Harry St Clair: Rogue or Doctor? (6 page)

The mood settled when Ketut returned with fresh ginger tea and a gorgeous seed cake, but Bonnie laughed at them both when each rushed into speech as soon as Ketut left. ‘You first …’ Harry said.

Bonnie picked her cake up with forced enthusiasm, anything to break the awkwardness of the moment. ‘I won’t need dinner.’

Harry’s glance warmed her. ‘I want to feed you up before you go on the plane tomorrow.’ That reminded them both she was going, until the direction of his gaze settled on her lips. She wished he wouldn’t do that and she tried to concentrate on her imminent departure. His knee touched hers again, deliberately, and she felt more warmth sear through his jeans, the surge of intense
awareness she would always associate with Harry. Not fair. Poor Jeremy had never been like this.

They looked at each other and it was as if invisible threads were looping and diving over each other in an intricate dance until she was encapsulated within a tapestry of secret knowledge they shared. Ridiculous. They shared nothing in common except today’s experiences.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, those gorgeous lips she’d admired at Jimbaran, and she saw him smile, and just as quickly she blushed again. Harry stood up and she found herself beside him as he gathered her fingers into his hand and tugged her closer until her hip was touching his.

She moved into his arms as they stood together on his porch. Harry stared, unsmiling, down into her face and his eyes became deep royal blue, dark and promising, and she told herself it was because his pupils had dilated, a physiological event, not a revelation.

‘I’d like to kiss you,’ he murmured, his voice a physical caress.

Her heart tripped, stuttered and gathered speed. Her mouth dried. ‘Why?’

He smiled with his eyes but still not his mouth. ‘Because I think we’d both enjoy it.’

Lordy, yes. ‘Oh.’

He leaned closer. At the last minute she closed her eyes, all the better to feel him with, and his mouth touched hers, gently. Homecoming—strange, when she’d never visited before. Like nothing she’d expected and much, much better.

He was the first man she’d kissed since Jeremy, and
instead of the masculine assertion that had always left her backpedalling away in confusion, Harry held the notion of mastery back. She could still taste the edges of his intent but it was infinitely subtle. Subdued by patience, imbibed with the same sense of peace she’d felt as she’d come through his garden gate. She felt like she belonged here. In Harry’s arms. And kissing as he allowed her to choose the pace.

A novel idea, and tentatively she opened her mouth and tilted her tongue to his. Just a flutter. His arms tightened around her, he made a tiny sound in his throat as he pulled her closer into his body, and her other hand drifted to encircle his neck of its own free will.

And so the kiss gradually deepened, evolved, ripened into something tangibly alive and nourishing and enriching to her soul. To both their souls, she decided as she pushed closer, suddenly unable to be hard enough against his chest. She sighed with the rightness and connection and joy she hadn’t experienced before.

Then, with a premonition she hadn’t expected, like the dampness of a sun shower, she felt the tears in her eyes, a poignancy of devastation to come for when it must end, and that thought gave the connection a heartrending simplicity she could barely endure.

It seemed Harry’s arms were a place she’d been searching for and never known she’d missed, and when he gently withdrew, as warned, she was bereft.

How to hide what she’d just discovered? She stepped back and turned away and behind her back she could feel the wall rise between them—not surprising for two fort dwellers—and no doubt Harry’s closed expression mirrored hers.

This was dangerous and foolhardy for a woman only just recovered from a broken heart. How could she have been so stupid?

‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,’ he murmured. She turned back, her face mostly under control, the tears wiped away surreptitiously. He smiled with his mouth this time, but not his eyes, no humour in his face. She knew just how he felt. ‘Perhaps I should show you the house and grounds?’

She nodded, and they walked into the house, but again he captured her hand and she didn’t want him to let her go.

The afternoon was surreal after that. The house seemed spread over many levels; because of the hillside, it floated up and down between rooms. Floated like the aura that floated between them.

Each window and landing gave space and light and vibrant exposure to the lime of the rice fields or the shininess of the tropical foliage. Each window beckoned like the heat that was building between them.

