by Janine Grey
‘What did you think about?’
‘Never having sex again.’
‘That’s not the kind of tragic I meant.’ She brought his hand to her mouth and bit his index finger in punishment.
‘Ouch. What kind of tragic did you mean then?’
‘The penis-wilting sort.’
‘We could just have sex again.’
‘You’re out of condoms,’ she reminded him, debating whether to tell him about the pack she’d brought with her. Just in case.
He groaned and flung himself onto his back, bringing his arm up to shield his eyes. ‘Now that’s tragic.’
Rolling, she came up onto an elbow, looking at him with amusement. He really was perfect, from his jaw – she let her fingers rasp across his beard – to everything below. She trailed her fingertips through the light smattering of dark chest hair, across his sixpack, to his waist and traced a circle around his navel several times.
‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘Or I might lose interest.’
‘I thought you weren’t a wilter.’
‘Always a first time.’
But it wasn’t going to be today. As she danced her hand through the rough scruff of dark hair, his cock lengthened, seemingly eager for contact. Slowly, slowly, she took him in hand, using just her fingers at first in a smooth stroking motion. When his jaw hardened and his hands clenched tight on the sleeping bag, she gripped him more firmly, stroking from root to tip until he was burning hot and pulsing to the touch.
And when he was calling out and begging her to stop and then to never stop, she took him in her mouth.
*
‘Not to your liking, Miss Mayberry?’
Eliza came out of her daydream with a start to see Fin indicating the piece of well-done toast on her plate. Very well done.
‘If you prefer, we could order room service,’ he added.
Okay, she thought, looking at his sardonic expression. One step forward, three steps back. Or perhaps Fingal McLeod just wasn’t a morning person. She ignored the voice in her head taunting her that he had no need to be nice now he’d had what he wanted.
Whatever his problem, she didn’t plan to pander to his moodiness.
‘I’d be in Sydney or just about anywhere else if I wanted room service. Instead I’m here, having breakfast with you at Ruin Flat.’
He scowled. ‘I hope you got what you came for.’
‘Yes, thank you. It was very nice.’
His scowl deepened and he drank deeply from his coffee, while she sipped hers. One morning thing in his favour – apart from an impressive erection – was his coffee.
‘What are your plans for today?’ she asked.
‘Work.’
‘Okay.’
When she had woken, Fin had been nowhere in sight, so she showered under a trickle of warm water and dressed for a day of mining in khaki pants and a long-sleeved tee-shirt, her hair piled tidily out of the way and secured with a bright scarf.
‘Alone.’
Ignoring his taciturn expression, she pressed on, trying to navigate a way into the topic of the mine’s ownership. She wasn’t usually a prevaricator, but she suspected this was news he wouldn’t take well.
‘Did you talk to Mr Weaver about the mine, Fin?’
‘Why do you want to know? I thought your job was done.’ He looked and sounded impatient, nothing more.
‘I thought it might have been an area of common interest. He seems to know something about the gem trade.’
Fin scowled as he stood. ‘We talked about family mostly – or he did. He spoke about his sister Connie, my grandmother.’
Eliza rubbed the tiny opal in her pocket that she now carried like a good luck charm. This would be the prime time to tell Fin she was a part-owner, to assure him she would not interfere.
‘And your parents,’ he added suddenly.
Caught off guard, she stared at him. ‘What? What about them?’
‘Ernest talked about them. About some glitzy party, years ago.’
Eliza forced a smile to her face. ‘They liked to entertain.’
‘But not anymore?’
The smile froze, and a rush of emotion overwhelmed her. Her empty coffee mug dropped to the ground with a thud as she turned away, grabbing her bag and stumbling in the direction of her car, which she could barely see for tears.
Surely he knew? Surely Mr Weaver had said something? Even a simple web search of the Mayberry name would have produced page upon digital page of scandal and speculation surrounding her father’s death.
‘Eliza?’ Fin’s big hands caught her and spun her against him. ‘What happened? I didn’t realise – Shit! Just say something, will you?’
