Against All Odds (Outback Hearts)

by Silva, Jezz de

  She gazed through the shower spray ricocheting off his chest to find him grimacing and shaking his head. “Jesus, I can’t get enough of you.”

  His words spluttered out between gasped breaths and sounded almost pained. She clamped her hands around his butt and hugged herself closer. “Then why stop?”

  He cursed and shut off the water. “Because it’ll ruin the damned surprise.” He captured her face and smacked a sloppy kiss on her gaping mouth before pushing open the shower screen and hopping out. “We need to move.”

  Her insides quivered and her mind was still trapped inside her happy place so trying to outmuscle him was as comical as it was stupid. The fact she was dripping wet, naked, and thinking about much more important things—dirty, dirty things that only seemed to get filthier the longer she stared at his slick body—didn’t help. The way he moved across the tiny bathroom’s uneven tiles on one leg defied the laws of physics, which only added to her humiliation as she hobbled after him in all her fleshy, unrestrained glory.

  She jabbed a finger at the fogged-up window set into the bathroom’s wall in the hope of shifting his gaze from her wobbly bits. “For Christ’s sake, the sun isn’t even up yet.”

  He chuckled and lowered the towel he’d been holding open for her. “Exactly. That’s why we need to move.”

  She reached for the towel, but he yanked it away and inched his gaze over every one of her curves and crevices. The girl she’d been a few days ago screamed at her to cover up, but the goddess who’d taken over ordered her to stand fast. She lifted her chin, stuck out her boobs, and met his leering gaze and lecherous grin head-on.

  Another pained sigh gushed out of him. He tackled her and toweled her down like she was a wet dog before shoving her toward her luggage. “Get dressed before you drive me insane.”

  Her suitcase lay open on a battered crate beside the weathered timber banister protecting visitors to the barn’s penthouse suite from falling to their deaths.

  She rummaged through her clean underwear, desperately hoping for something sexy she’d somehow forgotten she’d packed, but only came up with a fistful of totally practical and completely sexless cotton briefs.

  “Where the hell are you taking me?” She prayed her question bought her enough time to slip into her jeans without him noticing her ancient underwear, but his uncharacteristic silence had her spinning around before she’d even yanked on her panties.

  He sat on the edge of the bed staring at her with his hands frozen on his prosthesis’s socket. The dim light from the single bulb hanging from one of the rafters supporting the corrugated iron roof haloed his face and torso. Long seconds dragged by as she tried getting her mouth to work. No matter how many times she saw him, touched him, tasted him, the sensations skittering up her spine and tingling over her skin never failed to steal her breath.

  He sighed and slowly shook his head. “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

  She’d been so captivated by the view she hadn’t seen his lips move. As if on autopilot, her legs carried her across the rough timber floor. Her breasts swung, her butt jiggled, and her granny underwear hung from her numb fingers, but it didn’t matter. She looped her panties around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. She breathed him in while exploring his mouth with her tongue. She wanted to remember everything: the lemony scent of the soap they’d used to wash each other; the peppermint toothpaste they’d shared; the fresh, earthy aroma of the barn; and his rough hands worshipping her naked flesh.

  She leaned away just far enough to take in the tortured expression twisting his features and patted his cheek. All the while she made sure her puckered nipples remained firmly pressed into his chest. “Still set on leaving?”

  He groaned and buried his face between her breasts before squeezing her butt hard enough to have her cursing out loud. “Move your arse or I’ll drag you outside naked.”

  Her tender cheeks still throbbed as he half escorted, half dragged her through the predawn light creeping across the station’s courtyard. The herd of strays that called Wingarra home jumped and raced around her as he manhandled her toward a rusted iron shed standing at the edge of the eucalypt forest separating the homestead and outbuildings from the endless nothing of the Queensland outback.

  “Morning.”

