Fiery Possession

by Margaret Tanner

  They came to the bush, causing them to slow down. He grasped the reins and pulled her up suddenly. “Don't ever run away from me again. I don't like it.”

  “Too bad, I'll do exactly as I please.”

  “You'll do as I say. Don’t forget I hold all the winning cards,” silky soft his voice now. “Stop fighting me all the time.”

  She trembled with indignation. “I loathe and despise you.”

  “Your body under mine last night told a different tale. You were on fire, Jo, the same as me.”

  “Then why am I covered in bruises?”

  “Are you really carrying bruises, let me see.” He almost sounded like he cared.

  “Oh, leave me alone.”

  Their horses stood motionless now. In one fluid movement he dismounted and plucked her from the saddle.

  “Now, let's see.” His hand went to the front of her shirt.

  “No, please.” She grabbed at his fingers as they started working on her buttons.

  “Good, no undergarments.”

  He grabbed her hands, pushed them behind her back and held them there, while the nimble fingers of his other hand undid the front of her shirt. He exerted slight pressure, bringing her up against the hard length of his body.

  “You have beautiful breasts, white and creamy, absolutely flawless.” His tongue traced the outline of one nipple and much to her chagrin it started hardening under his touch. She beat at his back and shoulders with clenched fists as he drew them off the track and into the shelter of the bush.

  She twisted and kicked out at him, but he used his superior strength to subdue her. Her shirt rode up and the grass cooled her exposed back. He caught her nipple between his teeth and suckled strongly.

  “Please, Luke, someone might come.”

  His breath came out in short, gasping pants. “No, they won’t.” His trembling hands worked frantically on the fastening of her breeches. He dragged them down over her thighs and did the same to his own. Rolling her over on to her stomach, he pulled her up on all fours and held her there with a hand on either hip. He reared up on his knees, and like a rutting stallion completely out of control, drove into her with one long, savage thrust.

  Once he spilled his seed in her warm, moist cleft he stood up and tidied his clothes. He strode over to his horse with his hands clenched inside his pockets. Purposely he had tried to degrade Jo by taking her on the ground like an animal. Deep down he knew passion and sheer male need soon overtook his desire to humiliate her. He loathed himself and her for this weakness.

  While he waited for her to dress he cursed under his breath. What the hell was wrong with him? He had always taken what he wanted from women. Used them until he got bored, paid them handsomely then banished them from his life without a moments regret. So why did he agonize over his feelings for this woman? He couldn’t bear to look at her now because he would see the hurt turmoil in her eyes. He wanted to apologize for his despicable behavior but the words stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  They rode along in a silence that stretched endlessly between them, like a yawning insurmountable chasm.

  “Shearing starts tomorrow. I'll come back after lunch and show you around the sheds.” Why the hell did he make that suggestion? From the corner of his eye he watched her take several deep shuddering breaths as if trying to steady herself. Her hands clenched the reins and she held her body rigid.

  “How, how long does the shearing take?” She forced herself to speak normally instead of screaming and ranting at him, ripping his face to shreds with her nails now that her passion had cooled. She hated herself and him. He had deliberately tired to degrade her, taking her on the ground like some wild beast. Instead of recoiling in horror, her treacherous body had welcomed his savage invasion, wantonly drawn his rampaging manhood into the deepest recesses of her femininity.

  “About three weeks if all goes well. Depends on how many men turn up for roll call. There's usually an overflow, so any decent types who miss out on a pen will be employed as shed hands or roustabouts. I never turn good workers away.”

  Silence fell between them again. She heaved a sigh of relief when the homestead came into view.

  “You go the house,” he instructed. “It’s too hot for you out here. I want to check something with my overseer. See you at dinner.”

  At the stables she handed her horse to a groom. The young man’s voice sounded civil enough, but the way he let his eyes slide all over her, made her cringe. Her head went back proudly as she stared straight into his face

  She forced herself to saunter towards the homestead, instead of taking to her heels and running.

