by Amy Andrews
You can do it, Candice. You can do it. Stay with us. Just stay with us.
When they pushed her back into her bed space in ICU no one was sure if Candice would make it through the night.
But Miranda had to believe she would and as she helped clean up the theatre she refused to believe that she wouldn’t. Candice had her whole life ahead of her—surely it wasn’t going to be snatched away?
She met Patrick at the change-room doors, the male and female rooms being side by side. He’d stayed in ICU for a while.
‘How is she?’
‘Her intracranial pressure’s pretty high still,’ he said.
He was different from the man who had flirted with her just a few hours ago. His eyes were a little bloodshot and the lines around his mouth were more noticeable. He’d fought hard to keep Candice alive as she’d bled and bled and he looked totally exhausted.
‘Will she make it?’
Patrick shrugged. ‘She lost a lot of blood...’
Miranda nodded, knowing that no one could predict Candice’s outcome at the moment, but it still didn’t stop her wanting to hear that everything was going to be okay. ‘Do you want to come to mine?’
Adrenaline had surged through her system as they’d fought the good fight for Candice but now they’d done their part and it was all over Miranda was left feeling jittery and wrung out. Not to mention the memories and emotions it had stirred up from her own teenage years. And her mother’s terrible words.
She didn’t want to be alone with them.
Hell, she just wanted to wrap herself in his arms and go away to some place where none of the world existed. Not teenage troubles. Not single motherhood. Not work or home or the girls.
Just him and her.
Patrick’s pulse leapt. It was pretty clear from her frank gaze that she wasn’t talking about a cup of hot chocolate between colleagues. But still he hesitated. She wasn’t some bar pick-up tonight. ‘Are you sure?’
Miranda nodded. ‘Yes. I don’t want to be alone tonight.’
‘Not that many hours left before sunrise,’ he murmured.
She shrugged. ‘I’ll take them.’
Patrick’s loins stirred. ‘What about Lols?’
‘She’s at Nan’s.’
He lifted his hand to cup her face and his gut squeezed as she rubbed her cheek against his palm. ‘Give me half an hour. I’m going to get dressed and go back and check on Candice.’
Miranda smiled as she fell just a little bit in love, despite telling herself she wouldn’t. ‘Come when you can. I’ll be waiting.’
* * *
It was almost three-thirty when Miranda heard Patrick’s footsteps on her stairs. She’d been lying on the couch in a semi-drowse. Her pulse picked up as he knocked and she swung her feet over the side. Her legs felt weak as she made her way to the door. The satin of her floor-length gown had been cool when she’d slipped it on her freshly showered naked skin almost an hour ago but it was warm and moved against her now like a lover’s caress.
She had contemplated putting underwear on but hadn’t wanted the hindrance or the extra time it would take to get out of it. Patrick wasn’t coming over at three in the morning to exchange pleasantries.
He’d better not be anyway!
She opened the door and he was leaning against the jamb in track pants and a T-shirt and he smiled at her, his gaze drifting to the way the gown sat wide on her shoulders and low on her cleavage. ‘I think I’m overdressed,’ he murmured.
She smiled back, suddenly feeling stupidly nervous. Maybe she should have worn more. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi, back.’
She stepped aside to let him pass. ‘How’s Candice?’
Patrick sauntered in, lights from the street outside poking fingers of light into the darkened room. He turned to face her, shoving his hands in his pockets. Her gown looked silky soft and he knew where they’d rather be. ‘Still unstable. They’re giving her some mannitol.’
Miranda shut the door, sagging against it at the progress report. She’d hoped he’d arrive with better news.
Patrick took a couple of steps towards her. The room may have been dark but her troubled smoky-green gaze seemed luminous. ‘She got to you, didn’t she?’
Miranda nodded. Patients always had but Candice had been a little too close for comfort. ‘That could have been me,’ she said.
He lifted his hand, smoothed her fringe back with his fingers and trailed them down her cheek. ‘But it wasn’t.’
‘I was like her. Young. Off the rails. Desperate for someone to pay me attention.’
Patrick stroked his thumb along her bottom lip, watched as her nipples beaded against the fabric of her gown. Her brow was furrowed, her gaze concerned. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. ‘Shh,’ he whispered.
Miranda felt tears prick at her eyes at his gentleness and she shut them. The soft press of his lips calmed and stirred her in equal measure. ‘I was so lucky.’
At the time she hadn’t thought getting pregnant with Lola had been lucky but she had no idea where she’d be now if the responsibility hadn’t been foisted on her.
He kissed each closed eyelid. ‘Shh,’ he whispered again.
A tear squeezed out from under an eyelid and he kissed it away. Kissed her on the nose, the side of the mouth, along her jaw and down one side of her neck. His tongue lapped at the pulse that bounded in her throat and she gasped as her skin practically sizzled and heat unfurled through her veins.
Candice faded. Her own dice with danger faded. The tears faded. And the thud took over. The thud and the pound and the roar as her pulse beat hard and insistent, washing lust and desire through her veins, stroking it over her breasts, fanning it through her belly, whispering it between her legs.
