Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad?

by Marion Lennox

  What’s not to love about dancing?

  What’s not to love about dancing right now?

  For Ben Oaklander knew how to dance. He took her into a waltz hold, his body making contact, brushing at the hip, holding her as she needed to be held.

  The first step and she melted.

  The modern waltz. A waltz Gloria had loved, her mother had loved even more, a waltz she thought no one else in the world knew outside ballroom dancing classes.

  The first few steps were standard waltz steps. The next… Ben made a tentative move with room to back off if she didn’t know it.

  She felt the response in his body as she did know it. As she moved seamlessly in time with him, in tune with him, as he held her, as he moved with her, as he whirled her effortlessly in his arms.

  Gloria could dance like this. As a comparison…Gloria didn’t cut it.

  How to respond?

  No choice. To be held like this…to be danced with like this… Dangerous or not, this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. A girl simply melted.

  She was aware of others on the dance floor, dancing and watching. The centre of the dance floor was left for them, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t. Ben steered her effortlessly. With no other partner could she have simply abandoned herself like this…totally trusted…

  Except Gloria, who definitely didn’t count.

  She forgot Gloria. She forgot the dancers around her. She was subsumed by the feel of Ben’s body, the sensation of sinking into him, the feeling of falling…falling…

  Of becoming one.

  Like sex, only better…

  Someone had said it once at one of their classes. Who needed sex when you could dance like this?

  Or…not exactly true, because dancing like this, moving closer and closer to this man’s body, it was as near to sex as made no difference.

  The music came to an end. People were smiling and clapping and she found herself flushing—but it wasn’t because of the heat.

  There was a moment’s pause while the band collected itself—and then the music changed.

  Rock and roll. Straight out of the sixties.

  It was like the band had tested them out on sweet and slow and was now trying them on fast and hot.

  Better. Not so personal.

  Fabulous.

  He held her just right. He swung her as a girl wanted to be swung, his strong arm clasping her, tugging her, swirling her, playing with her as she wanted to be played with.

  Even the indomitable Gloria couldn’t dance like this. The room was swirling, a kaleidoscope of colour and movement. Ben was anticipating every move of her body and she was anticipating his.

  She’d never had such fun.

  She’d never felt so alive.

  They were moving as a couple who’d danced together for years. That was how she felt. Like she’d known this man for years; that he was part of her and she was part of him.

  Dancing had nothing to do with life. It wasn’t real, she told herself, or she tried to tell herself in the fraction of her brain that had any room to think at all.

  But it wasn’t enough. Maybe it wasn’t real, she conceded, but for now she couldn’t resist. She simply surrendered to his skill, to his body, to…Ben.

  The final dance was Latin, the samba. She danced as she’d never danced before. She was a little bit crazy—or maybe a whole lot crazy. The feel of him. The texture of his deep black dinner jacket against her bare shoulder. The way his gaze caught hers and held, the way his eyes gleamed with laughter, the way his hand was right there, where she wanted it to be. There was no quarter given or taken. They were simply…one.

  And when the music finally stopped…

  The door beside them was open. The drapes were fluttering in the warm night breeze. The sounds of the ocean were calling and Ben simply danced her out of the room, out onto the balcony, swung her round and round and round…

  And kissed her.

  It was inevitable as taking the next breath. The culmination of the dance; of sheer sexual excitement. The final awareness that this man’s body meshed with hers, that somehow, somewhere a mould had been split, that two pieces had been apart for years but were now wondrously joined.

  Foolish. Fanciful. It didn’t matter. All she knew was that she was in his arms, her face was tilting up to his, and he was stooping to kiss her.

  And the kiss…

  A girl could die in this kiss.

  She hadn’t been kissed since…since… She’d almost forgotten. Since she’d decided that she didn’t need it. Didn’t want it.

  Her kissing skills had lain dormant, buried, put aside with her past.

  But not dead.

