Misty and the Single Dad

CHAPTER NINE

HOW had they become a couple in the eyes of the town? It had just…happened. There was little gossip, no snide rumours of the Frank variety. There was simply acceptance of the fact that Nick was sharing Misty’s house, he was an eligible widower and Bailey needed a mother.

‘And he’s rich!’ Louise, the Grade Five teacher, did an Internet search and discovered a great deal more information than Misty knew. ‘He can demand whatever he wants for his designs,’ she informed Misty, awed. ‘People are queueing for him to work for them. If I’d realised what we had here I’d have kicked Dan and the kids out of the house and invited him home myself. You’re so lucky.’

That was the consensus. Misty was popular in the town. A lonely childhood with two ailing, elderly grandparents made the locals regard her with sympathy. They knew of her dream to travel, and they knew she couldn’t. This seemed a wonderful solution.

Especially since Nick was just…there. Wherever Misty was.

‘So tell me what sort of steak you like for dinner,’ he’d ask as he collected Bailey from school, making no secret of the fact that they were eating together. Well, why wouldn’t they? The dogs and Bailey insisted the door dividing the house stayed open. Nick was enjoying cooking-‘Something I’ve never been able to try’-and it seemed churlish to eat TV dinners while the most tantalizing smells drifted from the other side.

They settled into a routine. After dinner they’d take the dogs to the beach. They carried Ketchup to the hard sand, set him down, and he sniffed the smells and limped a little way while Bailey and Took bounced and whooped around him.

Then Nick put Bailey to bed while Misty went back to say goodnight to Gran-whose sleep seemed to be growing deeper and deeper-and when she came home Nick was always on the veranda watching for her.

He worked solidly through the day-she knew he did for he showed her his plans-but he always put his work aside to wait for her. So she’d turn into the drive and Nick would be in his rocker, beer in hand. The dogs were on the steps. Bailey was sleeping just beyond.

It was seductive in its sweetness. Like the call of the siren…

Sometimes she’d resist. She did have work to do. When that happened Nick simply smiled and let her go. But, more and more, she’d weaken and sit on the veranda with him. No, she didn’t drink cocoa but it was a near thing. He’d talk about the boat he was working on. He’d ask about her day. And then…as the night stretched out, maybe he’d mention a place he’d been to and she couldn’t help but ask for details. So he’d tell her. Things he’d done. Places he’d been.

She was living her adventures vicariously, she thought. Nick had had adventures for her.

And then the moon would rise over the horizon and she’d realise the time and she’d rise…

And he’d rise with her and always, now, he’d kiss her. That was okay, for kissing Nick was starting to seem as natural as breathing. It seemed right and wonderful-and after a month she thought it seemed as if he’d always been a part of her life. And part of Banksia Bay.

He was painting for the repertory society. He was repairing the lifeboat at the yacht club. He was making friends all over town.

And her friends were starting to plan her future.

‘You know Doreen’s mother’s coming from England next term,’ Louise said thoughtfully one school lunchtime. ‘Doreen would love to get a bit of casual teaching while her mum’s here to mind the kids. If you and Nick were wondering when to take a honeymoon…’

Whoa. She tossed a chalkboard duster at Louise. Louise ducked and laughed but Misty suspected she’d go away and plant the same idea in Nick’s head.

So what? She should be pleased. Nick warmed parts of her she hadn’t known were cold. He held her and he made her feel every inch a woman.

She should embrace this new direction with everything she possessed. She knew she should.

But then Nick would tell her about watching the sunset over the Sahara, or Bailey would say, ‘You remember that humungous waterfall we walked under where there was a whole room behind?’

Or Nick would see a picture in the paper and say, ‘Bailey, do you remember this? Your mother and I took you there…’

And she’d wait until they’d gone to bed and she’d check the Internet and see what they’d been referring to. The dogs would lie on her feet, a wonderful warm comfort, like a hot-water bottle. Loving her. Holding her safe.