Furnishings, fountains and secluded benches in lush green nooks in the gardens all served as a backdrop for just one more kiss. Nothing more, no huge urgency, which in itself seemed surreal when they both knew their time together was ending.

One more lean into Harry’s shoulder. One more stroke of his hand down her back. Both pretending the day wasn’t going to end and talking of things not of the future and not of the past but of their inner thoughts. Music, books, morals.

As the afternoon lengthened, so did the kisses. The embraces became more intense, a slow build of fever
was upon them like a tropical malady that had only one cure. And slowly, surely, inescapably, they finally drifted to the house and the master bedroom.

The huge four-poster with its snow-white mosquito net draped above seemed to smile at them. Dark, Balinese carved furniture stood like nodding sentries around them as he sat her down on the edge of the bed and stared into her eyes.

Bonnie knew she shouldn’t be there, could see the risk of regret that tomorrow could bring her, the whisper of the voice of reason warning her she would lament her weakness, but this was all she could give. This wasn’t weakness, this was strength. Her healing gift to Harry.

Bonnie couldn’t leave him suspended, marking time, when he should move on. She didn’t know why she felt she had the power to change that. That she was the one who could help battle his demons and ease his fear of more damage to his soul.

The tears tightened behind her eyes and her chest ached for him—this man who had broken through her defences with frightening ease—ached for his broken heart she wanted to mend.

But what about hers? This was crazy, and dangerous, and guaranteed to hurt later, but then, so would not being there with Harry. Not doing this. Harry had so many demons, and hers had flown—she wasn’t sure when but she felt gloriously free.

Such was irony, that thought flitted away with the next kiss and the feel of him against her. Still he held her hand, as if he’d never let her go, and she allowed the fantasy its rein as they lay down fully clothed and
began to kiss again. They could no more stop kissing than stop breathing. It was as if they both knew it was their last chance.

Kisses so tender, so sweet. Kisses that tugged at her very soul. She could feel the beat of his heart, thumping under the solid wall of his chest against hers, pumping faster as his kisses deepened, his need building, matching her own rising need until she too was breathless. Burning, aching, then suddenly afraid.

She should be afraid. The thought drifted in and out of her sensation-filled mind, afraid of him, afraid of herself and her own body she suddenly knew so little about, consequences, her body that was at the same time so innocent and yet so wanton.

Harry drew away, lifted his mouth from hers, stroked her cheek, and searched her face for a change of heart—again he’d read her mind and answered her unspoken plea like he had earlier that day—and she knew she had only to shake her head and he would hold her gently and be still.

And so the fear drifted away. Disappeared in the blue of his eyes and the understanding she could feel in her soul. How could this be wrong?

Now there was no fear. Only the knowledge that this was right. Nothing could be more right. And when they came together, their hearts beat in time, just as their bodies entwined like the vines outside the window.

Somehow it had become her goal to free him from his past. Her one focus to make him see how beautiful the world was and that he was allowing it to pass. She knew in her soul he was too good a man to leave like
this and in that way she could never regret her gift to him—or his to her.

Afterwards he held her, dried her tears of joy, whispered his own amazement, kissed her eyelids and smoothed her hair.

Eventually, after much gentle teasing and quests of discovery, they showered together in the tiled room off the master bedroom with the window wide-open to the now empty fields. The workers would be home with their families; the birds too seemed to have settled.

The afternoon closed towards evening and they drifted toward the set table, ‘Will you come back?’ he asked, and the reality of her leaving eased between them like a third person.

‘We’ll see.’ And they both knew that was a no. Yes, she was leaving. Tomorrow and a huge ocean and an even huger land mass would be between them. She’d glimpsed that spending more time with Harry would make her miss him more and she was almost glad she wouldn’t have the chance. There was no future for them and she didn’t want to regret what they’d had.

Perilously, they’d felt too right for people who would never fit their lives together, so no false promises had been made or exchanged. And that was right too. But he would always hold a place in her heart, as she hoped she would have in his.

Somewhere inside both of them peace remained.

Dinner was served on the veranda, two seats side by side, hips touching, and strangely there was no awkwardness between them to ruin the enjoyment of the
colours of the approaching night and the last minutes of their time together.

