“I expect a hundred girls,” Grant said with a faint rasp.
“All of them in love with you?” She turned quickly, knowing without being told that she was the first woman outside family, except she was sure her cousin Ally, who had ever been brought here.
“I’ve never been in love in my life,” he said, “except I’m afraid with you,” he admitted almost roughly, a certain tension coming into his high-mettled face.
She had to clear her throat to speak. “And that’s taboo?”
“That’s how it is, Francesca.”
One hand unconsciously went up to lie between her breasts. “You mean my title is a terrible constraint?”
“Your title is the smallest part of it,” he said. “The implications of your title stronger, but overriding everything the near impossibility of transporting someone as delicate as you into a baked, red-glowing soil. It would take a miracle for you to survive.”
His rejection was shattering. “So falling in love isn’t enough?”
He groaned. “Think about it, Francesca. I beg you. Falling in love is agony. Allowing a woman to reach far into your mind and your body would be to give her all the power in the world.”
She looked at him out of sparkling eyes. “So it hasn’t happened yet?”
“I’m not going to let it get the better of me, Francesca,” he warned.
Her heart was beating swiftly, to the point of pain. “So you think rules apply to people like me and you’re not going to break them?”
He held up his hands, palms forward like a supplicant warding her off, yet his glance was magnetic, luring her on. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Do you think I wanted this to happen, willed it to happen?”
“You couldn’t have.” He shook his head. “It happened all at once. Years ago when you were just a sweet little teenager.”
“We were close then.” Nostalgia was reflected in her voice.
“Aren’t we closer now?” His own tone was regretful.
“But you want me to go?”
“As things are—” He broke off, intensely confused. On the one hand he was trying to do the right thing, on the other he was mad to take this woman and make her his. It had got to the point when he couldn’t imagine life without her. It wasn’t meant to happen like this. Not at all.
She gave a little cry that startled him. Then she was flinging herself backwards as a small brightly patterned dragon lizard lifted itself out of the deep sand, every spine on its head and back upraised, a fearsome little harmless thing, still with the ability to give an unsuspecting person a fright. It dashed at breakneck speed, across Francesca’s foot and outside the cave.
“God, Fran, here.” He caught her as she stumbled, sinking, sliding to the cave floor. “It’s only a lizard. It can’t hurt you.” But he could. The fragrance of her body, that unique rose scent was everywhere. He thought constantly about making love to her. Now here she was in his arms, a featherweight, so utterly beautiful inside and out.
“I’m sorry. Sorry.” She gave a little laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. More like a sob because it was all so sad, so ridiculous, so cruel.
Desperate for her now, Grant caught her up strongly, experiencing such passion he was drawn to cover her mouth fiercely, voluptuously, feeling it open…open, her breath as sweet as the desert breeze. The tip of her small tongue, barely lapping, danced around his, inciting him until he felt he couldn’t stand it. He was hard with desire, bearing her slender body down onto the soft sand as if he had been waiting for this all his life.
“Francesca!” Everything about him was doing a slow, sizzling burn.
“Don’t talk.” Her white fingers came up to his lips. “Don’t talk at all.”
She allowed him to slip open the small pearly buttons of her pink shirt. He had never known such exquisite anticipation. He moved his hands over her small breasts, the rosy nipples already bunched tight to his touch. She was wearing some kind of white lacy thing like a little singlet beneath her shirt. Nothing else. Her breasts were perfect, small, taut, high, the skin like satin. He lowered his head and took first one nipple then the other into his mouth, hearing her soft, urgent moans, the most exciting and dangerous little sounds in the world.
Exactly what he feared was happening. He could get her pregnant. This beautiful creature. Yet his hand found the zip of her cotton jeans, drawing it down. His fingers moved in desperate caressing patterns over her velvet stomach to the apex of her body, a point he knew he shouldn’t cross, but he did because he couldn’t summon enough will to turn back.
Wonder. It was wonderful. And now he was quite, quite certain of what he had only suspected.
