Happy Xmas all!

This chapter is dedicated to Aunt Sal and her very special Scooter.

Chapter 37

The lamp on the bedside table had been left on, the meagre twenty watt bulb within the pink sateen shade casting long, dense shadows against the walls and bringing a pleasant, cosy quality to the room.

It looked like Dempsey had done his best with the bed but with just a pillow, a blanket and, Harry discovered, his own blue and navy striped towel in the place of a sheet, it didn't look particularly inviting.

Harry crossed to the open window and leaned out, breathing in several lungfulls of the sweet night air. It was still warm outside but fresher than inside the cottage and she closed her eyes as she felt the air caress her skin.

In the morning it would probably hit her, the enormity of her indiscretion but right now she just felt so drained by exhaustion that she barely cared anymore.

It was honeysuckle she could smell, wasn't it? She breathed deeply, letting it out again as a sigh.

Breaking down like that was bad enough in itself but in front of him… And he had seen her naked! No, worse, he had dragged her out of that bath, sobbing and wailing like a lunatic.

She tried to supress all those incriminating and embarrassing words that were tumbling around in her head but it was no longer possible. She had spoken them out loud and now they must exist forever between them.

What did he really think of her now he knew?

He had said next to nothing about the abortion itself but she had sensed, if not disapproval, then disappointment. But then, he had been far more concerned with Robert's part in it all. Volatile was barely enough to cover his attitude. She knew he abhorred violence against women but even so, his severe reaction had startled her somewhat. Had he been caught up by the requirements of a policing partnership? Had it been an automatic response to a colleague's peril? And was it too much to hope that he had felt a protectiveness towards her, as a woman, because he cared that deeply? Looking back now, it had felt that way.

She tried to recall how tightly he had held her; what his breath on her cheek had felt like… and on the back of her neck…and on her shoulder, she remembered with a shiver… and what platitudes he had whispered into her ear.

Honey

He had called her 'honey' at some point and the memory, like the substance, trickled warm and sweet through her mind. He had been her safety net tonight. He had been there to catch her as she fell so far down she hadn't even aware of her decent until she hit the bottom.

But he had been there to save her.

Harry pulled away from the window sharply.

Stupid thoughts!

Yes, he'd been there but he'd done what anybody would have in his position. He would hardly have left her there – a blubbering, pathetic wreck.

A sudden wave of heat washed over her, its epicentre, the pit of her stomach.

He probably wouldn't be able to see her the same anymore. She would have changed in his eyes, become that weak woman she so despised. And she couldn't bear that.

Her head was pounding now.

At the foot of the bed was her suitcase and on top of that, her handbag. Just as she was about to give up her search, she found a half empty blister pack of Paracetamol.

She shouldn't have had so much to drink. That was what had tipped her over the edge, wasn't it?

Hearing the creak of floorboards, Harry froze.

"You decent in there?" Dempsey asked, tapping lightly on the door.

She looked across to where it stood half open. She hadn't even thought to shut it behind her, had just wandered in.

"I'm as decent as I can be under the circumstances."

She really had nothing left to hide from him now she thought about it. Was that why she had failed to close it, because there was no longer a need for such superficial privacy?

Dempsey put his head around the door first before making his entrance, a glass of water in his hand.

"Here," he said, offering her the water as he noted the tablets she held between her hands. "You need to get some shut-eye."

"Thanks."

She took it from him and moved around the bed to put it down beside the lamp. "Not sure I'll be able to sleep though."

Harry eyed the bed doubtfully.

"We can pick up some sheets or whatever tomorrow."

"No, no," she jumped in, "the bed's fine, I just meant… with everything… you know," she floundered.

"I know," he reassured her. "Come on now, hop in and give it a try."

"What will you do about a towel?" she asked, getting onto the bed and sliding over onto the makeshift sheet.

He made a face. "I'll drip-dry."

Harry forced a smile.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

She was fumbling with the plastic blister packaging of the Paracetamol and didn't look up but her frown deepened. "Alright."

She knew it would be a question she wouldn't want to answer but she owed him now.

"Would you have done it any different… with hindsight?"

Her fingers curled around the rectangular pack and Dempsey reached out to take them from her, forcing a couple of the small white tablets through the foil blisters.

"You want to know if I regret not keeping the baby," Harry replied.

Dempsey sat on the edge of the bed, dropped the pills into her hand and gave her back the water.

"I guess."

"I honestly can't say. I do wonder sometimes, what my life would be like now if I had a three year old toddler. I only ever get as far as, 'very, very different'.

"Good different?"

Harry downed her pills. "Maybe. Not much point speculating now though is there."

"But in the future?"

Her eyes lifted automatically.

"You want kids in the future?" Dempsey asked.

She hadn't expected him to ask that.

