by Margaret Way
“I’d really enjoy that. She’s already promised me she’d make me a dress.” Angelica looked to Gillian to smile, but there was no smile back. Oh dear, she thinks I’m trying to steal her boyfriend. How unfortunate. Gilly didn’t realise there was a man in her life already. A man who made Charles look like a charming boy.
“You wouldn’t wear it, would you, dear?” Stacy turned a surprised face.
“Of course I would.” The “course” soared in surprise. She really didn’t understand Stacy’s and Gillian’s patronising attitude, which seemed odd to her.
“You’ve got taste,” the egalitarian Charles said, as though that settled it. “You’ll look marvellous in it. You have the style to carry off the look. And the dramatic colouring.” He put down his knife and fork to steeple his fingers, sitting back in his chair to consider her like a sculpture.
“For what it’s worth,” Jake said dryly. “I agree. So now we all have something to look forward to. Angelica in her new dress. Probably the symbols will have something to do with woman-magic.”
“Oh, I love that!” Charles exclaimed delightedly.
Clary ushered in the main course, which went down very well. “This is absolutely delicious!” Charles gasped, rolling the word on his tongue. “I understand you and Clary put your heads together on the menu, Angelica?”
“Well…” Angelica caught Gillian’s sulk and nearly moaned. “Clary did the actual cooking.”
“I know you’re marvellous, too.” Charles seemed quite unaware his little pleasantries were being interpreted by Gillian and her protective mother as unacceptable gush. “I must try to get copies of Cosima magazine. I’d love to read your features.”
“You’re not in need of a husband, are you, Angelica?” Jake quipped lightly at Charlie’s expense.
“What, you of all people proposing?” In turn she mocked him, tilting her chin with its provocative dimple.
“Charlie’s the one who’s getting carried away.”
Stacy and Gillian looked at him blankly. “You’re joking, aren’t you, dear?” Stacy questioned finally.
“Of course I am,” he gently teased, thinking Gilly might have to be brought down to earth a bit. Even so, it wasn’t the moment to point out Angelica had scored big with the Honourable Charles. Even the way she said his name was having an effect on the effervescent Charlie, much like a glass of champagne.
By the time they finished dessert, the air was literally electric. The heaviness of the impending storm continued while all rain held off. Violent thunder rocked back and forth. Once the great chandeliers dimmed as lightning zigzagged across the sky with a blinding white metallic flash that lit up the long windows.
Angelica jumped in her seat, setting her dangly earrings in motion. “Gosh, this weather is making me very nervous.”
To her surprised delight Jake stretched out a reassuring hand to her, touching her bare skin. “Don’t let it frighten you.” Heat and power flowed from him to her. She thought he could cure her if she were ill.
Afterwards Gillian, a certain determined look in her eye, bore Charles off to hear CDs that had just arrived.
“I’m so sleepy after that wonderful meal I’ll probably listen with only half an ear,” said Charles.
Not the most lover-like of statements, Jake thought, figuring he would have to review his assessment of the relationship based a lot on hearsay from Gilly that could be little more than feverish wishful thinking.
Stacy might have been reviewing matters, as well. She excused herself, obviously in a bit of a tizzy, saying she had a few little jobs to do without volunteering exactly what they were.
“What do you say we go for a walk?” A bit rattled himself, Jake sought Angelica’s satiny bare arm.
“You’re asking me to brave the storm?” She stared up at him thinking she would probably go with him to rob a bank.
“It’s not a storm. It’s a circus out there.” Inside, as well, he thought.
“I’ve been waiting all my life to be hit by lightning,” she informed him laconically.
He looked down at her vivid face. Red was her colour. The colour of passion. Some mouths although not overfull were wonderfully voluptuous. He had a sudden desire to put his hands around her lovely, long throat, thumbs tilting up her chin… “Come on,” he said abruptly. “We’ll stay on the verandah. But I want a breath of fresh air.”
Outside in the night she inhaled the ozone. Great eucalypts reared to either side of the house, branches swishing with the urgency of the wind.
