He reached out, taking her glass from nerveless fingers before she tipped wine all over herself. So much for his technique for relaxing her. Clearly too damned effective.
He sighed softly, still smiling, and drained his glass, setting it down with hers on the floor at his feet before resting his head back and letting his eyes close. He’d just sit here with her for a while, then he’d wake her up and take her to bed.
He’d just give her a few minutes...
‘Patrick?’
‘Hmm?’
Annie wriggled upright, easing her feet out of his warm, cosy lap and pulling them up underneath her. She’d fallen asleep! She couldn’t believe that—how embarrassing!
‘Patrick? Please, wake up. I’m so sorry.’
He rolled his head towards her, his eyes soft with sleep and maybe something else—something rather nice. ‘Why are you sorry?’
‘Because I nodded off on you.’
‘You were tired.’
She knew her smile was wry. ‘I’m always tired,’ she told him.
His hand reached out and caught hers, tugging her gently towards him until she toppled into his lap. ‘That’s better,’ he murmured, easing her up against that wonderfully solid chest and resting his chin on her head. ‘You smell nice.’
‘It’s only cheap shampoo.’
‘You still smell nice.’ He nuzzled her hair with his lips, and she tipped her head back, meeting his eyes, trying to read whatever it was she could see in them. For an age he sat there, staring down at her, and then he bent his head and feathered his lips across hers. ‘Time for bed?’ he said softly, and she felt her heart bump against her ribs.
Then it jammed in her throat so that she couldn’t speak, and so she nodded.
His lips touched hers again, fleetingly, and then he lifted her into his arms, shifted to the edge of the sofa and stood up, carrying her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing.
No more than a stick insect, in fact, she thought, and then panicked. What if he found her so skinny that he was turned off by it? She was better, he’d been feeding her so much it would have been hard not to be better, but she was still too thin. Would it put him right off? Would he say something? Or just...? What if it put him off so much he couldn’t even...
Oh, lord...
‘Annie, stop it,’ he said laughingly. ‘I can hear your mind working.’
He lowered her to her feet, sliding her down his solid, powerful frame so she could feel every wonderful, masculine inch of him. His eyes were bright, the gold flecks gleaming in the light from the bedside lamps.
She wished they weren’t on. Wished he couldn’t see her, that she could hide in the dark and—
He cupped her face in his hands, threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her.
Endlessly. Beautifully, skilfully, tenderly, all at once. And then he lifted his head and smiled down at her. ‘Do you want to use the bathroom first?’
She nodded, made her escape and then there was a tap at the door. ‘I’ve brought your things up,’ he said. ‘They’re outside the door.’
She retrieved them, cleaned her teeth and went into the bedroom. ‘It’s all yours.’
‘Thanks.’
He winked at her, then left her standing in the bedroom, a seething mass of nerves and indecision. What was she supposed to do? Wait for him? Peel off to her sexy underwear and pose on the bed? Except her underwear wasn’t in the least sexy, and she didn’t feel up to posing. Undress and get into bed? That was the most tempting option. But naked, or in her prettiest but still old and tired underwear?
That would do. It would have to.
By the time he came back into the room five minutes later, she was in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, feeling like a Victorian virgin on her wedding night.
Patrick clearly didn’t have any such qualms. He stripped off down to his clingy jersey shorts, slid under the quilt and turned to face her. ‘It’s a bit chilly over here,’ he murmured with a fleeting smile. ‘Fancy a cuddle?’
He was holding out his arms to her, and it was the easiest thing in the world to wriggle across the bed towards all that glorious masculine warmth. He gave a low grunt of contentment, snuggled her closer and rested his cheek against her hair. ‘That’s better,’ he said softly.
And to her astonishment, he did no more.
Didn’t touch her, didn’t kiss her, didn’t do anything except hold her close against his chest, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder and one of her legs snuggled between his. Her arm lay over his chest, and his hand rested on it, his fingers curled loosely over her wrist and the fingers of his other hand playing with her hair.
