St Matthew's Passion: A Medical Romance (10 page)

He caught her looking and said, sounding genuinely puzzled, ‘Something the matter?’

‘
Fin.’ She took a step forward. ‘We need to talk.’

‘
Uh oh. The words every man learns to dread.’ He half-smiled, but still sounded perplexed if not downright concerned. Melissa approached the desk, her heart trying to force its way up into her throat. She was terribly afraid that her voice would seize up, and for a moment she didn’t say anything.

  
Fin came out from behind the desk. He must have seen something in her face that alarmed him because he moved close to her and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. ‘Melissa, what is it? What’s happened?’

She forced herself to lift her head and meet his gaze. Up close, she could smell the faint residue of the morning’s aftershave on him, the scent familiar to her from his car that night. His eyes probed hers, flicking from one to the other in turn.

‘Nothing’s happened,’ she murmured. ‘That’s the problem.’

Somehow his face was closer, though she hadn’t noticed him move. His pupils were large and dilated within their circling grey irises. Normally they’d be smaller to accommodate the closeness of her own face. Their size meant he was stimulated.

Through the glazed window came the muffled nighttime sounds of the city. In the room Melissa could hear the low intake and expulsion of his breath, the higher rhythm of her own respiration.

He said, ‘What do you mean?’

Was there a huskiness to his voice which hadn’t been there before? Her own voice barely more than a whisper, she said: ‘You know very well what I mean, Mr Finmore-Gage.’

She became aware that his hand was still on her shoulder, a gentle, firm weight. Slowly Melissa brought her opposite hand up and laid it on his. The knuckles and bones were solid under the skin of her palm. She’d watched those hands countless times, usually sheathed in latex gloves and so deft, so delicate despite their power. But this was the first time she’d actually felt one.

His other hand came up and touched her upper arm, lingering there. His pupils were so wide and black they dominated his eyes. Lightly, his breath touched her face. She closed her eyes, savouring it.

‘
Melissa,’ he said, his voice catching, ‘We can’t -’

‘
Can’t what?’ This time she moved in, so close that her forehead was nearly touching his chin. She ran her hand up over his wrist, feeling the hair on the back of his forearm beneath her palm. Now she could see the base of his throat under the unbuttoned collar and the hint of dark hair on his chest.

‘
Can’t do this,’ he whispered, and, slipping a finger under her chin, he gently tilted her head back and lowered his mouth to hers.

As if time had slowed, Melissa was conscious of every individual component of the kiss: the dry softness of his lips, which yielded to the firm pressure of his teeth; as she parted her own lips she felt the wet probing of his tongue. Her arms wound up and around his neck, her hands sliding through his hair, pressing his head down on to her. At the same time his hands slipped from her arms and around her waist, pulling her body against his, then sliding up to splay across her back.

They locked together more tightly, Melissa arching her back so that her breasts pushed against his chest through the material of their clothes. The kiss continued, a force she felt was utterly beyond her control, a living phenomenon in its own right, his tongue exploring her mouth as hers did his. As his hands clasped her more insistently against him she pressed her hips forwards so that she made full contact with his groin. She felt the hardness of his arousal and it excited her further, driving a gasp from her in a brief instant when their mouths broke contact.

Fin swung them round so that Melissa’s back was to the desk, then slid his hands down her back as her bottom touched the edge of the wooden surface. Her legs parted and he moved in so that his hips were between them. Melissa was wearing a dress that ended just above the knee - informal for the party, but not vampish - and the hemline rucked up as her bottom shifted back on to the desk.

He pulled his head back, breaking the kiss, and stared at her eyes, his mouth open, his breathing guttural, its rapidness keeping pace with her own. Melissa gripped his hair in both fists and drew his face down again. Fin buried his mouth in her throat, the side of her arched neck, his tongue flicking and his teeth lightly nipping.

His hands slipped down to her bottom and, more urgent now, he shifted her further back on the desk, the movement sending a pile of papers toppling to crash on the floor. Melissa clamped her thighs closed about his hips and slid both palms down his back, revelling in the smooth, broad expanse of the muscles there beneath his shirt, taut and sinuous. Crooking her fingers, she pressed her nails in, anchoring her hands.

She felt his hands leave her bottom and fumble between their bodies, heard the jangle of his belt buckle as he unfastened it and the rustle of material. She released her grip on his back with one hand and groped blindly at her own hip, finding the elastic of her panties under her rucked-up dress and pulling them down, shifting and wriggling her bottom to free them. Melissa was distantly thankful that she was wearing stockings, not tights. Fin moved his hips away as he lowered his trousers and pants and she kicked her panties off her foot, still clad in its kitten heel.

Melissa pulled Fin to her, the blood burning rhythmically through her entire body. She let him push her back on to the desk and drew him with her, feeling his hardness nudging between her legs. She was ready for him and closed her thighs around his hips once more as slowly, exquisitely, he entered her.

Fin sank down on to her, his weight pinning her to the desk. Melissa pressed her mouth and nose against his hair to stifle a cry, each thrust driving her to what she believed was the highest peak of pleasure she could bear before the next pushed her even higher. She caught his earlobe between her teeth, breathed into his ear, ‘Fin, Fin,’ and she heard his own breaths turn into gasps.

As she felt herself reaching the ultimate peak, Fin raised himself off her, supporting his weight on his braced arms, and stared into her face, his forehead sheened with sweat, his eyes on fire. Melissa let go, abandoning herself to the orgy of sensation that she’d been keeping at bay, and this time she did cry out, long and low, as helpless as if death had claimed her, tightening her legs around his waist as she watched his mouth stretch wide and felt him reach his own climax inside her.

