Four Weddings

‘You rotter.’ He splashed her and tried to sound indignant as laughter shook him. ‘Here I was being all chivalrous, a knight in shining armour, promising to slay dragons and rescue you if you needed it, and you took advantage of my good nature.’

She grinned. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist it. I also had years of diving lessons. I shall restore your honour.’ She flailed her arms about and slipped back under the water for a moment and then rose out again. Passing her hand across her forehead, she feigned distress. ‘Oh, gallant sir, please help a maiden in distress.’ She gasped overdramatically then disappeared again under the water.

Joining in the fun, he dived under the water. Slipping his left arm around her waist, he pulled her toward him, holding her back tightly against his chest.

They broke the surface together, her body wriggling deliciously against his, sending sparks of need shuddering through him.

She trod water, giggling and started to pull away from him, her hand against his forearm. ‘You are too kind, sir. Thank you for rescuing me.’

Two could play at this game. He whispered against her ear, ‘I haven’t finished rescuing you yet.’

‘Oh.’ The word came out on a breath as she stiffened slightly, before completely relaxing against him, her legs tangling with his.

It scared him to think about how good it felt to have her in his arms. He assumed the rescue position, his left arm holding her head above water and his right arm propelling them toward the tiny strip of sand.

His feet touched sand and he stood up in water up to his chest. He swung her around to face him, his arms loosely circling her waist.

She tilted her head and raised her brows. ‘I didn’t know knights could swim. I thought they were pretty useless without their horses and their swords.’

‘Careful.’ His arms tightened around her, pulling her gently toward him, holding her body against his. Her length lined his and her ankles twined around his calves. ‘Cheeky maidens can be thrown back.’ His voice came out low and hoarse.

Humour danced in her eyes. ‘I apologise most sincerely.’ Laughing, she hooked his gaze and suddenly all traces of fun vanished, replaced with a look so serious it seared him. She gazed up at him, her eyes dark violet, shimmering brightly with undisguised need. Tiny droplets of water clung to the tips of her thick brown lashes, and a pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.

It took every ounce of willpower not to flick the droplets off with his tongue.

‘Thank you for rescuing me, Tom.’

She spoke softly, the sound evaporating so quickly it was almost as if the words had not been said. But the echo of the message resonated loud and clear, vibrating in his chest.

Tilting her head forward, she pressed her lips gently against his cheek.

The touch was brief, a light caress. But the softness and warmth of her lips sent a riot of sensation ricocheting through him, making every part of him vibrate with suppressed longing.

She trusts me. The warning sounded faintly in the recesses of his mind.

She wants me. Need dominated.

Weeks of concealed emotions exploded inside him, pushing every rational thought from his head. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He needed her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, her lips against his own. He needed her now like he needed air.

For the first time in forever he was living for the moment. Taking what was on offer, no questions asked.

Bec’s lips tingled, deliciously grazed from the stubble on Tom’s cheeks. She looked up into eyes alive with a smoking desire that matched her own.

Had she been standing on the sand she would have melted against him, her legs unable to hold her.

His desire-filled gaze swirled with tumbling emotions. Adoration and reverence emerged, penetrating deep into her soul, warming all of her, releasing parts of her she’d locked away. Freeing her. This amazing man had rescued her, opened her world and taught her to trust again.

This man she loved.

The thought rocked her through to her toes. She loved him. Oh, God, she loved him.

She waited for the fear to grip her heart.

She braced herself, waiting for all the reasons to flood her brain and tell her why this was a bad idea.

She waited for the overwhelming urge to flee.

None came.

Instead, peace and tranquility, linked with a sense of belonging, slid through her.

This was right. This time, with this man, she’d got it right. This man who was her friend, her confidant and her mentor. Her partner, the future father of longed-for children.

She wanted him. She wanted to mesh this amazing psychological bond they shared with a physical one.

She lifted her head up, greeting his lips as he slanted his mouth across hers. Tenderness, mixed with a restrained firmness sent shuddering ribbons of wonder swirling through her.

Her heart cried out in joy. He was waiting for her to tell him she wanted him, too.

She flicked her tongue against his lips. He tasted of salt. Of heat. Of thundering need—all the flavours she knew he would taste on her. She plunged her fingers into his thick hair and opened her mouth to his.