Holding her here.

‘So when do you think he’ll pop the question?’ Louise demanded as term end grew closer, and she blushed and said,

‘He hasn’t even…I mean we’re not…’

‘You mean you haven’t slept with him yet?’ Her friend threw up her hands in mock horror. ‘What’s keeping you, girl?’

Nothing. Everything. Louise got another duster thrown at her and Misty went to lay the situation before Gran.

‘I love him,’ she told Gran and wondered why it didn’t feel as splendid as it sounded.

Maybe it was sadness that was making her feel ambivalent about this wonderful direction her life was taking. For Gran didn’t respond; there was no longer any way she could pretend she did. Her hands didn’t move now when Ketchup lay on the bed. There was no response at all.

Oh, Gran…

If she didn’t have Nick…

But she did have Nick. She’d go home from the hospital and Nick would hold her, knowing intuitively that things were bad. She’d sink into his embrace and he’d hold her for as long as she needed to be held. He’d kiss her, deeply, lovingly, but he never pushed. He’d prop her into a rocker and make her dinner and threaten her with cocoa if she didn’t eat it.

He and Bailey would make her smile again.

What more could a girl want?

‘Are you sure he hasn’t asked?’ Louise demanded a week later.

She shook her head, exasperated. ‘No.’

‘He looks like a man who’s proposed. And been accepted.’

‘How could I miss a proposal?’

‘You’re not encouraging him.’ Louise glared. ‘Get proactive. Jump his bones. Get pregnant!’

‘Oi!’

‘He’s a hot-blooded male. There must be something holding him back.’

She knew there was. It was her reluctance. He sensed it and he wouldn’t push.

All she had to do was smile. All she had to do was accept what he was offering.

She would, she thought. She must.

And then Gran…

Five in the morning was the witching hour, the hour when defences were down, when everything seemed at its worst. For some reason she woke. She felt strange. Empty.

Something was wrong. She threw back the covers and the phone rang.

Gran.

‘She’s dead.’ She barely knew if she’d said it out loud. She was in the hall, standing by the phone, staring at nothing. And then Nick was there, holding her, kissing her hair, just holding.

‘I…I need to go.’

‘Of course you do. Put something warm on,’ he said, and while she dressed-her fingers didn’t work so well-she heard him on the phone. Then someone was at the front door. There was a short bark from Ketchup, quickly silenced, and she went out to find Louise in the hall.

Louise’s husband farmed the neighbouring property, and Louise’s son was in the same grade as Bailey. Louise and Misty often swapped classes, so Bailey already knew Louise well.

She hugged Misty now, tight. ‘Oh, Misty, love, she was a lovely lady, your gran, she’ll be missed. Nick says he’s going to the hospital with you, so we’ve agreed that I’ll stay here until Bailey wakes. Then I’ll scoop him home with me. Is it okay if I tell him what’s happened?’

‘It’s okay,’ she said numbly.

‘And it’s Saturday so there’s no pressure,’ Louise said. ‘If Bailey’s okay with it, maybe he can have a sleepover. That’ll leave you to get on with things. But we can talk later. You’ll be wanting to get to the hospital. Give her a kiss goodbye from me,’ she told Misty and she hugged her again and propelled her out of the door.

Nick held her as they walked to the car. She shivered in the dark and moved closer. She’d known this was coming. It wasn’t a shock. But…

‘She’s all I’ve had for so long.’

‘I wish I’d met her,’ Nick said. ‘Your gran raised you to be who you are. She must have been wonderful.’

She huddled into the passenger seat while Nick drove and she thought of his words. They were a comfort.

And Nick had known Gran. He lived in Gran’s house. He walked on the beach Gran loved. He cooked from her recipe books. And once… She’d needed to stay back late at school. It had been late before she’d made it to the hospital-something she hated. Gran probably no longer knew she came every day but there was a chance…

So she’d rushed in, feeling dreadful, to find Nick beside the bed with Bailey curled up beside him.

