The Doctor Claims His Bride (7 page)

He lowered his face into her hair, breathing deeply, inhaling the complex aroma that was Mia. He stroked her hair, tucking stray strands behind her ear. ‘Hell, Mia, you gave me a fright.’

‘I didn’t mean to put you in danger.’ She slowly raised her head, and brought her hand to his cheek, her fingers stroking with a feather-light touch. ‘I’m sorry.’

Jolts of need, like sparks of electricity, zigzagged through his body. He looked down into eyes wide with contrition, backlit with tangled and swirling emotions. He recognised need.

Her head tilted upward, and her lush bottom lip quivered, calling to him.

Two weeks of self-control vanished. He stifled a groan and lowered his mouth.

His lips touched hers and his mind blanked to everything except the touch of her mouth against his. Soft, pliant lips that tasted of bush plums and adrenaline. Lips that grazed and stroked his, the lightest touch sending spirals of pure need, white and hot ripping through him.

His hand curled gently around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, wanting to hold her against him, have her mouth melded to his.

All space between them vanished. He swallowed her moan as her body pressed against his, the cotton dress too thin to be any real barrier. Her arms rose and ringed his neck, pushing her breasts hard against his chest, and her thighs tensed against his own.

He sought to deepen the kiss, to plunder her mouth, to take what his body craved so badly. His tongue flicked against her lips.

For an infinitesimal moment, Mia sagged against him, opening her mouth to his and giving.

The gift stunned him with its intensity.

And then she pulled back and it was gone.

How could you miss something you’d barely had?

*

Using every ounce of strength, Mia stepped back out of Flynn’s embrace. Away from his lips, which had scorched the flimsy barricades she’d put up to protect herself from him. Away from his warmth and his comfort. Away from his heartbeat, which had pounded against her chest, regular and strong, his life force transferring itself to her, making her body respond in ways that would only bring her more heartache.

You acted on impulse. Impulse is without thought
. His words pummelled her, their accuracy piercing. Memories of her mother’s legendary shopping trips flooded her—impulse buying on a grand scale. Sixty-three CDs in half an hour, the three cars she’d bought one Saturday afternoon because she hadn’t been able to decide on the colour and the scarfs she’d shoplifted. All of them had been signs. The start of her mother’s decline, the start of her dementia.

You’re twenty-six
. Mia rallied her common sense, reminding herself that her mother had almost been forty when her first symptoms had appeared.

‘Mia?’ Flynn’s husky voice broke into her thoughts. ‘You’ve gone pale again.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on?’

Panic fluttered in her gut. She didn’t talk about her mother. Not to anyone. She had to deflect him. ‘Nothing’s going on. Well, obviously not nothing.’ She wrung her hands, words pouring from her mouth in a gabble. ‘I mean there was Joel, the gun, and I kissed you.’ She shrugged. ‘Sorry about that, blame the shock. It won’t happen again. I mean, I’m the RAN, you’re the doctor and—’

‘You don’t have to apologise.’ His voice had a cool
edge to it despite his seemingly understanding smile. ‘These things happen during stressful situations. Come on, I’ll take you home.’

She nodded. ‘Thanks.’ She should feel relieved that the kiss had been talked about, dealt with and dismantled. But the remnants of it still lingered in her body, not so easily dismissed.

The amazing red cliffs of the coast road provided enough conversation to ease the tension and attempt to return things to normal. Whatever normal was because every time she was with Flynn normality seemed to tip on its head.

Kissing him! Had she no sense at all? Hadn’t she learned a single thing from Steven?

Once she was home she would soak in a bath and forget the last hour. Forget Joel, the gun and Flynn’s kiss. Lose them all in a sea of bubbles.

The truck pulled up, parking under a riot of purple bougainvillea. Mia unlatched her seat belt and turned to Flynn, planning to exit the truck as the RAN,
not
the woman who had melted against him when his lips had stroked her own. ‘I’ve left a stack of blood results on your desk for your signature. There’s nothing urgent.’

‘They can wait until tomorrow.’

