The Perfect Wife and Mother?

‘And you feel guilty?’

He gave a grunt of laughter. ‘I feel guilty because I didn’t feel guilty—not about Ann, at least. I didn’t give her a moment’s thought. She was worth more than that, Virginia, and so are you.’ He let out his breath on a shaky sigh and stared up at the heavens. ‘I behaved appallingly.’

‘No, you didn’t—’

‘I used you.’

Her heart contracted, and she closed her eyes against the tears and turned away. ‘You had a good reason. Just don’t do it again—not like that. Please?’

His hand on her shoulder was tender as he turned her into his arms, the soft sigh of regret as he saw her tears whispering over her skin like a caress.

‘Forgive me,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

She looked up and met his eyes. ‘I forgive you. O’Connor?’

‘Yes?’

‘Make love to me.’

There was an endless pause and she held her breath, sure that he would turn and walk away—but he didn’t. Slowly, softly, his mouth came down and covered hers, and he kissed her as he had done in the shelter of the willow tree.

They made love outside this time, under the night sky with the strange cries and rustlings of the night in the wood behind them, and their cries mingled with those of the animals and faded with the whispering breeze.

Then Ryan lifted his head and brushed the damp hair from her brow. ‘OK?’ he murmured.

She smiled, the damn tears threatening again in the safety of the darkness. ‘Wonderful,’ she lied.

Physically, it had been. Emotionally, though, it was a wasteland because she had committed the unpardonable folly of falling in love with him, and nothing would ever be quite the same again…

CHAPTER THREE

RYAN was swamped with emotion. Regret, remorse, excitement, passion, anticipation of their next meeting—but above all regret.

It was her tears that had done it. Those soft, cloud-grey eyes shimmering with disappointment—and that remark about him not behaving like an animal but like a man.

Was that what she expected from a lover? Disappointment? Haste? No finesse, no thought, no consideration?

She should be married with children of her own, he thought in confusion, not so desperate for affection that she would allow him access to her body with so little regard for her own physical and emotional wellbeing. His throat closed with a nameless emotion. Oh, Virginia, he thought. So tough, so worldly, so cool on the surface—and yet, deep down, so vulnerable and easily hurt.

Of all the girls to choose, he’d had to choose her. Still, the second time had been better. He’d made sure of that.

And the way she’d come apart in his arms—it was flattering, to say the least, and so easy to give her pleasure. A little more care and control the first time and he could have done it then—except that he couldn’t have done.

He had to be realistic. The first time he had been totally out of control. She was just so lush, so soft, so feminine—all woman. After two and a half years he wasn’t strong enough to hold on in the face of such exquisite temptation.

He lay in his bed alone, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what Ann would have thought of his behaviour. Their courtship had been slow and leisurely and humorous, and their love-making had never had the tempestuous quality he knew he would have with Virginia. Would Ann have understood the overwhelming urges he was feeling now?

Probably not. She had been soft and sweet and open, without a trace of guile. She would have been shocked, both at him and Virginia. Probably especially Virginia.

He was too, but he sensed that there was more to it than he understood. Beneath the bravado and sassy front she put on he felt a deep hurt—something too raw to talk about, too deep to probe and bring out into the cruel light of day.

Maybe one day she’d feel brave enough to tell him about it.

And that really tied in with a no-strings, sex-for-the-sake-of-it affair, O’Connor, he thought drily.

Oh, damn.

He rolled onto his front, smashed the pillow into submission and shut his eyes. He’d deal with it on Monday.

Ginny wasn’t sure how to face Ryan on Monday morning. She was sure that her feelings for him were written all over her face in letters ten feet high, and she had no intention of revealing her stupidity to him. It was hardly his fault, after all, that she had managed to fall in love with the man.

She had a choice, of course. End the affair before she was hurt, or let it run its course. She was there for a year. Ryan had made it clear that he wanted no emotional involvement with her, so the choice was hers, really, so long as she could keep her feelings secret.

So, what was the choice? Hurt now, or have a lot of fun and hurt later? Some choice.

So she dressed for power, in a practical but ultra-feminine dress with a scooped neckline and button-through front, and had to spend the day fighting off all the conscious male patients between fifteen and eighty-five.

And Ryan.

He found her during a lull and called her into his office, and without preamble he pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. Then he buttoned her coat shut.

