| |
‘For a bush hospital, this place isn’t bad, hey, Meg?’ Seamus sat on a nearby rock, his dinner cradled awkwardly in his injured arm. After several weeks in plaster, it was pale and skinnier than his other wrist, and he would have to work to build up muscle strength. ‘Good tucker.’ He scooped another spoonful into his mouth.
‘Pretty good, especially since the cook has to feed more mouths than he had supplies for. He’s rationed the meat, but with all the vegetables they grow here—’
‘And the tropical fruits. Don’t forget them.’
‘Army food isn’t so bad here, but I look forward to when bush turkey isn’t the only meat served.’
Seamus had shot a bush turkey to add to the pot, his second in two days. One-handed and therefore slower to complete tasks, his humorous quips on the ward lifted the spirits of patients and staff alike, and his hunting skill had eased the cook’s worries about making supplies last. ‘Mind you, I’ve never eaten bush turkey before. Are they always so—chewy?’
‘Plenty of them in the bush around our farm.’ A cheeky grin lit his face. ‘Tough old bird, but boil the guts out of it and you get—’
‘Still a tough old bird.’ Meg laughed. ‘And a good jaw workout while you eat.’
‘Ah, Meg, you know how to cut a man’s delusions of being a great white hunter down to size.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘No offence taken, macushla. I’m teasing, is all.’
‘You’ve been wonderful, the way you help everyone.’
‘Wonderful, is it now? You’ll give me a big head.’ He scraped the last of the meal onto his spoon and set his bowl down with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Tough, but tasty.’
‘If you’re finished, I’ll wash your plate, and you can tell me what that word means while we have a cuppa.’
‘What word would that be?’
‘The “mac” word you call me.’
‘Macushla?’ His gaze darkened, deepened, pinning her on her rocky seat. The way he said it—with that lilt of a remembered Irish accent— was . . . She thought about it for a moment before she answered. Possessive, almost, but in a good way.
‘That word, yes.’ Her voice came out soft, and filled with hunger for something—precisely what, she didn’t know.
He stood abruptly. ‘I’ll get us both a mug of tea and meet you yonder.’ He nodded towards the growing darkness at the edge of camp then turned away and strode to the mess tent.
In a haze of unfamiliar emotions, Meg washed and dried their plates and set them on the neat pile ready for the morning meal. Innocent of a man’s touch though she was, Seamus stirred feelings in her. Feelings that made sense of the romantic poetry she’d read late at night in bed in the nurses’ quarters in Sydney.
She bit her thumb and peered into the gathering darkness where Seamus waited with her tea. It’s just tea, for goodness’ sake. Just a cup of tea.
But she knew she lied.
Seamus’s gaze had promised knowledge and an answer to the fluttering in her stomach whenever he was near. If she walked down the track to the edge of camp, she would break Matron’s rule of no cuddling. She knew there would be cuddling. She knew there would be no turning back.
The sky was filling with stars and a tropical moon, big and white and full, had risen, bathing the landscape in a wash of magical light.
Drawing a deep breath, Meg stepped onto the track, following it to Seamus.
##
He was perched on a fallen log, his legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Meg stepped through his long moon-shadow and sat beside him, crossing her ankles and tucking her feet to the side. Silently, he handed her a mug, the brew strong and black, but redolent of home and comfort.
Like the man by her side. In a handful of days, Seamus had become her comfort. Being with him was like returning home.
‘You’re my North Star, Meg.’ His voice was low, thoughtful, romantic—like the lush tropical night enveloping them. Lover-like. She’d seen Gone with the Wind, almost swooned at Rhett Butler’s voice, but Seamus’s voice thrilled her more. Thrilled and comforted and excited her.
‘You promised to tell me what that word means.’
‘Aye, I did. What do you think it is?’
Had he leaned closer? Had she? ‘Something—nice, I think. Little one?’
‘Darling. It means my darling Meg. Do you mind?’
‘Mind, no.’ Her heart zinged at the sweet Irish word, and what it seemed to say about Seamus, and how he felt about her. How it made her feel. ‘It feels special.’
‘You are special, Meg. A man could fall in love with you over a bar of chocolate.’
Her breath caught, stuttered, then rushed out in a quick exhale. Love? Was Seamus saying he loved her? She sipped her tea and looked up at the stars, too numerous to count. ‘People don’t fall in love at first sight.’