Was this it? All he wanted from her?
But she could hear his heart beating fast, and his breathing wasn’t quite even. She lifted her hand and touched it to his cheek, and he turned his head towards her, meeting her eyes.
‘Don’t be scared of me, Annie,’ he said softly.
‘I’m not. I’m just afraid you’ll be turned off by me—’
She was cut off by a harsh grunt of laughter. ‘Oh, sweetheart, not a chance.’
‘Even if I’m like a stick insect?’
He went still, then swore under his breath. ‘Damn, Annie, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just—tiny. Slender. Fragile. To be honest, I’m scared I’ll hurt you.’
‘You won’t hurt me.’ Not physically, and anything else she’d take a risk on, just for the sake of this one night. Finding her courage at last, she reached up again and cupped his jaw, feeling the freshly shaven stubble against her palm. ‘Make love to me, Patrick,’ she said softly.
A shudder ran through him, then he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. ‘I’m not making any promises—at least not for the first time. It’s been such a long time it’s bound to be a disaster.’
‘It won’t be a disaster,’ she assured him, wondering how long such a long time was. Weeks? Months?
Years?
She slid her hand down his chest, her fingertips seeking through the soft curls to find the taut, flat coins of his nipples, and his breath caught. His mouth found hers, and then with a ragged groan against her Ups he rolled her onto her back and laid his hand against her waist, sliding it up until it brushed the underside of her breast and made her gasp.
But it wasn’t enough, and as if he knew that, he fumbled with the catch on her bra and finally freed it, then eased it away, his eyes fixed on hers, burning. Then slowly he lowered them until he was looking at her breasts, her nipples pebbling under the heat of his gaze. He grazed them with the palm of his hand, first one, then the other, and sensation shot through her. She arched, lifting herself towards him, and he lowered his head, closed his mouth over a nipple and suckled it hard.
She nearly screamed at the sensation, but then she was distracted from his mouth by the hand that was sliding down over the hollow between her hipbones. Her breath jammed in her throat as he eased it under the edge of her knickers and tugged them down. Oh, yes, she thought, and she lifted her hips, wriggling out of the unwanted underwear, desperate for his touch. His hand cupped her, soothing the terrible aching heat for a moment, but then his mouth left her nipple, trailing down over the taut, trembling muscles of her abdomen, then it closed over her in a touch so intimate, so precise it left her sobbing.
‘Patrick,’ she pleaded, her hands clawing at his shoulders, desperate to touch him, to hold him, to feel him inside her.
‘Now,’ she begged, tugging at him, and he lifted his head, his eyes burning like fire in the soft glow of the lamps.
‘Give me a second,’ he rasped, and, turning away from her, he shucked off his underwear and pulled open the bedside drawer. A moment later she heard a tiny ripping noise.
Protection. Heavens, she hadn’t even given it a thought, but he had. She reached out and laid her hand against his shoulder, and he shuddered. For a moment he just lay there while she wanted to scream with frustration, then with a deep, uneven breath he turned back to her, g
athered her against his chest and rested his forehead against hers.
‘I need you, Patrick,’ she whispered, and his arms tightened.
‘I need you, too—so badly.’ His voice was just a breath against her face, the touch of it sending shivers of anticipation through her. His hand stroked down her flank, slid over her hip, curled down over the damp nest of curls that parted at his touch.
She whimpered with need and frustration, and finally he moved over her, his body trembling, and she curled her legs around him and sobbed again. ‘Please—Patrick, please... ’
And then with his eyes locked on hers, he entered her, his face twisting with emotion. ‘Annie,’ he whispered, and then he closed his eyes and started to move, long, deep thrusts that brought her closer and closer to the brink, until she was crying with frustration, and then he slid his hand between them and touched her and she shattered into a million pieces, falling apart in his arms.
She heard him cry out, felt his body stiffen and arch, and then he collapsed against her, his shoulders heaving, his heart pounding so hard she could feel it against her ribs.