She nodded slowly. ‘OK, see you tomorrow then.’ She pulled the doorhandle and hopped out of the vehicle, breathing out a long, slow breath of relief. They’d restored professionalism and tomorrow it would be like the kiss had never happened.

But right now she needed a cup of tea, a long, cool bath and then to watch a chick-flick DVD with a
packet of chocolate biscuits that she’d been saving for emergencies. She walked to the back of the truck to get her bag.

Flynn beat her to it. He casually picked it up and walked up her front steps, stopping in front of her door, his feet firmly planted on her veranda. His handsome face wore a determined expression.

Her heart hammered wildly. Why had he got out of the truck? She put out her hand to accept the backpack. ‘Thanks for that. Don’t you need to get down to the police station?’

He raised his brows. ‘Robbo will ring when he’s ready for me. Meanwhile, you’ve been in shock and I’m coming in to make sure you eat and drink something.’

Alarm bells rang shrilly and she went into damage control. She didn’t want him to come inside, have him in her small house, filling the space with his charisma and charm. Tempting her. ‘That’s really kind of you but I’m fine now.’

He stood implacable and unmoving. ‘I’m the doctor and I don’t think you’re fine at all.’ His clear gaze penetrated down to her soul. ‘I think whatever it is that you’re running away from caught up with you today.’

Blood roared in her ears as her stomach dropped. She wanted to deny it but her voice stuck in her throat.

He plucked the key from of her lifeless fingers and pushed it into the lock. ‘And I think it’s time you talked about it.’

F
LYNN
hummed as he pan-fried kangaroo in Mia’s well-stocked kitchen. He suddenly realised how much he missed cooking. When he was on Mugur and Barra different families took it in turns to invite him to eat with them. Just recently he’d been so busy on Kirra that he’d missed the deadline for ordering food and when he’d cooked for himself his meals had been pretty basic, drawing on his stock of emergency tinned food.

But Mia had a pantry that made cooking a joy. He heard the shuddering of the water hammer and then the gentle fall of the shower. Mia had insisted he did not need to stay and had retreated to the bathroom. He was banking on the tantalising aroma ofAsian spices to smoke her out. He tossed the capsicum and onions into the wok on the other burner and wondered if Mia had any wine.

What are you doing?
The protective voice that had been part of him for two years roared in his head as an image of cooking for Brooke in their shared kitchen sucked the breath from his lungs.

No, this was
nothing
like that. This meal was medicinal. He dumped the Hokkien noodles into the wok,
forking them free of each other. He couldn’t move past Mia saying, ‘When your number’s up, it’s up.’ It was at odds with the thoroughness he saw in her work—the note-keeping—as if she was determined to get everything right. The two things clashed, making little sense.
That
was the only reason he’d broken his vow of never asking people why they came to Kirra. As her colleague, he needed to understand.

Understand and keep her safe
.

He banged the spatula hard against the side of the wok, the sound of metal against metal ringing in his head, driving out the unwanted words. He didn’t need to keep her safe. Not Mia or any other woman. Women rejected his care. First his mother, then Brooke.

‘That smells good.’ Mia appeared and walked straight to the cutlery drawer, pulling out forks and spoons. Tendrils of damp hair curled around her cheeks, having escaped from the confines of her damp French braid. She looked fresh, clean and sexy.

The vivid memory of her lips against his thudded through him. He snapped off the small gas stove with more force than necessary. ‘If you grab the sweet chilli sauce from the fridge, I’ll serve up.’

‘Done.’ She smiled and opened the fridge door.

With an almost magnetic pull his gaze strayed to her as she leaned forward, reaching into the back of the fridge. Her vest top rose to reveal an expanse of smooth, golden skin. Skin that screamed to be touched, caressed and tasted.

Concentrate
. He was here to eat, talk, learn and leave. He filled two large bowls with the steaming concoction
and placed them on earthy-coloured, woven pandanus placemats.

Mia sat down opposite him and poured icy-cold water into tumblers. The tension that was so much a part of her almost audibly buzzed like electricity.

He needed her to relax. He tapped the mats. ‘Have you been out to the women’s workshop to see these being made?’