‘Most don’t. Perhaps some do, the lucky ones. The moment you looked up at me on the truck with your big blue eyes wide with surprise, I knew it could happen.’
Meg dug her short fingernails into her palms and turned to look at him. Starlight and moonlight gathered in his eyes. She had to be dreaming. No man could make such a beautiful declaration in real life. It was poetry and romance. It was perfect.
And it was happening to her.
Seamus lifted her mug from her hand and set it beside his on the ground then he took her hand. ‘I want to kiss you, Meg.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered then more loudly, ‘Yes, please.’ If this moment was a dream, she would be brave. ‘I’d like to kiss you too.’
He held her face, his hands gentle, for all they were callused, and leaned closer. And then soft lips pressed against hers. She had little idea how to kiss well. A few fumbling, sloppy meetings of lips in the back of the movie theatre hardly counted, and yet Seamus’s lips on hers felt natural. Wonderful. She parted her lips to tell him so, but he caught her lower lip and then his tongue traced her mouth. She gasped and drew back.
‘Sorry, Meg. I’ll try not to do it if you don’t like it.’
She touched her lips lightly, her fingers tracing the path his tongue had taken. ‘I—haven’t had many kisses, and if I think about that last bit, it’s strange. Kind of nice, but strange.’
‘I can live with kind of nice. And you kiss perfectly well. I like your kisses. A lot.’
Seamus’s response made her feel on top of the world. He gave her the confidence to ask, ‘Can I try what you did? With your tongue?’
‘Sure, and just so you know, I’ll like whatever sort of kisses you decide to give me. Do whatever feels nice. Okay?’ His smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as she set her hands on his face, the same as he’d held hers.
Emboldened by his smile, she kept her eyes open and kissed him. Lips to lips first, then, when his parted, tentatively she traced his with her tongue. He tasted of tea and bush turkey stew, but beyond that, overtaking the sense of wonder at her first magical kiss, was an overwhelming sense of coming home.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Her thoughts whirled around that single unalterable fact, but she held onto the discovery and stayed silent. There would be time later to consider what her feelings meant. For now, she simply felt, and lost herself in kissing Seamus.
***
Two nights and many kisses later, as they left the dinner queue with their trays and headed out of the mess tent, Seamus balanced his tray on one hand and guided her with his free hand past their regular dinner spot.
‘Aren’t we sitting here tonight?’
‘I’ve a surprise for you.’ His hand on her waist felt natural and right. Hungering for his touch occupied her mind when he wasn’t near.
And then yesterday, wonder of wonders, the doctor had allowed Seamus to remove his sling. Now he had two arms to hold her, two hands to touch her. And touch her he did, every opportunity he could find.
It wasn’t that his embrace had been less wonderful before his sling came off, before he was able to fully enfold her in his arms. It was just that two arms were more. Two arms invited her to meld with him until she was certain they were simply two parts of one whole, meant to be together to make the world right.
Seamus took her into his arms the moment they were out of sight, and she was the same. If Seamus came into the ward, she had a sudden urgent need to check medical supplies or roll bandages. Seamus would slip in behind the curtain and, like filings to a magnet, she stepped into his arms.
If Matron was likely to return, they made no sound, but the look Seamus gave her needed no words. Like his expression now as she raised an eyebrow and glanced over her shoulder. Matron had been tolerant—and surprisingly silent on the subject of one of her nurses sitting outside the mess tent with a soldier—but Meg doubted she would be as accepting if she saw Meg and Seamus disappearing with their dinner.
‘Matron’s in a meeting with the captain. Don’t worry about her. Just close your eyes and hang onto me.’ She balanced her tray on one hand and, trusting him completely, enjoyed a burst of pleasure at the change in routine.
The dirt track beneath her feet felt as if he was leading her to their special place beyond the edge of camp. Even though the moon hadn’t risen and closing her eyes barely changed her ability to see, or not to see in this case, walking blind made her feel she was stepping into her own adventure, and she smiled. An adventure with Seamus.
‘You realise I do know where I am still? The scent of those pink flowers is unmistakeable.’
‘Dead giveaway, hey? But you don’t know what else you’re going to find, and that’s the surprise, macushla.’ He stopped her at the edge of the track and released her arm.
The slight ridge where dirt gave way to long scraggly grass was just there—she put one foot forward and tapped the ground. A grass stem brushed her bare leg, tickling her skin. Cocking her head, she heard a familiar scraping sound. Was Seamus lighting a match? He knew she didn’t like smoking and had refrained whenever they were together. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Nearly ready. Keep your eyes closed and give me your meal.’
