turmoil.
***
In Fin’s dream, she was before him, real in the sense that there was nothing hazy or insubstantial about her but ethereal in that he couldn’t touch her.
Melissa wore an evening dress, a shimmering blue number that bared her back and shoulders and sheathed her figure tightly and ended above her knees. Her blonde hair was piled artfully on top of her head and her lips and eyes were touched just lightly with makeup.
She moved in a slow dance in front of him, her huge eyes fixed on his, her limbs and hips shimmying to music only she could hear. He watched the slow pursing of her mouth, the liquid wink of light off moisture on the lower lip. His gaze travelled down the soft line of her throat to the hollow at its base, to her slim exposed shoulders and then further, over the swell of her breasts, their slopes pushed forward by the dress and shadowed in between. Still lower, he took in her tight waist and the slowly swinging curves of her hips, down her long slender legs to the narrow ankles and feet.
Almost imperceptibly she advanced towards him, not walking so much as gliding. As she drew nearer he became aware of tiny pinprick beads of perspiration in the dip between her breasts. Mesmerised, he reached out a hand to run a finger across the moisture, but found that even though she was close enough to touch he somehow couldn’t quite reach her.
She smiled, showing beautiful even white teeth, her red tongue playing behind the upper row, teasing.
I want you , her voice breathed as if from far away.
Fin twisted awake with a cry. For a moment he heard a thumping in the stillness of his bedroom, before realising it was his heart trying to break free from his chest. His breathing came hoarse and guttural. The sweat was slick on his face and his bare chest and he noticed his fists were gripping sodden wads of sheet.
Lower down, under the bedclothes, he was painfully aroused.
He lay for a few minutes, swallowing to try to lubricate his dry mouth and throat, willing his pulse and breathing to slow down. Once his vital signs were back to normal, he realised he wasn’t going to go back to sleep any time soon, not under these circumstances. He swung his legs out of the bed and padded naked to the bathroom.
In the shower, Fin set the water to a few degrees above unbearably cold and turned the power up high. He grimaced as the stinging needles scoured the sweat from his body.
It had been so close. The tipping point had been reached, and although he could understand the reason for Melissa’s hesitation, Fin was certain she would have asked him up to her flat. He’d had to break the moment by saying goodnight and taking his leave, because he wouldn’t have been able to bear the look in her eyes if he’d turned her down, not just the immediate look but the hurt and shame that would linger there for the rest of her time working with him.
Fin knew, however, that that was only part of the reason he’d spoken before she could. If he was honest with himself, he was more afraid of what would have happened if he’d found himself saying yes to her.
He towelled himself dry; then, seeing it was already five-thirty in the morning, he decided he might as well stay up. He took particular care with shaving, concentrating on the quotidian task as if it were an especially complicated surgical procedure, in an attempt to focus his thoughts on something else. Just when he thought he’d got a grip, he peered at his face in the wall mirror and, unbidden, an image came to mind of Melissa stepping wet and nude from the shower behind him, her hair plastered darkly to her shoulders, her body completely exposed to his gaze...
Oh, for crying out loud, Fin , he thought, and went to grab a tracksuit and training shoes, deciding on a punishing ten-mile run in the cold.
***
It was an especially nasty injury. The man had fallen against the sharp spike of a railing and his bowel had been perforated. Once the mess in his
***
In Fin’s dream, she was before him, real in the sense that there was nothing hazy or insubstantial about her but ethereal in that he couldn’t touch her.
Melissa wore an evening dress, a shimmering blue number that bared her back and shoulders and sheathed her figure tightly and ended above her knees. Her blonde hair was piled artfully on top of her head and her lips and eyes were touched just lightly with makeup.
She moved in a slow dance in front of him, her huge eyes fixed on his, her limbs and hips shimmying to music only she could hear. He watched the slow pursing of her mouth, the liquid wink of light off moisture on the lower lip. His gaze travelled down the soft line of her throat to the hollow at its base, to her slim exposed shoulders and then further, over the swell of her breasts, their slopes pushed forward by the dress and shadowed in between. Still lower, he took in her tight waist and the slowly swinging curves of her hips, down her long slender legs to the narrow ankles and feet.
Almost imperceptibly she advanced towards him, not walking so much as gliding. As she drew nearer he became aware of tiny pinprick beads of perspiration in the dip between her breasts. Mesmerised, he reached out a hand to run a finger across the moisture, but found that even though she was close enough to touch he somehow couldn’t quite reach her.
She smiled, showing beautiful even white teeth, her red tongue playing behind the upper row, teasing.
I want you , her voice breathed as if from far away.
Fin twisted awake with a cry. For a moment he heard a thumping in the stillness of his bedroom, before realising it was his heart trying to break free from his chest. His breathing came hoarse and guttural. The sweat was slick on his face and his bare chest and he noticed his fists were gripping sodden wads of sheet.
Lower down, under the bedclothes, he was painfully aroused.
He lay for a few minutes, swallowing to try to lubricate his dry mouth and throat, willing his pulse and breathing to slow down. Once his vital signs were back to normal, he realised he wasn’t going to go back to sleep any time soon, not under these circumstances. He swung his legs out of the bed and padded naked to the bathroom.
In the shower, Fin set the water to a few degrees above unbearably cold and turned the power up high. He grimaced as the stinging needles scoured the sweat from his body.
It had been so close. The tipping point had been reached, and although he could understand the reason for Melissa’s hesitation, Fin was certain she would have asked him up to her flat. He’d had to break the moment by saying goodnight and taking his leave, because he wouldn’t have been able to bear the look in her eyes if he’d turned her down, not just the immediate look but the hurt and shame that would linger there for the rest of her time working with him.
Fin knew, however, that that was only part of the reason he’d spoken before she could. If he was honest with himself, he was more afraid of what would have happened if he’d found himself saying yes to her.
He towelled himself dry; then, seeing it was already five-thirty in the morning, he decided he might as well stay up. He took particular care with shaving, concentrating on the quotidian task as if it were an especially complicated surgical procedure, in an attempt to focus his thoughts on something else. Just when he thought he’d got a grip, he peered at his face in the wall mirror and, unbidden, an image came to mind of Melissa stepping wet and nude from the shower behind him, her hair plastered darkly to her shoulders, her body completely exposed to his gaze...
Oh, for crying out loud, Fin , he thought, and went to grab a tracksuit and training shoes, deciding on a punishing ten-mile run in the cold.
***
It was an especially nasty injury. The man had fallen against the sharp spike of a railing and his bowel had been perforated. Once the mess in his
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