The Perfect Wife and Mother?

Ryan’s voice, Ryan’s laugh, Ryan’s hands on her shoulders, Ryan’s chest squashed up against hers—well, the other way round to be exact, as Ryan’s chest wouldn’t squash with anything as trivial as her impact on it. Hers, on the other hand, had squashed most convincingly. She peered down at her bust, full and ripe and overtly feminine, and wondered how Ryan’s hands would feel gently cupping that softness.

A dull ache started up behind her eyes. She was tired. She must be, to start imagining things like that about her new boss. After all, after that first initial contact, he’d been very circumspect and had kept his distance both physically and verbally.

No little jokes, no innuendo—nothing to give her any indication that the attraction she thought she’d seen in his eyes had been anything other than her imagination or a fleeting interest dispelled by time and further exposure.

Which was just as well—wasn’t it? And, anyway, he was probably married.

‘Did you have a good day today?’

Evie nodded, her eyes wide and sparkling with mischief. ‘Granny took us to the beach again. We had ice cream and went on the little train and Gus was sick from eating too much popcorn.’

Ann’s mother smiled apologetically. ‘I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Children are often sick if they overindulge. I shouldn’t have let him have so much, should I, Angus?’

Gus shook his head cheerfully. ‘My sick was all full of popcorn and bright green from my lolly—’

‘OK, Gus, we don’t need the details,’ Ryan said wearily. How many times had he told their grandmother not to spoil them so much? They always had too much sun, too much food, too much everything. He hustled them to the car, strapped them in and took them home, tired but happy, and decided he was being too strict. So what if she spoiled them a little? They were kids. God knows, they had little enough fun in their lives.

It was funny how bathtime and bedtime always seemed endless, and yet when it was done and the children were tucked up in bed sound asleep the evening seemed to stretch on into the hereafter.

He showered and changed into old jeans and a scruffy T-shirt, meaning to tackle the garden a little before he went to bed, but it was a gorgeous evening and he found himself sitting down after his solitary meal with a beer in one hand and the local paper in the other, enjoying the last of the evening sun—and thinking about Virginia.

Lord, she was pretty. Her soft, lush curves had squashed up against him most invitingly, and he really hadn’t wanted to let her go. He’d forgotten what a real woman felt like—how solid and robust and positively right.

His heart started to thud more heavily, just with the memory, and his jeans tightened to an embarrassing degree. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the sun lounger and sighed. Was it wrong to want another woman? It didn’t feel wrong. It felt frighteningly normal and right.

It wasn’t as if Ann was still alive.

And he was. If he’d had any doubts about that in the past two years, today had dispelled them all. Yes, he was definitely alive—alive, well and in the market for a scorching affair.

Just sex, he promised himself. No commitment. Nothing long term or permanent, just a little diversion to help ease life along a little. After all, the kids needed him and there was very little left over to give anybody else.

But an affair with Virginia—oh, yes. He could handle that.

She’s a colleague, his alter ego was nagging gently. He switched it off. She understood the rules. She was a woman of the world—that was obvious from the assessing look she had given him that had thrown him for a loop.

They could work together and play together.

It would be fine. He’d make it fine.

His heart thudded a little faster, the beat heavy and strong under his ribs.

Anticipation.

He’d forgotten the taste of it, it had been so long.

He’d flirt with her a little, draw her out, see if she was interested. Maybe dinner, a play or the movies—something like that.

He wondered how Ann’s mother would feel about babysitting for him while he entertained a new woman.

Perhaps he’d ask the girl next door…!

CHAPTER TWO

So MAYBE she’d been mistaken. Maybe Ryan was interested. Either that or she was reading him all wrong, which could be fairly embarrassing!

She wasn’t. Every chance he had he made eye contact with her, and his eyes were ultra-expressive. She wasn’t sure if he meant them to be or if they just gave him away, but he was certainly interested in her.

She still didn’t know anything about him, however, but she was willing to bet from what she’d seen of him at work that he wasn’t the sort of man to cheat on his wife. The easy thing, of course, was just to come out and ask him, but she didn’t like to.

