by Fiona Lowe
‘Take a seat.’ Cool and polite, he carried the bottle and glasses on a tray and motioned her to the couch.
She didn’t move. She didn’t want to sit. His overly restrained energy, the tone of voice, his instructions—everything about him reminded her of Simon. This starchy Jack completely unnerved her. She’d been much more relaxed around the bad boy, who by default had expected nothing of her and from whom in turn she’d expected nothing. She stared, hoping to glimpse the man she’d seen for a moment at the top of the ladder, because then she’d find the man she’d slept with. ‘Sit, Sophie.’
The command was unmistakeable and much to her chagrin she sat down hard—not because she wanted to but because her knees had buckled under her as the trickles of dread in her veins morphed into a cascade. Her fingers closed around the proffered stem of the wine glass, deliberately avoiding Jack’s. He sat down at the far end of the three-seater couch, but it wasn’t far enough away, and his masculine scent and aura slammed into her as if the distance between them was mere millimetres rather than sixty centimetres.
She forced herself to speak. ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’
‘No.’
She drained her half-filled glass in one long gulp and with a shaking hand put it down on the coffee table.
Jack cleared his throat. ‘Imogen needs some sort of security, and until my mother gets back from her cruise and we plan for the future I’m it.’
You got through last night, what’s another day or so?
Last night we didn’t have a Christmas wonderland.
‘When exactly does she get back?’
‘Christmas Eve.’
‘Christmas Eve.’ She heard the screech in her voice, as loud and as harsh as a galah. ‘That’s three weeks away.’ Her heart hammered and her vision swam as control raced away from her. Now she had the trifecta: a Christmas tree, a child, and a man she’d technically had sex with, except that wild and glorious man had vanished and a serious man had appeared in his place. Her eczema prickled.
Leave, leave.
Breathe. Breathe.
Jack reached for a folder on the coffee table. ‘Believe me, I know exactly how far away it is, and with that in mind, and so we can share the house in a mature way, I’ve drawn up a roster.’
A roster? She thought of the procedure folder and the ‘useful OCD folder’ and realised with devastating clarity that his receptionist hadn’t made them up. Jack had: the remote and organising Jack who’d appeared yesterday when she’d delivered Imogen to him. Reality dumped on her like an icy bath. This man was no stranger—this was who Jack really was. How had she missed the signs?
You only wanted to see the bad boy.
She gave a strangled laugh. ‘You’ve got a roster. Of course you have.’
His brow wrinkled. ‘Pardon?’
She poured herself a full glass of wine and took another long sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol trickle through her. If she’d wanted to have her life organised and ordered, she could have stayed with Simon. Hell, she’d only slept with Jack because he’d had a wild energy about him and a devil-may-care attitude, and because she knew he’d walk away and would never want her to stay. This sanitised version of Jack reminded her too much of Simon, too much of heartache, and it made her edgy. He had no right to change on her like this. If she was to survive sharing a Christmas-themed house with him and a child then, damn it, she wanted the old Jack back. Running wild with that Jack was the only thing that would keep her from going completely crazy.
‘The Jack I met yesterday didn’t give a damn about folders and rosters. In fact, if he was here he’d be tearing my clothes off right now.’
For a brief moment his irises darkened to navy and flashed with undisguised lust.
You found him. He wasn’t hiding very far away at all. The goddess gave her a high five, but before the clap was over his eyes cooled and then blanked like a screen dropping into place.
He jerkily refilled his glass. ‘That Jack was on holidays, expecting to leave town for three months, and he wasn’t responsible for a child.’ The muscles on his neck tightened as he seemed to grab a deep breath. ‘Please don’t take this personally, Sophie, but as the town’s doctors nothing else can happen between us.’
She blinked twice, not certain she’d heard him correctly. ‘Doctors can’t have sex? I think we disproved that theory yesterday.’
He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. ‘Not in Barragong we can’t. This is a small town, Sophie. People look up to us to set an example.’