  She’d decided she didn’t want to be kissed.

  She wanted it now.

  How could she not want it now? She’d danced with Ben. She was being held by Ben. She’d forgotten how a man’s kiss could feel.

  Or maybe it had nothing to do with a man’s kiss. Any man.

  Maybe it was Ben.

  This night.

  This man and no other.

  Ben.

  And with that thought she felt herself surrender. His hands were holding her, centring her face, so his mouth could merge with hers. Taking her to him…

  Fire meeting fire.

  That’s exactly what this was, she thought, dazed. It was a blast of heat so intense that it sent shock waves washing through and through her body, over and over.

  She felt her lips open to his demands. She felt his mouth merge with hers.

  She was no longer Dr Jessica McPherson. She was someone else.

  A woman loved by Ben?

  Ben’s woman.

  Her arms were still holding his, the last link of the dance made now so much stronger. But it wasn’t enough. She lifted her hands, raked her fingers through his dark hair, held him closer, closer… How much closer could she be?

  This was nothing she’d ever felt. This was nothing she’d ever expected to feel. An out-of-body experience.

  Out of one body. Into another.

  Ben.

  One body. Theirs.

  The night seemed to be dissolving. His mouth was possessing hers. His hands were in the small of her back, moulding her against him.

  This was delicious, delectable, dangerous.

  Ben.

  An Oaklander.

  No. Ben. The man in her arms. The man whose eyes possessed her, caressed her, whose mouth was playing havoc with her senses, who’d turned her to fire and want and need.

  This was no mere kiss, as it had been no mere dance. It was…possession…

  But then… A slight stiffening. A withdrawal.

  She could have wept as he pulled away, but the elderly professor was right behind him. His hand was on Ben’s shoulder and he was drawing Ben around.

  ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt,’ he said, and he was grinning like an elderly leprechaun, a man who’d conjured magic. ‘I love it when a plan comes together. But Hilda and I are retiring. We’re leaving the island at dawn and flying back to the UK so we can be home for Christmas. So I need to say goodnight. Goodbye.’ His smile embraced Jess, and the feeling of leprechaun intensified. ‘And good luck.’

  ‘I believe we already have it,’ Ben said, still holding Jess, and the professor’s smile broadened.

  ‘Well, hold onto it,’ he said. ‘And, yes, I see you do. Goodnight, Dr McPherson, it was a privilege to meet you. And I believe my wife will be contacting you by email. Something to do with wanting one of Pokey’s pups. She wanted to talk to you tonight but you seemed…busy.’

  He chuckled, he gripped Ben’s hands and he left.

  Leaving her with…Ben.

  So much to say. Or not to say.

  Where to start?

  For a moment they didn’t even try. So much had already been said or not said that they needed time to take it in.

  Ben reached for her hands again but she backed away.

  Sense was flooding back. And with it…pa
nic.

  ‘I… Where did you learn to dance like that?’ Maybe it was as good a thing to say as anything for rebuilding the armour.

  ‘I had a nanny who loved it,’ he said. ‘After we moved to Australia. My mother wasn’t all that interested in mothering. I still believe she brought me here from avarice, not need—half the property was hers and I was half the property. She and her new boyfriend spent very little time in Australia. Out of school hours I was left with Doreen, a widow who came across as efficient and effective in front of my mother but inside was a pussy cat. A dancing pussy cat. She found me one night sobbing my heart out. Missing Nate. She put Buddy Holly on her sound system and taught me rock and roll. She said—and I believe her—that when your head’s trying to connect with your feet, you don’t have room for anything else. It leaves you so exhausted that you sleep. As medical therapy it’s brilliant.’

  ‘She sounds brilliant,’ she said, a trifle unsteadily.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘My parents,’ she said. ‘One of my earliest memories is standing on my dad’s feet, between Dad and Mum, the three of us dancing.’

  ‘Yours is nicest.’

  ‘Do you still see Doreen?’

