My Summer of Magic Moments

by Caroline Roberts

  ‘Ah, I so love this song.’

  And suddenly all she wanted to do in this world was dance. She stood up and swayed to and fro, as he watched her, softly smiling.

  ‘Would you care to dance?’ she enquired as if they were in a 50s dance hall. It would be so lovely to be in his arms, slowly moving to the rhythm of one of her favourite songs. It had been such a perfect night so far.

  He looked a little taken aback. Then he smiled. ‘Yes, why not? Though I’ll warn you now, I’m not really much of a dancer.’ He stood up to join her and held her rather formally, one palm against hers and an arm round her back. It felt somewhat stiff.

  ‘Hang on … on the beach. I want to feel the sand under my feet.’ She had already kicked off her sandals and discarded them under the table before dessert. Ed was in flip-flops, which he slid out of.

  ‘Okay then,’ and he led her the few metres out through his garden gate down to the sands. ‘Better?’

  It was darker out here, but she could see well enough to witness his wry grin that said he was going along with it just to please her.

  ‘Better.’

  She felt his arms close round her, and they danced slowly to the remainder of the Coldplay song, then to the next, Keane’s ‘Somewhere Only We Know’, with the feel of the sand under their feet, the stars above them and the hush of the waves on the shore, his arms wound around her waist and her head nestled against his shoulder. It was chillier out here with the breeze from the sea, and he pulled her in even closer. It felt like she had come home.

  As the music paused between tracks, they stood staring at each other in the half-light. He dipped his head towards her and she leaned up for the most exquisite kiss. Tender, passionate, stirring every sense in her body. Oh, what a night. And she had the feeling that it wasn’t going to end here.

  As the kiss began to ease, reality moved in. Surely he wouldn’t back out this time?

  Okay, okay, so she was going to have to tell him.

  ‘Ed …’ She pulled away, felt a trembling in her hands as they fell away from his neck. Oh, sweet Jesus, she’d never had to say this to anyone before. ‘Ed, umm … before this goes any further. That’s if this is going the way I think it’s going –’ She managed a nervous laugh. ‘Well, there’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘Okay.’ He looked watchful. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Well …’ God, this was so awkward. Nothing like killing the moment. But she knew she’d feel better if it was said. How he would react was another matter. ‘Well, you know I’ve not been well.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Breast cancer.’

  ‘Yes … Oh God, you are okay, aren’t you?’ Fear rippled through his tone, his eyes still on her. ‘It hasn’t come back or anything, has it?’

  ‘No, no. Thank God. But it’s just … it’s left scars. Bad scars.’ There, it was said. She bumbled on. ‘The left breast. I don’t look normal there any more.’ She gulped back a knot in her throat. It wasn’t like this in romantic movies, where their bodies were perfect and they tumbled into bed and lived happily ever after. But there, she’d told him.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Silence.

  She didn’t know how to gauge his reaction. It looked like he was thinking, processing the information. ‘I didn’t want it to be a shock. If you want to change your mind …’

  ‘Hey, I’m not that shallow.’

  ‘No, but … Well, it’s not pretty, by any means.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Sorry to kill the romance and all that.’ Her voice dipped. ‘It’s been worrying me.’

  And suddenly his arms were round her once more, strong, protective – dare she hope … loving? ‘Hey,’ he said quietly, holding her close. She felt his hand rubbing her back in a slow, soothing motion and relaxed into him. A few moments later he pulled back to speak. ‘And I thought maybe you were going to be the one to run this time.’ He smiled with humour and understanding.

  ‘No, not if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘I don’t want you to.’ And he took her back into his embrace, his lips moving towards hers. ‘Let’s carry on where we left off, shall we?’ And his lips pressed hers before she could answer.

  In her relief, she relaxed into his kiss. It was intense, a promise of so much more. They were still on the beach, with the sound of the waves rushing to shore, the dark of the night around them now, the storm candle flickering within its glass case from the garden. It was beautiful here, peaceful – but it was getting a bit chilly.

