Her excitement was mounting with every passing second and she was having difficulty breathing. What did she care about oxygen when she had George? With a satisfied moan, Melody pulled her mouth from his, dragging air into her lungs, pleased to note that his breathing was just as erratic as hers.
He pressed kisses to her cheek, working his way towards her ear, and she tipped her head to the side, allowing him access. A thousand goose-bumps cascaded over her body, increasing her light-headedness. He was a drug and the more she had of him, the more she knew she’d become addicted.
He brought his hand up and brushed her neck, gently urging her collar aside to make room for his hungry lips. She had the smoothest skin and the most luscious lips. Now that he’d kissed her, the realisation of how incredible they were together only made him want her even more.
His mouth met hers again, their lips mingling together like old friends. Although he wanted nothing more than to deepen the kiss, heightening the intensity, George could feel her starting to withdraw.
He pressed his lips to hers one last time before allowing her to rest her head on his chest, their breathing slowly returning to normal. His arms embraced her, holding her tightly, never wanting to let her go.
As she stood there, listening to his heart gradually return to a steady rhythm, Melody started to feel uncomfortable and awkward. What would happen now? George had kissed her and it had been…mind-blowing. Her frazzled thoughts acknowledged that she would never be the same again. The kisses, the passion, the desire—everything had changed. Never had she experienced anything like the onslaught of emotions or the intensity of feeling that had just taken place.
His hands rubbed gently up and down her back. She knew it was supposed to relax her but all it did was increase her anxiety. Why had she let George kiss her? She was due in Theatre. He would leave at the end of the week. He was still in love with the memory of his wife. She eased from his hold and took three giant steps backwards.
Helplessness and confusion were running rampant through her mind and along with it came fatigue. She didn’t have the energy for a post-mortem on what had just happened and she hoped George realised that. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and shook her head.
‘We shouldn’t have done that.’ Her words were a whisper.
‘Well, for starters, someone could have walked in and caught us.’ She pointed to the door.
‘I’m due in Theatre soon. I should be concentrating. Hand reconstruction isn’t the same as a knee arthroscopy, you know.’ She turned and walked over to the kitchen bench, bracing her hands on the edge.
‘I know the difference,’ he replied, and she heard him walk towards her. She was so instinctively aware of him it frightened her. George rubbed his hands up and down her arms, making her resent her outburst. ‘I apologise for the timing. You’re right. You should be concentrating.’
He dropped his hands, although he didn’t move back. Melody felt slightly bereft but drew warmth from the nearness of his body.
‘We do, however,’ he continued, ‘need to talk.’
‘No, we don’t.’ She turned to look at him, determination running through her body. ‘We don’t need to discuss or dissect what just happened, George. It happened. Let’s just leave it at that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my thoughts in order regarding this operation.’ With that, she sidestepped him and walked to the table.
She collected her notes, conscious of his gaze on her. When she reached the door, she congratulated herself on not giving in to the urge to throw herself back into his arms. Just before she opened the door, he spoke.
‘We do need to talk, Melody, and we will.’
She glanced over her shoulder, to see brown eyes that had not too long ago been filled with desire were now filled with determination. Not trusting herself to say anything, she continued out the door, heading to the emergency theatres, determined to push all thoughts of George Wilmont aside and do her job.
GEORGE STOOD IN the tea room for a good ten minutes after she’d walked out. His thoughts were completely jumbled and he was having a difficult time making head or tail of them. He’d kissed Melody—he’d kissed another woman!
Guilt swamped him and he closed his eyes. The guilt wasn’t only because he felt as though he was cheating on his wife, but the fact that he’d actively pursued Melody, desperate to taste the sweetness of her mouth. He’d wanted to kiss her and the guilt from that alone was enough to keep him company for a very long time. What kind of man did that make him? He’d always thought himself honourable, trusting and sincere.