His mouth found its way to hers and she opened to him on a moan and when moments later he pushed a thigh between her legs, pinning her against the door, she welcomed that with a moan too, settling on his thigh, feeling him thick and hard against the place that ached and tingled.
Her gown gaped open and she didn’t care. She wanted it open, she wanted it off. She wanted him to strip it away and put the tongue that was currently playing peek-a-boo with hers all over her body.
Patrick broke away, his hand still cupping her jaw as his pulse screamed out a demand for more. But Miranda seemed fragile tonight and he wanted it to be slow and lazy. Wanted to treat her with the gentleness that had been missing from her life for a long time, usurped, as it had been, by the yoke of responsibility.
‘Better?’ he murmured, his thumb sweeping along her cheek.
Miranda prised lust-drunk eyes open. ‘Yes.’
He smiled. ‘Good.’
Patrick dropped his gaze to her gown. It had fallen off one shoulder and parted and opened where his leg was shoved high and hard between hers. He reached for the belt and pulled at the loose knot. The gown fell completely open and his gaze feasted on her breasts. ‘Nice,’ he whispered.
Miranda blushed at his intense stare, her nipples showing no shame at all as they ruched right in front of him.
He trailed his hand down from her jaw, running over her collar bone and lower until it was brushing over a nipple, which grew even harder. His other hand moved to claim the neglected side.
‘I like the way they do that,’ he mused, his eyes fixed on the enticing swing of her lovely full breasts.
Miranda felt his lazy touch arrow all the way to the spot where his thigh met her centre and she gasped as he lowered his head and sucked one nipple deep into his mouth. She shut her eyes as she fought the urge to grind herself against him with every sweep of his hot tongue.
‘So...’ she panted, ‘we’ve moved past the kissing stage too?’
Patrick raised his head, claiming her mouth in a bruising kiss that left her bonel
ess as his hands worked their magic on her breasts.
‘Nope,’ he said against her mouth. ‘I’m going to kiss you a lot.’ He pressed his mouth on hers again, using his tongue to taste her as he went. ‘Everywhere,’ he muttered, going in for another. ‘Until the sun comes up.’
When he kissed her this time she joined him, her hands sliding around his neck, pulling him down hard, stroking her tongue against his, rubbing herself along his thigh as the thrum in her blood built to fever pitch.
She grasped his shirt and pulled it up over his head, her palms tingling with pure sensual delight as they revelled in the smoothness of his broad shoulders. She moaned as her aching nipples grazed erotically against the hair on his chest with each rock of her pelvis against his thigh. Her body was following a rhythm it couldn’t deny and his was stoking it as he bit gently on her neck.
Suddenly the hard jut of probing fingers joined the heat and the wet between her legs and she opened her eyes on a gasp, her head falling back. ‘If you do that I’ll...’
Patrick looked her straight in the eyes. ‘Come,’ he whispered. ‘Come.’ And claimed her mouth one more time.
Miranda whimpered, unable to stop the rhythmic rock of her hips or the way she pushed hard against his hand hitting the right spot over and over and over.
And quickly, too quickly, wrapped up in the havoc of his mouth and his tongue and the headiness of his breath loud in her head, the edges of her world started to unravel and an orgasm slammed into her with all the might and fury of a hurricane.
She cried out, her head falling back as everything tightened then splintered around her, pleasure so close to pain drenching every cell in a frantic jungle call as she came and she came and she came.
Patrick kissed her as she floated down from the high, bussing her face and her neck with fluttery offerings, and then, without giving her a chance for her world to fully right itself, he swung her up in his arms.
Her arms linked around his neck and he liked it as she asked, ‘Where are we going?’ in a voice that sounded more than a little high.
‘Bedroom,’ he said. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’
He kissed her all the way there, navigating blindly, banging into every piece of furniture she owned but eventually making it and throwing her on the bed, watching her look at him with lust and wonder.
And then he was joining her, settling between her legs and licking her there, and she gasped, raising her head off the bed.
‘Patrick. No...you don’t have to... I...’
But her feeble protest died as lust flared to life again and her head fell back as he continued to stroke her with his tongue, and soon she was lost and building again, an urgent hand in his hair as she stiffened and cried out, and he didn’t stop until she was spent and begging him for mercy.
So he stopped. But just long enough to divest himself of his jeans and underwear, his throbbing erection springing free as he pulled a condom out of his pocket.
Miranda watched him, half her brain in some place that existed up in the stars, the other half already anticipating how good he was going to feel. She opened her arms to him, urging him to hurry, and when he finally settled on top of her it was the most natural thing in the world to wrap her legs around his waist, to raise her hips and say, ‘Now.’
He groaned into her neck as he entered her and he felt so good filling her, she held him tightly in place, refusing to let him thrust for a moment, just wanting to be filled and stretched, their hearts beating as one.
But soon the demands of her own body, the nerves that were still hyper-sensitive, urged her to move and she relaxed into him, shifting her hips in invitation.
It was all that he needed as he built the rhythm to boiling point with each thrust, rubbing her in places that were screaming out for more. Her fingernails dug into his back as she held onto her centre, a centre that was rapidly unwinding in her heightened state of arousal. She shut her eyes and pushed it back, wanting to feel him pound inside her for ever, to have his weight pressing her into the bed, to hear his groans in her ear.
