Once More, With Feeling

Except, if he had to be honest, he had come here initially because of her, or at least because of those accursed memories.

They had spent two blissful, glorious weeks here on their honeymoon, courtesy of Emily’s old schoolfriend Sarah, whose parents had owned a cottage not five miles away—a cottage where they had both given up their virginity in a fumbling, earth-shattering explosion of tension—at least his tension had exploded then. Emily’s explosion had been a little later, when he had blundered his way towards a better understanding of her body and its responses, but when he had …

Remembering those responses drew a deep, agonised groan from him now, and he dropped his head into his hands, knuckling his eyes and forcing his breath through a chest that felt as if a steel band was coiled tightly round it.

Need—years of aching, unsatisfied need—rose up to swamp him. The dull, heavy throb of his body taunted him, and every time his eyes flickered shut she danced naked against his lids as she had in the cottage that bleak December of their honeymoon, her smooth skin lit only by the dancing flames of the fire.

He groaned again and stood up, only to sit down again and force his attention to the demands of paperwork until the embarrassing and unmistakable hunger in his body subsided.

Damn her.

And damn him for stopping her when she had wanted to go away earlier today and forget all about this job.

He should have let her go while the going was good.

Idiot.

It was no good, he was never going to get this paperwork done today. What he needed was some fresh air. There was a patient he needed to visit, too—he’d go and do it and take his mind off his folly, at least for a little while.

The door creaked open, cobwebs clinging to the frame, and Emily stepped cautiously over the threshold. It smelt musty, but it seemed dry enough. She walked hestitantly into the sitting-room and faltered to a standstill.

It hadn’t changed—not since—oh, lord.

Memories came back to swamp her—David, lying naked on the hearthrug, watching her hungrily as she danced in front of the flames, his eyes warming her pale skin as effectively as the fire. He had reached for her, drawing her down beside him, then his body had claimed hers again—

She became conscious of a dull, heavy ache of need, buried long ago deep down inside her, and the slow, insistent beat of her heart beneath her breasts.

She must be mad, she thought with a moan as she pressed cool palms against her flaming cheeks. Mad to think she could come back here to live, in this cottage which held so many memories. And madder still to think she could work side by side with the man who had helped to make those memories.

Her eyes strayed back to the fire, and, sinking down on to the hearthrug, she let her fingers stray over the soft woollen pile.

He had been so tender with her, so nervous himself and yet so thoughtful of her …

‘Isn’t it lovely?’

David glanced round, then back to his bride, her cheeks glowing with health and something else.

‘Absolutely,’ he said huskily, but she knew he wasn’t talking about the cottage and her throat went dry.

Her whole body tingled with anticipation, with the tension that had built between them until now.

But it would end here, tonight, their wedding night.

‘It’s cold,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll light the fire.’

It was reluctant, and she laughed at him and pushed him out of the way, interfering.

In the end, amid much teasing and hilarity, they got it going, and David went out to the car and brought in the luggage and a bottle of champagne.

The fridge, they found, was full of goodies courtesy of Sarah’s parents—the lady who looked after the cottage had been in and cleaned it, made up the beds and stocked up with groceries at their instruction.

‘How kind,’ Emily said to David, and he agreed and turned to her.

‘What about supper?’

‘I’m not really hungry,’ she confessed, her eyes tangling with his.

‘No, nor am I. Shall we sit by the fire and open the champagne?’

They found glasses and settled down on the hearthrug. Although the heating was on it was a cold, cheerless day and darkness had fallen some time before. There, though, in the flickering firelight, the outside world was forgotten.

‘To us,’ he said softly, touching his glass to hers, and, their eyes locked, they entwined their arms and sipped deeply.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Bubbles,’ she said, a little breathless, and he leaned back against a chair and pulled her between his legs, her back against his chest, one arm resting comfortably across her waist.

Her head was tipped back against his throat, and she could feel the beat of his heart against her shoulders.

‘It was a lovely day, wasn’t it?’ she said softly.

‘I thought it would never end,’ he murmured.

She turned her head a little and stared up at him. The flames were reflected in his eyes, but then he moved his head and she saw a fire in them that was all his own. She swallowed, her heart suddenly pounding, and he took her glass away and set it down with his.

Then he reached for her, a little clumsily, and she turned in his arms to meet his kiss. Their passion caught and blazed, yet he seemed reluctant somehow, as if he was holding back.

She lifted her head and looked at him. ‘What’s wrong?’

He shook his head slightly. I so badly want this to be special for you, but I expect it’s going to be a disaster,’ he confessed, his voice trembling a little. ‘I’ve never done it before, so don’t expect miracles.’

She reached up and cupped his cheek. ‘Nor have I, so don’t worry. I don’t know what to expect—except that it might hurt.’

His eyes clouded. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Emily.’

‘Well, we can’t wait forever,’ she told him with typical candour. ‘I suppose it will only be the once.’

‘I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

‘I know.’

He reached out his arms again and kissed her once more, slowly, softly, with all his love—or so it seemed, because suddenly Emily found she didn’t care how much it hurt, she just needed to hold him and be held by him, to feel his body on hers, to know him in the oldest sense.

She reached for his shirt buttons, freeing two and sliding her fingers inside against the warm, smooth skin. A light scatter of hair grazed her knuckles, sending shivers down her spine.

‘Cold?’ he asked, but she shook her head.

‘No—no, not cold.’

He moved away a little from her, and stripped off his jacket and tie, then his shirt.