The Most Magical Gift of All

And Jack radiated one-hundred-percent, dazzling ‘bad boy’ from the top of his inky-black hair to the jet of his leather trousers; his neat haircut jarred the image slightly, but not enough to bother her one little bit. He was a visual gift from the gods, and after her six months in a living hell she soaked him in while half-listening to his detailed explanation about clinic procedures. Procedures that were all neatly printed and stored in an absurdly organised and colour-co-ordinated folder complete with tabbed dividers. His receptionist was obviously a stationery junkie.

His mellow voice rolled around her like a caress as she followed him on a whirlwind tour. ‘I usually start the day with an early hospital round before heading to the clinic, but it’s your gig, Sophie, so do things your way. The staff have promised me they’ll adapt.’

She was pretty sure women probably promised him anything, and why not? His large black boots connected him firmly and authoritatively with the world, and his wide, firm stance showcased strong calves and tight buttocks. The whole package was outlined in glorious detail by leather trousers that nipped in at a narrow waist. Tucked in flatly to the belted waistband was a soft white T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and, given the bronzed and bulging arm muscles that escaped from under the short sleeves, she imaged the rest of the shirt covered very toned abs.

Jack Armitage exuded the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted and Sophie envied him that. She knew for certain what she didn’t want in her life but she wasn’t at all sure she had any clue what she really did want. She lurched from one vague plan to the next. Australia had beckoned when the stress of working in a war zone had her so worn out that any loud noise made her jump, and every day had become a strategy in survival. She needed some breathing space and she needed to embrace normality. She probably should have gone to see her father but the thought of returning to England in December was unconscionable. She’d have gone just about anywhere to avoid Christmas, just like she’d done for years.

After fifteen minutes of walking and talking, Jack paused; they were now back at the admissions desk. ‘So is all this making sense?’ Strikingly vivid eyes—the same colour of the purple-blue mountains she’d seen in the distance when she’d hopped off the bus—sought confirmation.

Eyes that held a current of leashed energy that had sparked like electricity, pinning her to the wall, the moment she’d first locked eyes with him. Eyes that had unabashedly appraised her from across a room and were still doing it.

His gaze heated every part of her it touched, setting up an itch under all of her skin that she knew no amount of calamine lotion would soothe.

You’ve been out of circulation for too long and that’s making you imagine this attraction. She had to be imagining it, because nothing like this had ever happened to her before and the intensity was almost scary. She breathed in a long, slow, breath; the technique she’d learned as a teenager when her life had changed forever, and then honed when working with Frontline Aid. Immediately her heart slowed down, her body drained of its heat, and she centred her thoughts firmly on what Jack was saying. ‘It’s all making total sense. The information’s very clear and straightforward.’

‘Great. Now, these are the numbers if you need to evacuate a patient.’

He reached across in front of her and grabbed a bright yellow sticky-note to mark the page; the scent of sunshine and fresh soap tickled her nostrils.

She breathed in deeply, inhaling the robust and almost decadent scent, but instead of slowing her heart rate it immediately sped it up again, overruling all attempts at calming thoughts. Delicious warmth followed a second later, building into heat which trailed through her veins with addictive sweetness, leaving hot spots of something she knew intimately but didn’t want to name.

Her brain grinned, totally ignoring her, and with a loud trumpet fanfare named it: longing.

No. This was just the recognition of, and longing for, normality. This was the longing for a safe haven because for the last six months she’d been working abroad with the stench of war and disease in her nostrils, and she’d avoided such deep, lung-filling breaths. Now she was out in the safe desert of Australia, she could take her fill of the cleansing, pure air.

Pure lust.

Jack’s head tilted sideways and concern backlit with a simmering heat flared in his eyes. ‘You OK, Sophie? You look a bit dazed.’

The flat vowels sounded strange to her ears but the deep melody of his voice moved through her like the rich vibrating bass of a bassoon, before settling inside her where she hadn’t known there was a space. ‘I’m fine.’ No, you’re not, you’re wigging out. No man has ever affected you quite like this. ‘I’m just jet-lagged, with a bit of culture shock on the side.’