“How would you describe Charlie?” he asked, coming to stand beside her. The long skirt of her dress rippled and twisted around her long legs. Her hair blew free, streaming out behind her. Her profile looked carved.
“Let me see.” She turned towards him then laughed when her hair suddenly streamed around her face. “I like him. There’s a certain sweetness about him. And he’s really classy. Am I getting warm?”
“I’m looking for an answer. To put it bluntly, he was very taken with you.”
“Is that an additional sin?” She was stung to defend herself, wondering if it was always going to be like this. “I thought he was just being pleasant.”
“Pleasant and very responsive,” he said dryly. “What I’m trying to get at is—and after this evening I’m confused—is he romantically interested in Gilly?”
Angel feared he wasn’t. Well, not all that much. “Maybe I’m as confused as you are,” she evaded.
“I don’t think so. You know men.”
“Please don’t use Trevor Huntley again as an illustration.”
“Forget him.” Being so near to her was like sinking his head into a bowl of gorgeous red roses coming into full bloom. Somehow, God help him, she ignited the poet in him. Nevertheless he clipped off, “I have a family to protect.”
“Gilly has to learn her own lessons,” she bravely offered.
“So what are you saying? You don’t think Charlie is in love with her?”
“I’m sure he enjoys her company,” she said diplomatically. “We all want a bit of excitement in our lives. Gilly is a pretty girl. She could be even prettier with a little help. I’d love to take her shopping. I know exactly how she can bring out her best points.”
He groaned, stepping back. “Oh, great! Are you sure you shouldn’t get into the beauty business?”
“Looking good is my business,” she said tartly. “As for Charles…”
“Isn’t that darling…Charles.” He made an excellent job of mimicking her honeyed tones. So good she didn’t take offence.
“I must say that’s terribly good. Some people say there’s a layer of Italian in my accent. You got it just right. Anyway, he is a Charles, isn’t he? Not a Charlie. Apart from the fact he’s an Honourable—whatever that means—he’s simply not the kind of young man one calls Charlie.”
He gave a scoffing laugh. “Tell that to the boys down at the stockmen’s quarters. At least it’s better than Charlie the Pom. That’s all he got when he arrived.”
“Goodness, what are you people?” she asked sternly.
Surprisingly he smiled lazily. “Just having a bit of fun. Charlie stuck it out like the good sport he is. Now they all laugh together.”
“Sadly for Gilly, I think Charles will go home,” she predicted, staring out into the wild night like she was seeing into the future. “Probably when he’s satisfied his sense of adventure.”
“I told you that,” he reminded her sarcastically. “He can’t have fallen in love with Gilly if he was so easily taken with you.”
“Ah, then, but I’m a real stunner even if you’re indifferent.” She turned the sarcasm back on him. “Seriously, and I could be wrong, I think Gilly is in love with love. She can’t manage to meet many young men when she lives way out here at the back of beyond. She must be longing for affection.”
“She gets affection.” His amber eyes turned electric.
She’d have to take a touch more care. “No need to snap my head off,�
�� she protested.
“Pardon me. I’ve spent more time apologising to you than anyone I can think of.”
“I don’t think you’ve spent much time apologising to anyone.” Having spoken her piece, she bit her lip.
“Shouldn’t you mention my arrogance again?”
“Wouldn’t it be a good idea if we tried to be friends?”
“I thought we were really good friends already,” he said, subjecting her to another flashing look.
“Nope.” She shook her wind-tossed dark curls. “We’re not. We might have been only for a single incident three years ago.”
“You mean, Carly’s husband trying to make violent love to you.” He gave a hoot of derision.
“I was raised in a good Christian environment. You just can’t admit it’s possible to be tricked.” Even as she spoke, her anger turned to simple shock. She looked up at the sky, one hand rising to her cheek. “Isn’t that a drop of rain?”
He slumped back against a white vine-wreathed pillar. “My poor girl, we haven’t had rain for a year.”
