by Margaret Way
On the path she began to shiver and he pulled her drenched figure to him, angling his head and body so he was protecting her from the silver, slanting rain. “Are you cold?”
“A little bit.” She knew it was a reaction to the loss of his body heat.
“We’ll go in by the rear staircase. I’m astounded no one has come out to greet our small miracle. Maybe they’re on the verandah.”
The rain that had so passionately cracked down turned off like a tap. By the time they stumbled into the rear hall with the wind hammering at their backs it seemed to be all over. They could hear the sound of laughter coming from somewhere upstairs then rapturous clapping.
“That’s them!” Jake said, looking down at the puddles of water at their feet. “Stay here for a moment. I’ll grab a few towels. Better yet we’ll try the first-aid room.” He ushered her down the polished cedar-wood hallway to a doorway on the right. He lifted his hand and the light snapped on, revealing a large, white-tiled room with a high bed like those one saw in a doctor’s room, and rows of glass-fronted white cabinets holding an array of medical things.
“You really should get that dress off,” he said, his gaze going over her. In the glare from the fluorescent lights she still managed to look stunning, soaked to the skin, even though she’d gone from seductive gypsy to drenched woman, her gleaming hair separating into long ebony curls.
“The towel will have to do,” she said, shaking her hair back and scattering spray. “I’m not really cold. It’s a reaction.”
“It wasn’t what you were expecting,” he said, a little raggedly, walking away to a cupboard and taking out a pair of large white towels. “Here, catch.”
Instantly she held up her hands like the athlete she’d been. “Got it.”
He laughed as some of the tension was cut, using a towel on himself. “Another one for your hair.” This time he located a hand towel, but instead of tossing it to her as before he came to stand behind her, gathering up her long hair to dry it.
“No need!” She was quivering and breathless standing so close, aware how terribly exciting he was to her.
“But I want to.” His voice was exquisitely gentle, doubly sensual because of it. “Go ahead, wrap yourself in that towel.”
She obeyed, slinging the towel around her hips, sarong-style. “What would you say is your real problem with me?” she asked, wishing and wishing they hadn’t started off so badly.
“You make me confused,” he said with a fine edge of despair, bending his head and kissing her shoulder, then moving the neck of her dress to kiss the other. “Why aren’t you married, beautiful Angelica? A woman like you with this mane of black silk. It’s superb.”
“Why aren’t you?” she countered, thinking she had never known such a wide range of sensations.
“I’ve never met a woman who possessed magic.”
“And I’ve never met the right man. Not one who could offer me more than passing pleasure.”
“You mean no dangerous rapture?” He turned her to face the wall mirror, the difference in their colouring startling.
“Isn’t that what we all want, after all?” she asked wistfully.
“And seldom get. Even then there’s a price.”
His eyes were glittering like wonderful topaz, the kind of stones princes of old used to keep for themselves. Neither of them moved. Neither of them seemingly capable of fighting out of their emotional bounds.
A laughing English voice suddenly echoed through the hallway, releasing them instantly. “I say, you two. Where are you?”
“Here, Charlie,” Jake called. “The first-aid room.”
“Good grief! Everything okay?” Charlie appeared in the open doorway, his look of concern turning into one of enjoyment. “You’ve been out in the pouring rain. Isn’t that exactly what I wanted. I was mad to tear down the stairs only Gilly didn’t want to get wet. Some Aussie she is when she shudders at life in the great outdoors.”
“Hi, Charlie,” Jake said.
“Not intruding, am I?” Now Charlie sounded a little awkward.
“Believe me, you are. Angelica and I were considering whether we should top off the evening by making violent love,” Jake told him dryly.
“What!” Charlie near choked, wedging himself against the door in shock, even if Jake had used a light satiric tone. “I suppose it is almost the night for it.”
“He’s joking, Charles.” Angelica calmed him. “Far more important to get dry. But that was a marvellous downpour. Hasn’t it cooled the air!”
“And so unexpected.” Charlie was fascinated by Angel’s appearance, more gypsy-ish than ever and marvellously sexy. He had never seen a woman look like that in the rain before. “We’ve had storm-clouds darkening the sky night after night.” He looked to Jake. “Heavens knows what happened tonight. A meteorologist could explain it. Usually it all goes away. Now this!”
“A miracle! Here’s to our Christmas Angel,” Jake said suavely, with an elegant bow in Angelica’s direction. “Angelica De Campo. A woman like no other.”
“I’ll second that!” Charlie’s voice was saturated with boyish enthusiasm.
One stormy night on Coori station and her whole life had changed course.
CHAPTER SIX
SHE was awake at first light, fascinated by the sounds of the birds. Never in her life had she heard such a glorious din. Indeed the birdsong was so loud, so sweetly piercing, she found it impossible to stay in bed. She had been given what was virtually a suite, a huge bedroom, dominated by a marvellous four-poster with carved columns—Stacy had told her Jake’s great-grandfather had brought it back from India along with many other pieces of furniture and artifacts in the house. The bed was hung with ivory voile to keep out insects.