Nick was reading aloud, Anne of Green Gables, Gran’s favourite book of all time. It wouldn’t be hard to guess it, for the book had been lying on the bedside table, practically disintegrating with age.

She’d stopped short and Nick had smiled at her, but fleetingly, and he hadn’t stopped reading until he reached the end of the chapter.

‘I guess that’s all we have time for tonight, Mrs Lawrence,’ he’d said as he drew to a close. ‘Misty’ll take over now. Bailey and I will leave you while she says goodnight.’

Who knew what Gran had been able to understand, but Nick had read to her, and for now it felt right that he take her into the hospital to say goodbye.

‘Thank you,’ she told him as he drove.

‘It is my very great honour,’ he said. ‘This is a privilege.’

The next few days passed in a blur. Too many people, too much organization, too great a bruise on her heart to take in that Gran finally wasn’t here. If she’d had to do this by herself…

She didn’t. Nick was with her every step of the way. That first night she clung and he held her. If Nick had carried her to his bed she would have gone. But…

‘I don’t want you to come to me in grief,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll hold you until you sleep.’

‘You’re stronger than I am.’ She tried for a chuckle. ‘If you think I can lie beside you and sleep…’

‘Okay, maybe it’s not possible,’ he said and tugged her tight and kissed her, strong, warm, solid. ‘So separate bedrooms still.’

‘Nick…’

‘No,’ he said, almost sternly. ‘I want all of you, Misty. When you come to me it’s not to be because you’re raw and vulnerable. It’s because you want me.’

‘I do want you.’

‘For the right reasons?’ He set her back, tilted her chin and his smile was rueful. ‘Loving you is taking all my strength but I won’t go back on what I promised. I won’t rush you.’

He was stronger than she was. There was nothing she wanted more than to lie with him, to find peace in his body, to find her home…

And she knew, as he turned away, that he sensed it. That she was torn.

There was still a part of her that wasn’t his.

She and Gran had a contact point for her mother-a solicitor in London. A postcard had arrived about five years ago, adding an email address, ‘In case anything ever happens’. She emailed her mother the morning Gran died. She left messages with the solicitor but she heard nothing.

So what was new? She went about the funeral arrangements and she could only feel thankful that Nick was with her. He didn’t interfere. The decisions were hers to make, but he was just…there. His presence meant that at the end of a gruelling time with the funeral director she could stand in Nick’s arms and let his strength and his warmth comfort her. She wasn’t alone.

The funeral was huge-Gran had been truly loved. Misty sat in the front pew, and who cared what people thought, Nick sat beside her.

She spoke at the ceremony, for who else was to speak for Gran? When she choked at the end, it was Nick who rose and held her.

This was the end of a life well lived. She couldn’t be too sad that Gran was finally gone. But what did make her desperately sad…

Where was her mother?

She remembered her grandfather’s death, terrifyingly sudden, her grandmother devastated.

‘But your mother will come home now,’ Gran had whispered, her voice cracked with anguish, and Misty knew she was searching for something that would lighten this awful grief.

‘I expect she will,’ she said, but of course she didn’t.

So why should she come now?

If Nick hadn’t been here…

All through that long day, as neighbours came, hugged her, comforted her, Nick was beside her, ready to step in, ready to say the right thing, ready to touch her hand, to make sure she knew he was there for her.

The locals responded to it. Nick had been here for little more than a month, yet already he was treated as one of them. He was Misty’s partner. Misty’s man.

If he wanted to marry her she’d say yes, she thought, as the day faded to dusk. It might not be the right thing to think on this day but it steadied her. She had Nick and Bailey and two dogs and a house, and a job she loved and a town full of people who loved her.

Her house was full of food and drink, full of people who’d loved Gran. There was laughter and stories and tears, all about Gran.