‘England’s smaller and a lot greener,’ he teased, his face lighting up with that enigmatic look that sent rafts of tingling all the way down to her toes, making them curl.

She was going mad. This reaction was completely over the top for a guy she’d only met two hours ago, even if he was an enigmatic bad-boy—her type of man. Was this what happened to women who hadn’t had sex in a long time? When the pressure of not knowing if you’d live another day was removed? She felt her fingers dig into her palms, trying to shock herself back into control with some physical discomfort. She’d never experienced such overwhelming need before and she was used to long periods of time between boyfriends. It came with the territory when you took contracts with Frontline Aid. Liaisons were actively discouraged because they could fracture the way the Frontline team worked, and it was enough just to stay safe and keep the nationals alive.

But living with death every day made you want to grab onto life and her body seemed to be doing that. She tucked an annoying curl of hair behind her ear and tried concentrating on geography rather than the fact that her body had totally disconnected from her brain and common sense, and was careering off the rails like a runaway train. ‘True, England’s small and green, but I’ve just come from working in north-west Pakistan, and when I was looking at its beautiful, snow-covered, jagged mountains and glacial lakes I thought I was in Switzerland.’

He raised his brows. ‘Except for the mortar fire?’

She gave a tight laugh. ‘Yes, well, there was a lot of that, which made it very un-Switzerland.’

He folded strong arms across his broad chest. ‘I think you might find the silence of Barragong a bit unsettling.’

The concern in his eyes was unsettling. It was as if he saw way past the persona she showed the world. She much preferred the open admiration and banked heat.

She flicked the folder shut. ‘Dr Armitage—’

‘Jack.’ The heat in his eyes flared again.

Her muscles liquefied and she clutched the folder tightly to her chest. ‘I’ve done locum work all around the world and this—’ she tapped the folder ‘—is the most comprehensive handover I’ve ever had. Between the staff and the flying doctors, not to mention the virtual consultations available with specialists in Adelaide, I’m sure Barragong and I will muddle through.’

‘With your experience in the world’s trouble spots, I think you’ll do a lot more than muddle.’

The deep resonance of his voice cloaked her like velvet and she fought every instinct to close her eyes and lean into him. But this wasn’t a smoky bar or a low-lit dance floor. This was a hospital, and she’d arrived in Barragong so he could leave.

It’s such a shame he’s leaving. She ignored the traitorous and tempting voice. ‘So, if you can just show me where the hospital flat is, you can start your holiday.’

‘Sophie, you’ve no idea how much I’ve longed to hear those words.’ This time a long, lazy smile rolled across his jaw, up along his cheeks and straight to his eyes, giving him a simmering edge of raw appeal. The bad-boy appeal called to her like a siren.

Except for the dimple in one cheek. A dimple! None of her previous bad-boy boyfriends had dimples, and it certainly wasn’t a look she associated with a biker.

But the thought vanished when, with one flick of his long, strong index-finger, he pulled his leather jacket off the back of a chair and swung it over his shoulder.

‘The flat hasn’t been lived in for years, and it’s currently full of old files, so you’re staying out at my house.’

A house. Delight spun through her. It had been two years since she’d lived in a house. Two years since she’d left Simon and most of her possessions, everything that had tied him to her. Since then she’d lived in tents, dorms, flats, community houses—whatever shelter had come with the job. She’d learned to travel with the basics and not unpack too much, because it made leaving easier and a lot quicker.

‘After my most recent accommodation, a house sounds decadently luxurious.’ Can you hear yourself? Frontline really must have put her on the ropes—first her body hankering so strongly for Jack and now her brain being happy about a house. It was like being inhabited by a stranger.

Jack’s smile held a tinge of a grimace. ‘It’s a rambling, old homestead that doesn’t come close to luxurious, but then I guess it’s all relative. How much gear have you got?’

She inclined her head towards her large, beloved and well-worn rucksack. ‘That’s it.’

The blue in his eyes deepened against the violet and his voice dropped to a low rumble. ‘A woman who travels light is every man’s fantasy.’

