Caroline Anderson - A Perfect Hero

Michael unlocked the front door and ushered her inside, then, leaning on the door, he pulled her gently but firmly back into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.

‘I’m scared,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t be. I won’t do anything to hurt you, or anything you don’t want me to do. I just had to be alone with you, without an audience of interested spectators making notes on our every move.’

He let her go, and she stood trembling by the door as he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

‘Coffee?’ he asked, sticking his head back round the door, and then came towards her, a serious but tender expression on his face.

‘Clare, it’s OK. Do you want to go home?’

She shook her head numbly.

‘Just hold me,’ she said unsteadily, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her hard against his chest.

After a minute she relaxed, and he eased away from her, dropping a light kiss on her brow. ‘Go and sit down, and I’ll bring the coffee through. How do you take yours?’

‘White, no sugar,’ she told him, and moved mechanically into the sitting-room.

He joined her a few minutes later, sat down on the settee and patted the cushion beside him.

‘Come and sit with me.’

His tone was gentle, persuasive, and quite unthreatening. Clare did as she was told, perching on the edge, longing to lean back against his side and at the same time ready to run if necessary.

His hand reached out and brushed the bare skin at the nape of her neck.

‘Please don’t be afraid of me,’ he murmured.

‘I—I’m not. I think I’m afraid of myself.’

‘Don’t be. I’ll take care of you. Come here.’

He took her shoulders in his hands and eased her slowly back against him, so that she half sat, half lay across his lap. Then with one arm under her shoulders, he cradled her against his chest and sighed with contentment.

After a moment, in which she realised he was not about to make any demands of her, she slipped off her shoes and lifted her feet up on to the settee, snuggling closer to him.

‘OK?’

‘Mmm.’ She moved her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest. His heart was beating steadily, slowly and evenly.

‘You must be very fit,’ she murmured.

He chuckled. ‘Why?’

‘Your heart beats very slowly—about fifty-five a minute—like an athlete’s.’

‘I jog some mornings, and windsurf, and I also play squash three times a week and tennis in the summer. When I’m not doing any of those things, I’m sailing. I suppose that keeps me fit. What about you?’

‘Me? I’m lazy,’ she said with a sigh of contentment.

‘Like the cat.’

‘Where is your cat?’

‘Around. He’s having a fantastic time exploring. He’ll be in in a while for a bit of TLC, then off out again hunting. He’s a bit of an alley cat, really, but he’s an old softie underneath. His name’s O’Malley, from the cat in The Aristocats.’

Right on cue, she heard a loud miaow and something heavy landed on her stomach. Her lids flew up and she peered, startled, straight into pair of bright blue eyes.

‘He’s a Siamese!’

‘Oh, yes. Didn’t I tell you that?’

O’Malley squawked and stepped delicately over her shoulder, taking up residence around Michael’s neck.

‘He thinks he’s a collar,’ Michael said in resignation.

Clare laughed and swivelled round so that her feet were back on the floor. ‘He’s very beautiful.’

‘He’s a rogue,’ Michael said affectionately, and scratched his ears. The cat squawked again, and began to purr loudly.

They drank their coffee in companionable silence, broken only by the sound of O’Malley’s tongue rasping over his paws. After a while he detached himself from Michael’s neck and stalked out of the door, tail held high.

‘He’s off on the razzle again. More coffee?’

She shook her head. Somehow, without O’Malley’s unwitting guardianship, she felt much more alone with Michael again.

‘Do you want me to take you home?’ he asked with gentle insight.

She looked up, startled. ‘But I thought …’

‘What?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

His fingers traced the outline of her jaw, and threaded under her hair to knead the tense muscles of her neck.

‘I want to make love to you, Clare, but there’s more than that with us, isn’t there?’

She met his eyes, surprised by his admission. ‘Is there? For you, I mean?’

‘Oh, yes …’ His fingers closed around her shoulder and eased her gently back against him. ‘Oh, yes, my love, there’s much more. I think we could have something really special, and I think it deserves to be given time to flourish.’ His lips brushed hers briefly, and with a sigh he hugged her and then let her go.

‘Come on, I’d better take you home before you undermine my good intentions and I do something unspeakably wicked to you on the carpet.’

Clare giggled. ‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Is that a dare?’

She shook her head, suddenly breathless, because for all the lightness of his tone his eyes were deadly serious. ‘No. Take me home, Michael.’

With a wry grin, he helped her to her feet and led her to the car.

Once they had set off he found her hand in the darkness and rested it on his thigh, holding it there except when he needed to change gear. When they reached the hospital, he pulled up in the car park outside the nurses’ residence and turned to face her.

‘How about spending the day with me tomorrow on the boat?’

‘I might be working,’ she teased.

‘But you’re not—I checked the rota. If you don’t want to, you can always say no, Clare.’

She was struck by the uncertainty in his voice, and squeezed his hand. ‘Of course I want to. It would be lovely.’

‘Can you be ready by eight?’

‘Yes, that’s fine. What shall I wear?’

‘Something scruffy and fairly warm, and bring shorts and a swimsuit.’ He leant over and kissed her firmly but briefly, then pushed open the door. ‘I won’t come in with you—I’m not sure I could resist the temptation. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, my love.’

‘You too. Thanks for a lovely evening.’

She touched his cheek with her hand, and then climbed out of the car and shut the door, watching until his tail-lights disappeared from view.

Then she let herself back inside and prepared for bed, certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep. So he thought they could have something really special, something that deserved time to flourish. She wondered where it would lead—to heartache, or to a lifetime of happiness? Maybe neither. Only time would tell.

She snuggled down in bed, her head crowded with images of Michael, and fell asleep in seconds.

Oh, Michael, she’s lovely!’

Clare stood on the quayside and gazed in admiration at the little sloop. Built on traditional, classic lines, she was sleek and graceful, and Clare fell in love on the spot.

Michael slammed the boot of the Volvo and strolled to her side, a confident, cocky grin on his face. ‘Isn’t she great? I know every inch of her, inside and out—I helped my grandfather build her the year I was ten. She handles beautifully—he really knew what he was doing. Come on, let’s get all this stuff stowed and take her out.’

He led Clare on to the pontoon that ran out like a finger into the marina, with little branches off it at intervals to which boats were moored in orderly profusion.

‘I may be biased, but I think she’s the prettiest,’ Clare told him as they arrived at the Henrietta and she got her first close look at the boat.

‘I’m biased too, but I happen to agree with you!’ He shot her a cheeky grin. ‘Here, hold this lot.’ He handed her some bags and hopped nimbly aboard, uncovering the cockpit and stowing the cover neatly under the seat in the stern.