  ‘I’m godfather to her grandson.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘She’ll like you.’

  ‘Ben…’ Alarm slammed back. Warning bells were starting up all over the place.

  He was looking at her with such, with such…

  ‘Jess, I never thought I could feel like this,’ he said gently into the night, and her world stood still.

  ‘I don’t…’

  ‘Don’t feel?’

  ‘I don’t want to feel.’ Deep breath. Really deep breath. ‘You’re an Oaklander.’

  ‘And you’re a woman. A week ago I was swearing to never have anything to do with the species ever again.’

  ‘A week ago…’ She stilled. ‘You broke off with someone a week ago?’

  It was the truth. She could see it in his eyes.

  Imperceptibly she backed even further.

  Once upon a time she’d fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with an Oaklander. Had she learned nothing?

  ‘Ben… I need to go.’ She couldn’t stop the note of panic.

  ‘I’m not my brother.’ He said it harshly.

  He wasn’t, but the real world had raised its ugly head. Sense had to prevail.

  ‘I never said you were,’ she said. He wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t. But he still made her feel…out of control. Like all she wanted to do was put her life in his hands.

  How dumb was that? She was a grown woman, a professional, the mother of a ten-year-old. She had her life mapped out. No, he wasn’t Nate. She saw pain behind the anger, she saw reasons for why he was like he was—and she also saw reasons for Nate now, as well. Nate, left behind by his mother and his big brother.

  She could ache for both of them.

  She knew both of them were dangerous to her and to hers.

  ‘Dusty and I are moving over to the sanctuary in the morning,’ she said, forcing her voice to be as calm as she could make it—which wasn’t very calm at all. ‘We’ll have a busy Christmas. Dusty will love to see you if you can visit.’

  ‘I told you…’

  ‘I don’t want to get any closer. Please.’

  ‘Jess.’

  ‘No!’ It was a snap.

  She felt right out of control. All she felt like doing was sinking into him, taking his hands, melting into his lovely body.

  She’d known him less than a week. He’d just confessed he’d been dating another woman until a week ago.

  She might be stupid but she wasn’t totally stupid. She needed to step away, even if it felt like tearing herself in two.

  ‘Jess, you and I…’

  ‘There is no you and I,’ she said steadily. ‘You dance like an angel, or at least like my dad. You sew snakes up really well. You make my son laugh. You’ll make an excellent uncle for Dusty but that’s as far as we’re taking it.’

  ‘Even if we both want…’

  ‘Your girlfriend of a week ago,’ she said. ‘What did she want? Love? Commitment? Family?’

  ‘That’s not relevant.’

  ‘Because you’ve moved on,’ she said, sadly now. ‘As you do. As I’m doing right now.’

  She took her time going back to the bungalow. There was no hurry. She walked down to the beach. There were other conference delegates walking in the moonlight. In the morning they’d leave, return to their normal lives. They were soaking up this pleasure while they could. Right now they were couples in the moonlight.

  For a moment she let herself go down that path. A woman with no ties. Four more days on this island. Ben Oaklander.

  She let herself…drift.

  His hands on her body. His mouth claiming hers. The rock-hard muscles, the gleaming laughter in those mesmerising eyes, the sensation of dancing, of being in his control, of her body moving in rhythm with his.

  She could…

  She couldn’t.

  Most of the people on the beach were in pairs. Husbands and wives. Or not. Delegates from different parts of the globe, coming together for brief holiday passion.

  She couldn’t join them. Too much was at stake, for if she fell into Ben’s arms…

  She had fallen into Ben’s arms, and it had scared her witless. She’d felt like she was falling into a chasm and she couldn’t see what was below.

  She suspected what was below. Nate. Chaos.

  No. Not Nate.

  Ben.

  She turned and looked across at Ben’s bungalow. His light was on. He was standing on his veranda, just standing. Watching.

  One signal from her and he’d join her.