Up until now only his eyes had devoured her but this was unambiguous flirting. Her lips dried and her tongue darted out to moisten them as she met his gaze, throwing herself into the strands of attraction that had been pulling strongly between them from the moment they’d met. ‘A woman who travels and doesn’t stay is every man’s fantasy.’

His eyes drifted over her again in his slow and all-encompassing gaze, and her breasts tingled, pushing against the lace of her bra while every other cell in her body opened up, clamouring for him. She thought she’d either ignite on the spot or melt in a puddle, consumed by need.

With an abrupt jerk, he slung her rucksack over his shoulder and strode towards the door. ‘Everyone, I’m driving Sophie to my place, and as from four o’clock she’s on my pager and on duty. Me? I’m outta town—first overnight stop, the Parachilna pub.’

He paused and turned back. ‘Don’t expect postcards, I’m going to be frantic doing nothing.’

Sophie caught a glimpse of sheer relief in his eyes as the assembled staff gave a good-natured cheer and voices called out, “Haven’t you left yet?”, “Be good,” “Safe travels,” and “Nice work if you can get it.”

Jack just laughed, turned and gave a backwards wave before he disappeared through the automatic emergency doors—a dark silhouette against the bright sun walking towards his future without a backward glance.

Sophie knew all about that.

She paused before following him, checking with Diana if she needed her back at the hospital this afternoon.

The nurse shook her head. ‘Spend the afternoon getting settled at Jack’s and looking around town. Mind you, that will only take you ten minutes, even if you do it leisurely. Then you can get a good night’s sleep because clinic starts at eight a.m. and, believe me, we’ll be working you hard on your first day.’

Busy was good. She’d learned about keeping busy from the age of twelve—it meant less time to think. ‘Right. I’ll be ready.’

Diana reached out and touched her gently and briefly on the arm. ‘I was teasing you about the working hard. Emergencies excepted, we’ll ease you into things, including teaching you about the Aussie sense of humour.’

The friendly touch surprised her. In England even when a colleague had known you for years they rarely touched you, and the women in the sub-continent had been either shy or cool. But Australians, it seemed, didn’t have the same reserve. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

Diana smiled. ‘You better go and catch Jack or he’ll leave without you, because nothing is going to stop him getting away by four.’

And that’s probably a good thing. Jack Armitage was a temptation she wasn’t certain she could withstand or wanted to withstand for very long. Still, she only had to follow him to his house, receive the key and wave him goodbye. She ignored the jab of disappointment that her body gave her and walked briskly out through the ambulance bay where the mid-afternoon heat hit her like a brick wall. The black asphalt of the car park was sticky, partially melted by the heat, and the bright, white glare of the sun made it difficult to see. She immediately shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted towards a group of four-wheel-drive vehicles all clearly marked with the Barragong Health logo. She couldn’t see Jack.

A moment later the roar of an engine made her jump and she swung around to see Jack’s long leather-clad legs astride a sleek silver-and-black European machine—pure motorcycle luxury. He revved the engine, flicked up his helmet visor, raised one dark brow and then winked at her.

Instantly, her legs turned to rubber and she locked her knees in an attempt to stay standing. Stop it, stop it, stop it. So, he’s gorgeous and he flirts; big deal. He’s leaving town.

And that makes him perfect for you!

Sophie puffed out an indignant breath. She’d been desperately trying to ignore the goddess of free love who’d come out to play the moment she’d laid eyes on Jack Armitage. The goddess embraced life, specialised in spur-of-the-moment decisions, and Sophie had locked her down two years ago after her life had become complicated and she’d unwittingly inflicted pain on a good man.

I’ll never forgive you, Sophie. She was never going to risk hurting someone again, and since Simon she’d only dated men who were upfront about what they wanted—fun, good times and the short term. She didn’t do long term—couldn’t do long term—and that was why bad boys fitted the bill. It was the only safe way. But even her definition of ‘short term’ had never been as short as a few hours.

The engine’s roar calmed to a low thrum and Jack held out a helmet. ‘Have you got a jacket of some description?’