  She made her way to the kitchen, absolutely choking for a cool drink.

  “No need for you to come out here, Miss Jo. You should have rung for one of the maids,” Mrs. Osborne said, pursing her lips.

  “I only need a drink, thank you.” She flopped into a chair. “Anything will do, just as long as it's cool and wet.”

  “You’d better go to the sitting room.”

  “Mrs. Osborne, you're a dear. It's nice of you to bother, but I'm not mistress of this house.”

  “The sitting room would be best.”

  “No, I'll have a drink here. Then if one of the girls could heat some water for a bath, I'd be grateful. I'd do it myself if I knew where to find everything and my hands weren't so sore.” She wiggled her fingers. “I've been chopping wood.”

  Even coarse-looking Effie who owned the make up showed surprise at this.

  “That isn't women's work,” Mrs. Osborne said

  “It is for me. My brother's dead, my sister-in-law isn't strong, so someone has to do it.”

  She drank the orange juice gratefully, licking the excess moisture off her lips. “Mm, lovely, thank you.” As she handed the glass back, the housekeeper gasped.

  “Miss Jo, your hands.”

  “They're a bit sore, but I'll live. I do feel rather grubby.” Luke's cutting remark about smelling like a common laborer still rankled.

  Within ten minutes, she lay in a warm tub. After initially stinging, the water soothed the blisters. The strain and tightness in her shoulders and arms dissolved. Lizzie washed her hair, leaving it to hang down her back, a damp mass of dark red ringlets.

  “You have a beautiful body.” Luke had entered so quietly that she hadn’t heard him.

  Shock sent her sliding under the water, and she came up spluttering. “Get out.”

  “Why?”

  She threw the soap at him. He caught it in one hand and tossed it into the water with a plop.

  “You, you depraved animal, haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

  “I haven't even started on you yet. I bought you. Body and soul, you belong to me. Don't ever forget it.”

  He strode across the room. With a hand on the doorknob, he inclined his head. “Wear the blue taffeta tonight.” He disappeared into his dressing room.

  She slammed her fists so hard in the water it sloshed on to the floor.

  Pride alone dictated that she dress carefully for dinner. No more whore impersonations like last night. Honesty made her admit it, this was a beautiful gown, but on pain of death she would never tell him.

  As on the previous evening, he wore a dark dinner suit, and waited in the salon with a drink in one hand. His eyes swept over her.

  Heat rushed to her face at his intense scrutiny and a pulse beat frantically in her throat as he moved towards her.

  “Feeling more kindly disposed toward me now?”

  “No.”

  “Do you like my choice of gowns? I've always had a good eye for women's clothing.”

  “I thought they provided their own clothes in a brothel?”

  His teeth snapped together, and she felt glad to have scored off him for once, but victory proved short lived. As he escorted her into dinner, he held her arm so tightly she couldn’t move away from him.

  “Give up, you can't win.” His voice in her ear sounded low and seductive.

  The
roast beef tasted superb. Ignoring his very existence, she ate hungrily. No point in starving to death because of him. She needed all her mental and physical strength to fight him and her treacherous body. Some of these thoughts must have registered with him, as he scowled fiercely but made no comment.

  Once again they took tea in the sitting room, although only Jo partook of this brew, he drank whisky.

  “Would you care for a walk in the garden?”

  “What! Oh yes, that would be nice.” Anything to delay the inevitable.

  “You won't need a cloak.”

  They stepped through double glass doors leading on to a side verandah. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the shrubs growing close to the house. As they passed under an archway covered with white roses, the perfume was heady, almost overpowering.

  “You have beautiful roses.” She plucked a bloom and stroked the soft petals with one finger.

  “My mother set this garden up” he said softly. “Roses were her favorite flower because they bloomed almost continuously for eight or so months of the year.”

  “Do you remember her?”