It was Patrick Haddon, one of the senior registrars, who told her in the end. They’d been working together on a patient and as the trolley was wheeled away to the ward he stripped off his gloves, dropped them in the bin and grinned at her.

‘Well done. I can see why Ryan speaks so highly of you—apart from the obvious attraction he feels, of course.’

His eyes were twinkling, and Ginny felt a soft tide of colour brush her throat. She ignored the compliment on her work in favour of the rider he had added. ‘Meaning?’ she fished.

Patrick laughed softly. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you.’

She shrugged, pretending indifference. ‘Is it so obvious?’

‘It is to me. It makes a change to see him notice the sex of his colleagues. Not that anybody’s criticising, Ginny. We’re all vulnerable to the right pretty face. Anyway, it’s good to see him taking an interest in a woman. Two years is a long time.’

‘Two years?’ she asked, trying not to let her curiosity be too obvious.

‘Since his wife died. I don’t think there’s been anyone since.’

She felt the shock of his words in a wave of regret for Ryan. How had she died? Slowly, or instantly? Did he know it was going to happen? Did he have time to say goodbye? How much had he been hurt?

So many questions without answers. There was only one Patrick could answer that she was prepared to ask, and even that was a loaded question. ‘Did they have children?’ she asked slowly.

‘Yes—two. A girl and a boy.’

Ginny felt a pang. She wasn’t sure which was worse—to have them and die, or live and not have them.

To die. Yes, of course. Her life was full, after all. Her work was demanding, interesting and stimulating. Her private life was about to flourish, if Ryan’s eyes were to be believed, and everything in her garden was rosy.

Well, almost. There was that little corner where nothing grew—where nothing would ever grow—but it was engulfed by the glorious mass of busyness that threatened to swamp her on occasions.

Yes, it was good to be alive.

Far better than to be dead.

Or widowed. Poor Ryan. She wondered what and when he would tell her about it. Probably not a lot, as he hadn’t yet. She sensed that his private life and work were kept very far apart, and she wondered which slot she would be fitted into if she became his mistress.

A third slot, kept especially for that eventuality? Neither one thing nor the other? Category Three—sex slave.

She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Don’t count your chickens, Patrick,’ she warned him. Or Ryan’s. Not that it’s anybody else’s business, but I’m sure if he was that interested he would have done something about it by now.’

But he hadn’t, and he didn’t, and by the end of that week she was wondering if he ever would.

He was constantly underfoot, though. On the pretext of training her he was there at her side all the time, and by the end of Friday she was ready to hit him. She was off duty at five, much to her great relief, and she went into the staffroom to hang up her coat. As she came out so he came in, and their chests collided just as before.

This time, though, he didn’t release her but stared down into her eyes and kept her there, hard against his body, while his eyes smouldered like green coals and her pulse rate rocketed.

She met his hungry gaze frankly, and after a few moments his eyes dropped to her mouth. She thought he was going to kiss her. Most men would have done, but Ryan clearly had more control.

She wished to God he didn’t, but it was probably just as well because there were people passing them in the corridor and they were attracting some very strange and interested looks.

‘Did you want something?’ she asked softly, and under her hands his chest jerked a fraction. A sharp intake of breath?

His eyes flicked up to hers again, and the heat in them made her own breath jerk in response. ‘Urn—yeah, actually,’ he said hesitantly, ‘I was wondering if you were doing anything tomorrow night?’

Someone barged past them and his body was nudged against hers. It felt good—too good to miss.

She smiled slowly. ‘What did you have in mind?’ She could have sworn his skin coloured, just slightly. Guilt? She suppressed a chuckle.

‘Um—dinner? Perhaps the cinema? There’s a new film on I’ve been wanting to see, but I’m easy.’

‘Sounds fine,’ she said with a smile. ‘What time?’

He looked flummoxed for a moment. ‘Time? Ah—seven? I’ll pick you up—where do you live?’

‘Here—at the hospital. I’ve got one of those poky little rooms, but as I’m only in it for ten minutes at a time it doesn’t matter. I’ll meet you at the main entrance.’

‘Fine. Seven o’clock tomorrow, then.’ As if he finally realised that he was standing pressed up against her he backed off a step then, with a slow grin, he released her and turned away. As he walked off down the corridor she heard him whistling softly under his breath, as if he was pleased with himself.