She held the tray out, felt him take it and waited. Anticipation bubbled within her, heady as the Champagne she’d drunk once on New Year’s Eve, back before their world went mad. Whatever Seamus had planned, he made her feel like she was looking forward to that Champagne New Year’s Eve again. Like the world wasn’t on fire and a future awaited.
A future with Seamus?
He set a hand on her shoulder and took her free hand in his. ‘Open your eyes, Meg.’ His warm breath tickled her ear before she did as he said.
Before her, neatly set out on a hospital blanket, a lamp cast a cosy glow over their dinner trays and a bunch of wildflowers. He’d folded two clean handkerchiefs for serviettes, and a bottle of beer and a bottle of soft drink sat to one side, flanked by two tin mugs.
Meg was delighted. And touched by his thoughtfulness. ‘What made you think of doing this?’ She dropped onto her knees on a corner of the blanket and picked up the flowers. He’d included some of the perfumed pink flowers in the bunch. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled their heady scent.
Seamus sat opposite her and grinned. ‘I can’t take my girl out to dinner at a fancy restaurant, so I made our own private dining room. Do you like it?’
‘I love it. I think it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. However did you find beer and soft drink out here?’
‘Ah—’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I can’t reveal my sources, but let’s just say the cook was grateful for the bush tucker I’ve brought him. He has a private store of beer. As for the soft drink, the Aussies have an army canteen service making it. They told me tamarind is the most popular flavour.’ He picked up the beer bottle and knocked off the top then held it towards her, showing the label like a waiter offering the finest wine. ‘Would Madam like to taste the beer?’
Meg hesitated. She’d never drunk beer, but tonight felt like the beginning of something. Since there was no Champagne to be had . . . ‘Yes, please.’
He half-filled both their mugs and she lifted hers, sipping the brew. Her first taste of beer made her screw up her nose. It was bitter, but she wasn’t about to say so to Seamus. ‘I’m sure it will compliment our meal perfectly.’
‘And here was me thinking you’d find it bitter and that I’d have to drink the lot by myself.’
She picked up her mug, gave him a sweet smile then took a mouthful. Her nose wrinkled again but she made herself swallow. Exhaling an audible sigh of feigned delight, she met his amused gaze. ‘Absolutely delicious.’
Raising the bottle, he made to top up her mug.
Quickly, she put her hand over the top. ‘I’ll just work my way through this, thank you. Share and share alike and all that. Is the soft drink to go with dessert?’
Seamus grinned. ‘Maybe. Next time I’ll make sure to bring you Champagne and the finest foods, but for now, all I can give you is beer and cook’s stew.’
Reaching out, she touched his hand. ‘This is so much more than beer and stew. It’s magic and moonlight, and flowers and—you. You’ve made a little patch of joy amidst this horrid war. Thank you, Seamus.’
He caught her hand and kissed it, then turned it over and pressed a lingering kiss in her palm.
A queer little flibbertigibbet danced in her stomach. Breathless at his touch, she eased her hand from his hold. ‘We should eat our meal before it gets cold.’
‘That we should. Sadly, it doesn’t improve with age.’
When she’d eaten as much as she could—in Seamus’s case, he cleaned his plate, although she had no idea how he managed it—she raised her mug. ‘To moonlit picnics among the gum trees.’
‘And to many more dinners with you, Meg.’
They finished the beer and then Meg began tidying the remains of their meal. She stacked the trays and moved the beer and soft drink bottles and lamp to one corner of the blanket. Smoothing out a wrinkle, she turned and sat in the middle, patting a spot beside her. ‘I want to look at the stars and make a wish.’
Seamus sat beside her and put an arm over her shoulders. ‘What are you going to wish for?’
‘Aside from an immediate end to this war?’ She tipped her head to the sky. ‘For this moment to never end. Look at those stars. They’re so big and bright. Nothing like what I see from my home in the middle of Sydney.’
‘You’ve got stars in your eyes, macushla.’ Seamus kissed her cheek then trailed his lips over her skin to her neck, and the little spot just below her ear he’d discovered last night. The magic of the night and Seamus’s lovely surprise heightened her senses. She was relaxed and on edge at the same time, wanting him to never stop what he was doing.
Wanting him to do more.
More than kiss her face and neck. More than give her goosebumps, although they were wonderful too.