"I mean, not like you ain't thought about it, right?"

She had. Of course she had but it was hardly an option these days.

Shifting uncomfortably, she pulled at the hem of her nightdress to stretch it down past her knees. "I suppose."

"And?"

She hesitated, both hands clenching around the glass.

Dempsey grinned. "Hell, I've thought about it so I know you have."

He'd thought about her having a child? Her mind coiled around the memory of him in the Weathervane Studios, his hands caressing the pregnant belly of the clay sculpture and she couldn't hide the unexpected feeling of confusion that manifested itself in her expression.

But then she relaxed a little when he clarified his point by adding, "You think just 'cause I'm a guy I ain't interested in havin' a kid or two? I got ten years on you and not even a glimpse of a potential mom on the horizon. That can be a scary thought, ya know."

If he had been tryng to shift the focus onto himself to help assuage her pain then it had worked. It had never really occurred to her that Dempsey might feel that way. He was a joker, a lover, a man of action – but a father? He was forty years old without a wife or a long term partner and Harry suddenly could see where the empathy was coming from.

"I'm not sure I've ever known you to stick around long enough to find out."

"Or maybe I'm just lookin' in the wrong direction. Kinda girls I go with ain't usually the marryin' kind."

"You have a point," she smiled tiredly. "So maybe you're giving out the wrong signals in the first place."

"Ain't exactly daddy material, I guess."

"Upon first impressions, probably not but I think you'd make a very good father, actually."

She had said it because she meant it, he had enough of a childishness in his spirit to understand and appreciate the myriad needs and complexities of a child of his own. He would make a caring and inspirational father, she was sure.

Dempsey grinned. "Is that so?"

Then she tightened inside when she realised the compliment might be reciprocated.

Don't say it. Please don't say it

Her shoulders tensed as she desperately tried to think of something to say to side track the conversation but she just couldn't.

And you'd make a great mom, Harry

You can't say if because we both know it wouldn't be true

"Harry?"

Her eyes snapped open.

She'd had them shut tight and hadn't even realised.

"Okay, honey?"

"Yes," she answered too fast and too emotionless even as she blinked away the tears that clung to her eyelashes.

"You know, you ain't always gonna feel this way. An' you know what they say, right? A problem shared is a problem halved. Which means by my calculations, you should be feelin' approximately fifty per cent better than you did before."

She couldn't even smile.

"Sorry. I'm lousy at this kinda thing," he sighed.

Harry shook her head. "No, you're not. You're rather good at it."

The moment had passed and she calmed a little.

Dempsey shrugged. "Yeah… well…"

He sat back and gazed over at the window.

"Jeez, it's hot still," he said as he ran a hand down his neck and rubbed it lazily across his chest. "Sweatin' like Elvis at an all-day buffet."

She could see the sweat glistening on the shadowy contours of his torso and in her mind's eye, traced a finger along the dips and hollows.

She longed to be in this arms again only now she wanted more than just to be held, she wanted the feel of his fingertips, feather-light play8ing over her skin, exploring, seeking out those sensitive, receptive areas that would make her shiver with pleasure. She needed him to touch her, actually needed him to. From that contact would come a passion bringing with it a comforting, healing strength. Just the thought of it made her heart beat faster. She needed to feel all the ardour of these emotions in a physical form now, before she froze over again, dragging her secrets back below the surface.

But she knew it wasn't going to happen unless she made the first move. Despite everything, he wouldn't step over the boundaries that had been set down between them, not unless she invited him. Deep down, he was a gentleman and that was part of the reason she wanted him.

"It's very humid," she agreed, forcing herself to concentrate. "Sticky."

She caught his eyes slide over her legs and saw his lips press together as he quickly looked up again.

Try and get some shut-eye, huh?"

Dempsey stood up. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

She did need him. Quite badly.

She smiled faintly, wondering if he had sensed her disappointment.

"You gonna be okay?"

~"I'll be fine once I get to sleep," she said, easing herself down to lie on her side.

"You want me to stay 'til you do? Dempsey asked, studiously avoiding the long length of leg that was on display, the nightdress hitched almost to her bottom now.

"Would you?"

"No problem," he said with an easy smile and sat back down again. "So close them baby blues, okay?"

Harry smiled too, feeling him brush a few strands of fringe away from her eyes. It was comforting. He cared.

And then his hand fell to her right ankle, curling around and gliding upwards in a slow and sensual gesture which terminated mid-calf and returned to her ankle to be repeated with equal hotness. After a few more passes he ventured higher, curving over her knee, two fingers flowing over the silky smooth skin of her shin and his palm backing up her calf.

Harry watched him, hearing her own breath in her ears.

"Go to sleep," he murmured softly, looking into her eyes before returning to the gentle caresses.