She pushed against his chest a little, until his grip eased and she could search his face. In his eyes she could see no hint of duplicity. But she wasn’t the best judge of character, and how could he not know her circumstances? After their encounter with Felicity Westland, anyone would have been curious about the humiliation the woman had done more than allude to. Perhaps he had too much integrity to go hunting for gossip. Or maybe he just hadn’t cared. Right now, though his eyes were stormy, she saw only concern.
‘I overreacted,’ she managed, flattening the urge to hide the despair and shame of the past months. However fleeting this relationship, it was going to be based on truth. ‘My father died not long ago, and . . . things were difficult. I’ve been feeling lost but thought I was getting over it.’ She gave a choking laugh. ‘When this job came along, and you, I didn’t feel quite as lost.’
When he tugged her more closely to him again, she didn’t resist. Under her ear, she could hear the steady beat of his heart. He didn’t say anything for some time, and when he did she had the sense of the words being dragged from him. Fin McLeod didn’t find it easy to share his thoughts and feelings.
‘When I started to weigh things up this morning, it crossed my mind that you had followed me here just for a bit of fun – a fast and furious fuck then back to the good life, the boring boyfriend.’
Eliza thought about that. ‘Sex with no strings attached. Wasn’t that what you initially offered? What all guys want, secretly or otherwise?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Maybe.’
Taking a step back, she quirked an eyebrow. ‘So?’
‘So I guess it’s already getting complicated.’
Something inside Eliza relaxed. ‘I’ll make a deal with you. Today, we mine for opal. Tonight, we have more sex. Tomorrow, we see if things are clearer.’
‘One problem with that. We’re still out of protection.’
Eliza rummaged in her bag and brandished the pack of condoms triumphantly. ‘A girl scout always comes prepared.’
Fin looked at her, an easy smile on his face. ‘Miss Mayberry, I’m impressed and I accept your offer.’
Not that it was that easy. Eliza suspected that nothing about Fin McLeod was simple. In fact, the privations of living on the claim – the flies, the heat and the lack of basic comforts – were minor troubles when compared with navigating his moods. They were as changeable as the weather she’d experienced on a trip to Scotland, and more than once she wondered if all the McLeod forebears had been as moody.
On Eliza’s second day at the mine, he had a sudden change of heart about her working there as he handed her a morning mug of coffee.
‘You should stay up top,’ he said, scowling at the coffee mug with such intensity Eliza half-wondered if he’d poisoned it. ‘I’ll show you how to work the agitator.’ He looked up and pointed to the thing that looked like a cement mixer. ‘You can clean the opal dirt we brought up yesterday.’
‘I’m more use to you in the mine,’ she pointed out. ‘You said so yesterday.’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Because?’
‘I just have,’ he insisted, but Eliza saw his gaze flick to her hands.
Putting her coffee down, she now saw what he did. Her once-smooth hands were scratched and scraped, and her French-pol
ished nails were short, ragged and encrusted with dirt that she’d been unable to clean out.
‘Dirt never hurt anyone.’
He looked angry. ‘It’s more than that. You should have worn the gloves.’
‘All right, I’ll wear them. They just made my hands sweaty.’
‘No, I’ve decided.’
‘Well, so have I!’ She planted her hands on her hips and glared back at him.
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
His face broke into a reluctant grin. ‘Hell,’ he said. ‘Okay. All right.’
Eliza went to him, stood on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his in a kiss that nearly blew off the tops of their heads.
‘I already said yes,’ Fin muttered when they came up for air.
‘Just making sure.’ Eliza found her gloves and hard hat. ‘Now, are we going to mine or what?’
*
Nothing was clearer the following day for Fin, or the day after that or the one after, except that Eliza Mayberry was inching herself ever deeper under his skin until he began to suspect that eradicating her would mean flaying himself raw.
That she was not used to roughing it became quickly apparent. She was a trooper, expressing not a word of complaint about the basic conditions, each day joining him in the mine below.