  Or she could join him. Kathy was with Dusty until midnight if she was needed.

  She wasn’t needed. Jess had more sense. She turned resolutely away from the direction of Ben’s bungalow and made her way to hers. To hers and to Dusty’s. Home.

  He watched her go and he tried to think what to do.

  Something.

  He’d never known he could feel like this.

  Never had ended.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT TOOK a lot to tug Jess from her trance, but it happened the moment she walked into the bungalow. Kathy was crying.

  She was seated at the dining table, her blonde curls sprawled in front of her, her face on her arms, sobbing her heart out.

  Jess glanced involuntarily into Dusty’s bedroom. Dusty and Pokey were asleep. One single bed. One small boy. One dog.

  Things were okay in Dusty’s world.

  Not in Kathy’s.

  She walked over and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Kathy flinched. Looked up wildly with a face blotched and swollen with weeping. Took a gulping sob and pushed herself to her feet.

  She was so pregnant…

  ‘I’m…I’m sorry. I should never… It’s okay, I’ll go now. Dusty’s been great. He’s been asleep for an hour, there’ve been no problems. I… Goodnight.’ She rose and headed for the door—and Ben was in the doorway.

  Kathy looked like she intended to bolt. Jess cast a speaking look at Ben and he moved forward so Kathy had nowhere to go.

  ‘How can we help?’ he said, and it was so strong, so direct, that it brought both women up in their tracks. Jess might have said, ‘What’s wrong?’ Ben might have said, ‘What’s going on here?’

  Neither. The simple: ‘How can we help?’ had the fear disappearing from Kathy’s face, leaving only bleakness.

  ‘I have to leave,’ she said.

  To bed? Back to the hotel?

  Ben got it before she did. ‘You mean, leave the island?’

  ‘I’ve been sacked.’ There was another gulping sob. ‘Frazer, the hotel manager, wanted to talk to me before he went off duty tonight. He rang here. He said…he said…’

  ‘What did he say?’ Ben’s voice was gentle yet firm, taking the hysteria out of the moment. Making it matter-of-fact—doctor
to patient.

  ‘The lady on the beach with the kids…’ Kathy managed between sobs. ‘Mrs Holland. She’s…she’s a midwife. She told Frazer there was no way I was due in seven weeks. She said two weeks maximum. She meant well—she said she’d seen me lifting someone’s suitcase and she said he ought to know that I could do some real damage. So Frazer’s now decided there’s legal implications and he wants me off the island. Now. But I can’t.’

  ‘Why can’t you?’ Ben said. He hadn’t offered her a seat. She was off balance, Jess thought, and he was keeping her there. If he sat her down, soothed her, she might very well recover enough to clam back into herself, as it seemed, she’d clammed up for her entire pregnancy. A girl from Ireland, doing it alone.

  ‘Mike is in Weipa,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want to be alone for Christmas.’

  Weipa.

  Jess had never heard of it, but obviously Ben had. He was in professional mode, Jess thought, an obstetrician calming an obviously distressed mother.

  ‘So,’ he said, and he did propel her down then, back where she’d been sitting. He sat down in front of her and took her hands in his. Forcing her attention on him. ‘Is Mike your baby’s father?’

  The words seemed a shock to Kathy. If Ben had said your boyfriend or your husband, the words might not have got through, but ‘your baby’s father’ made it about her child.

  ‘Y…yes.’

  ‘Then what’s he doing in Weipa when his baby is here?’

  It was still about the baby. Kathy drew in a ragged sob. Choked.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Jess said helpfully, and filled the kettle.

  First rule: make things as normal as possible.

  Kathy didn’t answer. It didn’t matter. Jess took mugs out of the cupboard, clattered spoons, decided against tea bags in favour of tackling the teapot. Tried to make the scene domestic.

  She caught Ben’s eye and won a flicker of recognition. He knew what she was doing and she knew what he was doing.

  Normal.