She lay back on the blanket and looked up at him. Stroking his cheek, feeling that stubble that always grew back by the end of the day, no matter how close a shave he made in the morning, she knew she wanted all of him.
Her hand slipped around his nape and drew him down until she could kiss his lips and her free hand could reach around his waist and draw him closer. With a hand that trembled only a little, she tugged his shirt from his trousers and trailed her fingers across his back. Smooth. Warm. Bare.
He stretched out beside her and, reaching down, pulled her dress up and bared her thigh. The lightest of touches sent need spiking through her belly. It seemed to concentrate on that private place between her thighs and at last, she knew what desire was. That soaring need poets wrote of, and singers crooned about.
‘Seamus, I want you.’
He rose up on one elbow, pulling back from her unwillingly, she thought, and looked at her in the light of the newly risen moon. His breathing seemed heavy, as though he’d been running, and something hard in his pocket poked at her leg. ‘What are you asking for, Meg?’
‘You. All of you. I—think I love you. I want what people in love share with each other.’
‘Mother of God, how can I refuse anything you ask for. But Meg, are you sure you want this? Do you know what you’re asking for? Because, hard as it will be—hard as I am right now—I’ll wait if you’re not sure.’
‘I don’t know what you mean about being hard,’ although he did sound as though he was in some pain, ‘but I am sure that I want you, in every way a woman wants the man she loves. Show me, macushla?’
Seamus closed his eyes and tipped his face to the sky. ‘I can’t deny you, Meg, because I want you so much it hurts.’ He exhaled, a long, slow breath, and sat up. Reefing his shirt over his head, he dropped it beside him then rolled onto his elbow and stroked her face. ‘I’ll make this good for you, Meg, I promise.’
Slowly, he unbuttoned her shirt and eased it off her shoulders, followed by her skirt. Beneath them, she had worn a borrowed slip and army-issue knickers, both of which he slid off her body with reverent, slow fingers.
‘You’re beautiful. Your skin is like silk and your—’ Words dried up as he cupped her breast.
She pressed into his hand, sure she shouldn’t be enjoying his touch so much. A good girl would be embarrassed about exposing her body to a man who wasn’t her husband. A good girl wouldn’t have asked a man to make love to her, or even gone off with a man to a private spot in the first place.
But she wasn’t a good girl. She was a woman about to lie with the man she loved.
Knowingly.
Rushing—headlong into sin.
Seamus lowered his head and gently sucked her breast.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling. The way desire ran through her body from his mouth to the very core of her.
Hadn’t her mother advised her sister the night before her wedding to lie back and think of England? Meg couldn’t imagine thinking of anything but Seamus’s touch and oh!—the scrape of his stubbled chin on her skin, her soft belly, her thighs. Her hips rose, pressing against his mouth.
Sublime.
Divine.
Seamus’s breath huffed over her most private place and she felt no embarrassment. Just a deep need to know all and share it with him. ‘That feels so good, but I’m sure there’s more than just this touching and kissing.’
‘There is, my love. So much more. I want to take my time exploring every inch of your body, but I don’t think I can wait much longer to make you mine. Are you ready?’
‘I feel ready. I feel restless and wonderful, and I want to be yours.’
His hand slipped between her thighs. ‘You’re so wet.’
‘Is that good?’
‘Perfect.’
She wished she knew more about the marital act. Even though they weren’t married, that act was what they were about to do. Of course, as a nurse, she knew in theory what happened. But already, she was certain the experience would be something special. Because I love Seamus?
‘This may hurt a bit the first time.’ He positioned himself over her and that hard thing she’d thought was something in his pocket nudged between her legs and dipped into her. His penis. She knew the vocabulary from her studies, but she’d never imagined it would feel so hard and so silky at the same time.
‘Okay so far?’
She nodded and raised her hips. ‘Yes.’
‘This may sting.’ He kissed her lips then rose onto his elbows and surged into her.
She gasped, blinked back unexpected tears at the pain, and bit her lip.
Seamus froze. ‘Are you hurt? I’m so sorry, Meg, I—’
She shook her head. Gradually, the sting was fading, replaced by a new sensation. ‘It did, but now it’s—’ Moving her hips gently, a strange full pleasure replaced the pain. ‘Oh, it’s changing. It’s—’
Seamus moved within her, slowly at first until her gasps of pleasure broke through his fear of hurting her. Faster and faster he pumped, in and out, and then it was as though stars and worlds collided and she broke into a million pieces and soared into the starry night.