Fin, inclined to show indulgence on the first day after the first torrid night, thought she would have had enough after an hour. But to his surprise, she undertook whatever tasks he gave her to the letter, and worked gamely on. Despite scratched hands on the second day, she seemed determined to prove herself, working by his side well into the evening as he collected opal dirt to be hauled up for cleaning.
It wasn’t until his helmet light shone full on her face that he realised she had pushed herself beyond exhaustion. She was as pale as a ghost under the layer of grime.
Torn between admiration and annoyance that she refused to quit until he did, he growled at her. ‘Enough, Eliza. Time to call it a day.’
She smiled tiredly at him. ‘It’s addictive, isn’t it? That feeling that the next bit of rock you handle could be the one.’
‘Doesn’t make any difference if we find opal today or tomorrow,’ he said, although it wasn’t strictly true. Although he was used to the long, laborious hours, he was tired too. And he didn’t want to waste what was left of the evening. He had plans for a fancy dinner, having discovered a can of lobster bisque amid the stew and beans, and another long night of lovemaking under the stars.
But by the time she climbed to the surface with his help, Eliza looked dead on her feet. When he let go of her, she collapsed onto the sleeping bag and was so deeply under within seconds that he could not rouse her to eat – or for anything else. So much for his romantic plans, he thought ruefully, as he eased her grimy work clothes off so she could sleep in comfort.
His comfort was another matter. The ground had never seemed so hard; his erection never so insistent. And so he tossed and turned while Eliza slept on, snuggled into him and oblivious to it all.
By the time dawn shimmered on the horizon, Fin was convinced that complicating things was the worst idea he’d ever had. Still she slept, her body angled away from him but her hip in contact with his, rubbing against him – deliberately provocative, it seemed. And he was provoked. And lusty. And annoyed – with himself mostly.
Hell, he’d come to Ruin Flat to mine – to make sure his mother’s future was comfortable, whatever it held, and to get away from complications. What was he thinking, letting Eliza stay? All it achieved was sleepless nights, which left him in poor shape to concentrate on the painstaking, dangerous work of finding opal.
It wasn’t going to work. It couldn’t work. No way.
He rolled over, away from Eliza, and sat up, preparing to shake her awake and tell her she had to go. But her eyes were open, and she gave him a sleepy smile.
Something flipped inside Fin, and he lost the thread of his thoughts. He’d been about to say something, something important. That much he remembered.
‘Hi,’ he croaked.
‘Good morning.’ She sat up, clutching the sleeping bag to her breast and studying his face. ‘What’s happened? You don’t look happy.’
He remembered then what he’d been about to do.
‘It’s just this.’ He cast a hand out to indicate their situation. ‘It’s not going to work,’ he added abruptly. No point in sugar-coating things.
As her eyes followed his around the camp, a faint frown appeared between her brows. Then she nodded. ‘It’s a mess,’ she agreed.
She thought he meant the camp and Fin scowled, hands on his naked hips. ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ he muttered. ‘It’s rustic, that’s all.’
At that, Eliza got gracefully to her feet, taking the sleeping bag with her. ‘Extremely rustic and inconvenient. You waste time every morning looking for tools and other things among the junk.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it. I like everything just the way it is,’ he said defensively.
She put her hand on his chest, smiled brilliantly at him, and Fin knew she’d turned the tables on him. ‘Me too. What I plan to do won’t hurt at all, I promise.’
CHAPTER 9
Eliza’s smile widened as Fin muttered something under his breath and marched off to ready himself for the mine. After barely three days together, she was prepared for his morning moods, and she had her suspicions about the direction of his thoughts when she’d woken to find him glowering at her. For now, at least, she’d successfully diverted him.
She studied the pile of junk she’d collected yesterday, which she planned to take into town for disposal. Some of the old pails were rusted through; there was the broken ladder and a wealth of rubbish, some of which appeared decades old. Was it really that hard to keep a worksite tidy?