  An amused pair of female voices called out from the homestead in unison as the unmistakable scent of coffee wafted past Abi’s nostrils. Naya and Jeddah leaned against the veranda’s railing in a wedge of light spilling from the kitchen door with steaming mugs cradled in their hands. Abi waved back as best she could while struggling to ignore her caffeine-induced cravings. The first thing she was doing after they cut Doris out of her head was diving into a tub of full-fat, full-cream, triple-shot mochaccino. He didn’t bother slowing as he nodded toward his mother and sister and tugged her forward.

  She hung on and stumbled after him while trying not to trip over her excited furry entourage. “Where the hell’s he taking me?”

  Naya chuckled and casually waved back as if this sort of thing happened all the time. “I was going to offer you breakfast, but it’s probably safer we wait until you’re back.”

  Jeddah’s laughter joined her mother’s. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t crashed in ages.”

  Booming male laughter joined the chorus. Jarrah strode onto the veranda with a mug clutched in one hand and what looked like a piece of toast in the other. “Serves you right for what you did to my car.”

  The butterflies flittering around in her belly disappeared and something bigger, darker, and far scarier took flight inside her.

  Just as she stumbled over a three-legged Labrador crossed with God knew what else, the rest of the Harper clan emerged. What the hell were they all doing up? Didn’t anyone sleep around here?

  Ethan’s and Kira’s beaming smiles were almost joyous enough to balance out the scowl carved into Madison’s way-too-perfect face. Even after the meal and stories they’d shared the night before, Abi still felt the dark side of the force flowing from Outback Barbie.

  “C’mon.” Ryder tugged her around the edge of the shed and out of sight of her audience.

  What was she, a dog? She flashed an apologetic smile at the Labrador and ruffled the tuft of fur sticking out of its forehead like a toupee and hurried after Ryder.

  If not for her morbid curiosity and the man’s stranglehold on her libido, she’d have kicked him in the balls, flipped him the bird, and escaped into the kitchen to sniff some coffee and fill her empty belly with the leftovers of last night’s apple pie. The curse hanging on her lips turned to a gasp as a helicopter emerged out of the dim morning light like a huge mechanical dragonfly.

  He ducked under a drooping rotor blade and pulled up next to the cockpit. “I promised you the best views of the outback, didn’t I?”

  All she could do was nod as he shooed away their audience and helped her in.

  The helicopter felt even smaller and more fragile from the inside, and that only had her heart racing and chest pumping even faster. It was just like the go-kart her father had made for her tenth birthday, but instead of tiny wheels and a steering wheel, the chopper had a funny-shaped joystick, a few dials, and two rotor blades that looked as flimsy as the clear plastic bubble enveloping her.

  She stared at him while settling herself into the passenger seat. “You learned to fly in the army?”

  He grinned but didn’t answer. Instead, he busied himself with untangling the various straps and buckles bolted to her seat before very slowly and methodically checking the tension of her seat belt by sliding his fingers between the harness and her chest and waist.

  After the fourth pass she grabbed hold of his hand and yanked it away from her treacherous crotch, which had already started happy dancing. “I think I’m good.”

  He frowned with all the seriousness of an astronaut preparing for a shuttle launch before shaking the thin plastic bubble surrounding her. “You can never be too careful with these Yankee death traps. It’s been all downhill for y
ou guys since you faked that moon landing.”

  He dodged the backhand she threw at his stomach and made his way around to the pilot’s door. All the while he muttered to himself and shook his head as he grabbed this and rocked that.

  The cabin lurched as he climbed in. If the helicopter had looked delicate before, his massive frame made it feel like a robotic mosquito. He untangled his harness and buckled himself down in a fraction of the time he’d taken to secure her into her chair before studying the dash.

  “Jesus Chr—” His head slammed against the bubble as she shoved her hand under his seat belt and grabbed a handful of crotch.

  She gave his boys a gentle squeeze before demurely sliding her hand back into her lap. “Just checking the tension. You can never be too careful with these American-made pieces of crap.”

  He glared at her while rubbing his head. “Don’t pull any of that shit after we take off. These things are hard enough to keep airborne as it is.”

