The Most Magical Gift of All

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘Almost there, Soph.’ Jack reached down again. ‘Put your foot there and there.’ He pointed to two natural footholds.

  She did as instructed and the next minute he’d lifted her the last metre and she stood beside a large and sparkling water-hole carved deep in the vivid, red rocks.

  ‘What do you think?’ Jack’s expression was one of pride and boyish eagerness.

  ‘This country is amazing. I can’t believe there’s a water hole here and lush vegetation when everything that surrounds it’s so dry.’

  He grinned. ‘The desert’s got its secrets and this is one of them.’ He unlaced his boots, hauled his T-shirt over his head, dropped his shorts, kicked off his boxers and dived in.

  Sophie didn’t move. Her gaze was fixed on his lean and muscular body streaking through the clear water.

  He surfaced, water streaming over his face. ‘Stop ogling and come join me.’

  She didn’t need a second invitation. Fumbling with her boots, she finally managed to pull them off. Fortunately, her loose Indian clothing came off easily and with a shout of pure joy she jumped in. As she kicked up from the surprisingly cold depths into the warm surface-water, hands circled her waist and she was pulled onto a ledge and into Jack’s arms.

  She stared up at him, hardly able to believe she was in this beautiful place and alone with Jack. She didn’t ask him why he’d changed his mind about having sex because all she cared about was that he had. ‘This is divine.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, this is.’

  His lips met hers but not in the hard and heady rush of need she knew from his previous kisses. This time his touch was satiny soft and he explored her lips in a slow and languid trail, each caress firing her with desperate need that built inside her until she thought she’d scream.

  She opened her mouth under his, wanting to throw herself into the frenzy that had been their last coupling, but Jack continued exploring her bottom lip as if it was the only part of her that existed. She gripped his shoulders in frustration.

  He raised his head, his smile a mixture of playfulness and understanding. ‘There’s no hurry, Sophie. We’re in a beautiful place, you’re a beautiful woman and I intend to take my time.’

  She sighed, disappointment ramming her hard, and she was left wondering why they couldn’t have just gone to the homestead. ‘The cold water got to you, didn’t it?’

  He laughed and pulled her across his lap, his arousal hard against her thigh. ‘It’s not a problem at all. You, on the other hand, just need to relax.’

  Relax? Was he insane? She’d wanted him so badly for so long that this was a form of torture. The sex they had together was high octane and fast: that was what she knew. That was what she was good at. That was safe.

  But his mouth found her ear and all coherent thought vanished in a swirl of delight. His mouth ranged across her face, down her neck and across the top of her breasts. She should be touching him, kissing him, but shimmers of pleasure twirled, spinning inside her, dividing and gaining momentum until she closed her eyes to shut out everything but his touch on her. Her spine could no longer hold her up and she wrapped her legs around him and leaned back in the water, surrendering herself completely to him.

  His mouth closed over her nipple and she moaned, knowing that would be the end of unhurried, that her body would buck towards his, seeking him out, not able to hold back from filling herself with him. But the touch was so surprisingly gentle, it only added to the slowly building crescendo that wove through her.

  His fingers trailed down her back, then across her buttocks and across her thighs like a slow burn, until they entered her and found her heat. She moaned and tried to sit up.

  ‘Shh, let me do this for you.’ One hand supported her back while the fingers of his other hand brought a slow burn into a blazing furnace. Her breath came fast and her blood became liquid bliss. Tensing around his fingers, her body soared, colours whirled to white and she heard the sob in her voice as she cried out and shattered into a thousand pieces.

  A moment later she realised tears poured down her cheeks, and she gave thanks she was in water and they couldn’t be seen. What had just happened? It was like her soul had been utterly exposed, and she hated it. She’d never experienced such vulnerability in sex and she hauled herself forward, throwing herself against his chest, determined to take control. Sex was uncomplicated—it had always been uncomplicated and fun—and she wanted that reassurance back.

  Her hands gripped Jack’s hair and she kissed him without a trace of slowness. His thighs instantly tensed under her buttocks and she relaxed, knowing she was back on solid ground. She deepened her kiss and he met her with a hot, giving mouth as his hands tangled in her wet hair. They were two bodies on fire despite being in water and they sought each other, knowing exactly what they needed.