‘I need to run into Helton today,’ she told Fin after a quick breakfast. ‘I have an open case I’m working and I can’t do anything here without internet access. If you make a list, I’ll pick up some supplies.’
‘You don’t need to do that. I’ll get around to it.’
‘It’s okay.’ She pointed to the pile of scrap. ‘If you don’t want this stuff, I’ll get rid of it. It’s an accident waiting to happen.’
He frowned, moving towards the pile. ‘Not the timber. And I might need this, and this.’ Systematically, he removed half the pile.
Eliza sighed. ‘And those rusted buckets are a treasured family heirloom?’
‘No.’ He tugged out the broken sections of the ladder, and ran his finger over the ends. He didn’t say anything but his frown intensified.
‘You want to keep that, too?’ She rolled her eyes at him.
‘Yeah, I, uh . . . you never know.’
‘Okay.’ She began to cart the junk he’d ignored towards her ute.
‘Wait!’ he said. ‘I’ll do that. You might cut yourself.’
‘I’m not a lightweight, Fin.’
‘I know that. It’s just – look, if you can wait an hour, I’ll come in with you.’
‘Sure, but you don’t have to.’ She thought he would have jumped at the chance for a few hours of peace. As he put on his hard hat and retreated down the mine shaft, she shook her head.
Men.
*
‘You need proper boots,’ he told her on the drive in to Helton.
‘What’s wrong with the ones I have?’
‘You need steel caps.’ He parked the Land Rover and got out, pointing up the street. ‘The general store will sort you out.’
‘I’ll do that after I get some work done. I can use the hotel’s wifi.’
‘Good.’ He frowned, thinking about all he needed to do in town. ‘See you in a couple of hours.’
He headed up the street, stopping to collect his mail before rapping on the door of Old Pauly’s cottage. When there was no answer, Fin glanced at his watch. It was barely eleven, but perhaps the man wanted an early beer or some company. Fin decided to drop by on the way back to tell h
im about Blue, and ask him if he’d heard of hoons hanging around.
‘McLeod! G’day, brother.’ From up the street, Mick raised a hand in greeting.
‘Hi. You haven’t seen the old bloke around, have you?’
‘Pauly? He’s up and gone.’
‘Gone where?’
Mick shrugged. ‘You tell me. Old bugger packed up nearly a week back. He had some trouble, I reckon, but he was keeping quiet about it.’
‘Trouble with his eyes? Did he have to go back into hospital?’
‘He had trouble with someone, I reckon. Took a bit of a bruise to the chin. He said he’d had a beer too many one night and walked into a door. But he looked a bit shook up.’ Mick paused. ‘Could have just been an accident like he said, but I don’t know . . .’ His voice tailed off.
‘Jesus! Who’d have a go at an old bloke like him?’ Fin asked, shocked.
‘No one around here, that’s for sure,’ Mick said.
‘Have you noticed any strangers in town? Anyone who stood out?’
‘Nah, apart from a few noodlers who came to see if they could pick up anything the full-timers had missed. As if!’
Noodling was a popular pastime for tourists fascinated by opal mining. In the cooler months, sometimes dozens scratched around in the Helton dirt looking for opal fragments to take home as the prized souvenir of their outback adventure.
‘There aren’t many this close to summer,’ Mick continued. ‘And no one that looked like trouble.’ He took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh to dislodge the dust. ‘You been all right up at the flat?’
‘Yeah.’
At his tone, Mick pressed. ‘Don’t sound it.’
‘I was away for a few days and when I got back last week, some bastard had taken a knife to a blue-tongued lizard. Friendly little thing, she used to hang around the camp.’
The creases in Mick’s face deepened. ‘Not an animal attack? Dingo?’
‘I’m no expert, but it looked like a knife wound to me. The body was just left there. If a dingo had killed her, it would have been for food.’
‘Bloody bastards!’ Mick muttered. ‘Killing for thrills – that’s just not right.’ He looked Fin in the eye. ‘You want to watch yourself out there alone, mate.’
