Her throat moved in a swallow and she watched him steadily. He could see the denial in the pewter depths of her eyes. Desperation spurred him on.
‘You’re already involved. Look at Mary and Andy. You’ve profoundly affected their lives. You’re friends with Jack and Liz. My mum and dad love you—my whole family loves you. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you’ll be involved, whether you like it or not.’
‘Yes, I agree as far as the job goes, but it’s still temporary. I’m leaving Dustin once Liz’s maternity leave is up. I’m only here for the six months. Eight months tops.’
‘If you’re worried because it’s a short stint, we’d find a way to work out the logistics when you go back to Melbourne.’ He wasn’t ordinarily a fan of long-distance relationships but there were ways around it. Melbourne was only a couple of hours away.
‘I’m not going back to Melbourne.’
‘Then there’s no problem,’ he said quickly. ‘Stay here.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m moving on, Tom. Going north.’ Her smile felt like more of a grimace, stiff and unnatural. His enthusiasm and the sincerity behind it had caught her unawares. ‘I need to sort myself out, find out what I really want. I’ve always been good old reliable Kayla. Study hard, don’t rock the boat, fill in, help out, don’t let anyone down, don’t have any inconvenient emotions. I’m rebelling. It’s only a decade and a half overdue. No more doormat for me.’
‘I don’t want to wipe my feet on you, Kayla. How you are in a relationship is a choice. Your choice. If I behave like an idiot, you tell me. You don’t let me get away with anything now while we’re friends. That won’t change if we go out.’
His words held an appealing logic. She had to steel herself against the seductiveness of it.
He leaned forward and reached across the table to take her hands. ‘Make me part of your rebellion.’
‘What?’ She stared at him. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ His face was alight with enthusiasm.
‘Several reasons. Dustin is a small town and you are an important public figure.’ She looked at his hand, at the thumb stroking over her knuckles in a long, lazy stroke. ‘You can’t just run around having affairs.’
‘I’m entitled to a private life.’
‘But that’s it,’ she said. ‘In Dustin, it wouldn’t be private.’
‘It’s still my concern. Tell me what else I’m fighting against here.’
She frowned. ‘I’d be using you.’
‘It wouldn’t be using me if I know and I’m willing.’
‘But what if you get hurt.’
‘I won’t break.’ A muscle rippled in his jaw. ‘Maybe I’m prepared to take my chances.’
‘Maybe I’m not prepared to let you.’ She swallowed and lifted her eyes to his. ‘Besides, you might hurt me and I’m not prepared to risk that either.’
‘Ah.’ Humour twinkled in the deep brown eyes that watched her steadily. ‘So rebelling safely, then.’
She laughed but even she recognised there was no humour in the sound. ‘I guess you caught me out. I can’t change everything at once.’
‘You’re set on this, aren’t you?’ In the other room, a band struck up couple of notes. Before she could answer, he stood, recapturing her hand. ‘Enough talking. Come and dance with me.’
The fast, catchy beat thrummed through her as they entered the larger room. Rock and roll. She loved it.
Tom spun her, controlling her as though she were a top. She laughed with delight and gave herself to the moment, trusting him to catch her. And he did, always, effortlessly.
One song, two. Breathless and energised, she lost count. He led, she followed. It made her feel alive, hedonistic. Utterly feminine.
Good dancers make good lovers.
Her feet nearly stumbled as her outrageous dance teacher’s words slipped into her mind. Tom covered her gaffe, easily pulling her into his flank for another embrace. The move had never seemed so laden with sensuality. She’d done it dozens of times, hundreds of times…but she’d never been so conscious of her body, of her partner’s body. The physicality, the sensuality of the dance.
Pressed hip to hip, thigh to thigh. His arm around her, strong and firm. His dark eyes burned down into hers, suddenly predatory as though he could see the question in flaming scarlet letters in her brain.
What sort of lover would Tom Jamieson make?
Her mouth was dry, her heart fluttering frantically, knocking against her ribs in a panicked beat.
