There was a pause, an infinitesimal hesitation, and anticipation tiptoed over her skin.
‘Thank you so much for a lovely evening,’ she said softly. ‘It’s been wonderful.’
‘Good,’ he said, but still he didn’t move.
Instead he stood there, staring down into her eyes, and when she thought she’d scream from the suspense he smiled slightly. ‘I can’t let you go without a birthday kiss,’ he murmured, and his head lowered, blotting out the yellow glow from the streetlight.
Then his lips touched hers, warm and firm and traced with chocolate, and she nearly smiled. He’d kissed her like this five years ago, and her heart had felt giddy for a week …
For a moment nothing else happened, but then he moved, just slightly, tilting his head and placing tiny nibbling kisses all across her mouth and chin, and she felt a shiver of something unfamiliar and wonderful race through her veins. He’d never kissed her like this!
A tiny noise erupted from her lips, too small to be a whimper, but he heard it, and with a groan he eased her closer, wrapped his arms firmly round her and plundered her mouth with his.
He tasted of chocolate and coffee, with a trace of brandy, and it was enough to intoxicate her already fuddled brain. Without a care, without a modest thought or a second’s pause, she slipped her arms around his neck, tilted her head and kissed him right back.
It felt wonderful. His tongue was like rough velvet, probing and caressing, seeking out the hidden recesses of her mouth and tormenting them with his touch. Their tongues played tag, chasing and retreating, and when after an age he lifted his head, he was breathing hard and a smile lurked in his eyes.
‘Wow,’ he murmured.
She laughed softly and said, ‘Wow, indeed.’
He hugged her, tucking her head under his chin and holding her close, and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek.
‘Sorry, that was five years of curiosity coming to the fore,’ he murmured against her hair.
‘What?’ She tipped back her head and searched his face. ‘What do you mean?’
He gave a wry grin. ‘Just that I’ve wondered for the last five years what it would be like to kiss you—really kiss you, not just that little kiss goodbye, but a real, honest-to-goodness proper kiss.’
‘You didn’t notice me!’ she protested.
‘No—I tried to ignore you. There’s a difference. You were my host’s daughter. You were seventeen, totally innocent and much too sweet for what I had in mind.’
‘I had spots and puppy fat,’ she said bluntly.
He chuckled. ‘Rubbish. You were lovely. You were just young, and I was a guest in your parents’ house.’
‘And now?’ she asked without pausing to think of the consequences.
His smile softened. ‘Now I think we’re on the same playing field. We’re both adults, we’re both available—why not just see what happens?’
Excitement tingled along her veins, and her legs threatened to give way. Astonishingly, she was speechless.
He bent his head and kissed her again, just lightly, and then winked. ‘Go on, go inside before I change my mind and forget I’m supposed to be a gentleman.’
She was almost tempted, but a belated sense of propriety prevailed and she slipped her key in the lock, twisted it and opened the door.
‘Goodnight, Mark—and thank you for a lovely evening.’
‘My pleasure. Happy birthday.’
And, blowing her a kiss, he turned on his heel and strode up the path and across the street towards the hospital.
When he was out of sight she closed the door, sagged back against it and sighed luxuriously.
‘That was a tender farewell,’ Lucy said, whipping open the sitting room door just next to her.
She felt colour scorch her cheeks. ‘Are you spying on me?’ she demanded laughingly.
‘No—should I have been? What did I miss?’
‘A real treat,’ Beth said, following Lucy out into the hall. ‘I just watched him walk down the road—wow. Where on earth did he come from?’
Allie gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I’ve known him for years. He did some work experience with my father five years ago.’
‘He was a well-kept secret,’ Lucy grumbled, trailing into the kitchen.
‘He wasn’t a secret—I haven’t seen him since, until today. He just turned up on the ward.’
‘And romance blossomed! How wonderful!’
‘Beth, you have a vivid imagination.’
‘Is that why you’ve got whisker burn on your top lip?’ she said mildly.
Allie’s hand flew up to investigate, and they laughed at her, the teasing, kindly laughter of good friends. ‘Go for it, kid,’ Lucy said sagely. ‘It’s about time.’
It probably was, she acknowledged as she went up to bed, a steaming mug of tea in hand. She was twenty-three, a professional woman on the threshold of her career, and untouched by human hand. It hadn’t really been deliberate, except that she was naturally fastidious and had heard such awful stories from her friends that she’d never felt inclined to dabble or experiment, and nobody had come along who’d pushed her buttons.
Nobody except Mark, that is, but he’d been out of reach and a hero figure at a most impressionable time. The trouble was, the impression had been lasting, and despite a few relationships with young men during her training, the affection she’d felt for them had never been enough for her to take that next and most intimate step.
The memory of his farewell kiss as he was leaving all those years ago had haunted her, and nothing else had measured up. Nobody else. As an adolescent she’d wanted the touch of Mark’s hand, the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body. Apparently she still did.
She felt the soft, bruised skin of her lips and remembered the kiss they’d just shared, and a deep yearning ache flared to life within her. She’d been subconsciously waiting for him so long—would it be worth waiting for? Was it possible she’d find the love she needed in her life with Mark, or was it just wishful thinking?
She seen her friends flit from one man to another, unfulfilled and often desperately unhappy, and she didn’t want that for herself. When she gave herself, it would be for ever. Did Mark feel the same? They might be on the same playing field now in terms of age, but was it a level playing field in terms of expectations, or was she going to open herself up to heartbreak if she allowed them to see what happened, as he suggested?
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she grumbled, putting her tea down and pulling off her clothes. ‘You went out for a cheap meal to a basic little Italian. You’re making much too much of it, building too much on such a slight acquaintance. You don’t even know the man.’
But she wanted to, and that was scary. She hadn’t felt like this before, not since—well, not since they’d first met and they’d sat for hours talking, night after night. They’d talked about everything—religion, politics, music, medical ethics, the fact that her father wanted her to be a doctor and she wanted to be a nurse.
He’d supported her, talking through it with her, giving her a very sane piece of advice.
‘Be true to yourself,’ he’d said. ‘You have to do that. If you aren’t true to yourself, you can’t be true to anyone else, because everything else is built on a lie.’
It