Smiling, she made her way back to her little room, flung the window open to let in some fresh air and examined the sparse contents of her wardrobe.

Nothing. She needed a shopping trip. Excellent!

Ryan thought he must have lost his marbles. First of all he’d grabbed her like a sex-starved adolescent, then he’d hung on and forgotten to let go of her because the feel of those soft breasts had been enough to curdle the remaining fragments of his mind. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d gone and done what he’d spent all week trying to stop himself from doing, and invited her out tonight.

He yanked the tie off in exasperation. It was too hot to wear a tie. It was too hot to wear anything. It was certainly too hot for the sort of frenzied activity his body had in mind.

He yanked off the rest of his clothes, took a deep breath and got back into the cold shower. That would settle his little friend down, he thought viciously. He was not going to jump her bones on the first date. He was not! No, sir. Or the second.

Maybe not even the third.

Well, OK, the third. Damn. His body had cheered up again, despite the cold water.

He swore as he wrenched the curtain back again and grabbed a towel, just as Evie wandered into the bathroom. ‘I thought you were in bed, sweetheart?’ he said to her, rapidly covering the evidence of his outrageously optimistic libido.

T was. I’m too hot. Daddy, you said a bad word.’

He closed his eyes. ‘I know. I’m sorry, honey. I’m feeling hot too.’ Well, at least it wasn’t a lie. He crouched down and took her hands in his. ‘Want me to read you a story?’

She nodded. ‘Gus is asleep already.’

‘I thought he would be. He was tired after our walk. What shall we read?’

‘Black Beauty,’ she said without hesitation.

He sighed. She was going to be into horses whether he encouraged her or not, he realised. Oh, well, there were worse things. He’d grown up around horses—heck, his brother was a Mountie. It was safer than drugs. ‘OK, Black Beauty,’ he agreed, and they settled down on her bed and he started to read.

Ten minutes later, as her eyes began to droop, the doorbell rang.

‘That’ll be the babysitter. You look at the pictures and I’ll get her to read to you some more.’

‘Why couldn’t Granny come?’ Evie asked as he headed for the door, still clad in just the towel.

‘Ah—I just thought we’d give her the night off.’

‘Are you going out with a lady?’

What the hell did he say to that? ‘Um—in a way,’ he flannelled. ‘I work with her—we’re going to talk about work.’

And he ran downstairs, waiting for a thunderbolt to strike him down for lying to his six-year-old daughter.

The neighbour’s seventeen-year-old daughter eyed his naked chest with interest. ‘Am I early, or are you just late?’ she asked frankly.

He coloured a little. ‘I’m just late. I was reading to Evie. Come in, Suzannah. Would you go up and finish reading the chapter to her while I throw on some things? Thanks.’

He led her upstairs, ushered her into Evie’s room and then shot into his room and grabbed his clothes. There was no time to be selective now. Taupe chinos, cream cotton shirt without tie, blazer, tie in pocket just in case. Wallet. Comb hair—for what it was worth. Shoes—no, not work shoes. Neutral suede desert boots. It was too hot for anything else. Right.

He kissed Evie, checked Gus, told Suzannah he would be back about eleven, gave her his mobile number and ran.

He was late. Ginny checked her watch, glanced once more down the drive towards the main vehicular entrance and went and sat down on a low wall by the door.

Her skirt was fortunately multicoloured and wouldn’t show the marks, but after shopping all day in the hideous heat the last thing she wanted was to stand.

She plucked at the soft, crinkle-pleated cotton of the skirt and wondered if it was as transparent as she suspected with the light behind it. Not that there’d be any light behind it if he was much later.

Oh, well. It was delicate and feminine and made her feel good, and she had a snug vest-top on under a wispy blouse that matched the skirt, the tails tied at her waist. It exaggerated her bust a little too much, but so what? It was her best asset. She might as well use it.

Her fingers plucked at the skirt again. She hoped it looked as good as it felt, and that it would be formal enough for whatever he had in mind.

Whatever it was, she hoped that it included food early in the programme because she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and that had been a rather scratch affair.