Laughter bubbled up at the old-fashioned attitude coming from a guy in his early thirties, and then died on her lips as she read the serious set of his shoulders. ‘Oh my God, you really believe that. That’s crazy, Jack. Who gets married to have sex any more? This is now, and no one cares who’s having sex with whom, or if they’re getting it in or out of marriage, or both.’
‘In Barragong they do.’ He drained his glass. ‘This is a small town and marriage is the expected commitment. It’s fine for you—you’ll stay for three months and then leave, but I live here. My family’s been part of this community for a very long time and I protect its integrity. All my liaisons take place out of town.’
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing but then she thought about the guest book she’d read, filled with the signatures of dignitaries and luminaries. She remembered how fast he’d changed yesterday when he knew he was coming back to Barragong. He’d completely buried every aspect of his personality that had drawn her to him and she wondered about the constraints that bound him. ‘You don’t have sex in Barragong? No wonder you tore my clothes off yesterday.’
‘Sophie.’
Her name came out as a half-growl of warning and a half-moan of need, instantly sending delicious shivers shooting along her spine. The wild part of Jack was still there and he still wanted her. She clutched at that thought hard and fast, and smiled, because it was the only thing in this whole situation that was keeping her from bolting out of the door, and it was the only thing worth smiling about.
Why did the woman have to smile at him like that? Sitting on this couch, breathing in her perfume, watching the way her hair constantly brushed her smooth, white cheeks was killing him, and Jack had three weeks of this ahead of him. The memory of her wrapped around him sang in his veins and as he tried hard to shut down the sensation his words came out pompous and self-righteous. ‘It’s not just the town. We have a child in the house to consider.’
Her wide mouth flattened out and she rubbed her temples as a sigh shuddered out of her. ‘This is a mess, Jack.’
There it was again, that high-class accent unexpectedly calling a spade a spade. Whether it be sex or work she was remarkably frank and he appreciated her open take on the whole uncomfortable situation. For the first time since she’d walked into the room he relaxed, sensing her acceptance that they could get through the next few weeks as he planned—platonic housemates and colleagues.
He leaned back on the couch. ‘You’re not wrong there, Soph.’ He flipped open the folder. ‘But we can make it work.’
Her gaze seemed fixed on the folder but then she raised it to his, her expression unexpectedly guarded. ‘Seeing as you’re setting ground-rules, I have some of my own.’
The brisk, British nanny that surfaced occasionally and was so at odds with her usual free-sprit style was back. As she sat up a bit straighter he noticed her looking at the Christmas tree and rubbing her inner elbow. He’d seen her do that when she’d treated Lochie and then again on the drive back to Barragong with Imogen.
He clicked his pen open and grinned. ‘Let me guess. You want in on the Christmas decorating. Don’t worry, the tree is just the tip of the iceberg, there are six more boxes in the roof space. If there’s one thing the Armitages do well, it’s Christmas.’
Her head swung towards him so fast it could have caused whiplash, and her lush brown irises lost out to a sea of black. ‘I try to ignore Christmas, so I’ll leave the decora
ting to you and Imogen.’
‘Ignore Christmas?’ He laughed at the absurdity. ‘Sorry, but this year that’s going to be impossible. As the town’s doctor you have to open Carols by Candlelight and ride on the County Fire Service’s fire truck with Santa.’
Her lithe body stiffened. ‘If you love Christmas so much I wouldn’t dream of taking that honour away from you, so consider it yours.’ She tilted her chin upwards in a jerky movement, and a moment later her breasts rose, straining against her Indian top as she took in a deep breath.
A vision of white, silky skin, the feel of full and heavy breasts against his palms and rosebud nipples in his mouth thundered through him, stealing all the blood from his brain. ‘…with Imogen.’
He saw Sophie’s lips move but the roar of desire charging through his body had drowned out her words. He fought hard to concentrate, trying to pull together what she’d said about Christmas and Imogen. ‘I beg your pardon?’
She swallowed hard. ‘I want to make it very clear that, just because I’m a woman and we’re sharing a house, please don’t think that I’m automatically going to be doing housework, and taking care of Imogen for you. I’m Barragong’s doctor and that’s my priority.’