All the while he caressed her, his ministrations causing her to writhe, he studied her lovely face. Her eyes were closed, her head turned sideways, her hair a fiery bolt of silk across the sand.
Take her, he thought. Just take her. Give in to your greatest desire. You’re both young and so much alive. So much in love. He couldn’t deny it. She was too honest to try.
“Francesca, Francesca,” he muttered in a mindless ecstasy, his mouth closing over hers again. She was extraordinary. A dream. He never imagined a woman could be so beautiful. He wanted to cover every inch of her with kisses. Kisses like little indelible marks that would stay on her body forever.
He smoothed his palm across her satin-smooth stomach. So flat. He imagined her having a child. His beautiful child. Boy or girl he wouldn’t care. Such a child would surely have red-gold hair. A little innocent. Perfect in their eyes.
But seeing that child in his mind’s eye brought him back to his senses at a powerful rush. Her slender white arms were thrown back, fingers digging into the sand. She couldn’t stop that soft, little moan as his hunger had taken him deeper and deeper into exploring her body.
His hesitation was minimal but deeply painful as if he was gripped by cramps, but by sheer force of will he managed to move, retrieving the pink shirt he had thrown away, getting a handle on the deep clashing tumults inside of him.
“Francesca. Please. Come on.” He coaxed her urgently but she kept her eyes shut, not responding. Somehow, unaided, he fixed the little singlet, got her shirt back on and buttoned, rezipped her jeans.
She didn’t help him at all as if she had loved the way she was, half-naked and lost to him.
“You don’t think this is easy for me, do you?” he pleaded, half-cursing his own principles. “This is harder than you’ll ever know. But I have to stop, Francesca.”
At last she showed some reaction by shaking her head. “Why?”
“How can you ask? How can I possibly know if the time is right for you?” he asked tautly. “Are you on the pill or don’t you care if you fall pregnant?”
She sat up immediately, clenching her small white teeth. “I’m going to get a prescription right away.” She was howling inside. Full of frustration.
“You have your virginity to bring to a man as a gift,” he pointed out quietly.
“Damnation to that!”
He had to laugh, though the laugh went awry. “I like it. It’s pretty unusual these days.”
“It’s the way I’ve chosen to live,” she said, averting her head. “I’ve never cared enough about anyone to let them get to the stage where they know me.”
He held her face between his hands and kissed her. “So whatever happens some part of you will always be mine. Could I have made you pregnant today?”
A wild rose flush mounted her cheeks. She looked across the silent cave, her blue gaze falling on ancient couplings. “I was too far gone to make notes.” She tried a sad little joke. “I suppose you expected better of me?”
Her expression was so poignant he reacted strongly. “I’m the guilty one here, Francesca. I found the way to seduce you.”
“And you would have only you’re blessed with an exceptionally strong will.”
“A year from now you might thank me.” He stared into her face intently, committing every single feat
ure to memory.
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head firmly, pushing her long hair back over her shoulders. “I don’t regret any of this, Grant Cameron. What I feel for you is in very short supply.”
CHAPTER FOUR
FOR days after Grant drove himself so hard, Brod, all his life honorary big brother, began to feel a niggling concern. There was no question Grant was splendidly fit, physically very strong, with nerves of steel, but it seemed to Brod he was putting himself under too much pressure without a safety valve. Cameron Airways now had sufficient pilots able and experienced enough to take over the big mustering jobs, but Grant was handling too much himself. It was a day in day out, dawn to dusk routine and not without its dangers especially for the helicopter pilot manoeuvring in difficult situations.
There was an undercurrent to all this. Brod was sure he knew what it was. Francesca. Grant had fallen very deeply in love with her but it was obvious to anyone who knew Grant well, he was taking it hard. It wasn’t just a question of a young man used to a high level of self-sufficiency and freedom, fighting love’s lasso. Grant seemed to be in genuine fear of hurting both of them by allowing their relationship to deepen.