There was an adjoining bathroom that was very Victorian in its splendour—a lion-clawed bath, rich dark timberwork, rose-trellised leadlight window. On the other side of the bedroom there was a pretty sitting room-study. Now she threw back the sheer hangings, which gave her such a sense of fantasy, and swung her feet to the carpeted floor. The light was increasing. Golden rays were cutting through the pearl-grey and lemon. She had slept soundly as though those long minutes of aching passion had weakened her to the point that all she could do was sleep to regain her strength.
He hadn’t come to her room. She didn’t know what she would have done if he had. Exactly the same thing as had happened when they were lost in the storm? She was convinced the storm had been the propellant. It had the quality of magic about it. It had stirred her to dance in front of him, in a way that must have seemed related to a dance of seduction. Whatever it was, it had electrified him, making him for a short time lose control. But there had been other emotions merged with his desire. She had felt them. Apprehension? Remembered pain? The terrible pain when his mother had been ripped out of his life? A subconscious desire never to go through that pain again? Or the thought of one humiliating moment out of time he couldn’t let go of. She even had to consider that other woman who had hurt him years ago and forever made him wary. Jake was, after all, a man of deep feelings.
Sighing quietly, Angel walked out onto the wide balcony. She hadn’t bothered to put on her robe. It was dawn. Who would be around? The front of the house overlooked a great expanse of lawn, trees and circular gardens, all fed by bore water. The homestead by everyday standards was enormous. She thought it would take her weeks to get around it. Built of rosy bricks, it presented the formality and symmetry of a Georgian building set down in the vast, timeless grandeur of the Outback. It was two-storied with deep verandahs supported by soaring white columns all vine-wreathed with a beautiful mauve flower. The rooms were set out in line across the facade, with main reception rooms downstairs, bedrooms up, all rooms fitted with white-painted French doors and frosty-white decorative ironwork to enclose the surrounding verandahs. It was a splendid house that must have conjured up nostalgic memories of the homeland and the old life that was missed, all the more extraordinary because of its wild,
remote setting.
It had seemed to her as she’d been shown through the house that while the furnishings, Persian rugs and paintings were magnificent, some refurbishing was in order. Money to bring in expert interior designers didn’t appear to be the problem. Obviously Stacy had decided to leave well enough alone. Maybe she needed some encouragement. Jake—why had she been inspired to call him Jonathon last night? Was some spirit voice prompting her? She really didn’t know—couldn’t be expected to take on domestic matters when he had a huge enterprise to run. Had she been one of the McCord women she wouldn’t have hesitated to have a go. New curtains for the Yellow Drawing Room would make a difference. The ones that were, though they must have been splendid when they first went up, had been allowed to fade, their golden radiance dimmed.
She realised with some amusement she was the sort of woman who was always looking to improve her surroundings. If she hadn’t gotten into the food business, she would liked to have been an interior designer. That was her artistic streak. Her mother always said she had one. At least dinner last night had been a minor triumph. The master of the house, hungry after a long day’s work, and his surprisingly privileged jackeroo had little difficulty polishing it off, their appreciation evident. Even Stacy and Gilly, usually light eaters, had found everything satisfying.
As she approached the wrought-iron balustrade, her satin nightdress falling opalescent around her, the horizon was suddenly gilded by a great ball of fire. Kookaburras broke into their demented cackling, a sound, nevertheless that touched her heart. She drew in a deep breath of air washed clean by that marvellous downpour of rain then lifted her arms above her, stretching…stretching…rising up onto her toes. She had just about redesigned her body over the last two years going to the gym. Now she couldn’t help knowing she had a great body, but it hadn’t come easily. Let’s face it, she had to stick with the program and watch her diet when she was surrounded by abundant, delicious food. Of course she and Bruno broke out from time to time especially when they went over to their parents’ for Sunday brunch.
A man’s voice called to her. “If you bent over right now I bet you could touch your toes.”
Her flush was merciless, staining her cheeks. Immediately she arched back, dropping her arms, hoping he couldn’t see through her nightdress. To counter that, she stepped away from the balustrade, lest she be caught in the sun’s early rays.
“What are you doing up here invading my privacy?” It came out halfway between a reprimand and an expression of pleasure.
He smiled lazily, already fully dressed in his working gear, which suited him marvellously. Bush shirt, jaunty bright blue bandana carelessly knotted around his throat, fitted jeans, high boots. The only thing missing was the cool black akubra. “I have a right, don’t you think?” he countered mildly. “I do own the place.”
“I wasn’t expecting you right outside my bedroom door.” She was suddenly as nervous as a kitten. Should she rush inside and collect her matching satin robe?
“I figured it was all right, now it’s morning.” He answered with a touch of sarcasm.
“You didn’t really think we were going to sleep together?” She held his gleaming gaze in case it fell to the telltale quick rise and fall of her breasts.
“Then you’d better not lead me into temptation,” he warned. “What was that exciting little dance you did last night?”
“And didn’t you love it!” she softly mocked, lifting her chin and spreading her hands in an exaggerated flamenco pose. “It started out as an ode to the rain god. I presume there is one around here?”
“Very much so,” he confirmed, looking so sexy she thought his whole aura would engulf her. “Apparently your dance was so good he thought he’d reward you. Only one downpour, but you’ll be surprised what a difference it’ll make.”