His restraint fell away and with a groan he plundered her mouth, taking what she offered him. His tongue explored, each flicking caress spiralling her need for him higher and higher.

His arms tightened around her—lust simmering with tenderness. He drew her so closely against him that not even water separated them.

It wasn’t close enough.

She felt him hard against her thigh. A thrill of secret power shot through her that she could do this to him. Her nipples responded, firming into peaks, pressing against his chest, tingling and tight. Aching. Aching for his touch.

His mouth moved from hers, trailing kisses along her neck and up along her ear. Butterfly-light kisses with pinpoint accuracy. Each kiss zeroed in, showering her in waves of quivering shivers.

Glorious sensation racked her. She threw back her head, her shoulders following, letting him and the water support her. Begging for him to extend his wondrous touch.

‘You’re completely stunning, Bec.’ His deep voice pulsated through her. ‘You’ve hidden amazing treasure under baggy clothing. I’ve spent hours fantasising about what you look like naked, and the reality will far exceed expectation.’

‘Really?’ The needy girl inside her rose up.

His gaze, hot and simmering, burned into hers. ‘Believe it.’ He pushed the Lycra aside, his thumb grazing a breast in decreasing circles, the touch bringing pleasure and exquisite pain exploding in mini-bursts all through her body.

Despite being in the water, fire raced across her skin, her breath becoming ragged gasps. She’d never been touched like this before, with such reverence. Such adoration.

He groaned and lowered his mouth, covering her breast, his tongue flicking slowly at her nipple before giving in to his hunger for her and taking it into his mouth.

Showers of silver light reined down on her. Her body took over from her brain, taking her into another realm, completely centred on the glorious sensations that streaked through her.

She bucked against him, the throbbing deep within her crying out for his touch. She moved to touch him, wanting to feel her hands in his hair, have her lips explore his face, but his hand slid between her legs, driving out every thought, blanking her mind.

He cupped her.

Sensation ruled. Need conquered.

She pushed against his hand, desperate for pressure, quivering to be filled. She raised her head.

‘Stay and enjoy, I want to give this to you.’ His silken voice stroked her.

Just like his hand. His fingers traced her slickness, wet with water, wet with longing. She should have felt exposed and vulnerable. But she felt safe and treasured.

Every barrier she’d built in eight years crumbled to dust. She gave herself up to him completely. Opening herself up to the sheer bliss of his touch.

Gentle, long, shallow strokes reduced her limbs to liquid muscle. Each tantalising caress slowly deepened, bringing her core to fever pitch, driving her higher and higher and higher until pleasure morphed with pain and the temptation of release taunted her.

Shuddering, she clenched against his fingers as his thumb circled her.

Reality receded. Sensation consumed her.

Colours exploded in her head as a cry of release left her throat.

A deliciously languid feeling rolled through her as her mind slowly came back to the present. Strong arms cradled her to a broad chest and she laid her head on Tom’s shoulders. ‘Thank you.’

His eyes, thick with desire, stared down at her. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘That was incredible. I had no idea it could feel like that.’ She trailed her forefinger across his chest, enjoying the dips and rises of toned muscle, and slowly snaked a path downward. ‘I think I could perhaps return the favour on the beach.’

He gripped her harder. ‘If you want me to walk to the beach, you’d better stop your hand’s adventures right now.’ His voice rasped.

She laughed, overjoyed that her touch could wield so much influence. Reluctantly she moved away from him. ‘I’ll race you to shore. This time I might just win.’

She ducked under the water in a shallow dive and swam the short distance until the length between her and the sand was only a few centimetres. She ran out of the water toward the picnic rug all set out for them. She bent down, quickly grabbing the rug, and ran toward a secluded area, surrounded by trees.

‘Gotcha.’ Tom’s hand gently closed around her upper arm.

She turned straight into his arms, melding her mouth to his. Together they fell to the rug. Hands tore at bathers until they were skin on skin. Need meeting need.

‘I need you now,’ his hoarse voice implored.

She gloried in his words. ‘I need you, too.’ Cupping his jaw with her hands, keeping her gaze riveted to his, she lowered herself over him. Glorifying in the fire of the stretch as she filled herself with him. Moulding herself to him. Claiming him as hers.