Surprise rocked him, sending lust scurrying, and irritation slid in taking its place. ‘I’m not a chauvinistic bastard who expects women to do everything, Sophie. I figured we’d share the housework.’ He shot her a smile. ‘And the odd bit of help with Imogen would be appreciated.’
She didn’t return his smile. ‘Jack, I signed up to be Barragong’s doctor and that’s all. Not withstanding emergencies, Imogen’s your job.’ Rising to her feet, her hair swung around her, masking her face. For the first time since he’d met her she didn’t brush it away.
‘Jack, I’m hungry.’ Imogen ran into the room, cutting off his question to Sophie about why she was so adamant about this.
‘So am I.’ He scooped her up into his arms and pretended to gnaw on her arm. ‘Num, num, num, you’re tasty.’
Imogen squealed with delight and then shot him an indignant look. ‘You can’t eat me, Jack. I’m a girl.’
He gently tweaked her nose. ‘So you are. Well, I guess we need some dinner. Sophie, I’m cooking, so what do you fancy for dinner?’ He swung around, expecting to find her where she’d been standing a moment ago, but the room was empty.
He sat Imogen down on the island bench. ‘Looks like it’s just us, Im.’ But as he stared into the fridge his thoughts were fixed on Sophie’s stand on Christmas and occasional babysitting. What the hell was up with that?
CHAPTER SIX
AS DAWN’S long fingers of sunshine reached across the desert, the light cued the flock of galahs in the large gum-tree in the home paddock, sending them screeching across a rosy sky. Sophie groaned and pulled her pillow around her ears. Didn’t they know it was Sunday, the only day of the week she didn’t have to be at the clinic at eight a.m.? She rolled over, realising she no longer woke in fright at the noise. Barragong’s peace was slowly filtering through her veins.
But she couldn’t fall back to sleep so she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pulled on her running togs. With a quick lace of her shoes, she took off on a five-kilometre run in the cool of the early morning. One week in Barragong and she was easily under the spell of the outback. She loved being out in the red desert with the crimson-and-mauve sunrise and only kangaroos and emus for company, although if she was brutally honest the emus gave her the creeps.
Her daily run kept her sane. She ran out her frustrations that she was sharing a house with a man she hardly recognised—yet the bad boy in Jack surfaced now and then in looks and glances, making her ache for him and making her wish it happened more often. She ran to keep the Christmas demons at bay now she was living in a house where every surface had a Christmas ornament on it. All in all, the running had been working well, along with limited contact with both Jack and Imogen. They shared some meals when she wasn’t working long hours at the clinic and the hospital. Using the excuse of exhaustion, she deliberately wore herself out so she could lose herself in the oblivion of sleep. Not that she’d slept that well. Every time she closed her eyes Jack came to her in her dreams, but the dreams didn’t come close to matching the reality of the man who’d taken her to dizzying heights. She woke feeling fidgety and on edge, which was why she ran.
As she reached the outer buildings on her return, she saw a flash of silver coming from the garage and she jogged over to check it out. Shirtless but wearing a pair of old jersey-shorts, Jack was arranging a silvery-grey cover over his recently returned motorcycle. Golden muscles rippled as he tucked and pulled and she slowed to a walk, silently soaking in the sight.
He turned at the sound of her feet against the gravel and immediately his eyes ate her up with a long sweeping gaze that touched all of her but lingered on the low-cut style of her running singlet. Instantly, all the hard work of her run vanished as every particle of sexual frustration returned in a tingling flood. His crazy, self-imposed ‘no sex’ rule was driving them both insane, and putting them both on edge.
She tossed her head and met his look, giving him a wide smile, ever hopeful the wild Jack would return and she could lose herself in great sex—that would really help her get through the horror that was December and keep the haunting memories at bay.
‘You’re up early.’
His prosaic words stole the wondrous, wild gleam from his eyes and she almost sobbed. She wanted him back to play with, so she played dirty, wanting to tempt him, knowing the memory of what had happened between them the one time she’d ridden that bike would be high in his mind. ‘Putting the bike to bed? That’s a shame.’