‘I keep thinking about Paris,’ someone said-it was an old lady Misty scarcely recognised. And then she did. This was Marigold, her grandmother’s bridesmaid. She remembered Marigold visiting them when she’d been a child. Marigold lived in Melbourne now, with her daughter. That she’d come so far to say goodbye to her friend made her want to cry.

‘Paris?’

‘Before we were married,’ Marigold said. ‘Your grandmother and I scraped enough to buy tickets on a ship and just went. Our parents were horrified. Oh, the fun… Not a bean between us. We got jobs waitressing. We taught each other French. We had such adventures. The night we both got bedbugs… There were two lovely English boys who let us use their room. They slept on the floor so we could have clean mattresses but the scandal when Madame found out where we’d slept; you’d have thought we were worse than bedbugs.’

Her old face wrinkled, torn between laughter and tears. ‘Such a good friend. Such memories. Memories to last a lifetime.’

‘Gran went to Paris?’

‘She never let me tell you,’ Marigold said. ‘She told your mother and look what happened.’ Then she glanced at Nick with the unqualified appreciation of a very old lady for a piece of eye candy. ‘I can tell you now, though,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t leave this to racket around the world like your mother. This is lovely.’

For some reason, Misty was finding it hard not to cry. Why now, when she’d held it together all day? ‘I…’

‘Misty’s had enough,’ Nick, interceding gently. ‘Today’s been huge. If you’ll excuse her…’

‘That’s right; you look after her,’ Marigold said approvingly. ‘She’s a good girl, our Misty. She always does the right thing.’

The crowd left. Nick started clearing the mess but he shooed Misty to bed. The dogs were on her bed, warm and comforting, but she felt cold.

Gran had gone to Paris?

And then…the sounds of a car arriving. She glanced at her bedside table-eleven o’clock? What? Bailey had wanted to stay with Natalie tonight. Was something wrong? Had Natalie’s parents brought him home?

She heard a car door banging. Nick’s greeting was cautious-not the greeting he’d give Bailey. She heard a woman’s voice, raised in sharp query.

‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house?’

She knew that voice.

It was her mother.

It took her five minutes to get her face in order; to get her thoughts in order, to get dressed and calm enough to face her mother. By that time, Grace was already in the kitchen, drinking coffee, dragging on a cigarette.

She looked older, Misty thought, but then why wouldn’t she? How long since she’d seen her? Ten years?

She was wearing tight jeans and black boots to above her knees. The boots were stilettos, their heels digging into the worn wooden floor. She was too thin. Her hair was black-definitely not what Misty remembered. It was pulled up into a too-tight knot and tied with a brilliant scarf that dragged the colour from her face.

This was a new look mother. Grace had a new look every time she saw her. Not so hard when she left years between visits.

She saw Misty in the doorway, stubbed her cigarette out and rose to embrace her. ‘Misty. Sweetheart. You look awful.’

‘Mum.’ The word was hard to say.

Nick was standing beside the stove, silently watchful. He’d obviously made Grace coffee. He motioned to the kettle but Misty shook her head.

Her mother was here.

‘Why have you come?’ she asked, maybe not tactfully, but the emotions of the last few days had left her raw and unable to do anything but react instinctively.

‘I was in Australia, darling, when the lawyer contacted me. In Perth.’ Her mother sat down again and lit another cigarette. ‘Wasn’t that lucky?’

‘How long have you been in Australia?’

‘About a year.’ A careless wave of the cigarette. Took had emerged from the bedroom to check out this new arrival. The cigarette came within inches of her nose and Took retreated.

Misty felt like doing the same.

A year…

‘I let you know about Gran’s strokes,’ she said. ‘I contacted the lawyer every month saying how ill she was.’

‘Yes, but there was nothing I could do. Hospitals are not my scene. It was bad enough with Dad.’

‘You only visited Grandpa for ten minutes. Once.’

‘Don’t you get preachy, miss,’ her mother said tartly. ‘I’m here now.’

‘Not for the funeral. They’re not your scene, either?’

Nick said nothing. He stood silent, wary.