Ecstasy played across his face as she rose with him. With gazes fused, they drove each other closer and closer toward the precipice. Together they dived into the glorious vortex, shattering simultaneously, re-forming as one.

CHAPTER NINE

‘HEY!’ TOM DUCKED as Bec cracked open a cooked crab and fluid sprayed down his arm.

‘Sorry. Crabs are a lot of effort for little return, aren’t they?’ She was nestled between his legs and together they were eating their way through an enormous seafood meal.

She turned her head slightly and flicked out her tongue, trailing a line along his biceps, licking the errant moisture from his skin. ‘Oh, you taste all salty.’ She giggled, leaning back against him and looking up into his face.

Heat slammed him. ‘I imagine you do, too. Perhaps I should find out.’ He leaned down and kissed her, unable to resist the touch and taste of those tempting lips. He felt cocooned in time. Cocooned in Halong Bay, as if they were the only two people who existed in the world.

He released her mouth. ‘Just as I thought—salty. But I might have to do some more research.’

She laughed and leaned forward toward the food, this time shelling the most enormous prawns he’d ever seen.

For three hours they’d had this tiny beach to themselves. They’d spent their time swimming, eating and just enjoying being together. And the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

Their lovemaking had been exhilarating and intense. He thought his frantic, consuming need to possess her would have been sated after they’d made love, but it hadn’t gone away. Instead, it had evolved into something different, less wild, more defined, more real. He longed to make love to her slowly, to fully explore her in the comfort of a bed. He wanted to know what stirred her, what would cause her to yearn for his touch, and what made her reach for him.

He’d never experienced anything like it with any other woman. The craving to constantly touch her burned strongly—a hand on her shoulder, an arm around her waist, his lips on her hair—and he’d kept her close to him ever since they’d fallen back on the picnic rug, exhausted but replete.

‘Tom, look over there.’ Bec pointed to the sky.

Black clouds bore down on the white fluffy ones that scudded across the sky. ‘Rain coming. We better head back. Do you want to swim or go in the basket boat?’

She gave a wry smile. ‘It’s a moot point whether a trip in the basket boat is really more like a swim. Besides, I’ve eaten so much, I think I could do with the exercise.’ She stood up, stretched and rubbed her belly.

His desire for her, always simmering inside him, boiled over at the sight of her fingers splayed against her rounded belly. He pulled her to him. ‘I’ve got an idea of how we could exercise.’

Her eyes deepened to a purple hue. ‘Is that so?’

‘Mmm.’ He dipped his head to her neck, kissing her, sucking her skin into his mouth as the overpowering urge to mark her as his hit him. ‘After all, it’s going to be raining.’

A wicked grin danced across her face. ‘So we’d need to exercise indoors.’

‘I was thinking behind closed doors. My cabin door.’ He extended his kisses as she tilted her head back. ‘After I’ve washed all that salt water off you in the shower.’

He heard her moan, the sound thrilling him to his marrow.

She spun out of his arms and jogged to the water’s edge calling over her shoulder, ‘Don’t be too long or I’ll have used all the hot water.’ She splashed into the water and dived in.

He followed, chasing a promise.

She outswam him and five minutes later he hauled himself up the steep steps into the stern of the boat. He strode up the long, narrow corridor, water streaming off him. Pushing open his cabin door, he expected to be greeted by the sound of running water.

Silence.

The bed lay empty and so did the bathroom. Confused, he turned and headed back out into the corridor. He met Bec fully clothed again in her Vietnamese gear, her brow creased in concern. She clutched the medical backpack. The transformation from siren to nurse was startling. The only hint of their time on the beach was her wet hair.

Disappointment slugged him.

‘The cook has sliced his hand badly with the carving knife. I’ve bound it but we need your stitching prowess.’

He stared at her, his brain slowly computing as his libido receded.

She smiled at him like he was a child. ‘You might want to grab a towel and meet me up on deck.’

Everything fell into place. ‘Right. Yes, of course. I’ll be up there in a minute.’ He watched her walk along the corridor. He imagined he had X-ray vision, seeing straight through the utilitarian cotton to the shapely buttocks moving seductively underneath. Right now, his imagination was as close as he was going to get.