Desire flashed bright again in his eyes but a muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘It’s the sensible thing to do, seeing as I can’t ride it.’
She frowned as she thought about the week just past. Jack had run the house and cared for Imogen with unending patience, something she knew totally eluded her. He was organised, neat and methodical. And caged. So much tension vibrated from him she could almost hear him buzzing, and she knew he wasn’t happy. Neither of them was happy. For some reason he truly believed he had to be Barragong’s model citizen and she wanted to know why. ‘You’re big on sensible, aren’t you, Jack?’ Except when you thought you were leaving town and you scorched the sheets with me.
He gave the cover a sharp tug. ‘I have responsibilities.’
‘Oh, please, we all have those. It doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.’ She walked over and ran her hand along the seat, remembering how wonderful it had been having the desert wind in her face and the heat on her skin. ‘You can still ride her, Jack, you’re just choosing not too.’
He folded his arms across his chest and this time his eyes flashed with anger. ‘I have a child to take care of, remember? I do believe your words were, “Imogen’s your job”.’
She didn’t take the bait because that would lead to questions about her family and it was much easier not to talk about them. ‘Imogen goes to kindergarten four half-days a week and that gives you a few hours in the day to relax and be yourself. So for heaven’s sake, loosen up, take a ride and start enjoying your holiday.’
His inky brows drew down like a stormy cloud. ‘My holiday? That’s rich. A holiday means leaving this bloody town, Soph, and yet I’m still here. Again!’ He grabbed his T-shirt and stomped back toward the house, pulling the wire door open with unnecessary force.
His fury socked her in the chest and a wave of sympathy rolled through her. He seemed to have a love-hate relationship with the town. How naïve she’d been to think the Jack she’d met on that first day was an uncomplicated, fun-loving thrill seeker. He had more facets to him than a diamond and each one of them fascinated her. She jogged towards the house and found him thumping around the kitchen making coffee. Only Jack could wear a faded and shapeless T-shirt and make it look like a fashion statement. ‘What do you mean you’re still here again?’
He peeled the top
off the ground coffee and spooned it into the plunger, the pungent aroma filling the air. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve planned this trip.’ He leaned sideways, grabbed a folder off the crockery hutch and tossed it through the air at her like a Frisbee.
She caught it and saw a map on the cover outlining a route up through the centre of Australia and then into the many islands of Indonesia. It would be a totally brilliant journey on a motorcycle, an epic adventure, and one she wouldn’t mind doing herself. As she read the point of origin, surprise made her look up. ‘This trip was to start from Melbourne.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘Yeah. That’s where I was living and working five years ago. I actually got out of Barragong once.’ The tang of bitterness clung to his words.
‘So what stopped you taking the trip back then?’
The kettle screamed and Jack pulled it off the gas, pouring boiling water into the glass coffee-pot. He set the plunger into place, his face taut. ‘My father’s sudden and unexpected death from a ruptured aneurysm.’
Sophie’s heart rolled over. ‘Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry.’
He shook his head as if to say, ‘I don’t want sympathy’ and he passed her a chopping board, a knife and a punnet of strawberries. ‘Dad had been the GP here for years, and his father before him. Great-great grandfather and great-grandfather, who built this place, made a pile of money out of wool but the bottom dropped out of sheep, and a never-ending drought forced a career change.’
‘The Armitages became doctors?’ She hulled and sliced the berries as she listened.
‘Got it in one.’ Jack dropped four pieces of wholemeal bread into the large toaster.
She thought about family tradition and the implicit expectations that came with that. ‘Did you want to become a doctor?’
‘Absolutely.’ He gave her a smile she’d never seen before. Devoid of the flirting and guile of the smiles that had greeted her arrival in town, and without any hint of the responsibility and seriousness she’d been seeing for the last week, this smile washed over her with genuine warmth. It immediately curled up inside her next to her heart, as if it belonged there.