  ‘Shall we take this inside?’ he murmured between kisses.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, though he could have taken her right there and then if he’d persisted. This was number 8 on her magic moments to-do list, after all. But yes, a bedroom might feel more protective, more private for her undressing. Oh jeez … she still had to get her bloody breasts out.

  ‘Okay.’ He led the way, back through the garden, the grass scratchy under foot, into the lounge, the hall, holding her hand all the way and on up the narrow staircase. At the top of the landing he paused, holding her gaze reassuringly. He led her into a cosy bedroom, lit by the glow of a bedside lamp, with wooden furniture painted in a cream shabby chic style. Crisp white bedding. A king-size bed. It was a lovely room. But her nerves kicked in. This was the first time she’d had sex in ages. The first time since Paul’s betrayal, since cancer, since the scars. Would she be any good? Would he be disappointed?

  Ed seemed to sense her fears and held her to him once more, stroking her hair. Then he shifted his head back slightly to watch her as he lifted a fingertip to trace her cheekbone before kissing her on the lips again, very gently this time.

  Okay, Claire, now or never. Let’s do this thing. Her thoughts drifted anxiously for a moment, and then all she could think about was his lips on hers, responding with a longing she hadn’t felt in a very long time. His body pressed so close, the scent of his aftershave, his skin, one arm tracing her back, the other holding her against him, the hardness of his erection firm and sexy against her hip.

  She pulled back to take a slow breath, and he nuzzled her neck, sending little shivers down her spine. ‘Oh, yes, that’s good.’ She wasn’t sure if she’d said it out loud or thought it. Her lips close to his ear, she kissed the lobe. Then she took a step back, drew a deep breath, and pulled her summer dress off in one swoop. In her underwear, matching lacy stuff this time. Nothing like being prepared. Would she ever be prepared? Ed looked at her – she could see the desire in his eyes. She stepped forward to kiss his lips, then the tip of his nose and a little scar that rested on his forehead above his right eyebrow. He seemed to tense for a second, but then relaxed as she moved her hands down to his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one, appearing more in control than she felt inside. She traced her fingertips beneath the loose material, following the definition of his abs – my God, his chest was gorgeous, toned and solid. Her fingertips trailed down further, finding the line of dark hair that led down to his belt, his trousers. The skin of his stomach quivered under her touch, a sensual ripple.

  She looked right at him. He smiled, but there was a trace of nervousness there in his eyes too. Maybe he hadn’t done ‘it’ for a long time either. That thought made her feel better somehow.

  She undid the buckle on his belt, unfastened the button on his jeans, and eased the zip down. She could feel the heat from him there, her hand brushing against his hardness. It made her feel wanted. It made her feel good. Not that she intended being good at all.

  He peeled down his jeans.

  Jesus, right then, we’re really doing this. And, she had no intention of running away.

  They stood staring at each other, both down to their underwear. She wanted to be the one to take off her bra. She took a long, slow breath. ‘Oh God.’ The words slipped out. Her hands found the clasp at her back.

  ‘It’s okay. It’ll be fine,’ he soothed, still holding her gaze.

  Mists of tears were in her eyes. She hadn’t meant to get emotional. Dam
n.

  He took a step closer and brushed a thumb gently beneath her lower lashes, where the first tear had spilled. Then kissed her cheek, oh so gently.

  He moved back a fraction, giving her space. He nodded. She nodded back. Then she slipped the bra from her breasts and stood before him. He was still smiling gently as he stood and looked at both breasts, at the scar laid bare. He lifted a hand towards her, tenderly touching her good right breast, trailing a fingertip over the nipple, which tensed under his touch. Moved his hand towards her damaged left breast. ‘Is this okay? Will it hurt at all?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t hurt.’ If anything, she had lost sensation there – the lack of a nipple, the long horizontal scar which had deadened some of the nerve endings.

  He tenderly traced his finger along the scar and kissed the skin of her breast above it. ‘It’s fine, Claire. It’s who you are. You’re a survivor.’

  And yes, she was. It was who she was now: a woman who had survived cancer and had the scars to show for it.

  ‘And –’ he lifted her chin with a gentle hand and looked her in the eye – ‘you are beautiful.’ He kissed her on the lips, then his tongue found hers.