And then he was spinning her away and she could tell herself she’d imagined those heated seconds.
She refused to meet his eyes directly again, focussing anywhere else on his face. His mouth, the feral smile. Did he understand what she was doing? She would insist they take a break after this song so she could gather her tattered composure.
And then he was lifting her, the world tilted crazily for a second and then she was back on her feet, twirling away, only to be snatched back and dipped as Tom arched her over his arm.
The music stopped. She blinked up into hot chocolate eyes.
Applause and whistles filtered through her hazy thoughts.
He set her back on her feet and caught her hand in his as he grinned and sketched a brief bow to their audience.
Tom had controlled her easily, effortlessly, masterfully.
And she’d revelled in every moment of it.
‘Let’s have a coffee and then I’ll see you home,’ he said as the band announced they were taking a short break.
Catching her lip, she waged a silent battle. Common sense told her she needed to head home. She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll take a rain-check on the coffee as it’s nearly ten o’clock. Thank you for dinner and the dancing. It was wonderful.’
‘I’ll see you home.’
Her heart skittered. ‘There’s no need. I have the car.’
‘I know. I’ll follow you.’
Sensing the futility of arguing, she nodded. The sooner she got home, the sooner she’d be out of his disturbing orbit. She drove home, aware of his vehicle behind her for the brief journey.
His headlights loomed in her rear-vision mirror as she turned into her driveway. Keys ready, she got out of her car.
He met her on the path, taking her arm and walking her to her front door. He’d left his motor running, the steady chug of the diesel engine the only sound.
As she slid the key into the lock, she felt her hair being brushed aside, felt warm breath on her neck. Shuddered as his lips pressed to her nape, feeling the marrow in her bones turn to jelly.
‘We could be good together, Kayla,’ he said softly. ‘I haven’t given up the idea of pinning you down.’
She turned, wrapped her fingers around the strap of her shoulder bag to stop them from reaching for him. ‘I’m not some hapless camp draft steer you can run around pegs in the arena.’
He leaned on the door, his hands bracketing her head. ‘Honey, you’d be a heifer, not a steer and, trust me, I’d bypass the arena and take you straight to the branding yard if I could.’
It took a moment for his murmured words to sink in and then laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her.
‘I don’t think I’ve met anyone quite like you, Tom Jamieson.’ She wiped moisture from beneath her eyes then lowered her hand to clutch her bag.
‘I guess that’s good.’ His grin faded quickly. ‘I like making you laugh. You should do it more often.’
He tilted his head and captured her lips. Just the barest touch of his clever mouth, warm, undemanding, almost waiting. She needed to step back but instead she felt herself begin to tremble, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Only then did his hands move to her face, to tip her head so he could deepen the kiss.
She was vaguely aware of a small thud as she dropped her bag and brought her hands up to cling to his shoulders. His arms came around her, scooping her even closer.
And then it was over.
He stepped back, lifting a ha
nd to cup her jaw, his thumb stroked lightly across her mouth, making her aware of how swollen and pouty her lips felt. ‘I won’t give up, Kayla.’
‘You should.’ Shivers spiralled out of her stomach to every part of her body. ‘Goodnight, Tom.’
She watched him go. The temptation to ask him in was nearly unbearable. She had to severely curtail the amount of time she spent with him before she did something they’d both regret. He made her feel things she’d never felt with a man before. A craving for his touch, his scent, his presence.
Being responsible had never seemed a heavier burden than it did right this minute.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘GOOD morning, Hilda,’ Kayla said cheerfully. She glanced at the waiting room as she joined the nurse at the emergency room status board. A woman was sipping from a mug with her arms around one child while a second sat sucking his thumb beside her. They all looked grubby and dazed. ‘Looks like we’re busy.’
‘Kayla, you’re early.’ Hilda gave her a brief smile and pushed a stray hair back from her forehead with the back of her hand. The usually immaculate nurse looked subdued. ‘Things are just settling down now. This is the first chance I’ve had to update the board.’