But when he picked up the tempo she couldn’t hold out any longer and everything unravelled in a shower of sparks and his own release joined hers, rocking it out together, calling each other’s names until they lay spent and silent.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PATRICK’S HAND MOVED further up her leg as he nuzzled the skin just below Miranda’s ear. His gut twisted into a hard knot of desire as a low, appreciative moan escaped her mouth. It was hard to believe it had been six months since they’d reconnected. Or that they’d been reduced to quietly necking on a couch on a Friday night in the dark like a pair of teenagers afraid of being sprung by their parents.
Or, in this case, their children.
Miranda shut her eyes against the sharp tug of desire. ‘Patrick,’ she warned, ‘you’re supposed to be going, remember?’
‘Shh,’ he murmured, his hand moving higher as he buzzed his lips down the curve of her neck.
Miranda’s thighs fell apart of their own accord, her face turned towards his as the tug became more demanding. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth and she wasn’t even aware he was easing her backwards until her back hit soft cushions.
She pulled away from his mouth. ‘Patrick,’ she protested again, even weaker than the first time as his delicious weight settled between her thighs, his erection taunting her. ‘The girls.’
‘They’re asleep,’ he whispered, pleased now she was wearing the shirt that sat wide on her shoulders and low on her cleavage, the one she’d been deliberately taunting him with all evening.
Bending right in front of him to pick up something, giving him a bird’s-eye view of her red satin bra with the overlay of black lace. The one he’d bought for her last month. With the matching underwear. Reaching across him at the dinner table, practically pushing her breasts in his face with that knowing smile.
The girls totally oblivious to the sexual undercurrent.
But as she extended her neck and his tongue swiped over her collar bone and continued lower, he was enjoying exacting his revenge.
‘I don’t think they are, yet,’ she said, undulating her hips against his as his bristles prickled her throat, the delicious rasp rippling heat to the rest of her body.
Patrick licked lower as he eased his hand under her shirt, his palm finding and cupping the mound of satin and lace, his thumb brushing over the engorged tip he could feel through the fabric.
Miranda gasped and arched her back.
Patrick raised his head, seeking her mouth, when two little distant but distinct giggles could be heard.
His hand froze on her breast and for a moment neither of them moved. He dropped his forehead onto her chest, his breath rough, his pulse beating madly. It had been over a week since they’d been alone and he growled his frustration as Miranda pushed at his shoulders and they both moved reluctantly into an upright position.
He raked a hand through his hair, staring unseeingly at the flickering television, which was turned down too low to be heard over the roar of the pulse in his head.
‘I think we should out ourselves.’
Miranda shook her head, also staring glumly at the TV. ‘We agreed on a year.’
Patrick sighed. They had. They’d decided to give themselves twelve months, to take it slowly, to quietly get to know one another without the pressure of the outside world and its expectations. To be absolutely sure before breaking the idea to the girls. Too many relationships, particularly complicated ones, failed in the first year and Miranda was right, it was the sensible thing to do.
But the next six months stretched ahead interminably and after just existing for such a long time, he wanted more. He’d been good, noble and honourable—they both had. Putting their lives on hold. Doing the right thing. Didn’t they deserve to be re
warded for that, to be happy, after years of putting everyone else first?
‘I know we did. But that was before.’
Miranda glanced at him. ‘Before what?’
‘Before I realised I’m in love with you.’
He’d known it for a while but had only allowed it free rein tonight because frankly it had scared him witless. He’d never been in love before—not like this. Katie had been a wild infatuation, a roller-coaster of ups and downs, a constant state of anxiety.
Being with Miranda had been easy, so easy. He hadn’t realised love could be like that. That it could be gentle.
That something that filled you up so completely could be so easy.
He turned his head then and smiled at her. ‘I love you, Miranda.’
Miranda gaped. For a crazy few seconds she actually thought she was having a stroke as his words completely paralysed her. He looked serious. Deadly serious. For someone like Patrick, who had been hurt so much by a woman already, who guarded his heart so fiercely, she’d figured such a declaration would be a long time in coming.
And she hadn’t dared to ever let herself go there. The last six months she’d refused to give the L word any currency in her life. She and Patrick were simply enjoying each other, taking it easy. She’d deliberately banished it from her vocabulary.
‘I...don’t know what to say.’
Patrick cupped her face. ‘“I love you too” is customary.’
Miranda stood to remove herself from the temptation of Patrick all rumpled and in love with her. As he’d pointed out early on in their acquaintance, their relationship was complicated and she would do well to remember it.
‘This is all a bit sudden,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest because somehow he looked even sexier from this vantage point, his thighs spread in a blatantly male pose.
‘No, it’s not,’ he said, capturing her gaze. ‘I think I fell in love with you at the bar that night.’
Miranda’s belly flopped. She often thought about that night. It had been such a charming interlude laced with a delightful sense of anticipation. ‘I’m not seventeen any more, Patrick. You don’t need to tell me what you think I want to hear to get me into bed. In case you haven’t noticed, that horse has already bolted.’
