Nothing Left to Give. Caroline Anderson
Oh—thanks, yes, I will.’
While she took the casserole out of the oven and dished up, he opened a bottle and poured the wine, then handed her a glass. He raised his to her.
‘Here’s celebrating my cleverness for finding such a treasure.’
She flushed and laughed uncomfortably. ‘You haven’t tried the food yet.’
‘It smells wonderful.’ His eyes were still locked with hers, and her breath lodged in her throat. She looked quickly away.
‘Um—let’s eat.’
‘Good idea,’ he said easily, and she found he was holding the chair for her in a display of old-fashioned good manners she had forgotten existed.
As he moved away his hand brushed her shoulder, and fire shot down her arm and across her back, leaving a tingling in its wake.
This was going to be next to impossible.
Beth dropped with a sigh on to the sofa in her flat, eased off her shoes and tucked her feet under her bottom. Her first full, proper week both at the surgery and as Gideon’s housekeeper was over.
And she found, to her surprise, that far from being a trial it had been a pleasure. Everyone at the surgery, from Andrew Jones and Judith Wight, Gideon’s partners, Julie Rudd the other nurse, Molly the receptionist and Jean Rivers the practice manager, to Mrs Horrell, the cleaner, had all been universally welcoming and friendly, and as for her other job—well!
Sophie was an angel—mostly—and Claire and Will were helpful to a point. She found the intimacy of caring for Gideon’s house and family strange at first, but she soon got into the swing of it.
There was no cleaning to do, as such, because Mrs Horrell who did the surgery also did the house, and so all that Beth had to manage was the laundry, the cooking and Sophie after school.
Gideon wouldn’t let her clear up after the meal, so she made sure as much as possible was loaded into the dishwasher or dealt with before he got home.
That, of course, was when her problems really started, she thought now, snuggling deeper into the sofa.
Gideon.
Tall, strong, shouldering all his responsibilities without a murmur, so grateful for her help.
She wondered how grateful he would be if he could see into her mind as she ironed his shirts and folded his underwear.
It was just playing house, helping to pass the time, she told herself, but it was more insidious than that.
She was playing his wife, and she knew it. Every time she took Sophie in her arms for a hug, or hung a shirt up in the wardrobe in his bedroom, she allowed herself to imagine that any minute he would come home and sweep her into his arms and kiss her.
That was where the danger lay. Not in anything Gideon himself had done, but in what she had allowed herself to dream.
That evening he had finished surgery earlier than usual, and Beth was in his bedroom hanging shirts in the wardrobe when he arrived.
Well, she wasn’t really hanging shirts up, rather standing with them in her arms, gazing at the huge mahogany four-poster that dominated his bedroom and trying to imagine how it would feel to lie there in his arms.
When he walked in, her eyes turned to him and she froze. He had already wrenched off his tie and undone the buttons on his shirt, and she stood transfixed, mesmerised by the broad expanse of hair-strewn chest exposed to her startled gaze.
‘Sorry—I was putting away your washing,’ she said weakly, and then lifted her eyes to his.
Something deep and dark shifted in them, and then he reached out his hand. ‘Is that a clean shirt?’
Wordlessly she gave it to him and he laid it on the bed, stripping off the one he was wearing and tossing it at the laundry basket. He reached for his zip and she swallowed.
‘Give me five minutes in the shower, could you, and I’ll be down for supper.’
She mumbled something incoherent and left, picking up his shirt as she went.
Mistake. It was still warm from his body, the subtle scent of his skin lingering on the fine cotton, and she buried her nose in it and breathed deeply.
Desire, hot and sharp, darted through her leaving her weak and trembling.
Angry with herself for such foolishness, she ran downstairs, threw the shirt into the washing machine ready for the next load and got the plates out, banging them on the table.
Idiot. What did she think she was doing? He was oblivious to her—quite oblivious. She meant nothing to him except in her capacity as nurse and housekeeper.
Supper was the usual chaotic event, and Beth’s quietness went unremarked. In fact had she been able to get a word in edgeways it would have been more remarkable.
As she watched Gideon in action with his children, the ache round her heart intensified. If only, she thought, but she had given up hoping long ago. Happiness would never come her way. She had always been on the outside looking in, from her childhood onwards. She had never belonged, never been wanted for herself.
Once she had thought she was truly loved, but it had been a foolish dream, and she should know better now than to indulge those dreams.
Dreams, after all, like hope, were easily shattered.
She washed up her cup and made her way to bed, snuggling under the quilt and blocking out all thoughts of Gideon. She thought instead of her job, of the people she had met and the lovely town which had made her so welcome.
Gradually she relaxed into sleep, but the dreams came then, dreams of her and Gideon and a huge old bed, of murmured sighs and soft caresses, of lightning heat and tender cries of love…
Gideon lay staring at the ceiling. Nothing he did would banish her. Even his shirt when he had taken it from her earlier held the lingering trace of her scent where she had held it against those small, soft breasts.
His body tautened, desire stabbing him, and he rolled on to his front, burying his face in a pillow.
Damn her. No, damn himself. She had done nothing. She was sweet and innocent, her face transparent.
The hunger he had seen on it was echoed now in his body, stalking his loins, making him ache for the release only Beth could give him.
Except she couldn’t, because he wouldn’t let her. He couldn’t. Damn it, she was nearer to Will’s age than his. What would she want with him?
And besides, the whole idea was fruitless. Beth was a forever person, a happy-ever-after and roses-round-the-door sort of girl. There was neither time nor emotion left in his life for the sort of loving she deserved.
Try telling his body that.
With a ragged groan he thumped the pillow and turned on to his side and made an effort to relax.
Slowly sleep came, but with it dreams—dreams of Beth, her slender limbs entwined around him, her mouth soft and warm against his skin, her eyes luminous with love.
He woke abruptly, his heart pounding, his body screaming for release. Unable to sleep, unable to tolerate the frustration and unwilling to examine the wash of loneliness that had hit him as he realised he was alone, he threw off the bedclothes, dragged on his clothes and went down to the study.
If he was going to be awake, he might as well be doing something useful.
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