‘It’s too hot,’ she protested, and one brow arched in comment.

‘You don’t say,’ he drawled softly. ‘That’s why I did it up.’

She laughed, a little breathlessly, and his fingers cupped her jaw with infinite tenderness and he kissed her again.

‘I want you,’ he murmured.

‘Mmm. Lunchtime?’

His eyes widened. ‘Where?’

‘My room?’

He looked tempted. ‘There won’t be time,’ he said regretfully.

‘Tonight?’

He shook his head and she was conscious of a hideous disappointment. ‘I’ve got the kids to think about. I have to pick them up from their babysitter. Don’t worry, we’ll find time somehow—soon.’

His bleeper squawked and he picked up the phone, his eyes still on hers. ‘O’Connor. Yes, I’m in the department. I’ll come now.’

He put the phone down. ‘Duty calls,’ he said with a wry grin. ‘Keep the coat done up.’

She grinned and let him go, then followed him out.

She did as he said for a while, but then it got too hot and she was too busy and the buttons gave way to comfort. By lunchtime the coat was off too, and she was wearing just the dress with her stethoscope round her neck.

Ryan walked past the cubicle where she was treating a patient, stopped dead and reversed and looked pointedly at her chest.

She threw him a sassy grin and carried on, and as he walked away she could have sworn she heard a little growl erupting from his chest.

She stifled the chuckle and drew her attention back to her patient. ‘Now, Mrs Robson, how did you say you cut yourself?’

He was right about lunchtime. They were rushed off their feet, and any plans they might have made to creep away for a quiet interlude would have been abandoned anyway.

Things were still fairly hectic when a woman was brought in who had fallen onto her outstretched hand and broken her arm. She was brought in in a wheelchair, obviously in a great deal of pain and suffering from shock.

Ginny examined her arm quickly and found that there was a very weak pulse in her wrist and the area over the back of her thumb felt dead.

That indicated damage to the nerve and blood supply down her arm, and would need surgical intervention. Ginny ordered an immediate X-ray, and as soon as the plate was in front of her she could see the damage caused by the fall. The humerus had split lengthwise in a nasty spiral fracture, and the sharp end of the lower part had rammed up into the nerves and blood vessels with the force of the fall. The woman would need an operation very quickly to sort out the blood supply and avoid potentially horrendous problems resulting from the disrupted circulation.

She called the orthopaedic registrar on take, and a few minutes later a good-looking young man appeared in the corridor.

‘Who wants me?’ he said with a grin, and the nurses ribbed him mercilessly.

‘You’re married, Zach, behave,’ they teased.

The sister sent him in to Ginny, and she showed him the plate.

‘Ow. That’s quite a break. Is this your arm?’ he said to the patient, squatting down to bring himself to her eye level.

‘Yes—oh, it’s so sore.’

‘I’m sure. Don’t worry. We’ll have you sorted out in no time. When did you last eat?’

‘Breakfast. I’m on a diet so I skipped lunch.’

‘What about a drink? Can you remember when you had the last one?’

‘About eleven o’clock. I was on my way home after doing the shopping when I fell off the bus.’

‘Is that how you did this?’ His fingers were gently examining her hand, which also showed signs of cuts and bruises. ‘Poor you. That was a nasty fall. Let’s get you up to Theatre, then, and sort you out. Any allergies or problems with anaesthetics?’

She shook her head, and Zach stood up.

‘OK. Let’s have her on a trolley, I think, and with that arm supported on a pillow like it is, and we’ll get her fixed up as soon as Theatre’s free—about ten minutes, Robert said.’

Ginny nodded. ‘Do you want her up there for the anaesthetist now?’

‘Yes, I think so. We’ll get that pain sorted out first. I’ll ring Theatre, if I may?’

‘Of course.’

She filled in the paperwork while he went off to the office to phone, and then she put the notes on the trolley with the patient and went along to the office to find out what was happening.

Ryan was there, lounging in the doorway and chatting to Zach.

‘So, no emergencies over the weekend?’ Zach said with a grin. ‘No fires or floods or burglars?’

Ryan looked a little uncomfortable. ‘No, no emergencies. We went over there on Saturday evening and checked it out.’

Ginny’s eyes widened. Zach owned the barn? Oh, Lord.