Oh, my love, she said silently, her hands running over his back, over the hot, damp skin, tracing the solid columns of muscle that bracketed his spine, cradling him closer to her heart. Oh, my love.
How could she have only known him for such a short time? Not even two weeks yet, and already he was more important to her than that air that she breathed. ‘Patrick?’ she said softly, and he lifted his head and she saw that his eyes were bright with tears.
‘That was...’ He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t speak. Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her, slowly, tenderly, almost reverently.
With my body I thee worship, she thought, and tears filled her eyes. She didn’t try and speak again, she just held him, cuddled against him for the rest of the night, and in the morning he woke her with a cup of tea and a kiss.
‘You have to go to work,’ he said, and she smiled with regret.
‘I don’t want to get up.’
‘I don’t want you to.’
‘I have to.’
‘I know. So do I. Fancy a shower?’
She was late for work.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Annie was on cloud nine.
It was impossible not to smile, and she found herself humming softly to herself as she worked.
‘Someone’s happy,’ Susanne Dickinson said as Annie went in to check her wound and fit the ice-cooled knee support.
‘It’s a lovely day,’ she said brightly.
‘Lovely enough to put that kind of a smile on your face?’ Susanne said, her voice teasing. ‘I don’t think so. I think it might be something to do with your lovely Mr Corrigan, though.’
Annie felt herself colour, but before she had time to work out a reply Susanne’s eyes flicked back to the door and she smiled.
‘And talk of the devil—Mr Corrigan, good morning! We were just talking about you.’
Patrick flicked Annie a questioning glance and she smiled and felt the colour deepen. ‘Don’t look at me, I haven’t said a word! Good morning, by the way,’ she added, as if she hadn’t seen him in the shower just an hour before. Naked and aroused and burning with an intensity that had melted her in moments...
‘Good morning, Sister. Lovely day.’ Something hot and hungry flickered in his eyes, as if he, too, was remembering, and then he seemed to shut that part of himself down and turned his attention to their patient.
She admired that. She found herself utterly distracted by his big, solid body. It seemed to fill the room, his presence so powerful it reduced her to mush. Hot, aching mush. Had Colin ever made her feel like this?
No, was the simple answer. Colin had been—or so she’d thought—a decent enough man, hard-working with a demanding job that took him all over the country. And when he’d been at home, he’d often been distracted and a little remote.
There hadn’t been anything at all remote about Patrick last night...
‘Sister Mortimer? Are you with us?’
Annie looked up and met his teasing eyes and felt the colour seep back. ‘Um—sorry. Did you want me?’
And then could have kicked herself, but apart from the slightest twitch to his mouth, he remained expressionless.
‘I was saying I think Mrs Dickinson can get up today. Because the soft tissues have been affected by the condition of the joint, it’s not a good idea to start mobilising too soon, so I don’t want her overdoing it, but I think a little walk round the bed and a couple of hours in her chair, gently mobilizing, might be OK now, but keep an eye on the pain. How was it last night?’ he asked his patient, turning his attention back to her, to Annie’s relief, because those eyes were so distracting...
‘Better. The pain’s still pretty awful at times, but the pain pump helps. You know, the PAC thing.’
‘PCA—it stands for patient controlled analgesia. Emphasis on controlled.’
Like Patrick. He’d been controlled last night, patient and controlled, while she’d been begging and pleading...
‘Absolutely. It’s wonderful. I’ll feel a bit panicky when they take it away.’
‘Don’t be,’ Annie said, putting her errant thoughts firmly aside. ‘We won’t remove it until you’re ready for it, and once; you’re up and about you’ll just find it gets in the way. We can give you other forms of pain relief. And it’ll be better every day, you know.’
‘Oh, I know, I remember from my hip. And I can get up! I don’t know if I’m scared or excited.’
Like herself last night, Annie thought, but just smiled at Patrick as he left the room, put the knee support on and pumped it up. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes to take that off, and then we’ll get you up,’ she promised, and went out to find Patrick lurking just outside the door.