  She raised one hand and placed the other over her heart. “I’ll behave.”

  He growled under his breath, readjusted the boys, and returned his attention to the dash. Long seconds passed before he ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged. Seriously, even when she’d had hair, it’d never looked that good, let alone in the morning after having nothing more than a towel and fingers dragged through it.

  He fiddled with some knobs, flicked some switches on and off, and shrugged again. She was just about to ask him what was wrong when he groped behind his seat and pulled out a torn and tattered folder that looked to be hanging together by hope alone. “Here, hold this.”

  She grabbed the tiny flashlight he’d flicked on and shined the light onto the folder. His lips worked as he thumbed through the pages. The excitement that had had her fidgeting in her seat morphed into a sense of foreboding that had her wanting to jump out of the cockpit and run for her life.

  She’d grown up power-sliding muscle cars around rain-soaked race tracks, but flying was a whole different ballgame, especially when she wasn’t holding the controls and the guy who was looked even more lost than she felt. It had to be an act. Weren’t these Special Forces guys trained to do everything?

  With a determined nod, he closed the folder and tossed the dog-eared mess into her lap. “I always get the brake and gas mixed up. You Yanks do everything arse about.”

  Brake, gas? She knew next to nothing about helicopters, but she was pretty sure the throttle was controlled by the lever between their seats, and she was damned sure they didn’t have brakes.

  After slipping on a headset, he absently tossed another set into her lap and resumed his confused and hesitant inspection of the controls. A headset wasn’t going to do her any good when she plummeted back to earth, but she was so desperate for a distraction she wrenched them on over her scarf.

  He closed one eye and tentatively turned the key sticking out of the dash before wincing and pressing an ominous red button that, judging by his expression, would either start the motor or blow them up. After a pathetic wheeze and spluttering cough, the engine mounted behind them barked to life and the rotors slowly turned. The smile he flashed her was meant to reassure, but it only had her twisting the folder clutched in her hands even tighter.

  As she unclenched her fingers and forced herself to breathe, the engine started screaming and the rotors began frantically cutting the dawn air in rhythm with her thudding heart. He rubbed his hands together and eyed the joystick like he was trying to diffuse a bomb as the dogs, the sheep, the goat, and what looked suspiciously like an emu scattered for the relative protection of the scrub.

  Even with the headset she couldn’t hear what he mumbled to himself, but it looked terrifyingly like a prayer. In a desperate attempt to distract herself she smoothed out the folder and tilted it toward the dawn light shining through her plastic coffin. Printed on the torn and tattered remains of the cover were the words, Flying for Dummies.

  As her scream cut through the cockpit, the helicopter lurched off the ground and rocketed skyward like a startled cat. Her desperate need for oxygen won out over the panic constricting every muscle in her body. She forced her eyes open and gasped in breath only to lose what she’d just sucked in when the ground dropped away and left her hanging in the air clutching a Flying for Dummies manual and wearing a completely freaking useless headset.

  “Ms. Williams, this is your captain speaking.”

  His voice crackled through her headset and the screaming in her head. She tore her gaze from the ground a million miles beneath her to find him grinning as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “You’re currently strapped into a Robinson R22 Beta II that has been fitted with a one hundred and forty-five horsepower naturally aspirated four-cylinder engine capable of a maximum airspeed of one hundred and two knots.” He flashed her a devilish smile and wiggled his eyebrows. “Which we’ll exceed today. Please stow your tray tables, bring your seat into its upright position, and kiss your magnificent arse good-bye, baby.”

  Before her frazzled nerves could settle enough for her to pound the shit out him with the manual clutched in her hand, he yanked on the joystick and sent them plunging into a right-hand dive that lodged what was left of her stomach firmly into her throat.

  She was still screaming when his heavy paw slid onto her leg and gently squeezed her thigh. “Open your eyes.”

  She swatted his hand away and lashed out blindly with the manual before he caught it and tugged it out of her grasp. “For Christ’s sake, you big chicken, open your damned eyes.”