A dark blue estate car came into view, doing horrible things to the site speed limit of ten miles an hour, and pulled up right beside her. Ryan jumped out and came over to her, looking rueful and good enough to eat.

‘Sorry I’m late—domestic hiccup. All set?’

She nodded and stood up, and judged her money wisely spent. His reaction was a peach. His jaw sagged a little, his eyes widened and fastened like limpets on her exaggerated bust, and with a conscious effort he dragged his gaze up to her face and cleared his throat slightly.

‘You look—very—um…’ he managed. He closed his eyes and gave a rueful laugh. ‘Sorry. That white coat covers up a lot. You look stunning. I’m stunned. Really.’

She chuckled softly. ‘You’re no slouch yourself, O’Connor.’

He grinned, his equilibrium under control again, opened the car door for her, tucked her skirt in and closed it before striding round and sliding behind the wheel. ‘Right—what would you like to do? Movies or dinner first?’

She pulled an apologetic face. ‘Dinner? I’m starving.’

‘So am I. Formal or informal?’

‘Informal.’

‘Inside or out?’

She laughed. ‘Out, for preference.’

‘Done. There’s a pub that serves excellent food and they’ve got a riverside garden with willow trees. It’s really beautiful and cool too, which has to be a plus.’

‘Just lead the way,’ she said with a smile, and leant back against her seat. He liked the clothes. Good. And he was going to feed her. Life was wonderful.

The pub garden was busy, but as they went outside with their drinks a couple sitting under one of the trees got up to leave and vacated the secluded little spot.

Glad that her skirt wouldn’t show the grass stains, Ginny sat down, wrapped her arms round her legs and propped her chin on her knees. The willow branches hung like a curtain around them, whispering in the slight evening breeze, and although they were surrounded by people it was as if they were alone.

They were close to the water’s edge, and there were ducks lazily holding their position against the current and waiting hopefully for a crust or the odd chip. Ginny watched them for a moment then with a chuckle turned to Ryan, to find him watching her again with a strange intensity.

She expected him to flush or turn away, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes burned into hers. ‘You’re beautiful, Virginia,’ he murmured, and she was the one who blushed. ‘Beautiful and feminine and very, very tempting. I made myself a promise tonight.’

She waited and eventually he continued, his voice strained, ‘I promised myself I wasn’t going to jump your bones. Not on the first date, at least, or the second.’

‘When’s the third?’ she asked brazenly, shocked at herself but unable to help the words.

His eyes darkened and his breath caught in his throat. ‘Dammit, woman, you aren’t supposed to say things like that!’ he choked out on a laugh.

She laughed with him, caught up in the sensual cocoon of their living hideaway, and he moved closer, turning sideways so that he was sitting on one hip with his leg drawn up and leaning on his outstretched hand—leaving the other hand free to give her its undivided attention.

His knuckles grazed her cheek, just softly, then down over the hollow of her throat until the backs of his fingers rested against the swell of her breast, just visible over the scooped neck of the little top.

Then his hand turned over, skimming across her breast and up, so that his fingers lay against the pulse at the side of her neck and his thumb dragged sensuously over her waiting lips. He caught her chin to steady her, and then his mouth was descending slowly, closing with hers inch by tormenting inch.

That first touch of his mouth was like the brush of an angel’s wing—light, delicate, almost her imagination.

And then he kissed her, and the world outside their shimmering curtain disappeared in a haze of sensation. He was still gentle, but there was no part of her that felt untouched by him in the course of that one sweet kiss. Her lips parted for his tongue, and it seemed to caress her soul. No one had ever kissed her like that—ever.

She didn’t want it to end, but of course it did. Good things always did—and this one with a muttered oath.

‘Number thirty-seven?’ a girl was calling.

‘Damn,’ he said again. ‘That’s our supper. Virginia, would you? I can’t go out there like this.’

He looked embarrassed, but he didn’t need to. She was every bit as aroused. It was just more subtle. She stood up, ducked under the willow curtain and retrieved their food from the waitress.