She could hear a deep, harsh coughing from the cubicle area as someone struggled to draw breath, then a man’s raised, agitated voice.
‘Fill me in. Who’s our priority?’
‘We’ve got smoke inhalation victims from a house fire. The Martin family. Tony’s with the father now. The youngest child has been sedated and ventilated for airlift down to the Children’s.’
‘That’s the rest of the family in the waiting room?’
‘Yes, they’ve been checked over. The grandmother is on her way to pick up the kiddies. It could have been much worse if Tom Jamieson hadn’t been passing their house.’
‘Tom?’ Kayla glanced at the board, her skin prickling with apprehension. His name wasn’t there. Relief settled like quivering jelly into her knees.
‘He was the hero of the day.’
Was? Was? Kayla’s heart stopped then lurched into motion again with a sickening, fluttery beat. Suddenly, not having Tom’s name on the board didn’t sound like good news.
‘He woke the family, got them out and then went back in for the kiddie we’re transferring.’
She was grateful when Hilda continued but she wanted to shake her and demand information about Tom. His name set up a persistent tattoo in her mind and she didn’t trust herself to speak.
‘The father went back in so Tom had to pull him out, too.’
Oh, God! Tom!
Kayla uncleaved her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s not good. That’s him you can hear coughing.’
At least he’s alive. Relief shuddered through her in a profound wave, leaving her shaky and weak. She put her hand on the wall to steady herself—as soon as she could trust her legs she was going to find him, see for herself that he was all right.
Hilda shook her head. ‘The crazy things people do under pressure. His wife thinks he was after his coin collection.’
‘Tom. I meant is Tom all right?’ Kayla’s throat felt raw and she was surprised when Hilda didn’t seem to notice the croaky rasp.
‘He’s a bit knocked about but he seems okay. He’s in cubicle three, waiting for Tony to finish.’
‘I’ll take a look at him now.’
‘Oh, would you? That’d be great. I’ve been doing obs.’ She glanced at the watch pinned to her uniform. ‘He’s due for another lot now.’
‘I’ll do them.’ She walked on wobbly legs towards the area, barely holding her shudders of reaction in check.
She’d turned him down last night because of her fear of making a mistake, of losing control of her plans. He, on the other hand, was fearless, putting himself on the line, throwing himself, his precious life, into a dangerous situation.
All he’d asked her to do was to take a chance, go out with him. She’d drawn back, hesitant, afraid.
She felt barely able to contain the brew of conflicting emotions bubbling inside her. Anger with him for putting himself in danger and yet so achingly proud of him at the same time. He embraced life, the danger and mess and pain of it.
While she played it safe from the sidelines.
Sure, she planned on travelling north to work in remote areas. But in her usual careful way, she’d tried to ensure nothing deflected her from her course, nothing got untidy along the way.
As Tom had teased last night, she was even rebelling with caution. It suddenly seemed like a sad indictment of the person she was.
She slipped into the cubicle through the gap in the curtains.
Tom was sitting up on the bed, leaning back on the pillows, eyes closed. She was glad of this moment before he noticed her, so she could devour him with her eyes. She wanted to run to his side, slide her hands over every inch of him to make sure he really was all right. Hot tears gathered, pressing for release, but she blinked them back.
In a moment she would have to click into professional mode and work through his clinical examination but for a few precious seconds she could just look.
One leg bent with his forearm braced on the knee and his hand dangling. The other soot-smudged hand rested on the sheet, the clip of an oximeter attached to his finger.
His pale blue uniform shirt hung open. The fabric was pockmarked with tiny cinder holes. On the sleeve, the upper arm badge was smeared with black, as were the white chevrons of his dark blue shoulder epaulettes. A long, ragged tear on the front panel just over Tom’s ribs showed traces of blood. Where the edges of the shirt parted, a corner of gauze pad peeped out.