***

They lay like that, in each other’s arms, for what seemed like an hour but must have been only minutes. Melissa was aware of a continuing flood of sensations, as though what had just happened had somehow opened the gates to a world of experience which had always been there, but which had been hidden from her by a film of ignorance. She was conscious of the slow deceleration and deepening of her breathing and Fin’s; of the hard, work-roughened wood of the desk surface beneath her back and bare bottom; of Fin’s weight, warm and solid and muscular, bearing down on her.

Just when his breathing had slowed to the point where she thought he might have fallen asleep, Fin raised his head to look at her. His eyes smiled at her. She watched them move over her features like those of an artist appreciating a painting. Then Fin lowered his mouth to hers and they kissed again, long and slow.

A thought struck her. ‘When does the cleaner come round?’

‘Eleven,’ he said innocently. She craned her neck to peer at the wall clock. It was five to eleven. Then she saw he was laughing silently.

‘
She’s been already,’ he said. ‘Nobody’s going to walk in.’

Melissa slapped him lightly on the bottom, then felt strangely embarrassed. It was a curiously intimate thing to do, and despite what had just happened between them – one of the most intimate acts two people could share – she felt a certain shyness towards him still.

Slowly, unhurriedly, they disentangled themselves from each other, tidied up. Melissa stole glances at Fin’s face from time to time, caught him looking at her. There was a reserve between them that she could understand. She wasn’t used to reaching this stage with a man so suddenly, though she had to admit it wasn’t as if she’d just met Fin. And she suspected that Fin wasn’t the kind of man who took a casual approach to anything, whether it was his work or his relations with women.

When they’d collected the spilled papers and returned some semblance of order to his desk, Melissa stood a few feet away from Fin, facing him, her hands clasped demurely in front of her.

‘So,’ she said. ‘What happens now?’

He gazed at her, the hint of a dimple at the side of his mouth again. There was silence for three seconds. Four.

A couple of seconds too long
, she thought.

Fin ran a hand through his hair, glanced away.

‘Melissa,’ he said.

She felt a cold stab.
Oh no. No, it’s not going to be like this.

He looked at her again, as if he realised it would be cowardly to avoid eye contact. ‘Melissa, we can’t.’

Her legs weakened. She was grateful that the edge of the desk was nearby so she could steady herself against it without appearing to stumble.

‘
Why –’ Her mouth was parched. She swallowed, tried again. ‘Why not?’

‘
It just… can’t be.’ His voice was slow, careful, as though he was having difficulty keeping it steady.

‘
Don’t you want to?’ she whispered.

‘
Yes. Of course I want to.’ There was no hesitation there, no faltering. She noticed that.

‘
Then why? Is there someone else?’

‘
No.’ Again he passed a hand through his hair. ‘Not really.’

‘
Not
really
.’ Anger was strengthening her voice. ‘That means yes, there is.’

‘
Melissa, I’m sorry.’

‘
Is she the one you were buying jewellery for? The other day, in John Lewis?’

He stared at her. Despite her hurt, her anger, her disbelief at what seemed to be happening, Melissa couldn’t help a rush of desire as she studied his face.

‘You were there?’

‘
Yes. I was going to come up and say hello.’ Suddenly she wondered if he thought – ‘I wasn’t following you, if that’s what you think.’

Fin shook his head. His features, so strong, so fascinating, were twisted in agony. ‘I was buying the necklace for you.’

It was Melissa’s turn to stare.

‘
Believe it or not,’ he went on. ‘I was going to give it to you some time before Christmas.’

Thoughts tumbled through Melissa’s head, leaving her utterly disorientated. ‘Then why didn’t you?’ she managed.

‘Because…’ He was either groping for the right words, or trying to find the actual reason. ‘Because I came to my senses. I realised it would be a mistake. To give you jewellery, to continue leading you on. That’s why I didn’t come to the party tonight. I didn’t want to give you a false impression any longer.’

‘
False impression? What was that all about just now? On the desk? Just a roll in the hay for you?’

‘
No.’
Again, his answer was quick, certain. ‘It meant far more to me than that. That’s the problem. It’s the first step down a path we can’t take.’

‘
But why can’t we? If it’s what you want...’ Her voice was taking on an edge of hysteria, she knew, and she fought to bring it under control. But the tears were behind her eyes and in her throat.

For the first time since the start of the conversation Fin dropped his eyes. ‘I - can’t explain.’

‘You owe me an explanation.’

‘
I know. But I can’t.’ He lifted his gaze once more, and in his eyes she saw despair, and torment. ‘And it makes me a weak man. A despicable one.’

Melissa closed her own eyes, drew a deep breath, held it. When she was feeling a degree more centred, she said, quietly: ‘Are you sure about this? Sure you won’t have a change of heart in five minutes, or a day, or a week? Because I can’t cope with this uncertainty, Fin. I really can’t. It’s tearing me apart.’

He stepped forward, reaching a hand out but too far away to touch her. In his face she saw anguish of a kind she’d only ever seen before in the bereaved relatives of patients she’d lost.

‘
Melissa, I’m so, so sorry. But it can’t go any further. We have to stop it here.’

She kept her features impassive, she thought; but a slow, warm tear betrayed her, sliding down her cheek. Angrily, she brushed it away.

‘See you tomorrow.’

He took several more steps forward. ‘Melissa -’

She headed for the door. Over her shoulder she said, ‘There’s an afternoon theatre list. I’ll make sure the patients are prepped in time.’

‘
Melissa!’

If she’d slowed, he might have reached her, but that would have prolonged the encounter and made things worse. Melissa stumbled down the corridor, not caring if he was staring after her, not caring about anything, unaware of anything but the choking in her chest and throat and the stinging in her eyes and the sense of being sucked into a vortex and spiralling down, down.