She nodded, her jaw stiff and her slender neck rigid. ‘I went out the other day and Ruby showed me how they boil the pandanus with different roots to get the colours. I couldn’t believe it when she pulled up this spindly, half-dead-looking plant and the root was a vivid red.’

‘Tassie’s verdant green must make this place look like another planet.’ He smiled and wound the noodles around his fork. ‘Did you grow up in Tasmania?’

‘I did.’ She put a spoonful of food in her mouth as her eyes flashed him a challenging look. With a full mouth she couldn’t talk.

First the shower, now the food. She had delaying tactics down to an art form. He sipped his water and waited, hoping Robbo didn’t choose right then to call him.

‘And where did you grow up, Flynn?’ Her voice sounded strained.

Two could play at this game. ‘Brisbane.’ He filled his mouth with food and winked at her.

She coughed and reached for her water.

They ate in relative silence, as if a truce had been called so they could enjoy the meal. The only sound being heard was the
uk uk uk
song of the frogs.

Mia finally emptied her bowl. ‘Thank you, that was
the best meal I’ve had since arriving.’ Her smile softened the strained politeness.

‘You’re welcome. I haven’t cooked in a while so it felt good to be back in a kitchen.’ He finished his final mouthful and put down his fork, deciding to push the issue. ‘I know you don’t want to tell me, but talking can help.’

Mia moved her bowl to the side and fiddled with the edge of the placemat. ‘Have you noticed that the people who say that aren’t the ones baring their souls?’

He thought back to when Brooke had left. ‘Perhaps they’ve been there before you and have learned the value.’

Her gaze flicked over him. ‘You’re not going to leave until I tell you, are you?’

He grinned, trying to take the edge off the tense situation. ‘No.’

She pushed her chair back, the legs screeching against the lino. ‘What can I say? It’s been a bad twelve months.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it. Some years are better than others.’ He knew that only too well.

‘Yeah.’ She stood up and took the bowls into the kitchen.

Every part of him wanted to stand up and follow her but he stayed put. She needed some space.
You need the space
.

He also needed to understand. ‘And this bad year makes you believe that life is just directed by fate?’

She stilled at the sink and then turned slowly, her eyes chillingly empty of emotion. ‘Why not believe that? Who has control over what happens? I sure don’t.’

The harshness of her words tinged with her pain hit him like a blow to the chest. He spoke quietly, trying to be the voice of reason in an emotional whirlpool. ‘We all have some control. We have choices, we make decisions that—’

Her strained voice cut across his. ‘My mother and brother died this year. I sure as hell didn’t choose for that to happen.’ She reached for a packet of chocolate biscuits, ripping the package open and slamming it onto the bench. ‘Just like I didn’t choose for my father to drop dead of a heart attack when I was sixteen. If I could control things, then none of that would have happened and I would still have a family.’

Defiantly, she crossed her arms and tilted her chin. ‘So, yes, sue me for not being scientific like you but I think fate plays a big role in my life.’

Her words rained down on him like a flood of pain and circled his heart, lapping at his professional distance. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself seated. To keep him from going to her and hauling her back into his arms, and stroking away her grief.

To keep himself safe.

Safe from making the same mistake again with a woman.

Mia bit her lip and stared at Flynn, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. Would he stop there? Would he accept her explanation and not ask how or why her mother and Michael had died? Accept that grief had made her act so foolishly today? She hardly dared breathe.

‘Mia, you’re right, you’ve had a bad year and I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’ He rose slowly
to his feet, his face full of empathy but tinged with steely determination. ‘But…’

The tiny word hung in the air, its sound always ominous. She swallowed hard and kept her gaze on him, as if staring him down would stop him asking any more questions.

He cleared his throat. ‘But as much as you miss them, you have your life to live. They’d want you to grab hold of every day and live it to the full, without taking stupid risks that could end it all too early.’

It’s going to end up that way no matter what I do
. She bit off the words that roared in her head and pushed them down, refusing to think about them. ‘Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.’

A muscle twitched in his neck as his forehead creased in a frown. She glimpsed a flash of something in his eyes that said her laid-back doctor wasn’t so at peace with the world as he wanted everyone to believe.

He opened his mouth to speak but the shrill ring of his phone interrupted.