Taken For Granted

by Caroline Anderson

  It might well. He couldn’t remember being this nervous since his viva. Not even then, perhaps.

  He glanced at his watch. A quarter to seven. He didn’t know whether to suggest she had a bath first, or eat first, or just get the whole bedroom business out of the way before he tried to do the meal. At the moment he was sure food would choke him.

  Perhaps he should tackle her on the subject of the practice, but he wanted a genuine reaction to him first, and to the job offer later.

  He had decided that, provided they could overcome the domestic difficulties, he saw no problem with working with her. They might argue about things, but they’d have to agree to keep out of each other’s way and not bring home to work and vice versa.

  In many ways it would be wonderful to have her there and be able to share things with her. For years he’d shielded her, which was crazy because she was a doctor too, by all accounts an excellent one, and she would certainly have understood.

  Instead, it seemed she’d resented what she had seen as his excluding her from his working life.

  Crossed lines, again.

  ‘Oh, Sally, come on, let’s get this over with,’ he muttered. He gave the glass of wine another longing look. Just then anaesthesia had never seemed so tempting.

  Sally’s last few hours at work were bitter-sweet. Martin came and perched on her desk and was so kind to her that she nearly cried.

  Steve sought her out in the kitchen and said goodbye as he was off for the weekend. ‘You’ve been great,’ he said, and hugged her hard.

  Even Mavis said that she would miss her.

  Most of the patients, of course, were still seeing her for the first time and so she had to explain that it was only temporary and Sam would be back on Monday, and several of the women remarked that it was a shame they didn’t have a woman doctor in the practice.

  Sally had thought that, but although they had muttered about getting another part-time partner in the past, nothing had ever come of it and she didn’t suppose anything ever would.

  Silly, really, because they were hopelessly overstretched as it was.

  Finally, Sam’s desk was cleared and there was nothing left to do. She sat behind it, her hands pressed to the cool wood, and pretended it was still her desk and was going to be for the next umpteen years.

  It was a nice idea while it lasted.

  She couldn’t stall any longer. The kids would be waiting up for her, and Sam would have tried to cook something and would be hurt if she was late.

  Everything had an up-side, she thought with a smile. Once they’d swapped back they could all start enjoying their food again. Poor Sam wasn’t a cook.

  She loved him, though. She knew that now. It was time to tell him.

  Pushing back the chair, she stood up and left the room without a backward glance.

  Here she was. Right. Deep breaths, calm, nice and steady.

  He wiped his palms on the sides of his trousers and swallowed.

  A car door slammed, the garage door rumbled down and crashed home, and then she was in the kitchen.

  ‘Hi.’

  She smiled. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Everything OK?’

  Apart from not wanting to leave the practice? ‘Yes, everything’s fine. I’ve left your desk tidy.’

  ‘Thanks. Um—why don’t you go and have a bath while I finish the supper?’ he suggested, the butterflies turning to miniature drills boring away at his insides.

  She gave him a funny look. ‘OK. How long have I got?’

  ‘I’ll give you ten minutes’ warning, all right?’

  She smiled. ‘OK. Thanks. Where are the kids, by the way?’

  ‘My parents.’

  ‘Oh.’ Something flickered in her eyes, but he was too agitated to work out what it was.

  He checked the table, wiped down the worktops yet again, turned on the oven to heat and then, after a few more minutes of procrastination, he put the dish in the oven.

  Vegetables, now—in fifteen minutes. He set the timer, and after ten nerve-racking minutes he went upstairs and tapped on the bathroom door.

  Sally opened it, already out and dried.

  She was also totally, beautifully, naked.

  His heart jerked in his chest. ‘Um—supper’s in ten minutes,’ he said gruffly, and turned on his heel.

  ‘Sam?’

  He stopped. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Make love to me.’

  He felt as if he’d been punched. Slowly, just in case it was only a dream, he turned. ‘What?’

  She smiled, a knowing smile, a woman’s smile, confident and devastating.

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘But…supper…’

  ‘Please.’

  He was undone. Slowly, because he’d forgotten how to do it, he drew in a breath.

  Her hand came up to him and he reached out and took it, letting her lead him to the bed.

  ‘I was going to light scented candles and give you a massage with that oil——’

  ‘I don’t need that, Sam,’ she whispered. ‘All I need is you.’

  His heart nearly stopped. His eyes did something damn funny, too, but he blinked and they cleared.

  He let himself look at her, and it nearly finished him. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘No. I’m just me.’

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he repeated.

  She reached up and started undoing the buttons of his shirt, and he thought his skin would catch fire where her fingers touched it.

  She tugged the shirt out of his trousers and slid her hands round his sides, her palms cool against his heated skin.

  ‘You feel wonderful,’ she murmured into his chest. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I’ve missed you, too,’ he said raggedly. ‘You can’t know how much.’

  ‘Oh, I do. Believe me.’

  She slid the shirt down over his arms so that they were trapped behind his back, and then turned her attention to his belt buckle. He sucked in his breath and her fingers slid over the waistband, teasing the skin of his abdomen.

  He yanked his arms free, pinging one of the buttons off, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he’d ripped the whole sleeve out.