She felt hot colour creeping up her neck, and turned away so that Ryan didn’t catch her eye because, as sure as eggs, if he did she’d start to giggle.

She thought Zach would latch onto the ‘we’ like a limpet, but he didn’t, and Ginny realised that he must have thought Ryan was referring to the children. She let her breath ease out, and turned back again.

‘Your patient’s all ready for you, Zach,’ she murmured, and slipped away before she could become embroiled in any further conversation about the barn.

Ryan came and found her a few minutes later. There was a lull and she was in the staffroom with her feet up, grabbing a cup of coffee. For the moment, at least, they were alone.

He poured a cup of coffee and came and sat at right angles to her, next to her feet.

‘You could have told me the barn was his,’ she said softly. ‘I nearly died.’

He chuckled. ‘I didn’t think of it. I forgot you’d meet him around the department. Yes, it was a bit tricky, wasn’t it?’

‘Would they mind?’

He shook his head. ‘No—I’d just rather keep it more discreet.’

Category Three again, she thought to herself. Oh, well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

‘So,’ he was saying, ‘what are you doing this evening?’

‘I thought you had to pick your children up?’

‘I do. I meant later. You could come round.’

‘To the house?’

‘No. Bad idea, they might wake up.’

‘You could get a babysitter.’

He swallowed and nodded. ‘There’s the problem of where we go,’ he said quietly. ‘Your hospital room is too public, Zach and Jilly are back, my house is out of the question and I’m just too old to mess about in parked cars.’

‘I’ll have to get a flat,’ she said.

He snorted softly. ‘That doesn’t help us tonight, does it?’

‘No. Not really.’

He grinned and stood up. ‘I have an idea. Don’t go away.’

He was gone for three minutes and came back with a wide smile. ‘Jilly’s flat’s still vacant. It’s just behind the hospital, very easy for you to get to work, it has a phone—and it’s available now.’

‘Now?’

‘As of this minute. The hospital has it on a long lease. The accommodations officer will give you the keys.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that.’

She was sceptical. ‘What if I don’t like it?’

‘You’ll like it,’ he said confidently. ‘It’s a nice flat. It’s even got a little garden.’

‘So how come it’s available?’

He grinned. ‘Jilly handed the keys back this morning. She’s been a bit forgetful—rather a lot on their minds. They only got married two weeks ago.’ His grin widened. ‘Want a hand to move in tonight?’

‘There’s not a lot to move in,’ she told him. ‘Two suitcases, a box of books, a few bits and pieces. Certainly no furniture.’

‘It’s furnished.’

‘Oh.’

‘Well—go on, then, go and see the accommodations officer and get the keys. If you don’t like it you can tell him so tomorrow.’

‘What about work? I can’t just walk out,’ she protested.

He laughed. ‘Who’s going to tell the boss on you, Virginia?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘OK, I’m going. Sure you can cope?’

‘Oh, I’ll find a way,’ he said softly.

‘Of course there are one or two things we didn’t consider,’ Ginny said later as they looked around the flat.

‘Such as?’

‘Sheets, towels, food—nothing important!’

He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to eight. The supermarket might still be open if they hurried. ‘I can lend you sheets and towels, and we can get food now,’ he told her.

So they did a two-minute trolley dash in the supermarket, and then dropped by his house to pick up some linen. She sat in the car outside and looked around the neighbourhood at the neat little houses, all set back from the road with pretty front gardens and lots of trees and smart cars on the drives, and wondered how the frustrated sex fiend she had discovered in him fitted into surburbia.

They went back to the flat, but they didn’t get very far. The shopping was put away—more or less—and the sheets were put on the bed, but only in a manner of speaking. Ginny put the pile down on the corner of the mattress and Ryan took her in his arms and looked down into her eyes and she caught fire again.

His mouth brushed hers, his lids fluttering down as sensation washed over them, and she closed her eyes and gave herself up to his kiss. He was hungry for her, she could tell, but he held back, slowing the pace deliberately—kissing her with lingering intent until her knees threatened to buckle.

Then he laid her down on the bed in amongst the folded blankets and tired pillows, and his fingers walked down her throat and stopped at the top button of her dress. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this all day,’ he murmured.

He slipped the first button free, pushed back the edge of her dress and kissed the pale swell of her breasts. Then the next button gave way, and the next, and with each one he kissed the skin he revealed.