“I’m not stupid, you know. That’s a spit of rain. There there’s another one.” She felt a great wave of something like joy. “Feel!” She moved over to him, holding up her face for his touch.
“You’ve been crying,” he gently mocked, just barely suppressing his desire to put his hand around her narrow waist and draw her into his arms. What skin she had! God, it was like satin. She was intoxicating. So intoxicating he allowed his hand to drift over her cheek, the tips of his fingers full of sensation. “Is this another one of your little tricks?” he asked, coming dangerously close to breaking loose.
“Damn it, Jake.” His touch made her turbulent, shattering what poise she had left. “There it is again. Has it got to pelt down before you take any notice?”
He dropped his hand abruptly, refocussing, his nostrils assailed by a new element in the air. Thunder cracked again, splitting open the whole world. A great silver blade of lightning buried itself in the red earth. He was used to this climatic phenomena. He had lived with it all his life. Mostly it was spectacular pyrotechnics resulting in not a single drop of rain. Only this time it was different.
“Fantastic!” Angelica leaned over the balustrade, inhaling deeply the uniquely fresh, subtle perfume of rain. The drops came heavier onto her face, onto the top of the tongue she put out to catch them. She closed her eyes in a kind of rapture. This was what this vast parched Inland craved. Water.
Soon it wasn’t enough to stand on the verandah. She had to seize the moment. She stopped only seconds to remove her beautiful expensive sandals then she ran down the low flight of stone steps, calling to Jake over her shoulder, “This is what you want, isn’t it?”
Rainwater was streaming over her hair, her forehead and cheeks, down her throat, between her breasts, down over her long cotton voile skirt to her bare feet. Rain, rain, rain! After the heat it was bliss!
But Jake continued to stand on the verandah, leaning hard against the white pillar, hypnotised by the sight of her. She was doing some kind of little rain dance, rivulets of water glittering all over her, causing her red dress to closely mould her body. It almost tore the heart from him. He could feel his sensual response to her in every nerve, every muscle, every fibre. Despite his odd ambivalence, he wanted to go to her, crush her to him, mindless of the inevitable complications. He wanted to hold up her face to him, kiss that luscious, alluring mouth. He wanted to hear her moan his name. Not Jake. Jonathon. He wanted to hear his name again after all these years. Unparalleled in his experience, he wanted this woman. He wanted to kiss every inch of her naked, delectable, pliant flesh.
Getting soaking wet didn’t concern her in the least. Her graceful movements, incredibly erotic to his eyes, began to change. Incredible! She had moved into a different kind of dance, a gypsy flamenco with its unique heart-stirring steps.
“Just for you,” she called, lifting her long beautiful arms above her head while she stamped her bare feet on the glistening earth. She was the very image of a beautiful, seductive gypsy woman, confident in her powerful allure, indeed glorying in it, while he stood before her spellbound.
Then like a miracle, as if she read his every desire, she cried out to him breathlessly, “Jonathon, what are you doing up there? Come to me. It’s so wonderful!”
He needed no further invitation, his passions inflamed. His strong tanned hands clenched and unclenched. How had she known to call him Jonathon? Was it possible this woman dabbled in magic? He believed now that certain women down the ages were capable of witchcraft.
He came to her as sleekly, as powerfully, as a big cat. It even had a hint of violence in it, as though he were responding to something primitive in him. He was vaguely aware the rain was coming down heavier now. But his need to take hold of this woman was so overwhelming it became his sole interest. When he reached her, hauling her to him, his hands on her shoulders, they both gasped with the shock and excitement of it, stumbling backwards until they were totally obscured by the great golden canes, tremulously singing some kind of wind song.
Their fronds parted to contain and cocoon them as he folded her tight into his body, silencing her little jagged gasps as he took her lush mouth.
It was an explosion of desire such as he had never known. An assuagement of some deep permanent hunger. His hands were bold. They went where they wanted. To her beautiful breasts, almost too womanly, too voluptuous, for a man to bear, the nipples tight as berries, inviting the further stimulation of his fingers. He wanted her, nothing more, nothing less. He was holding her to him, his left hand locked strongly to her back. Her long dress was so wet, so slick against her body, he could have peeled it from her.