  He detached her hands from his waist and eased her up against him, sighing as her soft breasts pillowed against his chest.

  ‘Oh, you feel so good,’ he murmured. He tilted her head back with one finger and brought his mouth down over hers. It opened like a flower and he used his tongue to coax it further still.

  She gasped and arched against him, and he growled in satisfaction and plunged his tongue deeper, thrusting it rhythmically into the velvet depths of her mouth.

  She squirmed against him, little noises coming from her throat, and he lifted her and laid her on the bed without once breaking the kiss.

  He came down beside her, their lips still meshed, and her hands found the zip of his trousers and slid it down, darting inside to circle him gently.

  He gasped and shackled her wrist, pulling her hand away.

  ‘No, Sally, for God’s sake. Take it steady.’

  ‘I don’t want to. I want you now.’

  ‘No.’

  There was no way he was hurrying her this time. He fastened both her wrists together with one large hand and held them above her head.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making love to you. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’

  His hand slid down her throat, over her collarbones, splaying across her breasts. Her nipples peaked and she made a tiny noise and bucked.

  He teased them, drawing it out until she was like a bowstring, then his hand slid lower, drifting past the soft curls and stroking the fine skin of her thighs.

  ‘Sam, please,’ she begged breathlessly.

  ‘All in good time.’

  He kissed her again while his hand found her, testing her readiness.

  He nearly lost it, just doing that.

  Oh, God, don’t let
me blow it now, he thought.

  He released her and shucked off the rest of his clothes, then turned back to her.

  ‘No faking,’ he said quietly.

  She met his eyes, her own deep pools of need.

  ‘No faking,’ she vowed.

  ‘I want every last damn scream,’ he told her. His mouth found hers again, plundering it while his hand sought out her most vulnerable secret.

  He felt her sob, her body arching, then he covered her, thinking of anything—the garden, the supper— oh, hell, the supper. In the distance he could hear the timer on the cooker, and he tried to focus on it, picture the charred contents—anything but listen to Sally as he entered her slowly, burying himself deep inside her…

  A huge groan tore itself from his throat and he dropped his head against her shoulder.

  ‘Steady,’ he pleaded.

  ‘No—no, Sam, please, now!’

  He was lost. He couldn’t have held back then for anyone, not with her gentle plea ringing in his ears.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered, and then he could feel the convulsions start deep within her.

  He shuddered, his body pulsing, and clinging to her, he held her tight as the wild storm raged through them.

  ‘Wow.’

  She watched as he cracked an eye open and looked at her, sprawled across his chest. He looked rumpled and sexy, and she loved him. She needed to say so again.

  ‘I do love you, Sam.’

  ‘At the moment. You’ll go off me soon.’

  ‘Why?’ She lifted her head. ‘Sam, what’s that smell?’

  ‘That’s the reason you aren’t going to love me in a minute.’

  ‘Supper?’

  He nodded. ‘It was supposed to have twenty minutes. That was nearly an hour ago.’

  ‘Oh. I still love you.’

  He looked at her and his eyes filled. ‘I love you, too,’ he said, his voice choked. ‘I’ve missed you. It’s been years since we’ve made love like that.’

  She smoothed his hair back off his brow and wriggled up his chest to kiss him.

  ‘I’m sorry I faked before. I should have made you talk to me. It was a dreadful thing to do.’

  ‘It must have been awful for you.’

  ‘It was—I felt so lonely, as if I was outside myself watching. We just seemed to have lost so much.’

  He wrapped his arms round her tightly and held her close. She could feel his heart beating beneath her ear, and it suddenly seemed terribly important that everything should be all right between them again.

  ‘We will be OK, won’t we, Sam?’ she asked him softly, suddenly afraid that she might have killed his love.

  ‘I hope so. I’m sorry I let you feel used,’ he said gruffly, his voice a deep rumble under her ear. ‘I didn’t mean to. I was always very conscious of how much you did for us all, but until we swapped I didn’t really have any idea of just what was involved. I mean, I knew your role was important, but I didn’t realise quite how much there was to do or how demanding it could be. I’m afraid I didn’t do it nearly as well as you did my job.’

  She laughed softly. ‘It’s just practice. If you’d done it for years, like I did medicine before I gave up, it would be different.’

  ‘Hell, Sally, we’re talking about housework, not neurosurgery! How difficult can it get?’

  She propped herself and met his rueful eyes. ‘I don’t know, darling. You tell me.’

  He snorted and dropped his head back. ‘Impossibly difficult. I’d better go and turn that oven off and dispose of the remains of our supper.’

  She shifted slightly to let him go, then watched as he pulled on his dressing-gown.

  ‘I’ll come too. We’ll make an omelette or something and have a glass of wine.’

  He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘If you had any idea of the lengths I went to over this meal, you’d never let me live it down.’

  She slid off the bed. ‘What was it?’

  ‘Filet de boeuf en croûte.‘

  She blinked in amazement. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  They went downstairs and she watched with interest as he removed the charred mess from the oven.

  ‘I don’t suppose the meat inside is worth fishing out?’ he said hopefully.