  She stopped struggling and drew in a shaky breath. Her stomach had returned to roughly the same position it had been prior to takeoff and the nerve endings that still worked told her she was stationary, but it took another string of curses from him to get her to slowly raise her eyelids.

  The sun sliced the horizon to ignite the scrub-covered ridges and valleys below. Like a firestorm, the dawn light swept over the land and turned the night’s grays and blacks into kaleidoscopes of yellows, oranges, and reds. With each passing second the light engulfed more and more of the land until its rays fell onto the Big House.

  Like a lush tropical island emerging from a turbulent ocean of rock and dust, the huge eucalypts standing guard over Wingarra’s buildings burst to life with their bone-white trunks and jade leaves exploding like fireworks of life against the red dirt.

  A dozen buildings fanned out around the northern bank of the giant pond that gave Wingarra its name. Place of Magical Water. The name couldn’t have been more perfect. When she’d arrived yesterday afternoon, the cobalt waters had looked like a tropical lagoon, but from the air and with the blazing dawn sun reflecting off its surface, the pond looked more like a giant eye peering up to the heavens.

  “The water comes from the Great Artesian Basin, which is the world’s largest underground fresh-water reservoir.” Ryder nodded to the water. “Some of the basin’s largest springs pop up on Wingarra.”

  He slid his hand back onto her thigh as he maneuvered the joystick and pedals with the precision of a surgeon and the grace of a dancer. They floated above the center of the pond as he slowly rotated the chopper to give her an unobstructed, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of paradise.

  “So, was it worth getting up early?”

  Her ego yelled at her to slap his hand away even as her fingers nestled between his and the last of her panic ebbed from her muscles. “It’s amazing.” She pinched the back of his hand and answered his smart-ass grin with one of her own. “But you’re still going to pay.”

  His booming laughter filled her headset as he turned them away from the rising sun and followed the dawn light west.

  “How big’s Wingarra?”

  “About a million acres.”

  She spun around. “A million acres, that’s…that’s…” She had no idea how big that actually was, but a million of anything was bloody big no matter what hemisphere you were in.

  He shrugged. “It’s pretty big for a
family-owned station. The multinationals run operations up to six times larger. I heard somewhere that the largest ones are around the same size as your Rhode Island.”

  She was too busy getting her head around the million acres to comprehend a farm the size of a state and that he seemed completely oblivious to the scales he so calmly discussed.

  He pointed to a sapphire dot in the distance surrounded by another clump of eucalypts but nowhere near the size of the forest surrounding the Big House. “The only really usable land lies around the springs. Everything else is pretty much scrub, rock, and dirt. This is the best the station’s going to look. Come the end of the dry season all you’re going to see between the springs is red dust.”

  The closer they drew to the spring, the truer his words became. The dark-blue pool looked more like the epicenter of a green explosion with the vegetation slowly growing sparser and less vivid the farther away from the water until the ocher dust swallowed up any trace of life. Herds of cattle, kangaroos, camels, horses, and even a few emus milled around the life-giving water as if reveling in the cool dawn tranquility before the heat of the day ignited the landscape.

  “Maddie’s currently running about twenty thousand head.”

  She was still having a hard time imagining Outback Barbie running anything other than a bitchy hair salon or cowboy BDSM club. Then again, once you got past the supermodel exterior, Maddie’s personality was as harsh and unforgiving as the rocky terrain flashing beneath the chopper.

  She thought she’d done a good job hiding her thoughts, but he chuckled and glanced her way. “The stockmen call her the bunyip…when she’s not listening.”

  “Bunyip?”

  “A creature from Aboriginal Dreamtime. It’s said to lurk near water and drag men to their deaths.”

  She gave up all pretense and burst out laughing. “I bet the cowboys moseying through these parts love working for a woman.”

  “Stockmen, woman, stockmen. You call a fair dinkum Aussie stockman a cowboy and shit’s getting real.”

  She patted his hand and sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know, everything down here’s twice as dangerous and ten times as tough.”