Max cut the motor and went to get out, but she put her hand out and stopped him.
‘You don’t have anything inside?’
‘No, but-’
‘But then it’s time for you to go,’ she told him, trying to make her tone firm and sure. A man and a woman were waiting for her on the veranda, dressed in sombre grey. That was her future, she thought. Grey.
Grey with a baby daughter? She gave herself a mental slap to the side of the head and made herself smile. Maybe grey until she’d buried Betty and her knee stopped hurting, but in the long term she’d be fine. More than fine. Max had conjured up a locum. Even the sight of the staff from the Yandilagong Funeral Parlour didn’t have the capacity to dim that.
‘You’ve been wonderful,’ she said. ‘But Fiona’s waiting.’
‘She’s not-’
‘You know she is. And I don’t need you any more. Last night I did need you, and I’ll always be profoundly grateful that you were here for me. And you’ve found me a locum. You have no idea how grateful I am for that.’
‘You know that John might stay long term if you want to share.’
‘I might just want to,’ she said. ‘But that’s for the future. So thank you again.’ She tugged her crutches over from the back seat and opened the car door.
‘Maggie?’
She turned back to him.
‘I could stay another night and leave at dawn. I don’t want you on your own.’
‘I have a sore knee,’ she said, pushing herself out of his gorgeous car. ‘That’s all. I can manage by myself. And, besides, I have Angus and cows and dog and tractors. What’s alone about that? Meanwhile, you have your own life you need to get back to. Thank you.’
He looked across at her-and then before she knew what he intended he was out of the car, coming around to her side, taking her crutches and placing them against his precious but increasingly battered car.
‘Maggie, thank
He paused. Reminded him of what? she thought, but she looked at his face and knew he wouldn’t answer. Knew he didn’t know how to answer.
‘John’s good,’ he said inconsequentially, and she nodded.
‘If he’s worked with you I imagine he must be.’
‘He can work with everyone. Kids. Babies. He’s okay.’
‘Are you saying you’re not okay?’ she asked gently. ‘Because you no longer work with babies?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I hope you are.’ And then, because he looked…lost? No, surely that was too strong a word for it, just a little bewildered, as if Superman’s world was a bit out of kilter and he didn’t know how to put it right. And she thought, Why not?
Why not? She really wanted to do this. She wouldn’t see this guy after today. What was the harm?
When she really, really wanted to do it. Fiona or not. What difference would a kiss make?
And before she could examine the thought any further, her hands came up to take his face and draw his mouth down to hers.
Only his mouth was already moving. To hers.
And for one long, sweet moment sanity flew out the window.
There was nothing sensible about kissing Maggie. There was nothing planned. He only knew that her lips were on his, that his hands were on her waist, drawing her into him, feeling a blast of want and need so great it threatened…
Well, it didn’t threaten. It simply did. Did remove sanity. Did remove acknowledgement of how crazy this was, how inappropriate, how stupid.
Nothing mattered but the surety that he was kissing her.
She tasted of honey. Honey, he thought, and had a flash of recall, hours ago, sharing toast and honey. It must have stayed. Or maybe honey always clung to this woman.
As did sweetness.
As did heat.
For heat was what he was feeling-heat surging through the linking of their mouths, through the fire he felt in his hands at her waist, through the way her body curved and clung as her lips parted to welcome him into her. She was aching for him to deepen the kiss, showing a need that was at least as great as his own.
Did he need her?
That was a crazy thought, too, for of course he didn’t need her. He never could need. To expose himself to that sort of pain…No!
So he’d leave this afternoon and never come back. She’d get on with her own life and he’d get on with his. But strangely, unaccountably it made his immediate need even greater. Knowing that this might be the only time-this
She was so lovely-achingly lovely. She was simply dressed in pregnancy jeans and windcheater, she was battered and tired and very pregnant-yet lovely had been one of the first things he’d thought when he’d seen her, and he thought it again now.
Her body was all soft curves. Her pregnant belly moulded against him and he found himself curving to accommodate it. A man taking his woman unto him.
He was deepening the kiss-deepening, deepening, deepening, until all he felt was her and all he knew was her, and the rest of the world could float away for all he cared.
Only, of course, it didn’t. It couldn’t. The woman on the veranda was clearly not amused at being kept waiting. She’d walked down to meet them. She’d stopped four feet away from them and coughed, a cough that said this wasn’t appropriate, she could understand sympathy this morning but she couldn’t understand passion.
Dammit. He felt Maggie shift in his arms, withdraw, become conscious again of her surroundings, and he wanted to shout ‘No’ and tug her closer, but the woman coughed again and he wanted to strangle her.
Reluctantly, achingly, he let Maggie pull away, then stood, holding her at arm’s length, gazing down at her bewildered eyes. Her mouth was lush and full, her lips just kissed…
But behind them the woman was looking confused.
‘Dr Croft?’ she said.
‘That’s me,’ Maggie said, and there was a definite shake to her voice. ‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting. ‘Dr Ashton was just kissing me goodbye.’
The word stung-but that’s what this was. For one long moment he teetered, a part of him wanting to say, no, it’s not goodbye, this is just the beginning. But then Archibald-or was it Ernestine?-kicked, and Maggie glanced ruefully at her abdomen and so did Max. And there was her baby between them.
Reality slammed back, and remembered pain. No. He wasn’t ready for this. He’d never be ready. Exposing himself to the pain he’d felt six years ago…No and no and no.
Where to go from here?
Nowhere.
To leave seemed impossible. To leave seemed like leaving part of himself behind.
‘Fiona’s waiting,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m sorry about the kiss. You don’t have to tell her.’
‘Fiona’s not-’
‘Max, just go,’ she said, and her voice was really trembling. ‘Please. I can cope myself. I will be fine. I’ll be better if you go.’
‘I don’t want to leave you.’
‘You must,’ she said gently. ‘You have your world and I have mine.’ Her chin jutted a little and she forced herself to smile. ‘You go and get back to your life. But thank you for being wonderful. My hero.’
She hesitated for a moment, then lightly stood on tiptoe and kissed him again. Only this time it was different. It was a fleeting, final kiss of farewell.
And then, very deliberately, she turned her back on him. She nodded decisively to the woman waiting. ‘Let’s go inside. I’ve kept you waiting long enough.’