  Then he brought her so close she could feel him hard against her, sending warm pulses right through her, and she felt a huge sense of relief. He had seen her and he still thought she was beautiful and he still wanted her. His body was telling her as much.

  She slipped her pants down, a giggle escaping her now. He stood staring at her with a grin. ‘Okay then, if that’s the way we’re playing it –’ and pulled his boxers down, launching them with humour across the room. He lifted her to place her on the bed, and her soft laughter was silenced as his hands got to work. Light, teasing touches, firm long strokes and massages all along her body. Then down, exquisitely, to tease her inner thighs until they quivered, his fingers tracing her secret curves, parting and stroking, gently at first, then rhythmically, until she was pushing back with him, against him. Taking her oh-so-close.

  But she wanted to pleasure him too. She leant up on her side, pushing him flat down on the bed, delighting in the defined contours of his chest. She traced her hand down through the dark hair around his navel and below, reached his hard shaft, wrapping her fingers around its firmness and starting a slow, sexy glide. He lay back on the pillows, arms angled each side of his head, eyes closed, losing himself to her touch. She liked watching him there, the slow smile that lay on his lips, a quiver of tension beneath her fingertips as she moved faster, firmer, slowing as he began to moan.

  ‘Whoa there.’ He lifted a hand, opened his eyes with a grin. ‘Steady, or it’ll all be over before we get to base.’

  She smiled back and knelt across him, her bare breasts brushing his chest, kissing his lips. Aware they were so close. One move and he’d be in.

  But he sat up, rolled her down onto the bed on her back, slowly caressed her inner thighs, finding that perfect spot until a soft moan escaped her lips. He stared at her with longing in his eyes. ‘Are you ready?’

  Oh boy, was she ready. She nodded, thinking any words might end in a whimper. He leant to take a condom from the bedside drawer. God, how she wanted to feel him inside her. Even if she only got this one night. She wanted to feel whole again, loved again. He’d done everything right so far.

  She watched him place the condom on; she didn’t even know if she could get pregnant any more. There was a chance the chemo could have damaged her ovaries. She hoped not … there was still that dream of a family. But not to worry about that now. Better safe than sorry.

  She felt the pressure of him hard against her, she took a slow breath, and then he was gloriously filling her, tight as he became part of her. He cupped her breasts, both scarred and good, as he glided in and out, the feeling exquisite – sensual, long and slow, and then faster, harder. She gripped his buttocks, pushing him deeper. Wanting him so much. Heard herself moan.

  ‘Claire, oh, Claire.’ His words came in a hot breath by her ear.

  She was so … damned … close. Bucked her thighs up against him. Oh god, yes-yes-yes-and-YES. Golden waves of pleasure throbbed within her and around him. His deep groan above her was a joy.

  They slumped down on the bed together, her brain a fuzzy, happy mess. Blissful fade-out.

  Bloody hell, that was amazing. She’d not had sex like that for a long, long time. In fact, had she ever had sex like that? ‘Aaaahh,’ she sighed.

  And he curled around her, from behind, his face against her hair, his chest lining her back, knees locked gently behind hers.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he answered. There was a pause. ‘It really was.’ And she could hear the smile in his voice.

  No one else could have made her feel that way – so relaxed, so wanted.

  Ed, you are one special guy.

  And she dozed off, nestling back against him, his arm wrapped protectively around her.

  18

  ‘There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved.’

  Charles Morgan

  She woke to find his arm still round her. So this was real, not some wonderful fantasy dream. A slow, lazy morning smile spread across Claire’s face. She lay there feeling the warm skin of the gorgeous man beside her, noting the dark-blond hairs on his forearm. Turned slowly to look at his face, all mussed-up blond hair, his eyes still closed, little crags of laughter lines and dark-brown lashes.

  His eyes opened.

  ‘Morning,’ she squeaked, caught out staring at him.

  He smiled slowly, as if he was remembering last night too. ‘Hey.’ His voice was honey-warm.

  She couldn’t think what to say, wanting to stay close and not break the spell. Could it possibly last? It had just been so magical – a whole night of magic moments. There would be plenty to add to her newspaper column, though it might have to be X-rated, she smirked. And maybe, just maybe – she hardly dared let herself hope there might be lots more magic moments for them.