“So I’ll have to do more dancing,” she said, aware of the sudden acceleration of her pulses.
“I don’t know if my heart can take it.”
“Mine, either. Listen, do you mind if I get my robe?”
He continued to walk towards her taking in that beautiful body encased in satin. “When you look absolutely luscious as you are.” His amber eyes were so brilliant they momentarily blinded her to her surroundings.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” she promised.
“Hurry. Because I want to have breakfast with you. Tell me, do you ride?”
She paused in the act of shouldering into her peach satin robe. “As in trains, buses?”
“As on horses.”
She stepped back onto the verandah, tying the braided, silken cord. “Could I fake it?”
“No. Absolutely no. So you don’t ride?”
“Why so scathing?” she said defensively. “I thought I was here to handle the Christmas functions. Which reminds me, I’m going to order the biggest tree I can get. It has to be synthetic. Spruce or something. As long as it’s big. Is that okay? I’ll arrange to have it flown in.”
“From the sound of your voice I’m meant to acquiesce.”
She curled her lovely mouth into a smile. “Does that mean yes?”
He nodded his head, a mass of deep sun-streaked amber waves, grown a little long on the nape. “When my mother was alive we had a tree. After she was killed everything stopped. All the fun. All the laughter. The only laughs I got were at boarding school and later at university.”
“Well, don’t feel down. We’re going to have a wonderful Christmas tree this year. I know the exact place for it.”
“So you’ve said. Where?”
“As it turns out we have to shift something,” she said.
“What?” He turned directly to face her, his expression rather tense.
“The library table,” she said. “Don’t worry, it’s going back.”
“Why not put it to one side of the entrance hall?”
“No, no, you have to indulge me in this,” she said. “Dead centre is perfect. That’s the most commanding position and we can all see it in the round. Besides, the entrance hall is huge. Guests will be able to move around the tree easily providing they don’t go mad and crowd it.”
“My mother used to have it there,” he said, his gaze moving away from her to the horizon.
“Then that’s lovely, isn’t it?” Angel said gently, thinking the spirit of Roxanne could be helping her.
Jake moved towards her with his silent, big-cat tread. “Why is it I want to kiss you every time I lay eyes on you?”
“Could it be because you’re falling in love with me?” she asked, full of hope, while wonderful sensations began their glide all over her skin.
“Haven’t you got enough men in love with you?” He wanted to touch her urgently.
“They’re in love with my cooking.”
“Though very good I’m sure it’s the least of your charms.” He surrendered to that driving impulse. He dipped his head, very gently, but so tantalisingly covering the full sensuous curves of her mouth with his own. “Could you really love me, mixed-up mortal man?”
How could she answer when her knees were buckling?
It was ages before either of them could come up for air. Both of them were in very deep.
“I could pick you up and carry you back into the bedroom,” he told her huskily, the very thought making his head swim. “You’re not a virgin.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m twenty-five. How many lovers have you had?” She turned it back on him.
“Collectively?” He nipped her lips gently with his beautiful white teeth.
“The family friend Dinah Campbell, I’m sure. You’re a bit casual about her. Isn’t she flying in Friday?”
“Hell, is she?” He released her abruptly.
“Surely you knew?” she asked in amazement. “Didn’t Gilly tell you? Don’t you want her to come?”
“Questions, questions,” he moaned. “Dinah’s coming over for one thing, I’m sure.”
“She’s lonely when she’s not in your bed?”
; His shoulders moved impatiently. “Would you believe she’s never been in my bed?”
“Noooo.”
“It might be every girl’s dream, but not in my bedroom,” he scoffed. “When I have had an affair, it’s been elsewhere. No, Angelica, Dinah is coming over to check you out. She wanted to handle all the functions, you know.”
“I guessed as much.” Angelica arched her beautifully marked black brows. “Is she up to the job?”
“Probably,” he mused, stroking his clean-cut chin.
“Then why bother with me?” She put him on the spot.
“Isobel recommended you and you charmed me when you rang.”
“Of course you had no idea who I was then.”
“No, I found out too late.” He dredged that up, not even knowing why.
It had quite an effect on Angelica. She turned on her heel. “What a rotten thing to say. You really are a bastard.”
He laughed, despite himself. “So I am. I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not sorry,” she said sternly. “You’ll say something like that again, because you’re so judgmental.”
“And there’s the rub. I’m not usually,” he said, following her into the bedroom. “It has something to do with you, my angel.”
“Amoral old me.” She sailed into the dressing room and began pulling out clothes. “You’ve got to put a stop to this, Jonathon.”
He had almost made it to the door, thinking he had better leave, now he snaked out a long arm, grasping her around the waist. “Show me how.”
“You want me to get in touch with your cousin first. I was the victim then. I don’t want to be now.”
“Sure,” he sighed. “But why did Carly believe you had an affair with her husband?” Through the thrum of conflict, he was aware of the tremendous intimacy that was building up between them. He could feel her trembling. He could feel her magical body through the shining satin. She was taking him places where he had never been before. Inciting emotions that made him say contrary things to her.