He quickly shucked his board shorts, towelled himself dry and pulled on his clothes. Taking three steps at a time, he bounded up to the top deck. In the main living area he found the six crew members all hovering around Bec and a young man whose pale face told him he was the patient. He was almost as white as the bandage around his hand.

Bec glanced up at him as he walked in, her welcoming smile lighting up her face. The same smile she’d given him each time she’d seen him, the same smile she’d bestowed on him for the past few weeks. Today it looked the same, but it felt very different.

He watched her as she unwrapped the bandage. Her aura of competence and friendliness surrounded her, but it lacked the tension that had always been part of her. He suddenly realised that for the first time since he’d met her, she was completely and utterly relaxed.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I tried to explain stitches to Trang but my Vietnamese didn’t come close.’ She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I think my charades just scared him.’

‘No worries. I think my Vietnamese is up to this.’ Tom smiled at the youth, greeting him before examining the wound. ‘It’s deep. He’s cut into muscle.’

‘I thought so.’ Bec opened the dressing pack and drew up some local anaesthetic, pre-empting his request. As usual, she was organised and efficient.

Tom changed to Vietnamese. ‘How did you cut your hand, Trang?’ He sat down and applied more pressure to the wound.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t feel it. I just saw the cut.’ Beads of sweat clustered on his forehead.

‘A sharp knife is a dangerous thing.’ Tom checked the edges of the wound.

‘But it isn’t very sharp. It wasn’t cutting well.’

Bec leaned over his shoulder, her chest brushing his back. ‘It’s a pretty jagged cut. How did it happen?’

Tom peered more closely at the gash. ‘He said the knife wasn’t sharp and he didn’t feel the cut which really doesn’t make a lot of sense.’

Trang’s face paled as he suddenly leaned forward, heaving.

Bec grabbed a bucket and pushed it into his hands just as he started to vomit.

‘Lucky save.’ Tom smiled his thanks. Her quick actions had just prevented him being covered in Trang’s stomach contents.

A dreamy look crossed her face. ‘It’s my lucky day.’

The softly spoken words wafted around him warmly, but settled on him uncomfortably. He shrugged the feeling away. Pressing a finger around the wound, he asked Trang, ‘Does it hurt here … here … here?’

The patient shook his head. ‘No, it doesn’t really feel.’

‘Pass me a needle please, Bec.’ This didn’t make sense. He should have a throbbing hand. He should have felt the cut.

‘Here you go. What are you thinking? Some sort of paraesthesia? Perhaps he cut a nerve.’

Tom unsheathed the needle and pressed it around the hand. ‘Tell me when you feel a sharp jab.’

‘No, I don’t feel. My feet are tingling, too.’ Trang slumped at the table as he heaved again.

Bec passed the young man water to rinse his mouth and then mopped his brow with a cool cloth. ‘I know he could be vomiting from shock but do you think he might have cut his hand because he was feeling unwell and lost concentration?’

Tom shrugged. ‘The symptoms are pretty confusing. I’m going to stitch the hand first. That might turn out to be the easy bit. Can you do a set of observations?’

‘Sure.’ Bec picked up the sphygmomanometer and wrapped it around Trang’s upper arm.

As Tom injected the local anaesthetic into Trang’s already numb hand he started to sort the symptoms in his head. Nausea, vomiting, sweating, numb hand, tingling feet. On the surface it could be, as Bec had said, a vaso-vagal reaction. But he had a nagging feeling that if he went with that, it would be the easy diagnosis. ‘Now I am going to stitch your hand.’

Trang gave a feeble nod. ‘Jus doit.’ His words ran together in a slur.

‘Tom, his blood pressure is really low.’ Bec’s questioning and concerned gaze fixed on him. ‘Food poisoning?’

Tom threaded the curved needle and started to bind the muscle layers of the hand together in a series of small stitches. ‘Maybe.’ Without looking up, he asked the other crew. ‘Does anyone feel sick or dizzy?’

‘I don’t know what you just asked them, Tom, but they’re all shaking their heads.’

‘I think we just ruled out food poisoning.’ He changed over to the finer thread for the skin closure stitches.