‘No,’ her mother said. ‘They’re not. I can’t pretend grief for someone I hardly knew. But I’m here now.’ She glanced at Nick, considering. ‘You two aren’t in my bedroom, are you?’

‘No.’ Her mother’s bedroom was on her side of the house. Beside hers.

‘Excellent. No one told me you had a man.’

‘I don’t have a man. Nick’s my tenant.’

‘Some tenant.’ She yawned. ‘Such a long flight. I had to take a cheap seat. Did you know Fivkin and I have split? So boring. The money…you have no idea. But now…’ She glanced around the kitchen thoughtfully and Misty suddenly knew exactly why she was here.

‘I don’t know any Fivkin,’ she said, playing for time.

‘Lovely man. Oh, we did such things. But now…’ Her mother’s face hardened. ‘Some chit. He married her. Married! And the paltry amount he settled on me makes me feel ill. But that’s okay. I’m fine. I’ve been checking out real estate prices here. We’ll make a killing.’

‘We?’

‘Well, you and I,’ Grace said, smiling tenderly at her daughter. ‘The lawyer said I may need to give you a portion. You have been doing the caring, after all.’

It took only this. All of a sudden, Misty wanted to be ill. Badly.

‘Leave it,’ Nick said, and suddenly he was no longer on the sidelines. He was by Misty’s side, holding her, his anger vibrating as a tangible thing. ‘This is not the time.’

‘To speak of money?’ Her mother rose, too. ‘I suppose you think I’m insensitive. It’s just that I need to sort it and get away again. I’ve been stuck in Perth for too long. I hate keeping still. I talked to Mum years ago about selling this place but she wouldn’t. Now…’

‘Is there a will?’ Nick asked. He was almost holding Misty up.

‘I…yes,’ Misty said.

‘Whatever it says, it doesn’t matter,’ Grace told her. ‘I’m the only daughter. Misty inherits after I go.’

‘Misty’s going to bed,’ Nick said, cutting across her with brutal protectiveness. ‘We’ll talk this through in the morning.’

‘We?’

‘You fight Misty, you fight me,’ he said.

‘I’m sure Misty doesn’t want to fight. She’s a good girl.’

She was going to be ill. Seriously. If she stayed here…

‘We’re going,’ Nick said, ushering her through the door. ‘Look after yourself, Grace. Misty’s had a terrible few days and she’s exhausted. I need to look after your daughter, and I will.’

She’d thought she was shivering before. Now… She couldn’t stop. Her whole body shook. Nick held her and swore. Or she thought he swore. She didn’t actually recognise the words but he kept right on until finally what he was saying cut through her shock and misery.

He was definitely cursing-but not in English.

She let it be for a while, letting the string of invective wash over her, finding it weirdly comforting. Being held by Nick and listening to…

‘Russian?’ she managed at last, and he said a few more carefully chosen terms of obvious invective.

Distracted, she pulled away. ‘What are you saying?’

‘What do you think I’m saying?’

‘Swearing?’

‘A nice boy like me?’

It was impossible to keep shaking when he was smiling. ‘A nice boy like you,’ she said, and she found herself smiling back. ‘Definitely swearing.’

He tugged her back again, into his arms. Against his heart. ‘Don’t stop me,’ he said. ‘Otherwise I’m going to have to slug your mother and it’s already been a black day. Ending up in jail might put the cap on it.’ He waited until she was nestled against him again. He rested his chin on her hair and swore again.

‘What is that?’ she managed.

‘Something a good girl shouldn’t listen to.’

She choked. ‘Language?’

‘Tajikistan,’ he said. ‘It has the best cusses. Uzbekistan’s good and so’s Peru. Mozambique’s not bad and Kazakhstan adds variety but, when I’m really against it, good old Tajikistan comes up trumps every time. Tonight’s definitely a Tajikistan night.’

‘That’s my yurt territory.’

‘Yurts and swear words. A truly excellent country.’