When she went back under the tree he was sitting with his leg hitched up, one arm resting on his knee and the other wrapped round his shin. He looked awkward, as if the kiss had been an accident, and she couldn’t bear to see him flagellate himself for the most beautiful experience of her life.

She sat down, passed him his supper and met his rueful eyes. ‘Don’t, O’Connor,’ she said softly. ‘That was a beautiful kiss. I won’t let you regret it.’

He laughed without humour. ‘I was out of line.’

‘No, you weren’t. You got there just before I did.’

He met her eyes, his startled, and then he chuckled. ‘I do believe you’re telling the truth.’

‘Oh, I am,’ she said round a mouthful of prawns in mayonnaise. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never get round to it without a little help.’

He choked on his first forkful of salad and Ginny slapped him on the back and then eyed him as he swallowed and wiped his streaming eyes.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ he croaked. ‘Just don’t say things like that.’

‘Like what? That I want you, too?’

He dropped his fork and pushed his plate away. ‘Virginia, you’re playing with fire here.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

His eyes searched her face. ‘I’m a widower,’ he told her bluntly. ‘I’ve got two kids who take all my time and energy. This is going nowhere. It’s just an affair.’

‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘That’s all I want too.’

She could see the tension in him escalate. He swallowed. ‘There’s no happy ever after, Ginny. Not for me. Not any more.’

She wanted to cry for him, but she was all cried out for herself. ‘That’s fine,’ she whispered. ‘Where shall we go?’

‘Now?’ he said, his voice strangled.

‘Why not?’

He stared at her for long seconds then, standing up, he pulled her to her feet. ‘Friends of mine are away. They’ve given me the keys of their barn in case of emergencies. I think this qualifies.’

She laughed softly and followed him out of the sheltering cocoon. It seemed miles to the car, even further to the barn set high up on the side of a valley with a wood behind it and rolling fields in front.

They went in without a word, and upstairs to the only room that was furnished.

Then he turned to her, his eyes serious. ‘Are you sure?’ he murmured.

She nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure.’

His hands on her body were tender, almost reverent. He untied her blouse, spreading the sides and looking down at the full swell of her breasts under the skimpy T-shirt. ‘So much woman,’ he whispered.

Her breath caught as his hands slid under the hem of the T-shirt and cupped her breasts. They were naked under the soft cotton, ready for his touch, and he lifted the hem and brought his mouth to them in turn. She cried out, clinging to his shoulders, and he dragged her closer—his control ragged now—and buried his face in the side of her neck.

‘This is probably going to be a disaster the first time, Virginia. It’s been so damn long for me, but I’ll make it up to you next time, I promise.’ His lips pressed against the leaping pulse in the hollow of her throat and her head fell back, sensation swamping her.

He lowered her to the bed, bunching her skirt around her waist, his hands finding and stripping away the tiny scrap of lace which was all she wore beneath the skirt.

His face was a mask now, taut with need and desire, and kneeling between her thighs he tore open his trousers with shaking hands and reached for her.

‘Help me,’ he muttered tightly. ‘Virginia, help me—’

Then he was there, sliding home in the sweet nectar that her body wept for him, and tears welled in her eyes. She cradled him in her arms, her body arching to meet his, and he drove deeply into her—again and again and again—until with a harsh cry he shuddered against her and was still.

She was unfulfilled, but it didn’t matter. He needed her, and she needed to be needed. OK, it was only physical and only fleeting, but she took what she could get.

The tears that filled her eyes overflowed and ran down into her hair, but she ignored them. Her attention was all on Ryan—his body slumped in her arms, his precious weight so welcome as he lay against her.

She felt the moment when he started to withdraw back into himself in a slight tension that invaded his shoulders. She let him go. There was no purpose to be served by trapping him against her.

She lay and watched as he swung away from her and fastened his clothes, then ran down the stairs and out into the fresh air.

She let him go. There would be time enough to talk to him. Mechanically she dried her tears and found her underwear, tugging it back on. He hadn’t used a condom—probably hadn’t even thought about it, she realised. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t going to get pregnant as a result of his carelessness.

She tidied the bed and went downstairs. He was standing on a little terrace outside the French doors, staring out blindly across the valley. She left him to it, busying herself in the kitchen making coffee.