Harry shifted her leg a fraction just to show that she was appreciating the attention. And then she sighed, an involuntary sound that wouldn't be out of place had Dempsey been actually making love to her.

Oh God, why had she done that? Now he'd stop – think he'd gone too far, that he was making a mistake.

But he didn't stop. His hand was running up over her knee again and on to her thigh, moving around to the back of her leg, his touch so exquisitely light and delicate. Broad strokes now, alternating between the flat of his hand and his fingertips and when he snagged for just a split second, the elastic trim of the panties she wore under her baggy nightdress, she realised just how high it had ridden.

She turned onto her back and grabbed at the hand that had been wandering her bare leg, reaching for his other hand at the same time. And then boldly, she brought them both down to press against her inner thighs.

Dempsey's eyes widened. "This what you want, Harry?" he asked her urgently.

"Oh God, yes," she hissed.

She watched as he yanked up her nightdress to expose her flat, tanned belly and lowered his head to rain rough kisses along the top of her panties.

She moaned, feeling her body arch and strangely, seeing it too.

Her eyes snapped open for a second time.

She was still on her side and Dempsey was sitting a respectable distance from her with a quizzical expression on his face.

Just that limbo state. That vivid, buoyant space between consciousness and dreaming where the mind fought against reality as it tried to introduce sleep to an exhausted body.

She felt her eyes drift shut again and instantly heard Dempsey's voice, crystal clear in her ear.

"Yeah, we're in limbo. Exhausted, Harry."

She could feel the motion as their bodies rocked together but no physical pressure, just complete weightlessness. It wasn't real. She knew that but still it felt good to be in his arms again.

She heard Inga's laughter in the background, the two girls from the pub, Spikings yelling something that she couldn't quite make out and Anton, the barman from Stringfellows running through a list of cocktails.

Just voices. Loud and insistent but none-threatening and Dempsey there, surrounding her with his reassuring presence – loving her.

"Oooh!"

"Hey, it's okay."

Harry's eyes opened again, the cry still on her lips.

She struggled to raise herself up on her elbows as Dempsey came away from the window.

"Don't fight it, baby," he chuckled, coming over to sit beside her again. "You've been makin' a whole bunch o' weird noises."

"Have I?" she asked, rather embarrassed by the possibilities. "Just dreaming, I think."

"'bout me?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure. It was one of those peculiar dreams where everyone's milling about and nothing really makes any sense."

"That's called a memory, Harry, happens every day back at the office. Now quit usin' your brain and tune out for a while, huh."

Harry collapsed back onto the bed and wiped the perspiration from her face with both hands. "I'm trying."

"You're that alright."

She didn't have the strength to dredge up any sort of a retort and let it go without a second thought.

"Wait, I got an idea. Wait right here."

He left the bedroom and Harry heard him go to the bathroom next door before her eyelids drifted shut and the intense sounds and images returned to crowd her mind.

When the mattress dipped as Dempsey positioned himself on the edge, she was awake again in an instant.

"What?" she demanded in a dazed panic.

"Hey, hey, everything's fine, everything's cool."

She settled again and Dempsey leaned over to gently rub a moistened cloth over her forehead.

"Mmm, that feels wonderful," she sighed.

"Good?"

He pressed the cloth to her cheeks and Harry tilted her face up, luxuriating in the blissful coolness.

"Yes," she smiled, her eyes closed.

Then he moved the cloth down to her throat where he wiped away the trickle of sweat that had formed there.

Silently, he lifted her left arm up and slowly cleansed the sheen from her skin; from the upper arm to the crook of the elbow, from the forearm around to the pale, smooth skin of her inner wrist. The back of her hand and over her fingers, finally turning her hand over and massaging the palm with the sweet scented cloth.

"Better?"

Harry could barely breathe let alone answer the question.

She had never experienced a more sensual act in her life. It was almost carnal.

He took her other arm and began the process again. This was a gratification of the senses.

Oh good Lord, had she ever been so aroused? And by such a basic, simple deed. But surely that was the point. To be washed by a man… to be cleansed… by him.

Dempsey held her hand up, his fingers laced through the back of hers as he patted the cold cloth against her pulse point.

He hadn't met her eyes once she noticed. Because he was concentrating or because he was just as aroused as she was?

"There ya go. You're done." He cleared his throat. "That should keep you cool enough to sleep for a while," he said, folding the cloth into a rectangle and placing it tenderly upon Harry's forehead.

Still he avoided any eye contact, even as he bent to switch off the lamp.

In the near-darkness, Harry lay trembling, her heart thudding against her ribcage as she anticipated his touch again.

"Goodnight, Harry."

His voice cracked and Harry shivered.

"Goodnight, James."

Silence rang out, long seconds of expectancy that died on the creak of the floorboards and the quiet closing of the bedroom door.