  She peered at it. ‘No, I don’t suppose so. Was it Delia’s recipe?’

  ‘Um…’ He scraped the mess into the sink and turned on the waste-disposal unit.

  ‘I can’t hear you.’

  He switched it off. The back of his neck was red. ‘I said, I got a catering firm to deliver it, all ready to put in the oven.’

  She didn’t have the heart to tease him this time. Instead she looked regretfully into the empty sink.

  ‘Oh, well. Shall I make the omlettes?’

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said later, as they lay curled up together on the settee in the little sitting-room.

  His fingers were plucking at the piping on the arm, and he obviously had something on his mind.

  ‘Do you want to start?’ she asked.

  He shrugged, his big shoulder shifting under her cheek, and she moved away slightly so that she could watch his face. He was quite good with his voice, but his eyes gave him away every time.

  ‘Go on, then. You first.’

  His fingers caught hers and twined around them, hanging on.

  ‘I love you,’ he said finally. ‘I want you to know that, because it’s fundamental. Nothing else is as important as that.’

  She squeezed his hand encouragingly. ‘Good. Because I feel the same.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you haven’t been happy, and at least partly that’s been my fault.’

  ‘And mine.’

  ‘I’ve neglected your needs,’ he ploughed on, ignoring her, ‘and that’s unforgivable.’

  ‘I’ve forgiven you. I’m hardly whiter than white——’

  ‘I didn’t listen to you. When things got tough, I made love to you because it was the quickest and easiest way to put the smile back on your face, and I needed you to smile. I need to make you happy, Sally. If I can’t do that, I might as well go out and shoot myself.’

  ‘Don’t.’ She wriggled closer again, wrapping her arms round his big chest and hanging on. ‘It isn’t you that makes me unhappy. I’m just dissatisfied with my lot, and when I think how lucky I am, I’m disgusted with myself.’

  ‘But are you lucky? Really? As you said yourself, by an accident of biology you’re stuck with the cooking and the cleaning and the taxi service for the kids, and I know you enjoy the garden, but the housework? Really?’

  She laughed softly. ‘No, you’re right. I hate the housework and the washing. The garden I love, and I need to spend time with the children because I adore them and they’re so funny they make everything seem right, but the house I could set fire to any day of the week without turning a hair.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a very wonderful idea,’ he said cautiously. ‘Still, if you didn’t have to do the housework, what would you like to do with that time? Really, honestly?’

  ‘Really? Honestly? I’d like to go back to work.’

  ‘With me?’

  She laughed. ‘Ideally, yes. I know it won’t happen, though. You’ve all talked about it, but that’s as far as it will ever go, and there’s no way Martin and Steve would wear you creating a job just for me. Maybe there’s another practice, though.’

  Sam traced the line of her nose with a blunt finger. ‘What if there didn’t need to be another practice? What if there genuinely was a part-time job at the practice?’

  ‘Well, it would be marvellous, but I won’t hold my breath.’

  ‘What about the kids, though, in the holidays? Have you thought of that?’

  She sighed and wriggled her fingers through the front of his dressing-gown, toying idly with the soft curls on his chest. ‘Mmm. I don’t know. I suppose they’re old enough now, but I would still worry.’

  ‘We could always have an au pair.’

&
nbsp; She tweaked a hair out. ‘Forget it. You’re mine!’

  He laughed ruefully and pulled her hand out of his dressing-gown, trapping it in his hand. ‘I’m serious. There’s the room above the garage. We’ve often talked about putting in a staircase instead of the ladder and turning it into a little flat. Perhaps we could convert it into a bed-sitting-room with a bathroom. That way we’d still have our privacy, because there’s no way I’m going to sacrifice being able to wander round my own home in the nude if I want to. And you could go back to work then, either part time or full time, if you wanted to.’

  She sat up and searched his face. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, don’t you think it would be an idea to approach Martin and Steve before you start taking on a new partner without their knowledge or consent?’

  He rubbed his chin. ‘Actually, they approached me.’

  ‘They did? When?’

  ‘The practice meeting on Tuesday.’

  ‘The one I wasn’t invited to?’

  He grinned. ‘That’s the one.’

  She frowned. ‘So what did they say?’

  Sam smiled. ‘You want to hear it? It’ll make you blush.’

  She blushed.

  ‘See? I told you.’

  ‘Idiot.’ She thumped him gently and snuggled back to his chest. ‘So, what did they say?’

  He told her, and she felt the heat mount her cheeks.

  ‘They said all that?’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘Oh.’ She fell silent.

  ‘I was very proud of you, Sally,’ he said, his voice vibrant with sincerity. ‘I’ve never loved you so much as I did at that moment.’

  ‘Oh, Sam…’ She reached up and cradled his cheek, turning his face to her kiss.

  ‘Sally?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Do you want to think about it?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. If they want me that badly, who am I to disappoint them?’

  ‘What about the kids?’

  ‘What about them? They’re getting older now. They’ll have to accept that I, too, have needs. I’ve denied them long enough. It’s taken me a long time to reach out and grasp what ought to be mine. I’m sure they’ll accept it.’