Sophie had managed to tear her gaze away from the man in black and realised her rucksack was strapped on the back of the bike. She glanced from Jack to the four-wheel-drives and back to him, confusion pounding at her. ‘Are we going on this? I thought I was following you in the vehicle I’m being supplied with while I’m here.’

He nodded in agreement. ‘You’re being provided with a four-wheel-drive, but it’s out at my place. Hop on; it’s only a short fifteen-minute trip and you can cuddle up behind me if you get cold.’

The goddess beamed. Now there’s an offer you can’t refuse—cuddling the gorgeous Jack before he leaves. She almost said, ‘Shh,’ but somehow she managed to stay silent, probably because her mouth had dried so fast at the thought of her chest tucked up firmly against his broad muscular back that her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth.

She didn’t trust herself. For six months she’d lived and breathed extreme caution and coming to Australia was part of her not having to second-guess every move to avoid a mine blowing her up. If she wrapped her arms around Jack, she was pretty certain she’d give into the ever-growing need to throw caution to the wind.

‘Hey, Sophie, hurry up. I’ve got a date with my departure, so hop on.’

‘Sorry, I seem to be in the habit of holding you up.’ She jammed the helmet on her head, adjusted the chin strap and reached out her hand. Her palm connected with the hard muscle of his shoulder and the tingling that shot up her arm made her stumble. Somehow, her foot found the foot-peg and with a practised swing she swung her leg up over the high touring seat, careful not to touch the exhaust pipe. A moment later her bottom hit the seat, and she no longer had an excuse to keep her hand on his shoulder, but it took a Herculean effort to pull it away.

He turned, surprise on his face. ‘You’ve done this before?’

‘A year spent in Asia and the sub-continent, and bikes are pretty much your only transport choice.’

That’s not how you flirt. The goddess rolled her eyes and took over. ‘And I’ve always been a sucker for a motorbike.’

‘And the men who ride them?’

The question combined casual enquiry with overt sexuality and Jack’s eyes deepened to the vivid violet of a desert sunset.

Oh, God. She’d fought her own desire from the moment she’d met him. She’d told herself she imagined his attraction to her but, despite how surreal this all felt, she knew without a shadow of a doubt he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She swallowed hard, her resistance taking a severe battering. ‘That’s been known to happen too.’

He smiled, inclined his head ever so slightly and then faced forward, switching on the ignition.

The bike revved up and moved out of the parking lot. She’d handled a 125CC bike herself, but nothing prepared her for the throbbing, low, rumble of the powerful 1200CC engine that vibrated through her, building on the simmering rafts of desire that had been part of her from the moment she’d met Jack. Like a match igniting a fuse, fire raced through her, driving pure pleasure around her body and awakening it with a jolt like a shot of caffeine.

The bike sped up as it shot onto the open road. Red, black, grey, brown, green, blue and purple—the bold and tough colours of the outback flashed past in a melange. Everything was different. Colours beamed more vividly, sounds had more range and the warm desert air caressed her skin like a trail of seductive kisses. Her blood pounded faster, her thighs throbbed and her nipples pebbled as the wind pinned her flimsy top against her like a second skin. She became one with the bike, giving in to the movement, allowing the slip and tilt of the leather seat to move her forward until her inner thighs contoured snugly against Jack’s legs.

It felt amazingly right.

The ever-present fear of death and destruction that had ruled her life in a war zone spiralled out of her. The goddess broke loose from her chains. You’ve survived and this is your life, so live it. You know life can end in a heartbeat. He wants you and you want him. Live for the moment, because you know for certain you can’t depend on tomorrow.

Jack pulled off the asphalt at the bright-yellow forty-four-gallon drum that acted as a letterbox, remembering how he and his dad had created it as a father-son project when he was eight. As the bike bounced along the olive-tree-lined, five-hundred-metre gravel track, otherwise known as ‘the drive’, he grinned as he felt Sophie’s arms tighten around his waist and her breasts press even more firmly against his back.

Her wild spirit had circled him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but when she’d leaned up hard against him when the bike hit top speed it had streaked into him, humming through his veins. It had been a long time since a woman had wrapped her arms around him, clung to him, and he realised with a gut-churning rush how much he’d missed it.