How could you not smile at yurts and Tajikistan swear words? She was almost forced to chuckle. Oh, but Grace… ‘She’s appalling,’ she whispered.

‘She is appalling. Is there a will?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Leaving her the house?’

‘Leaving me the house.’

‘You want me to evict her tonight? It’d be my pleasure.’

‘No.’

‘I could set the dogs on her,’ he said thoughtfully, and once again shock and sadness gave way to laughter.

‘Right. And they’d evict her how?’

‘Wind,’ he said. ‘If you’re in a small enclosed place they can clear a room at twenty paces. All we do is ease them into her room and lock the door.’

She smiled again, but absently. ‘She’ll win,’ she said. ‘She has the right.’

‘To this house? No, she doesn’t. But it’s okay, Misty. I’ll manage this. This is our home.’ Our home.

The words had been swirling round for weeks. Our home.

He held her tight and let the silence soak in his words.

Our home.

Her home and his. And Bailey’s and Ketchup’s and Took’s.

Home.

‘It’s okay,’ he said again, and he stroked her hair and then he kissed her, first on the top of her head and then on her nose-and then more deeply on her mouth. He was tilting her face, holding her to him, but with no pressure. She could step away at any time.

The night was far too bleak to step away.

Nick. What would this day have been without him?

He loved her and she knew it. This man could make her smile when her world was shattered. How lucky was she that he was here?

She wanted him.

And, with that, everything else fell away. The sadness, the shock, the anger. There was only Nicholas, holding her, loving her.

There was only Nick.

‘Can you take me to your bed?’ she whispered and she felt his body still.

‘Misty…’

‘My mother will be sleeping next door. I don’t want to sleep so close. Please…Nick, tonight I want to sleep with you.’

‘I can’t…’ he said and she knew exactly what he was thinking. He couldn’t hold her all night and take it no further.

‘Neither can I,’ she whispered and somewhere a chuckle came; somehow laughter was reasserting itself. ‘Not any more. I want you, I need you and unless you don’t have condoms…’

‘I have condoms.’ He sounded dazed. ‘You think I’d enter a house you were in without condoms?’

‘I do like a man who’s prepared.’

‘Misty…’

‘You’ve been wonderful,’ she said, but suddenly he was holding her at arm’s length.

‘No,’ he said, suddenly harsh. ‘Not that. I’m not accepting an offering, Misty. Do you want me?’

‘I…yes.’ There was nothing else to say.

‘Then this is mutual lovemaking, or not at all. I want you more than life itself, but I won’t take you as thanks.’

‘I do want you.’

‘For love? This needs to be an act of love, Misty, or no matter that it’ll tear me in two, it’s separate beds. You’ve had an appalling day. Is this shock and grief talking? Or something else? Something deeper.’ Something deeper?

Her world was changing. It had changed when Gran died, she thought, and it had changed again when her mother walked in. But now… Something was emerging she wasn’t aware she had. Herself. Misty. She had rights, she thought. This was her life.

And Nicholas was her man?

She took his hand, lifting it, resting it against her cheek. He let her be, not moving, letting her make her own declaration as to what she wanted. The back of his hand was against her cheek. She loved the feel of it. The strength. Nicholas.

She did want. She ran her fingers across his face, a wondrous exploration, never letting her eyes move from his.

‘Definitely deeper,’ she whispered. ‘I need to be kissed. More, I need to be loved, and I need to be loved by you.’

He gazed down at her for a long moment. He smiled, that magical heart-twisting smile-and then he kissed her.

Magically, his mouth was merging with hers. His hands were holding her face, brushing her cheeks with his lovely long fingers, loving her.

Loving her with his mouth.

The awfulness of the day disappeared as the kiss deepened, then deepened still more. She clung to him, aching to be held, aching to lose herself in love. Nicholas…

But he wasn’t completely done with her. Not yet. He moved back then, just a little, and his eyes were dark with love and desire.