  She moved a hand to his face, touched his cheek, which felt prickly with morning stubble. Brushed the waves of hair off his forehead. She wanted to kiss him, but wondered if her breath would be all fusty and garlicky after last night’s langoustines. She could just nip to the bathroom and freshen up. She smiled at him, and began to wriggle sideways, realizing she was totally starkers. Could she brazenly just step out of bed? She knew he’d seen it all last night, but this was the cold light of day … She sat awkwardly with the duvet up around her breasts.

  ‘Do you want me to shut my eyes?’ he grinned, as if he knew she was being daft but was going along with it.

  She nodded self-consciously.

  ‘Shame. You could pop my shirt on. It’s there on the chair next to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She leapt out of bed, betting anything he’d open his eyes anyhow and get an eyeful of her rear end. She whipped the shirt on and poked her head out. As she’d guessed, he was lying back watching her with a cheeky smile on his face, arms angled under his head on the pillows. She strolled out of the bedroom, trying to play it cool, found the bathroom opposite and brushed some paste around her teeth with her index finger. Had a quick pee too. That felt better. She had a cat-who’s-got-the-cream look on her face as she caught her eye in the mirror – and why not.

  The day was theirs, she mused. She could just slip back between the sheets, and if he wanted to spend the whole day shagging her senseless, then so be it. Who was she to argue? She didn’t want to argue. Where were these brazen thoughts coming from? She’d definitely been out of action for far too long.

  She slipped back under the duvet, still wearing his shirt, and snuggled up. His arm slid round her once more and she moved up tentatively for a morning kiss. It seemed a shy kiss compared with last night’s passion, but it was warm and tender. And she lay her head on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, taking in the warm-toast smell of his skin along with the lingering scent of last night’s aftershave.


  ‘Have you got much on today?’ A leading question and she knew it.

  ‘I do have some work I need to do, sorry.’

  Ah, so maybe that was it, the get-out clauses creeping in already. For all her talk of one-night stands being fine, she felt gutted.

  ‘Maybe later?’ he continued. ‘I just need a few hours to finish some designs I’ve been working on for a client. Then I’ll have some free time. We could go out and sample the delights of the village pub or something?’

  A date. He was asking her on a date. It wasn’t a one- night stand after all. Her heart soared.

  ‘Yeah, I’d like that. That would be great.’

  ‘I’ll fix us some breakfast first. Croissants and coffee okay?’

  ‘Ah, yeah, please.’

  And he was up out of the bed, standing tall with his back to her, all naked buttocks, long legs and muscly thighs – gorgeous. A close-up of that first sexy vision of him on the beach. But damn, why wasn’t he staying in bed for more hot sex? Had her shirt-and-shyness act put him off? Bugger. Oh well, she’d be seeing him again later on. She watched as he put on a dark-grey dressing gown that had been hung on the back of the bedroom door and slipped out of the room.

  After a breakfast together of orange juice, strong coffee and hot, crumbly croissants served with butter and jam, sitting in his lounge overlooking his beachside garden, she decided she ought to go back to her own cottage. He seemed a little distracted this morning, was probably keen to get on with his work, she supposed. She could go and have a nice leisurely shower and wash her hair – she’d better be looking good for tonight. Hopefully they could recapture some of that closeness of last night.

  In her shower – the old-fashioned type hung from a pole over the shitty-green coloured bath in her chilly cottage bathroom – she started rubbing shampoo through her hair. She was suddenly blasted with a rush of ice-cold water. Damn and bugger! Ah, ah, ah, get out quick! Typical that the only time the shower produced decent pressure was when it was freezing cold.

  She dashed from the peril of the icy blast and huddled in a towel she’d grabbed, the suds streaming down her face from the unrinsed shampoo. She rubbed it from her eyes, managing to rub more suds in than out, and then could hardly see as they began to sting. She shoved on a dressing gown and wrapped her hair, turban-like, in a towel. There was only one thing for it. Surely he wouldn’t mind saving her from hypothermia and hair like a nest.