Miracles in the Village. Josie Metcalfe

      She couldn’t speak, couldn’t find any words to match his, so instead, swallowing the tears and stepping back, she held out her hand to him.

      He took it, squeezed it, then swung himself over to the bed, less awkward now on his crutches, and propped them up against the wall, then took her hand again and drew her close.

      ‘I love you,’ he breathed, bending his head and touching his lips lightly to hers. She parted her lips but he eased away, cradling her close, pressing soft, breathy kisses to her hair, her temple, her cheek, his lips grazing her skin like the wings of an angel.

      She let her head fall over to one side, giving him access to the incredibly sensitive skin of her throat, and she felt the hot trail of his breath as his lips traced slowly down to the hollow at the bottom, the rasp of stubble unbearably erotic.

      She could feel her heart beating there, his lips pressed softly to the pulse point. A little cry rose in her throat, and he must have felt it vibrate under his lips because he moved then, lifting his head, staring down into her eyes as if he was trying to read her soul.

      He ought to be able to. It was there for him to read, everything she was, everything she felt for him laid out there for him to see.

      And maybe he did, because he smiled then, a tiny flicker of encouragement, before his mouth lowered again and he captured her lips with his. She opened to him on a sigh, and this time he settled his mouth against hers, his arms tightening, supporting her as his kiss grew bolder, deepening until she thought her knees would go out from under her.

      But he had her, held close against his heart, and finally he lifted his head and stared down at her again.

      ‘I want you, Fran,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I need you. Not just tonight, but every night, for the rest of our lives. I need you more than I need to breathe.’

      ‘Oh, Mike,’ she whispered, the tears that had threatened earlier finally spilling over. ‘I need you, too. I love you—so very, very much. I just don’t know if I can be the woman you want.’

      ‘You are the woman I want,’ he said, his voice vibrating with sincerity, ‘and if you can’t do this—if you really don’t want to, then you’re still the woman I want. I still love you. Whatever happens, I’ll always love you.’

      ‘I can do this,’ she said, her doubts dissolving like mist in the sunshine, leaving her certain. ‘Make love to me, Mike. I’ve missed you so, so much.’

      He gave a ragged, broken groan, and his mouth came down on hers hard, seeking, demanding her response, and she rose up on tiptoe, threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him right back, her tongue tangling with his, stroking, suckling, pleading until he dragged his mouth away and reached for the hem of her dress, pulling it over her head and throwing it aside, his eyes settling on her hungrily.

      The bra was gone in a second, then he pushed her back onto the mattress, one hand capturing hers and holding them over her head, the other cupping her heat, his fingers curling hot against her, slipping under the edge of the lace and tracing the soft, aching flesh that wept for his touch.

      ‘Mike, please …’ she gasped, and he straightened and stripped them away, leaving her there exposed to his eyes. The bedroom light was off, but the landing light was on and she knew he could see her clearly. Knew by the way his eyes darkened, the way his lips parted and the air hissed out of them.

      He grasped her thighs, kneeling, awkward in the cast, and laying hot, open-mouthed kisses from her knee slowly, slowly up her thigh, so near and yet so far …

      ‘Mike, please!’

      He looked up, his eyes black. ‘Not yet,’ he said tightly. Turning his attention to the other leg, his tongue teased the trembling, quivering flesh behind her knee, the soft graze of his stubble torture as he worked his way slowly up her thigh until at last, finally, he was there, his mouth closing over her …

      ‘Mike!’

      She felt the tremors start, felt the sensation build as his tongue flicked against her, and then she felt his fingers there, thrusting into her in time with his tongue, and her body arched, a scream leaving her throat as wave after wave of sensation crashed through her, leaving her shaking and stunned in its wake.

      ‘Mike?’

      ‘I’m here,’ he growled, his voice rough with need, and she felt a button ping off his shirt and flick against her skin.

      He struggled out of the shorts, swearing as they caught on the cast, and then he was beside her, dragging her up the bed and taking her in his arms. With a shuddering sigh he drew her tighter against him, taking her mouth in a wild, desperate kiss that she thought would never end.

      It did, finally, but only because he’d moved on, his breath hot against her throat, his lips parted, nipping, nibbling, his tongue like fire licking over her, leaving her shaking and wild with a need every bit as desperate as his own.

      Her hands clung to him, plunging into his hair, holding him against her as his chin grazed her chest, her breasts, tormenting her, his breath sighing over her skin until finally, when she thought she would have to scream if he left it another second, his mouth closed hotly over a nipple and she did scream, a sobbing scream of need and frustration satisfied at last.

      Except not, because it just made it all much worse, and the need was building again, another need, much greater, and she bucked against him, feeling the hard, urgent thrust of his erection against her thigh. And tonight she was ready for it.

      More than ready.

      ‘Mike, please,’ she sobbed, her hands dragging at him, and with a fractured groan he shifted over her, settling against the intense, liquid heat, the fire he’d lit in her burning recklessly out of control as he stared down into her eyes and drove deeply into her.

      ‘Oh, God, Fran, I love you,’ he said brokenly, and then he started to move, the long, slow thrusts driving her higher, higher, until with a sobbing cry she felt her body tighten around him and sensation flooded her again. He drove into her one last time, then stiffened against her, a great groan torn from his chest as his body convulsed with the devastating power of his release, and then with a ragged sob he rolled to the side, taking her with him, cradling her against his heart as if he’d never let her go …

      He held her all night.

      She woke towards dawn, and he made love to her again, slowly, tenderly, afraid he’d hurt or frighten her, but she clung to him, her breathy sighs sweet music to his ears, and as she curled against him to sleep again, there was a smile on her face.

      He didn’t smile. He was too close to tears, too moved to speak. He just held her, thankful for the chance, hoping that the future wouldn’t prove too much for them but a little more confident now that they would make it.

      They had to, because without her he would be nothing.

      Fran woke again later, the sun well up, and found Mike gone.

      She could hear his voice in the kitchen, and she slipped out of bed, hot colour scorching her cheeks as she saw the trail of underwear strewn across the floor. She scooped it up, showered and dressed quickly and went downstairs.

      ‘Hi, Fran,’ Joe said, and then did a mild double-take before turning away, just a fraction too slowly to hide his smile.

      She felt the heat climb her cheeks again and went over to the kettle. ‘Any tea in the pot?’ she asked brightly.

      ‘I should make some fresh,’ Joy said. ‘It’s been there a while. I would have brought you up a cup but Mike said to let you sleep.’

      ‘Mmm,’ she said, filling the kettle and avoiding Mike’s eye. They hadn’t exchanged a word since last night, and she felt ludicrously self-conscious and aware, her body still humming from his touch. If she looked at him …

      ‘How about a fruit smoothie?’

      Oh, lord. He was right behind her, his body big and powerful and radiating heat. He rested