Bec encouraged Trang to drink some more water. ‘Not necessarily. Trang’s the cook. He could have tasted dinner as he prepared it and the contamination could be from that. We’re well because we haven’t eaten that meal yet.’

He smiled at her logic as he snipped the thread. ‘Very perceptive.’ Keen intelligence wrapped up in a delicious body. It was a powerful combination. One he couldn’t wait to explore again. And he would as soon as he’d solved the Trang puzzle.

The sick man took a sip of water but most of it dribbled out of his mouth.

‘He’s dribbling, Tom.’ Apprehension clung to her words.

‘And he’s slurring his speech.’ He quickly finished the last stitch, his brain frantically searching his memory for clues. ‘Trang, is your mouth feeling numb?’

‘My mouf an’ my tong.’ The words sounded thick.

‘Squeeze my hand as hard as you can.’ Tom placed his hand against Trang’s uninjured hand.

The pressure was weak. Far too weak for a young man of twenty.

Bec’s words about tasting a meal rang in his head. ‘What were you cooking?’

The young man’s gaze slid away. ‘Soup.’

A red flag hoisted itself in his mind. ‘What sort of soup? It’s important you tell me. You could be very, very sick.’

Trang threw an imploring look at his captain and then dropped his head. ‘Puffer fish.’

All the symptoms dropped into place. He’d been cooking the delicacy that the Vietnamese government was actively discouraging. Discouraging because fugu was deadly. ‘Bec, you were right. He’s poisoned himself with his cooking. He’s got tetrodotoxin poisoning.’

A stunned look passed across her face. ‘But that’s a neurotoxin and it will slowly paralyse his respiratory system. We’re hours from the mainland. Hours from a respirator.’

‘I know, but he said he was making soup. Let’s hope the fish had been gutted and that there were only traces of toxin heavily diluted by water.’ He turned to the now frightened young man. ‘How did you prepare the fish?’

‘I took out the guts. I know these are where the poison is.’

Tom sighed. ‘Did you boil the heads and skin?’

Trang sobbed. ‘I did.’

‘There’s no antidote, is there?’ Bec bit her bottom lip.

‘No. None. It paralyses the victim, leaving them fully conscious. A living death.’ He stood up and gave Trang’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘He cooked the eyes of the puffer fish, which are full of the toxin. But we’ve got charcoal to absorb it and if we can give him a gastric lavage and empty his stomach we have a fighting chance.’

Bec started rummaging through the medical kit. ‘I guess we can use the IV tubing as a lavage tube.’

‘Good thinking. All we can do is address the symptoms. Let’s hope that this is as bad as he gets.’ He touched her arm. ‘I’ll tell the captain to head the boat back to Halong City.’

She nodded, a flash of regret streaking across her face. He knew exactly how she felt. It was going to be a long night but not the type of long night they’d both imagined.

* * *

Bec woke with a start. Rain pounded the porthole as the boat rocked violently. Her stomach lurched and she dragged in a deep breath, trying to calm the seasickness. Tom had sent her to bed. His bed. Only problem was, he wasn’t in it.

Just as she’d finished the gastric lavage and charcoal treatment, the storm had hit. The tranquil sea she’d swum in only a few hours before had become a roiling, churning mass of white-capped waves, thudding hard against the hull of the boat, making it roll back and forth. Making her stomach roll. Just like on the motorbike when she’d succumbed to motion sickness. Tom had taken one look at her and ordered her to bed.

She lay staring at the inky blackness outside, guilt nibbling at her. She wondered how Trang was doing. She should get up and help Tom. Sitting up, she edged to the side of the bed and then stood. The boat lurched. She fell back as acid burned the back of her throat. She hated this. Hated feeling this weak.

She lay down again and closed her eyes. The sound of the doorhandle being pulled down made her turn over. Tom’s bulk filled the small cabin. Wondrous delight wound through her. She could lie and watch him for hours. ‘How’s Trang?’

He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight tilting her toward him. His long fingers stroked her temple. ‘He’s stable. And damned lucky. His decision to make soup saved his life as it diluted the toxins. He hasn’t deteriorated and his breathing is OK. The first three hours are the most dangerous and we’re into four now. He’s improved slightly.’