She hardly dared to breathe as he reached her waist and started down her abdomen. What would he say? Would he be repulsed? It had been dark before and he’d been too blinded by urgency to notice trivia.

Sure enough, he paused, a frown pleating his brows. ‘What happened?’ he asked, his fingers tracing the savage network of scars that spanned the area between her hipbones.

‘I had a car accident when I was seventeen. I had internal injuries. We hit a bridge and the railings came through the bodywork.’

Ouch.’ His fingers were gentle. ‘Poor baby.’

She closed her eyes as he bent and kissed the jagged lines. His fingers resumed their work with the buttons, her thighs and then her calves receiving his attention, and then he raised himself on one elbow and looked at her.

Her dress was gone, pushed aside in his slow exploration, and only her underwear remained. Her bra was front-fastening and, with his eyes fixed on hers, he slipped the catch and let her breasts spill into his waiting hands.

‘So much woman,’ he murmured, and she closed her eyes and bit down on the little cry that rose in her throat as his mouth fastened hotly over one nipple and suckled hard. She writhed under him, sensation ripping through her as he bit and sucked and licked and blew cold air over her sensitive skin, until she couldn’t stand it any more.

Then, shedding her clothes, she knelt up on the bed and reached for his shirt buttons.

‘Your turn,’ she told him, and with slow deliberation she slipped each button in turn through its buttonhole, and when she reached his waistband she pulled the tails out and undid the last button, then pushed the shirt over his shoulders. He rolled over—shedding the sleeves one at a time—then rolled back, his eyes fixed hungrily on hers as she reached for the buckle of his belt.

The only sound in the room was the harsh rasp of his breath, and in the near-silence the scrape of the zip was almost deafening.

She caught her fingers in the waistband of his trousers and briefs, and he lifted his hips and she peeled the clothes away. As she reached his ankles he kicked his shoes off and lifted his feet, and she grabbed his socks in passing and pulled them off too.

Then he was naked, all hers, and she thought her heart would stop beating she wanted him so much. Emotion clawed at her—love, despair, emptiness, need—and when he reached for her she fell into his arms with a little sob and buried her face in his shoulder.

‘Virginia?’ he murmured, and the soft drawl was her undoing.

‘Please, O’Connor,’ she whimpered. ‘Please…’

‘Do I need to use anything? I forgot to ask the other night.’

‘No, it’s OK,’ she said. O’Connor, please—’

‘You’re sure? I’d hate to get you pregnant.’

Her heart splintered in her chest. ‘I’m sure,’ she whispered rawly. Her eyes closed over the tears that she wouldn’t shed. He’d never promised her happy ever after, so what was the point of grieving for what she could never have?

She concentrated on what she could have—the feel of his body on hers, in hers, and as his mouth found hers and fastened on it he started to move, slowly at first and then faster, and she matched his rhythm and reached the pinnacle with him, her body contracting around his as he spilled deep within her.

And if the cry that was torn from her wasn’t one of ecstasy but of pain, he was unaware. Only Ginny knew, and she smiled through her tears and kissed him back and hid the anguish as she had so many times before…

It was a lovely little flat, she discovered after Ryan had gone and she’d had time to explore it sensibly.

The entrance to the flat was off the main hall, near the front door, and there was an inner hall leading to the living-room and kitchen. The bedroom was at the front, accessed from the living-room which had a tired but comfortable three-piece suite and a casement door out into the walled garden. It was more of a yard, really, with a gravelled area and a few beds and some pots and tubs, the contents of which looked a little the worse for wear. Still, it was a little oasis and with a bit of effort would be lovely. Much better than her little room at the hospital.

The kitchen had a door out to the garden too, and there was a bench seat with a late honeysuckle tangling over the wall above it and scenting the night air with a sweet perfume that spoke of love and stolen moments. She made a cup of coffee and took it outside, sitting on the bench and resting her head back against the wall and thinking about Ryan.

He had gone back to his children, back to his duties and responsibilities and the world that he belonged to and from which she would always be excluded.

‘I love you,’ she whispered to the night air, and a cat came out of nowhere and helped itself to her lap, and she stroked it and rubbed its ears and was grateful for the company. Perhaps she should get a cat—or perhaps she just had.

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