  She gripped his shoulders and rose up slightly before lowering herself down, feeling Jack slide into her, filling her. This was how it should be. This she knew.

  He moved against her, driving her upward, and she clung to him as her body took over, taking her to a place she knew, a place she sought when things got too hard, a place she’d craved for two weeks. She reached the threshold of that place and started to tumble over it when she heard her name on his lips. She stalled, suspended in time and space. Then colours rained down on her as she spun out beyond that place, pulled beyond herself and was hurled into the unknown, a part of her entwined with Jack.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘SHAKE a leg, girls, or we’re going to be late.’ Jack caught the toast and buttered it while it was hot, then packed Imogen a snack for kinder.

  Sophie dashed across the sunroom, hair dripping and a towel wrapped around her, barely hiding any of her gorgeous body.

  Jack grinned, remembering exactly how much of that body he’d explored this week on three separate occasions. It had taken some organisation and thinking outside the box but he’d managed to find three unique places that hadn’t involved the house. Sex in the house would only remind each of them of things they’d prefer not to think about, and it had worked perfectly. If he’d thought the sex they’d had the day they met was good, it had paled into insignificance compared with what they’d shared this week. Sophie had been right—sex was cathartic; he’d never experienced such day-to-day enjoyment of life.

  ‘Jack.’ Sophie dashed back. ‘Where are my clothes?’

  ‘I brought them in off the line late last night because a storm was predicted.’

  She rolled her eyes at his forward planning. ‘Look out the window. There isn’t a cloud to be seen.’ Her arm shot out towards the glass, only to have the towel slip.

  He grinned shamelessly as she grabbed it and hoicked it back up.

  ‘You’re making a puddle, Sophie.’ Imogen arrived in the room dressed in a cacophony of colours—a bright-pink T-shirt, a daisy-yellow skirt and emu-blue socks.

  Sophie gave Imogen a conspiratorial smile. ‘That’s because Jack stole my clothes.’

  Imogen nodded, her eyes dark and serious, as if she’d expected Sophie’s answer. ‘I didn’t like the clothes Jack said to wear.’

  Two sets of eyes gazed at Jack and he laughed, enjoying the way Sophie had relaxed around Im and was sharing moments like this, even if in this particular instance it was against him. Mornings were chaotic at best as they tried to get out of the door by seven-forty a.m.; he’d tried to get a system happening but it invariably fell over in some way. Right now he should be pouring coffee but his gaze wandered to the top of Sophie’s towel which had slipped again to reveal a hint of creamy breast. ‘I didn’t steal your clothes, although that’s an idea worth remembering.’

  Sophie’s eyes widened and the colour deepened to burnt toffee.

  ‘Jack.’ Her tone held shared memories of times when clothes had been obsolete, but it also held a warning as her head tilted slightly towards Imogen.

  He snapped back into his role as the morning organiser. ‘Sophie’s clothes are in the laundry—and,
Imogen, last night you said you wanted to wear shorts and that T-shirt, but if you want to wear your skirt that’s fine. I don’t care what you both wear as long as you’re ready to leave in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Pour me some coffee, please.’ Sophie clutched the towel and ran towards the laundry and Imogen climbed up onto the kitchen stool and started eating the toast.

  ‘Jack, how many sleeps until Santa?’

  ‘Let’s see.’ He passed her the chocolate advent-calendar which Im usually made a beeline for each morning. ‘Today’s the nineteenth. Can you find a one and a nine?’

  Imogen moved her dimpled hand across the unopened cardboard doors. ‘This one?’

  ‘Yep, that’s right. So, how many doors left?’

  ‘One, two, three, four, five.’

  Jack loved the way Imogen soaked up anything he chose to teach. ‘This calendar ends on Christmas Eve, so we have to add one more, so that makes six sleeps until Christmas.’

  Imogen popped the chocolate in her mouth and sucked it thoughtfully. ‘Will Kylie be here at Christmas?’

  Jack’s heart ached for Im and the disappointment he was about to inflict, but there was no way he was lying to her. ‘No, sweetheart, she won’t be.’