Whatever happened the day he took Francesca off to Opal to see the cave—both had confided in him and of course as Rafe’s best friend he had seen it—had been pivotal in their relationship. Of that Brod felt all but certain. There was a kind of shining innocence about Francesca, a definable purity that remained. But something fairly traumatic had happened.
Midafternoon when the men were relaxing over billy tea and fresh damper, hot from the coals, Brod drew Grant aside.
“Why don’t we go down there?” He indicated a fallen log like a giant bonsai on the sandy shore of the creek, with its spreading green signifying the return of the good seasons.
Grant followed him gratefully. Rarely tired, he found himself curiously drained. “All right with you if Jock McFadden finishes tomorrow?” he asked, as soon as they were settled, a fragrant mug of tea in hand, a couple of the cattle dogs, Bluey and Rusty, curled at their feet.
“No problem at all.” Brod pushed his akubra back on his head, turning to look at his friend. “Is everything okay?”
Grant smiled wryly. “Now why do you sound like Rafe?”
“Do I?” Brod’s grin displayed his beautiful white teeth. “Well, Rafe’s away.”
“So you’re his deputy. Anyway I meant to tell you—” Grant swallowed a mouthful “—had a phone call from them last night. Early hours of the morning actually.”
“Both well?” Brod watched him expectantly.
“On top of the world. They’re on the West Coast now. Los Angeles. And guess who they met up with in the street?” His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement and pleasure.
“Any clues?”
“One.” Grant nodded. “When we were kids he was considered an even bigger rebel than me.”
Brod laughed. “In that case it would have to be your cousin, Rory.”
“Got it in one.” Grant took another deep gulp, realising he was parched. “Rory Cameron.”
“Would have been at Rafe’s wedding only he was taking a little hike up Everest wasn’t he?” Brod asked.
Grant nodded. “What words can you use to describe that? He’s fearless, Rory. I’d love to do it myself. He went up with a New Zealand party. Rory’s a real adventurer. There’s nowhere he hasn’t been from the Himalayas to the Amazonian jungle. His dad thinks he’ll never settle down.”
Sammy Lee, part aboriginal part Chinese camp cook arrived with slices of damper and jam, which both took.
“It’s a good thing then Rory has an elder brother to take over the running of Rivoli,” Brod remarked dryly after Sammy had gone. Rivoli was one of the Northern Territory’s biggest cattle stations owned and run by Grant’s uncle, stepbrother to his late father.
“Josh is a great guy,” Grant agreed, “but he hasn’t got Rory’s enormous zest. There’s a guy who’s brimming over with life. Anyway would you believe it, he’s coming home?”
“Lord, he’s been away years. He’s going to find it tame, settling in the one place, if that’s what he intends to do.”
“Don’t spread it around but I aim to talk him into joining me,” Grant told Brod confidentially. “I got to thinking about it last night after the call. Rory’s a great pilot. Every last Cameron has a head for business. I could use a man like Rory.”
Brod shook his head doubtfully. “No way he’d come into anything without being a full partner.”
“You’re not wrong! But no harm in discussing it. Rory’s my cousin, a Cameron. I know for a fact he got all old Digby Cameron’s money. That makes him a rich man. Anyway we’ll see. Needless to say Rafe and Ally send you and Rebecca their love. I spoke to Rafe too about Francesca’s idea of doing those outback location shots on Opal.”
Brod finished off his mug of tea and signalled for another. “What did he say?”
“He doesn’t mind. In fact he supports it if I negotiate a good deal and the money goes to the Bush Rescue trust.”
Brod nodded his approval. “Rafe’s doing a wonderful job with that. Now that Dad’s gone Kimbara will enter the scheme. Rafe and I discussed it. Even if we save one kid and put them on the right path it’s worth it.”
“Well it’s working.” Grant paused to thank Sammy who was back pouring fresh tea.
“So what are you going to do tomorrow?” Brod returned to his main concern. “Take some time off. It seems to me you’ve hit a cracking pace.”
