gently, tipping the golden, steaming loaf out onto the breadboard. ‘Wow. I could just rip it in half and eat it.’
‘And die. Back off. You can open the wine, I need some for the sauce.’
‘Nag, nag, nag,’ he grumbled, but he di
d as she’d asked and handed her the bottle.
‘Here, pick out the ones that haven’t opened and chuck them,’ she said, tipping out the mussels and throwing the wine and cream into the pan.
He leant over her shoulder and sniffed. ‘Oh, that smells so good. Funny, I’ve never thought of you as domesticated, but it works, you know? I think I could go for that, the whole barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen thing—’
He broke off, then swore softly. ‘Oh, hell, Gemz. I didn’t think about that before.’
She felt a shiver of something that could have been fear but could just as easily have been hope, and her eyes filled. If only it was so simple. If only she could just assume, like everybody else…
‘Don’t worry, it’s a safe time,’ she said, without going into details, and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the bubbling sauce.
He grunted, then handed her back the sorted mussels and held out the bowls as she dished up. ‘Shall I cut the bread?’
‘Mmm—big hunks, but not too big because we’ve still got the steak to come, and then there’s the chocolate.’
‘We’ll see. We may have to have an inter-course break.’
She spluttered with laughter. ‘Did you mean that quite like that?’ she asked, and he grinned wickedly.
‘I believe I meant it exactly like that. Eat up, I want to take you back to bed, my lovely girl. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’
It was nearly ten before they ate the steak, meltingly tender and bursting with flavour, and Sam thought he’d never tasted anything so good in his life. He pushed the plate away and met her eyes.
‘That was fan-tastic,’ he said slowly, and smiled. ‘Utterly gorgeous. Beautiful. Sexy as hell.’
‘Are we still talking about the steak here?’ she asked, and he chuckled.
‘Probably not. But that was pretty special, too.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I wonder if Jamie’s home?’
Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 4 Page 10