Either the kiss had gone on and on or he was kissing her again while she arched against him, mouth open, body yielding as though his sudden onslaught had gained him total dominion. When he finally came halfway to his senses, he jerked back his head, letting his hands fall to her golden hips. They were surrounded by a wilderness of wet greenery and silver rain and the heady fragrance released from the beds of white lilies that grew beneath the trees. Little tremors were flickering through his arms. He craved this woman. This purely dangerous woman who could inspire so much rapture. The rain was still falling. Real rain pouring out of the sky. He had never known anything like it The wild improbability of it all! For a woman never lost for a word, she was very quiet, weakened perhaps by the powerful momentum of his desire, as stormy and tumultuous as the elements.
“Are you all right? Tell me,” he muttered, his voice deepened by emotion, his arm still tight around her.
But Angelica was reeling from the power of the feeling he’d unleashed. Strangely, when she no longer was, she felt like a virgin only just awakened to the full blinding rush of physical passion.
“Angel, why you?” he asked in a dark, near melancholy voice.
That released her. Slowed the wild beating of her heart.
“Because I’m here?” She threw up her expressive head to challenge him. A tall woman with her own tensile strength.
“You are.” A flame jumped back and forth between them that could not be extinguished by rain, caution, or lack of trust. “And it’s magic!” He pressed a finger into the hollow of her rain-slicked neck. The pulse was hammering. He left his finger there hoping that through her pulse he could hold on to her heart.
All hostility seemed to drain away. “The rain tastes sweet,” she whispered. “Isn’t that strange?”
“Nothing’s strange with you.” He spread his long tanned fingers over her throat, dipping his head so he could run his tongue over her wet cheek, gathering up the delicious moisture. His vibrant voice was almost dreamy. “I want to make love to you, you know that?”
Yes, oh yes! She thought blindly. Tonight. For the longest, longest time. Until dawn. Everything about him called to her like a voice she was programmed to obey. Now his mouth brushed against her sensitive neck, moving back and forth.
Excitement
flowed into her so she was near oblivious to the streaming rain and the pungent steam that rose from the hot earth and the tiled walkways. Tendrils of wet curls fell on her brow and her cheeks like ribbons of silk. The paradox of it all! She felt marvellously safe within his arms, and yet endangered, knowing full well this man could reach in and steal her heart.
“Jonathon, it’s so sudden,” she murmured, as his mouth sought hers again. “Sexual attraction can’t be all there is.” Even as she protested, that same attraction was pushing her to the edge.
“Why Jonathon?” he demanded urgently. “Whatever prompted you to call me that? And why now? Are you mocking me?”
She was shocked he might think so. “But your name is Jonathon. Isobel told me it was your father who renamed you Jake.”
“And you suddenly remembered?”
“Stop it.” She lifted a hand to his mouth as if to silence him. “If you don’t want me to call you Jonathon, I won’t.”
She sounded so upset he found himself full of remorse, cradling her. “Hushhhhhhh… I do like it,” he told her tenderly. “You have a gift.” It was so wonderful he couldn’t properly interpret it. He could only recognise there was far more to what had passed between them than a man’s driving passion and need for release. He wanted to mate with this woman. He wanted to take her to bed. At that moment he couldn’t care less about old indiscretions.
Except that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted her to be utterly faithful. To him. He wasn’t fully aware of the extent of his needs. He only knew she was very, very special. And there was something else he was forced to consider. Once he let her into his heart she could very easily go away. He knew all about loss.
Sweet God, he had to be out of his mind. He stepped back so quickly Angelica staggered and had to clutch at his soaked shirt. “We have to get you out of this wet gear,” he muttered, trying to dispel the tremendous build-up of intimacy between them with a certain curtness of tone. The skin of her face, throat and arms was shimmering with the lustre of a golden South Sea pearl. It seemed a whole lifetime had passed while they were cocooned together amid the storm-tossed palms. Time out of mind.