Ketut had prepared a palate of ginger salad and garlic prawns with nasi goreng, everything redolent of the fresh coriander the Balinese loved. Everything tasted good. Shone brighter, smelt divine.

For Harry the last of the afternoon sun slipped away from an amazing day, a day of birth, warmth and approaching goodbyes from this woman who had tilted his world in a new direction. Perhaps because all those issues lay beneath their conversations they finally talked a little about the past and themselves. Though Bonnie found it easier to be open than he did.

She spoke of the nursing positions she’d held in the Outback. He’d seen the places, finally mentioned them but not in the context of the work he still kept from her, that he’d had flown in and out of them and for the first time in a long time a tiny stirring of regret for that life flickered in him.

He almost told her of Steve’s offer. Confessed he was the medic who didn’t show. His fault she had to leave early. But he didn’t. Uluru was too close to the township of Katherine where Clara had died and already he’d compromised himself. The beginnings of shame for all he hadn’t told her began to colour his evening.

‘If you come to Bali again, I could show you more she has to offer.’

Bonnie narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You never know the future but I hope you won’t be here if I ever come back. I don’t know what you’re hiding from, Harry, but I hope you’ll have decided to move on and do something kinder to yourself.’

Harry blinked. Nobody spoke to him like that. She was nothing if not forthright. ‘Or you could come back,’ he said.

‘Or you could move on. Don’t waste your life, Harry.’

He could have spoken of his mother’s friend and how she’d started a birth centre for the women of the village. Those who couldn’t afford to pay for a midwife in Ubud.

He knew she’d love that. How before his marriage he’d worked there several months a year, and loved it. How the ex-pats now used it as well because of the women-centred care they could have that so opposed the medically orientated care they would otherwise receive. But he’d not been back to the centre since Clara’s death.

‘Thank you for the day, Harry. It’s been lovely.’ She glanced at her watch, briefly touched his hand on the table and then stood up. Ketut appeared from the dimness.

Bonnie shook hands with Ketut. ‘Thank you for a wonderful dinner.’

‘You must come back.’ Ketut slanted a glance at Harry who, to Bonnie’s eyes, avoided the older man’s suggestion.

‘Maybe one day,’ she said, and gathered her bag.

When they’d walked along the rice field path, she turned once more to look up at his house and it seemed so natural to have her hand in Harry’s. ‘It’s been a magical afternoon and evening. Thank you.’

Harry helped her into the car. ‘Thank you,’ he said, but he was feeling more than a little battered. He wasn’t
sure what had possessed him to allow this woman as close as he had or why he’d broken his rule and brought her to his house. Let alone opened himself up and then kissed her like a hungry schoolboy and whisked her off to bed like a one-night stand. Of course, there had been an amazing connection he hadn’t been prepared for. He’d been telling himself how dangerous she was since he had first laid eyes on her. Not a good choice. And ramifications he’d pay for later when he couldn’t sleep.

Imagine if they hadn’t been careful. He had a sudden vision of Bonnie with his child and the fear leapt into his throat like a rabid dog. He’d known her two days and pictures of disaster there were such that he knew he’d never recover from them. Thank goodness they’d been sensible there at least. Both of them.

It was deeply fortunate she was about to get on a plane and fly away. He’d never met anyone like her. Didn’t understand how she could be so forthright, even hard on him, one minute and so giving the next. Perhaps it was the fact that she didn’t think of herself when she gave and that shattered him. Her selfless generosity.

The drive to her hotel was accomplished with little of the usual traffic delay and all too soon she was turning to face him with her room key in her hand.

‘Thank you for bringing me home, Harry.’

What could he say? She’d turned his life upside down in forty-eight hours. ‘Thank you for spending your time with me.’

She stepped into his arms and it was his turn to close his eyes as he hugged her to him. He rested his chin on the top of her head for a moment and breathed in
the vanilla scent of her hair that was already painfully familiar. Soaked in the feel of her against his chest, all soft, yet supple, a little too thin, and painfully dear already. He was mad, standing here ready to hurt as soon as she moved.