was sitting on the swing seat on the front veranda, watching the last flights of the seabirds—dark whirling shadows against the early evening sky, returning to their roosts on the island.
They were a fairly good reflection of her thoughts at the moment—dark and whirling.
The cause of her distraction appeared on the track below the house, striding resolutely up from the hospital accommodation, clad now in linen shorts and a dark green T-shirt—a man at home in his environment.
And wasn’t she at home in hers?
Of course she was and the shiver of whatever it was that had coursed through her body was probably only relief at seeing him.
Except that she hadn’t been frightened by the loud voice and accusations earlier and she was reasonably sure that man and all the others would have drunk themselves stupid and collapsed into bed by now.
‘Evening,’ he said, touching a forefinger to an imaginary hat.
‘And good evening to you,’ Caroline replied. She could do this—she really could. All she had to do was completely divorce herself from all the manifestations of attraction that the wretched man was causing in her body.
But when he sat down beside her on the swing, took her hand and began to push the swing gently back and forth with his foot, she lost what little resolve she’d managed to gather, rested her head on his shoulder and swung with him, just as they had so many times in the past.
The moon rose majestically from the water, the birds had quietened and a peace she hadn’t felt for a long time spread through her veins.
So even when Keanu turned to press a light kiss on her shoulder she barely reacted.
That was if you could define a small electric shock as barely …
‘Nice here, isn’t it?’ he said, and although she’d swear neither of them had moved, their bodies were now touching from shoulder to hip and their clasped hands were in Keanu’s lap.
Worse was the cloud that had wrapped around them, some unseen yet almost tangible blanket of desire.
Or maybe he couldn’t feel it.
Maybe it was just her.
Being silly.
Imagining things.
‘Not going away, is it, this attraction?’ he said quietly, and she knew it wasn’t imagination.
‘Not really,’ she answered, although the truth would have been not at all.
He turned away from a fascination with the moon to look directly at her.
‘So, how do we tell?’
‘If it’s love?’ she asked, guessing his earlier experience of attraction had made it hard to use the word. ‘I wonder …’
Although maybe she knew.
Didn’t her heart beating faster when she caught a glimpse of him, or heard his voice or even thought of him suggest it had to be love?
Was lying sleepless in her bed, her body wired, wanting …?
Him!
Was that love?
Or was it old friendship mixed up with attraction?
For a long time he didn’t speak, and she wondered if he’d been giving it the same thought she had but had come to a different conclusion.
‘So much has happened between us,’ he said quietly. ‘I let you down once before, Caroline, and please believe me when I say that it hurt me too. Then marrying. Not telling you. I let you down again. But now—now I’d cut off my hand if it would help you to forgive me.’
Her heart was juddering in her chest, the beat every which way, while some kind of madness filled her mind—a madness begging her to take him to her bed, to rip off all his clothes and dispense with the agony that was attraction.
With Harold and Bessie here?
So lighten up!
‘And what would I do with a bloody hand?’ she teased, and though he laughed, she hadn’t quite achieved her aim for he’d let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer, close enough to look into her eyes and probably see through them to the muddle in her head.
The kiss, when it inevitably came, was like nothing she’d experienced before. A barely there brush of lips on lips, then butterfly kisses across her cheeks, her eyelids and her temple.
With maddening deliberation, his mouth eventually returned to hers, but only to tease again, his teeth nibbling softly at her lips, tongue darting in to touch her tongue, withdrawing, darting, departing so her lips were hot then cool, and the pressure building within her was volcanic—a volcano about to blow.
He must have kicked with his foot, for the swing began to move again, and the movement lulled her senses, so when his tongue invaded her mouth and his hand brushed against her breast, she sighed and leaned into him, welcoming him, kissing him back, the intensity of the kiss growing until it blotted out her mind.
It was such a cliché, sitting on a porch swing, kissing like this.
Keanu was desperately trying to keep a grasp on reality, to keep his mind from going blank and letting his body take over all his actions.
They’d stop soon—well, they could hardly make love out here, especially not when there might be murderous miners wandering around.
But right now kissing Caroline was filling his soul with delight. His body wasn’t quite so delighted, wanting more than fervid kisses.
Did he love her?
Her tongue was tangling with his, and he felt almost painfully aroused, but he couldn’t break the kiss, couldn’t pull his lips from hers, his arms from around her body.
She was his.
That was what the kiss was saying.
His kiss, and her response, making a statement.
About the future?
Or about attraction?
‘Go to bed,’ he whispered, his lips close to her ear. ‘Maddie is back tomorrow, and a FIFO nurse is joining her, so we’ll both have time off. We’ll talk.’
‘About?’ she murmured back.
‘About us, and our future, and attraction and love and all kinds of things.’
She smiled and kissed him gently on the lips, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
Tears of happiness this time, the brilliance of her smile told him that.
He stood up and pulled her upright, then turned her and nudged her towards the front door.
‘I’ll