  Imogen kept sucking. ‘What about Min?’

  Jack smiled. ‘Min will be here, and so will I, and so will Sophie. All of us will be at your concert.’ The sudden realisation warmed him. He was looking forward to introducing Sophie to his mother because he had a feeling they’d enjoy sharing the house while he was away.

  Sophie re-entered the kitchen wearing her cargo pants and a camisole top and Jack lamented the loss of the towel. The weekend was coming and he couldn’t be alone with her again until Monday. Three sleeps. Three very long sleeps. He passed her a mug of coffee and a plate of fruit. ‘Your breakfast order, miss.’

  She smiled. ‘I could get used to this sort of service, although I guess it stops when you—’

  ‘Imogen, tell Sophie how many sleeps until the concert.’

  Jack cut Sophie off, not wanting Imogen to hear about his trip, because he didn’t intend to tell her until his mother was back to take his place.

  Imogen wriggled excitedly on the stool. ‘Five sleeps until I’m a emu.’

  ‘Five sleeps? In that case you better try on your costume tonight to make sure it’s all ready.’ Taking a slug of her coffee, she looked at her watch. ‘Go and clean your teeth, Imogen, so we’re not late for kinder.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And bring your backpack so you can pack your snack box,’ Jack called after her, pleased that for the most part—exhaustion excepted—Imogen usually did as she was told the first time she was asked, no matter if it was him or Sophie giving the instructions. The fact that Sophie had relaxed enough around Im to occasionally parent her made him smile. She’d been a lot more at ease and had even helped Imogen make a Christmas star for the kinder tree when he’d been held up at the planning meeting for the annual Barragong carols and concert.

  He watched Imogen leave the room and then he leaned over the island bench towards Sophie. ‘The bike I’ve ordered her for Christmas is coming in on this morning’s courier truck. As soon as it’s delivered, I’ll come into the clinic.’

  She shook her head, her chocolate eyes thoughtful. ‘You don’t have to, Jack. You do this job solo all the time; I’m only doing it for three months, and I can cope with busy days.’

  ‘I know you can cope but it makes for a more pleasant day if you finish at a reasonable hour and, besides, it’s Friday. This way you get a swim, a proper evening meal and a relaxing evening so you can face Saturday, which sometimes is busier than a Monday.’

  And you get to spend time with her.

  That’s the idea. With six sleeps until Christmas that meant it was only thirteen sleeps until he took off on the bike, and he planned to enjoy being with Sophie as much as he could be in the short time left.

  Sophie woke with a start, her ears and eyes alert, but she sank back against her pillow when the only sound she could hear was the click-clack of the ceiling fan. She’d left the curtains open, ever hopeful of a cool breeze, and the bright-white light of the moon streamed into the room, making it as light as day. The sheet stuck to her sweaty body and she felt like she was back on the frontline, because the usually dry heat of Barragong had turned sticky and humid.

  It was a surprise to be awake because she hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night for the last week. She realised with a start that her wakefulness had stopped after Jack had taken her to the water hole. He’d once accused her of using sex as stress-management, and she giggled to herself, thinking she must tell him how well it was working. She could just hear him saying something along the lines of, ‘for such a hypothesis to be scientifically valid, it needs a much longer testing period’—and then he’d make love to her.

  She rolled over, ready to go back to sleep, but she heard the faint rumble of thunder. She got up and stared out of the window into the darkness, watching clouds scud past the moon. She thought about Jack having brought in her washing the night before because of the threat of rain. Perhaps he’d only been out by twenty-four hours. She smiled, thinking that she might owe him an apology for the crack about clear skies, but then what did he expect when he’d put her in the position of standing almost naked in front of him and Imogen?

  Being naked in front of Jack was more than wonderful when they were alone, and they’d been blissfully alone three times this week. After her terrifying rush of emotions and tears at the water hole, she hadn’t let Jack touch her in quite the same way. Mostly that had worked for her, and she didn’t want to question why things had changed, but something had. Before Jack, sex had always been a pleasure she’d taken for herself, but now she seemed to need to wait for him to take her to release.