  “Vaguely, I was only small when she died.”

  It sounded like genuine regret in his voice. “It must be sad growing up without a mother's love.”

  “I can buy all the loving I need.” The tone of his voice changed, becoming flat, emotionless.

  “Money can't buy everything.”

  “It buys me everything I want. It bought me you, didn't it?”

  “Yes.” Bitterness spewed out in the one word. “You've bought and paid for my body, but the rest of me will never belong to you.”

  “Your body is the only thing I'm interested in. Yes, I'm very interested in it.”

  His arms snaked out and he dragged her against his hard maleness. Kissing her ruthlessly, he forced her lips apart so his tongue could taste her mouth. He held her head with a steely grip under the chin. When he ground his hips against hers, she felt the hard thrust of his burgeoning manhood. By the time he eventually released her, they both breathed heavily.

  “Time to go inside, I think,” he said huskily.

  “I'm not ready to go in yet.”

  “I am. Unless you want me to take you right here and now, you'll do as I say. No telling who might happen upon us out here.”

  She fled inside with his mocking laughter ringing in her ears.

  ***

  Jo had just finished lunch when Luke arrived to take her down to the shearing shed, as he had promised on the previous day. After last night, she knew she looked so pale and big-eyed it would have aroused pity in any other man.

  She had tried to fight him, but the moment he started to caress her intimately, her treacherous body betrayed her. How could one hate a man, yet respond so passionately to him? This, as much as his seemingly insatiable appetite, had kept her awake most of the night.

  “Have you lunched?” She surprised herself as much as him by asking the question.

  “Yes, I've eaten, thank you. If you're ready, we'll go.”

  He waited, rubbing one fist against the other until she came up to him.

  “Am I dressed to your satisfaction?” She gave an exaggerated curtsy, wondering why she deliberately tried to antagonize him.

  His eyes skimmed briefly over the pale blue gown he had chosen. Pride for when she came under the shearers’ scrutiny had made her obey his instructions, instead of defying him.

  Most of the workers on the station would know her position here, so it was unlikely for word not to have spread to the shearing shed about her being Luke’s mistress.

  The sun scorched like a furnace from a cloudless blue sky. The shearing shed, well away from the house, was made of pit-sawn logs weathered silver grey by the elements. The holding pens held noisy, moving sheep.

  She watched with interest as the shearers worked skillfully with their blades. Two men brought the sheep into the shed then dragged the shorn ones back to the pens.

  A boy carried the fleeces up to the sorter for removal of stains and inferior parts, before it got rolled up. She could have performed a job like that if someone had been prepared to give her a chance.

  Three men worked at the press, she noticed above the noise of bleating sheep, oaths and shouted orders. She could not tolerate the intense heat for long. The insolent stares cast her way by some of the men made her cringe, yet she gave no outward show, carried her head proudly, and by sheer willpower forced her lips not to tremble.

  The news of her position at the station had obviously circulated through the shed, but if Luke sensed this he gave no sign, just strode on ahead. She could do nothing else but follow him.

  “I've seen enough, thank you.” She passed a trembling hand across her damp forehead. “It's too hot in here for me.”

  “Please yourself. You'll have to make your own way back to the house. I have things that need doing here.”

  Deliberately, he turned his back and engaged a young, ruddy-faced man in conversation. Such an obvious dismissal caused her to fume. It took all the courage she possessed to saunter back down the length of the shed on her own.

  “The boss only wants you in his bed, eh?”

  She glared at the beefy young man who worked, stripped to the waist. This was a taste of things to come when Luke cast her aside.

  “When the boss kicks you out of his bed, come and share mine.”

  She ignored his very existence. On reaching the fresh air outside, she almost slumped against the shed, but couldn’t afford the luxury; instead she headed straight into the scrub. Sitting on a fallen creeper clad log, she cried tears of humiliation and despair.