She must have made some small sound because his eyes snapped open and the dark-lashed brown gaze zeroed in on her. She felt as though she’d been zapped by a defibrillator. His whole demeanour changed.
‘Kayla,’ he rasped, his red-rimmed eyes sliding past her. ‘What are you doing here?’
She made a superhuman effort to pull herself together. ‘I’ve come to check you over.’
‘I was expecting Tony.’ He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.
‘He’s busy.’ She picked up his chart from the end of the bed and concentrated on his obs. BP slightly elevated, pulse normal, oxygen saturation normal. Shallow laceration. Calmer now, she hung the clipboard back on the rail.
‘You get me instead.’ She glanced at his face, noting the dirty smudges down one side. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Hell, yes, there’s a problem.’ He scowled.
Her stomach swooped at his fierce look. When he didn’t go on, she said, ‘And that would be?’
‘I want your hands on me, Kayla, but not in any damned professional capacity.’ He unclipped the oximeter.
‘Tom, you need—’
‘You’re not my doctor,’ he said roughly as he stripped off the nasal cannula then stood in his socked feet and pulled the edges of his shirt together. ‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I.’ She put her hand on his arm, felt the muscle twitch beneath warm skin. ‘You’re not going anywhere until you’ve been thoroughly checked over.’ When he just looked at her silently, she said, ‘And it doesn’t make me your doctor. Tony is the attending and I’ll make sure he sees you and confirms everything I’m telling you.’
An unpleasant waft of stale smoke filled her nostrils, reminding her why they were there. ‘Please, Tom, get back up on the bed.’
‘As long as this isn’t going to cause you any ethical dilemmas. If it will, you tell me now.’ He gave her a narrow-eyed stare. ‘I’ll discharge myself rather than have you use it as another excuse to avoid what’s between us.’
‘Crabby when we’re not well, are we?’ she teased gently in an attempt to lighten the moment.
‘I mean it, Kayla.’ He was obviously in no mood to be cajoled into co-operation. ‘Tell me if this is going to be a problem.’
‘There’s no dilemma.’
‘Wha
t does that mean?’ he growled.
‘It means treating you now won’t make you my patient. God knows, I wouldn’t want anyone so difficult,’ she said, goaded. ‘And it won’t change how I think of you.’
‘Not quite what I wanted to hear but it’ll do for now.’ He gave her the slow, lopsided grin through the sooty daubs on his face. The poignancy of it pierced straight to her heart.
She swallowed hard and dredged up the tattered remnants of her exasperation. ‘So sit down, shut up and take your blasted shirt off.’
‘Great bedside manner, Dr Morgan.’
‘Glad you like it. Less lip and more action from my patient would be even better.’
‘Yes, Doc.’ He moved slowly as though he ached.
‘Let me help,’ she said, reaching to peel the grimy garment carefully off his shoulders.
‘If I’d realised running into a burning building would make you want to take my clothes off, I might have done it weeks ago.’
‘Funny man.’ She congratulated herself on her detachment as he pulled his arms out of the sleeves.
‘Do you feel short of breath?’ she said, feeling the constriction in her own breathing as he sat on to the edge of the bed, his shirt bunched in his hands.
‘No.’
‘Headache? Nausea?’
‘No.’
She examined his eyes, peeling back the lids, all the time aware of his steady regard. Nose and throat—all the mucosal tissues were pink and healthy.
‘Now I know how a horse feels, having a soundness check. Do I pass muster?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Will you want me? I won’t cost you much.’
‘Coming on to your doctor is poor form,’ she said, hoping her desperation didn’t show in the clipped words.
‘But you’re not my doctor.’
‘Let’s pretend I am for this exercise,’ she muttered. Her hand was not going to tremble. She wouldn’t let it. ‘It’ll make it easier on both of us.’
She unhooked her stethoscope from around her neck and put in the earpieces. ‘I’m going to listen to your chest then I’ll look at the laceration over your ribs. Just breathe normally for me.’
The Man Behind the Badge Page 12