“I won’t have Francesca over to visit if that’s what you mean.” Grant shot him a sidelong glance.
“What’s the problem?” Brod was equally direct. “Aren’t you two in love?”
“God, love! What is love?” Grant muttered in a kind of anguish.
“I’d say what you feel,” Brod responded. “You’re not just in love with my cousin. You love her. You’re tormenting yourself with what you consider is appropriate.”
“It shows?” asked Grant, not smiling.
“Hell, Grant, I’ve known you all your life. I know how a man feels, when he’s faced with a big emotional decision. I know you’re a man of integrity. I know I can trust you with Francesca. I know you would never consciously hurt her.”
Grant gestured wearily. “I’m wrong for her, Brod.”
“Why?” Brod damned nearly shouted. “The consensus of opinion is you’re an exceptional young man. You have real standing in the outback community. That’s not all that easy to earn.”
“Down here. Down here, I’m worried.” Grant struck his chest. “If she were any other girl! I want her as much as it’s possible to want a woman, but she’s like some enchanting creature from another planet. Even her colouring scares me.”
Brod shook his head, halfway between disbelief and understanding. “Grant, get a balance here. Your own father had red hair. Your mother was very blonde. Look at you and Rafe. Don’t all the girls call you the golden boys?”
Grant studied the glint of hair on his forearms. “We’ve had generations to acclimatise. We’ve grown hardy. We’re natives. Francesca is like some rare exotic no one in their right mind would plant here. She can’t survive. The big heat is ahead. You know as well as I do, Brod, the mercury can hit forty-eight degrees!”
Brod looked up at the cloudless, peacock-blue sky. “We don’t expect our womenfolk to go out in the midday sun, whatever Noel Coward had to say. Times have changed greatly. We have so much now, so many aids we’ve never had before. It’s been a technological revolution.”
“Maybe. But the fact remains no one is going to be able to change the desert environment.”
“Between the two of us,” Brod said wryly, “I don’t want to change it. I love my home like no other place on earth.”
Grant responded with a sudden spurt of passion. “Don’t get me wrong. I love it, too. We’ve learned to love it. We thrive on it. But Francesca is a very special person. I’m determined to protect her.”
“Hell, Grant, if you keep this up you’ll drive her away,” Brod warned. “You’ll lose her. Are you prepared to risk that?”
Grant’s handsome, determined features tautened. “I’d rather lose her now than lose her later on. That would kill me. What if we were married and she decided one day she longed for everything she had lost? Everything she had ever known and understood? She’s no ordinary girl.”
“An ordinary girl wouldn’t suit you, Grant. Have you thought of that?” Brod suggested dryly.
Grant shook his head. “I don’t know any other girl of her particular background. Surely it couldn’t be more different from ours?”
“So you don’t think she’s adult enough to make up her own mind?” Irony crackled in Brod’s tone.
“You realise any son she may have could be her father’s heir?”
Brod gave a faint smile. “So what? As far as I know, Francesca’s father is having the devil of a job trying to keep Ormond intact. The upkeep must be crippling. Especially without Fee’s money. Fee was the heiress. For that matter, still is.”
“You don’t see anything tremendously threatening about our relationship?” Grant asked, realising this conversation was going some way to easing his mind.
Brod took his time replying. Then he spoke very seriously, from the depths of his soul. “I think when you find someone you truly love you never let them go.”
In amongst all his thinking, and he had lots on his mind—an upcoming meeting with Drew Forsythe of Trans Continental Resources for one—he kept drawing mental plans of his dream homestead. Of course he’d need an architect to walk the site, gauge just the right spot for the house to go. There were vast, sweeping views from everywhere nevertheless siting the homestead properly would present a challenge. Without fully realising it his mind was extraordinarily visual so his intermittent daydreams really came alive. He wanted the house set on low pylons like Opal but there the similarity ended, except for the mandatory wide verandahs to shelter the core of the house from the heat and sun at the same time as providing deep shade and cooling breezes.
The English Bride Page 8