  ***

  During the next few weeks, Jo only ventured off the property to visit Fiona and Lucy. Even they did not seem to need her any more, as the man who came over from Kangaroo Gully proved to be a strong, capable worker. There was no shortage of food either, as they put everything they bought at the general store on to Luke's account.

  Fiona did what Jo suggested, buying a little extra of the essentials to store away for when Luke sent her packing and they were thrown back to their own devices.

  They even owned a few head of scrub cattle now. The man had driven the animals into one of their fenced paddocks after discovering them half-wild in the bush. Down near the creek, he planted vegetables, which were watered by means of a channel being dug along each row. Why hadn’t Ian been capable of such enterprise? It might have saved her from being in this terrible position.

  She struck up a friendship with the housekeeper and got on well with the household staff, how humiliating to know even those of the lowliest order pitied her. Only the brazen Effie envied her, the beautiful gowns Luke provided. Couldn't she see the price Jo paid was too high?

  On several occasions, Luke had ordered her to accompany him into town. She refused point blank. Against all his promises to buy her pretty things, and when that didn't work, threats and intimidation, save literally dragging her into town with him, there was little he could do about it.

  Later, in the big four-poster bed they shared each night she paid for this stubbornness. Anger inflamed his desire. While she kept reminding herself how loathsome he was, her traitorous body always responded. An unconscionable rake like him knew exactly how to arouse a woman to fever pitch.

  He was hot tempered, moody and brooding as if something important was nagging at him. Only at night did they find common ground. Neither of them could hide their desire to savor each other's flesh. It seared both of them with a scorching flame, impossible to extinguish until their passion reached a fiery crescendo. They would crash back to earth, their bodies slicked with perspiration, their hearts madly pounding, in a state of post-coital inebriation. She hated herself and him for this weakness and instinct told her he too despised his continuing desperate need.

  “We'll be entertaining a few guests next Saturday evening.”

  This sudden announcement caused her to start out of her daydream. “Guests?” What scheme lurk
ed in his brain now?

  “Yes. I want you to wear your prettiest gown. I ordered a special one from Melbourne some time ago and it should be here in a day or so.”

  “I won't do it.”

  “You will. I want to show you off.”

  He smiled, really smiled. What a devilishly handsome man he was when the usually severe planes of his face softened. Her heart rose up in her breast momentarily, before plummeting when she realized what he planned. “You want to show me off as your mistress. I won't do it.”

  “No.” The soft reply was in stark contrast to the cruel, fleeting smirk she thought she saw. “I want to show you off as Jo Saunders, my beautiful houseguest. Will you help me entertain my friends?”

  Shock rendered her speechless for a moment. “All right, if you want me to.” She wanted to take his comments at face value, but could she trust him?

  ***

  Over the next few days, Luke behaved erratically, as if he had been stewing over some problem for which he had now found a solution. On several occasions when she watched him while he was unaware of it, his mouth would be set into cruel, almost savage lines, then, as if sensing her appraisal, a smile would mask the previous expression.

  One day he took her out shooting. Although a fine shot, she soon realized she would never outshoot him. He was the type of man who excelled at everything he did. They shared a picnic lunch on the banks of a fast flowing river fed by icy mountain streams. He showed her a little waterfall tinkling over smooth rocks. In a nearby field, bluebells and yellow buttercups grew alongside the white everlastings.

  “Mm beautiful.” She wiped the crumbs away from her mouth on a snowy white napkin that matched the cloth they had laid their picnic lunch on.

  “Tell me about yourself, Jo.”

  She chewed on a blade of grass and wondered what he was up to now. “I had a happy childhood in California even though my father spent a lot of time away from us. There was only Ian and myself and we were close, it never mattered about him only being my half-brother. I got him into some frightful scrapes.” She laughed. “Father wanted him to go to West Point like he did, but once we were out in Australia he couldn’t raise the fare back to America. He never made the lucky strike all gold prospectors dream of. I became a teacher. What about you, Luke?”