Life in a small town didn’t throw up many opportunities to meet new people nor did it lend itself to casual affairs. ‘Casual’ meant not being the butt of town gossip or running into the person you’d slept with one night every day at the bakery for the next thirty years. Since Mary, ‘casual’ was what he specialised in, and big cities were casual’s domain. Each year he took a few short trips, including the four-day hedonistic party that was the Melbourne Cup Carnival, and he caught up with female friends who welcomed him with open arms, all care, no strings and certainly no spooning. The rest of the year, being Barragong’s only doctor kept him firmly and responsibly in town.

This holiday was as much about being himself as it was about escaping from work.

The bike negotiated the final, bone-shuddering corrugations created by the heavy spring rain which was now a distant memory, and Sophie’s arms tightened even more. All too soon they crossed the cattle grid and the rambling homestead came into sight. He entered the circular driveway and as he killed the engine Sophie dropped her arms. With a swift and practised kick, he shot out the bike stand and turned the front wheel to the left, stabilising the bike. He removed his helmet, pushed himself up and off the bike and immediately unzipped his jacket, no longer needing it.

He went to extend his hand to help Sophie off the bike and his arm stalled, followed by the rest of his body. He felt like he was watching a slow-motion advertisement for shampoo as Sophie pulled off her helmet and shook her head, sending her thick and lustrous hair out in an arc of tight curls. Her cheeks glowed pink like an English rose, her pupils gazed at him—wide, round black discs against a back drop of sparkling Kahluabrown irises—and her full lips parted in a broad smile. She glowed, radiating arousal like a beacon.

I’ve always been a sucker for a motorbike.

And the men who ride them.

Her shining eyes met his and she held out her hand. ‘Now that was totally brilliant.’

His palm slid against hers and she gripped his hand as she slung her leg over the seat until she sat side-saddle. Then, with her hand still holding his, she slid off the bike, her feet coming to rest between his size twelves.

Some strands of her wild, untamed hair brushed his cheek and his nostrils flared, detecting a hint of sweet sandalwood mixed in with the scent of woman. The combination demolished his barely held-together restraint and for the second time in three hours he swayed towards her as if physically tugged. An all-encompassing heat tore through him, firing infernos of need like ember attacks, before draining most of his blood to his groin.

‘That good, eh?’ His voice sounded strangled as his brain failed to compute under the assault of eyes that told him she was on fire with the same burning need.

Her eyes darkened to the burnished honey-brown of toffee and her palms rested flat on his chest. ‘More than good. I haven’t felt this alive in months.’

Neither had he. Her heat burned into him. Her breath brushed his face and he saw the flutter of a pulse beating in the delectable hollow at the base of her throat. Then her eyes widened to the point where base desire conquered every other emotion—rational or otherwise—and perfectly mirrored the collision of their thoughts.

‘God, you’re gorgeous.’

‘So are you.’

Her eyes held his and he did what he’d wanted to do from the moment he’d met her. He lowered his mouth, his lips seeking hers, and an explosion of taste met him: the spices of the exotic east, the heat and dust of the desert, feminine desire and something tantalisingly elusive that he couldn’t quite pin down but reminded him of long-lost summer evenings.

What are you doing? You’re leaving town.

He pulled back, stroking away a titian curl from her cheek, only to have it wind itself around his finger like a clinging vine. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. This timing totally sucks, because you’re absolutely dazzling but I’m leaving today for a minimum of three months.’

Her clear gaze didn’t waver, nor did it look offended. ‘And would you have pulled away from the kiss if you weren’t leaving?’

He shook his head. ‘Hell, no.’

She smiled. ‘So you would have kept kissing me, and then what?’

He hadn’t expected that question but then again he’d never met a woman quite like her. ‘Are you asking me what my intentions were?’

Her hands rested gently on his chest. ‘Would you have wined and dined me before inviting me into your bed?’

He prided himself on the way he entertained women. ‘Of course I would. But after the meal I’d have shown you the glory of the outback night sky, devoid of rocket fire, and then introduced you to the southern constellations and the Southern Cross.’