‘Are you waiting for me?’ she asked, and one brow twitched up.
‘You asked if I wanted you. The answer’s yes,’ he said in a low voice that only she could hear, and his smile was wicked and sensual and threatened to melt her all over again. ‘Do you know, you’re cute when you blush?’ he added, and she felt the colour mount again.
‘I am not cute. And I’m going to get myself shifted to another ward,’ she vowed softly, ‘before we disgrace ourselves.’
‘Don’t do that. I’d miss you.’ And he seemed entirely serious, which was lovely, since she’d had no intention of leaving the ward anyway!
‘I’ve had an idea. Are you around this weekend?’
She shook her head regretfully. ‘Sorry. We’re going to my parents’ tonight.’
His mouth seemed to tighten fractionally, and there was the merest flicker of a frown. She wondered why.
‘Is that a problem?’ she asked, but he shook his head.
‘No. I was going to suggest we go for a walk and then I’d cook a roast on Sunday, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe next weekend.’
It seemed such a long way away. ‘We’ll be back by two,’ she said, wondering how little sleep she could function on and not fall down on the job. ‘Is that too late?’
His brow pleated a little more, but he shook his head. ‘No, that’s fine. Are you going on the bus again?’
She nodded. ‘It’s the only one—the next one’s too late in the evening, so I’ll definitely be on that one. We can come straight to you.’
‘Ring me when you’re ten minutes from the bus station, and I’ll come and pick you up.’
‘Oh, Patrick, you don’t have to.’
‘I know, but I want to. You’ve got a mobile, haven’t you?’ She nodded. It was only a pay-as-you-go, and it never had many minutes on it, but she kept it for emergencies. ‘I’ll give you the number.’
‘OK. Right, I’ve got to fly, I’m due in a clinic. I’ll see you later—give it to me then. Over lunch?’
‘I’ll see if I can wangle it.’
‘Do that.’
The next two nights were the busiest Annie could remember. She filled in any spaces they ha
d in the hospital in her parents’ home town, going where they sent her, and the first night she was on A and E. Friday nights were always the worst, and without the benefit of knowing the regulars it was even harder.
And because she was an agency nurse and therefore unable to perform certain tasks because of hospital protocol, she was put in cubicles and had an endless stream of sprains and grazes and vomiting teenagers, hard on the heels of a full day’s work and precious little sleep on Thursday night either.
And Saturday night was no better, although she was working on SAU, the surgical assessment unit, and it was a little more controlled an environment than A and E. Nevertheless, she didn’t get a minute to herself, and by seven o’clock on Sunday morning her body was rebelling.
She felt light-headed, her feet were threatening to give out and she crawled into bed and slept solidly through until her mother woke her at twelve with a gentle shake.
No! She hadn’t had enough sleep. It couldn’t be time... ‘Darling, you have to wake up now.’
‘OK,’ she mumbled, but it wasn’t OK. She was exhausted, she’d had four hours’ sleep and she didn’t know how much longer she could go on. And Patrick was expecting her to go for a walk and then be good company this evening.
She could have wept. Instead, she got out of bed, wincing as she put weight on her feet, and went into the shower, blasting away the cobwebs and relishing the feel of the pounding spray. She could have stayed there all day, but there really wasn’t time. Ten minutes later she was downstairs, and her mother was putting lunch in front of them.
She could only toy with the shepherd’s pie. It didn’t need chewing even, but she was too tired to eat. Her mother bit her lip and gave her a worried look, though, so she forced down a few more mouthfuls before putting down her fork. ‘That was lovely,’ she said, and tried to smile. ‘Thank you.’
Her mother opened her mouth, shut it again and took away her plate. ‘Ice cream?’
‘Yes, please!’ Katie said, bubbling as usual. ‘Can I have chocolate?’
‘You’ll turn into chocolate,’ her grandmother said with a laugh, and Annie sank back into the chair and relaxed, the focus moving away from her for a while.
A Wife and Child to Cherish (Audley Memorial Hospital) Page 10