‘Misty, love, are you sure?’

She smiled at that, for she’d never been so sure of anything in her life. This moment. Nicholas.

‘Yes.’

Definitely yes.

And the word was no sooner formed before she was being kissed again, lifted, held, claimed. Holding her in his arms as if she were a featherweight. A man triumphant with his woman.

‘My bedroom,’ he said, and she hardly recognised his voice. It was shaken with passion and desire. It was deep and husky and so sexy she wanted to melt.

But not here. Not yet. He walked to the door, still carrying her. Paused. Listened.

They heard a clatter in the kitchen-Grace was still there, then. They could make their way through the darkened passage, through the dividing door, then into Nick’s side of the house.

Nick’s bedroom was vast. The bed was a big four-poster with too much bedding and too many pillows. It was a bed made for more than one man.

It was a bed made for a man and a woman, and she wanted to be in that bed.

Nick was kissing her as he carried her. Then he was kissing her as he set her down on the bed. As he undid the buttons of her blouse. As he held her and held her and held her, closer and still closer.

She closed her eyes, aching with sensual pleasure. His fingers were tracing the contours of her body, her breasts. Each tiny movement sent shivers of wonder from top to toe.

She clung to him as he kissed her, holding him, glorying in the strength of him, the sheer masculinity, the wonder of his body. This day had seemed unreal. Now she wanted reassurance that this was happening in truth.

Her blouse was gone, and so was her bra. Nick was still clothed, but she could feel the strength of him underneath. In a moment she’d attack the buttons of his shirt, she thought. In a moment. When her body had space between trying to absorb the sensations she was feeling.

They had all the night. They had all the time in the world.

‘I think I love you, Nicholas Holt,’ she told him. ‘Is that scary?’

He pulled away at that, holding her at arm’s length. ‘You think you love me?’ he queried.

‘I guess I know.’

‘That’s very good news.’ His voice was grave, serious, husky with passion. ‘For I know I love you. I’d marry you tomorrow. I will marry you tomorrow.’

Tomorrow.

The word gave her pause. Tomorrow. Grace. The worries that crowded in.

Nick sensed her withdrawal. He cursed in Tajik. ‘Hey, Misty, don’t look like that.’

‘Tomorrow’s tomorrow,’ she murmured. ‘Can we just take this night?’

A flicker of doubt crossed his face, and she smoothed it away with her fingers. ‘No,’ she said. ‘This is not some one-night stand. I’m not saying that. I’m saying I do love you. I want you. Whether I want to marry you tomorrow…’

‘It could be the day after.’

‘It could,’ she said and chuckled and tugged him close because she didn’t want him to see doubt. She didn’t want anything to interfere with tonight.

For tonight there was only Nick.

He still had clothes on.

‘Not fair,’ she said, and started slowly unbuttoning. He was hers, gift packaged, and she was going to take her own sweet time unwrapping.

Only maybe not. For, as she was concentrating-or trying to concentrate-on buttons, he was kissing her. Slowly, sensuously, achingly beautiful. Her neck, her lips, her eyelids.

She felt herself arch up to him and felt his fingers cup the smooth contours of her breasts, tracing the nipples, just touching, feather-soft, making her gasp with need and love and heat.

The night was magic. The moon was full outside, sending ribbons of silver over the ocean, the ribbons finding their way into the bedroom, across the bed, giving two lovers all the light they needed.

Only she had to get these buttons off!

She ripped.

‘Uh oh,’ he said.

‘Was that a good shirt?’

‘My best.’

‘Sorry,’ she said and her mouth found his nipples and suddenly any discussion of the ripped shirt was put aside.

He was hers, she thought. One loving gesture and she had him, putty in her hands. Or in her mouth.

His breathing was ragged, harsh, as her fingers found his belt, unfastened, unzipped. She could hear his breathing deepening. She kissed his neck, tasting the salt of him.

He’d marry her. Her Nick.

Her fingers sought and found. Explored.