  Another rumble of thunder drummed the air, this time louder, and all thoughts of sleep vanished. She pulled on shortie pyjamas and decided to go and watch the storm from the deck.

  By the time she got to the sunroom the wind had picked up and the curtains blew out, threatening to topple the Christmas tree. She quickly dropped the wide-open window sashes and got the room under control. A flash of lightning lit up the night, followed by a loud clap of thunder, and she turned towards the French doors to see the chairs by the pool toppling over. She stepped outside into what was now a gale and hastily battened down what she could as the first few drops of rain fell coolly against her hot skin. She opened her arms up and threw her head back, but a moment later drops turned into streams and she retreated inside, wet and cold.

  The sound of the rain on the old tin roof was deafening and she hugged herself, loving the noise of the rain and treasuring the moment. A thunderclap boomed overhead and she jumped in fright. The next minute she heard a scream and she ran to the hall as Imogen flung herself from her room, crying in terror.

  Without thinking, Sophie picked her up and hugged her tightly, wanting to reassure her. ‘Imogen, it’s OK, it’s just thunder and rain. You’re safe.’

  ‘Don’t like it,’ Imogen sobbed, clutching Sheils with one arm and Sophie with the other. ‘Want Jack.’

  She braced herself for the expected rush of inadequacy she normally experienced when Imogen got upset, but it didn’t come. ‘Shh, it’s OK, Jack’s just down here.’ She walked down the hall to the room she hadn’t entered in three weeks and opened the door.

  He lay sprawled across his bed, all sleep-rumpled, dark-stubbled and obscenely handsome, virtually unconscious in a deep slumber. How he could sleep through this storm and Imogen’s shrieks was beyond her.

  ‘Jack.’ She spoke softly as she sat down on the bed.

  He rolled over, his heavy eyelids rising slowly, before dazed blue eyes stared up at her. ‘Who what?’

  Thunder cracked. Imogen wriggled out of her arms and threw herself at Jack. ‘I scared.’

  Jack’s arms automatically closed around the little girl, like a bear protecting its cub, arms that offered sec
urity, safety and love.

  An ache moved through Sophie, setting up the stirring and shifting sensation, similar to but stronger than the feeling she’d experienced when Imogen had hugged her the other day. It upended her equilibrium, spinning her every which way, setting her adrift from everything she’d ever used to anchor down her life. She swallowed a gasp. What on earth was wrong with her?

  Some people call it maternal instinct.

  No way. She thought of Minty—the tantrums, the traumas and the constant feelings of hopelessness and impotence she’d experienced—and she gave herself a shake. She was so not maternal. She knew that, and she’d walked away from Simon because she didn’t want a family. Two years later and nothing had changed. This was just crazy, middle-of-the-night, irrational nonsense.

  Thunder cracked again. Imogen shrieked. Jack cuddled her close and Sophie stood up to leave. She’d delivered Imogen and she wasn’t needed. Her job was done.

  ‘Sophie.’ Imogen wailed and put her arms out towards her. ‘Want Sophie.’

  She sat down again, her hand smoothing Imogen’s curls. ‘I thought you wanted to be with Jack.’

  ‘I want you and Jack.’ Imogen wriggled between them.

  Jack yawned. ‘Just lie down, Soph, so we can go all go back to sleep.’

  Sleep? What planet was he on? The rain pummelled so loudly on the tin roof of the house that, had the noise been a rock band, they would have been hit with a hearing-protection audit. But the thought of Imogen getting more upset sent a raft of anxiety through her, so she lay down.

  Imogen’s warm body snuggled in; Jack’s arm slung across Imogen and his hand brushed Sophie’s thigh. She immediately stiffened but his fingers didn’t move, didn’t try to caress her, they just sat softly against her skin as if they belonged there.

  Deep breaths, breathe. She forced herself to relax and she soon heard the long, slow breathing of a man descending into sleep and the gradual slowing of Imogen’s breaths, until she knew both of them were fast asleep. But sleep eluded her. She lay wide awake, listening to the rain and thinking that never in a million years could she have pictured this scenario in her life: being in bed with a man and a child. Not that it meant anything—it was just circumstances and a means to getting back to sleep.