Midwives On Call At Christmas: Midwife's Christmas Proposal. Abigail Gordon

jiggle of awareness, and couldn’t help but remember what had happened after the lake, and definitely after the beach frolic, but she had way more clothes on this time. Note to self. Keep clothes on.

      She shrugged mentally and took his hand as she landed beside him. Sucked in the fresh, cooler air and shaded her eyes to estimate how much longer they had to get back before dark.

      ‘Probably two hours till sunset?’ In the distance the lake sparkled in the afternoon sun, and the mountains behind which the sun would sink were already dusted with gold. Simon was also dusted with gold, everything felt golden, and she could feel the prickle of nervousness again. ‘I like this road for a run on the bike. I’ve been here a few times.’

      The air shimmered between them with a bigger thrum than three million cicadas and the awareness in the pit of her stomach growled like a nasty case of hunger pains. Maybe it was hunger pains. She glanced at his backpack as Simon put it down on the grass. ‘So? What’s in the backpack?’

      ‘A picnic for the princess, of course. Louisa is renowned for her picnic hampers. And I’m not without a few surprises.’

      Surprises. Yep, he liked surprises. The first time, with the birthday cake, she’d cried. She was not going to cry this time. ‘Ooh. Picnic. Cool.’

      ‘Prepare to be amazed.’ He crouched down. Withdrew the tartan rug and spread it in the centre of the grassed area so they were facing the view. He patted the rug beside him. ‘Come on. Down you come.’ He undid the laces on his shoes and pulled them and his socks off.

      She was distracted for a minute. He had very attractive feet. Long toes and very masculine-looking feet. He wiggled the toes and she caught his eye. He was grinning at her.

      Maybe she could lose her own boots? She sat down, feeling a little heated, a little confined in her outfit, and before she realised what she was doing she’d removed her vest and was reaching down for her boots.

      Simon was pretending not to look as he studied the hamper with only occasional sideways glances at her cleavage. Ogler. She laughed at herself. No use getting prudish about that. Why had she worn that shirt if she hadn’t wanted him to appreciate? And she guessed she would have been miffed if he’d sat there and stared at the view and not her.

      ‘Yep, that’s more comfortable.’ She stretched out her legs and leaned back, resting her weight on her hands.

      ‘Non-alcoholic sparkling wine?’ Simon held out a plastic champagne flute and Tara grinned.

      ‘Classy.’

      ‘Story of my life.’

      ‘Not mine.’

      ‘Some people are classy no matter what. You’re one of them.’

      Aw, he said the nicest things, and she could feel the prickle in her throat. Not crying. Ha, said a little voice, you said you weren’t taking any of your clothes off either.

      He leant over and dull-clunked their plastic flutes in a toast. ‘To the classiest lady I know.’

      ‘To the smoothest man around.’ She took a sip and it wasn’t bad for a soft drink.

      He took a sip and then put his flute down on the lid from the container that held cheese, nuts, celery and carrot sticks, and in the middle was a big dollop of guacamole.

      ‘You had that in the backpack?’

      ‘I told you Louisa was the picnic queen. She has a whole set of bowls she uses for hampers.’ He pulled out another that held marinated chicken wings.

      By the time they’d picked and sighed over the food, laughed at how strangely hungry they were, and had eaten far too much whenever the conversation flagged, the sun hovered over the distant mountains like a gold penny about to drop.

      Simon had packed the food back into the insulated backpack, Tara was gazing into the small pool of liquid in her glass, and the playful mood had deepened back into the awareness that had always been there but which now eddied between them like the afternoon breeze.

      ‘It’s been fun, Simon.’

      ‘It has, Tara.’ There was a tinge of amusement in his voice as he slid across next to her. When his hip touched hers he lay back on the rug, one hand behind his head and the other he used to catch her hand.

      ‘Those clouds over there look like a castle with a dragon.’

      She looked up, squinted and frowned. ‘Where?’

      ‘You’ll have to lie down to see.’

      ‘Ha.’ But she lay down and he pointed and she could just see what he meant before the turbulence slowly rearranged the puffy paintwork in the sky into something else.

      ‘I can see a dinosaur.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘To the left of the dragon.’ She lifted her hand and he followed where she pointed.

      ‘That’s not a dinosaur. More of an elephant.’

      She giggled. ‘That’s not an elephant.’

      He rolled onto his side and she could feel him watching her. So this is was what they meant when they said ‘basking’. Tara felt herself ‘basking’ in Simon’s appreciation and it was a feeling she’d never really experienced. Could certainly grow accustomed to it too if she had the unlikely chance of that.

      He leant over and kissed the tip of her nose. It was unexpected and she sneezed.

      Simon flopped back and laughed out loud. ‘It’s hard being a man, you know,’ he complained. ‘I have to make all the moves and then she sneezes.’ He put his hand over his eyes. ‘I had this fantasy that this incredibly sexy woman—dressed in black leather, mind you—would attack me and have her wicked way with me, or at least kiss me senseless.’ He sighed again. ‘But it hasn’t happened.’

      Tara rolled over to face him, with her arm tucked under her cheek. Then, with a ‘nothing dared, nothing gained thought behind her eyes’, she climbed on top of him until she had one leg on either side of his body and her weight resting on her hands. She leant in and kissed his lips, once—he tasted so good—twice—mmm … yum—and a slower third time that threatened to turn into something bigger until she sat up. Feeling pretty impressed with her own daring, actually. ‘Consider yourself attacked.’

      ‘Mmm.’ His eyes had changed to sleepy sexy and his hands reached up and slowly pulled her face down to his. ‘I could get used to this.’

      The sun was setting. And she wanted nothing more than to lose herself with Simon in this private place above the world. But she wasn’t quite sure this was the right time—goodness knew where that thought had come from. ‘I think it wouldn’t be as much fun in the dark.’

      He smiled lazily and kissed her neck. ‘You sure?’

      ‘Mmm. Maybe it would be.’ She had no doubt it would be. No, Tara. Stop it, the voice of reason nagged in her ear. ‘But I don’t make out on deserted roads with bikers.’ She said it as a joke to lighten the moment, because Simon had been on his first bike ride now.

      He pretended to be disappointed. He kissed her again. ‘I should have known that about you.’ He hadn’t given up hope.

      But then she thought of Mick. The picture of a dishevelled biker. And she guessed she had. But she’d never really seen that until the end. She’d seen the lost little boy from the orphanage. The brother of her best little friend who had died so tragically young and someone who had needed her. She shuddered to think what Simon would have thought of Mick.

      Simon’s face changed and obviously, unless he could read her mind, he thought it was something else. ‘You okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. Hell, Tara, I think you’re amazing. You blow me away and yet you make me feel so amazingly good.’

      He rolled her off him and sat up. Reached down and pulled her up to sit next to him, tucking