Loved.

Enough. One ragged gasp and he surrendered-or not. His hands caught hers, locked them behind her, and suddenly she was his again, and it was she who was surrendering. He kissed each breast in turn, tantalizing, teasing. Savouring. Their heated bodies moulded together.

Skin to skin.

Their mouths were joined again. Of course. It was as if this was their centre-where they needed to be.

Or maybe… Another centre beckoned. His hands were below her waist and she felt her jeans slipping.

As everything else slipped. Doubts. Sadness. Anger.

This night…this time… It was a watershed. Somehow, what was happening right now was firming who she was. A woman who knew what she wanted.

She wanted Nick, and wondrously he wanted her right back. How cool-how magical-how right!

But…

‘Wait,’ he said, in a voice she no longer recognised. ‘Wait, my love.’

She must, but it nearly killed her to wait, until he’d done what he needed to do to keep them safe.

But then there was nothing keeping them apart. The night was theirs.

Outside, the world was waiting but for now, for this night, for this moment, there was only each other.

They were lying against each other, their bodies curved against each other, skin against skin. She’d never felt like this. She’d never dreamed she could feel like this.

A rain of kisses was being bestowed on her neck, her breasts, her belly, while his magical hands caressed and caressed and caressed. The heat…

The French windows were open. The warm night air did its own caressing, and the soft murmur of the surf was more romantic than any violin. She could vaguely hear the distant chatter of the ring-tailed possums who skittered along the eaves. She’d never felt so alive and so aware and so…beautiful?

But…hot? Oh, these kisses. The sounds of the night were receding, giving way to a murmur in her ears that was starting to grow.

He was kissing her low, loving her body, his tongue doing crazy, wondrous things… Amazing things.

‘Nick!’

‘Hey,’ he growled and chuckled his pleasure and did it again. ‘You like?’

Did she like? She arched upward, close to crying, aching with need. He was above her, sliding up again so his dark eyes gleamed down at her in the moonlight. He was loving her with his eyes.

‘You want me?’ he murmured and what was a girl to say to that?

‘Like life itself,’ she managed and she held him and tugged him down. Down…

But he wasn’t sinking. His arms were sailor’s arms, muscled, too strong for her to fight him. He was forcing her to wait. She arched and moaned and he kissed her, deeply, more deeply still. Holding the moment. Savouring what was to come.

‘My Misty,’ he whispered. ‘My heart.’

‘I need you. Nick, please…’ Her thighs were burning; her body was on fire, but still he resisted. He lowered himself, a little but not enough, just so his chest brushed lightly against her breasts. He kissed her neck, behind her ears, her throat, her eyelids, and all the while his body brushed her breasts, over and back until she thought she’d melt with desire and love and need.

No more. What use would she be to this world if she melted into a puddle of aching need, right here on the bed? She took his shoulders and tugged, fierce with want, strong with need, and she rose to meet him.

And he was there.

Her love.

Her Nick.

Her body took rhythm from his. He was reaching so deep inside her, to the point where love and desire and need melted into one and she felt as if she were dissolving, dissolving, flying.

The night and the moonlight and the sounds of the sea, the grief of the day, the shock of the night, the luxury of this bed, the feel of this man’s body… There was no separate sensation. No separate thought.

There was only her love.

And when finally they lay back, exhausted, as his arms cradled her and she moulded to his body and she felt his heartbeat, she knew her safe haven-her home-was much more than it had ever seemed.

Nick wanted to marry her. It was a tiny thought at the edge of all the consciousness she had left, but it felt lovely.

Their bodies could merge over and over. She could lie with this man for the rest of her life. She could help him raise his son, a little boy she loved already.

Wife and mother…

It felt… It felt…

‘Like a miracle,’ Nick said and he kissed her softly, languorously, lovingly. ‘My Misty. At last I’ve come safe home.’ Safe home.

They were the last words she heard as she drifted into sleep.

Safe home.