by Margaret Way
“Will do!” Tara called, so busy smiling at Raul she wouldn’t even have noticed if there were. Tara was longing to question this fascinating guy about what he would like to do that afternoon. He would probably want to go horseback riding. She wasn’t much of a rider unfortunately. Mounted so far from the ground always made her nervous, that and the long neck that stretched away in front of her. She’d had to work hard in the early days to overcome her fear of horses, but Cecile had coached her to the stage she could tell which end of the horse was which and if given a quiet work horse she could not only stay on but manage to look quite fetching in the saddle. She’d brought a brand-new outfit with her, bum-hugging sexymoleskins, glossy new riding boots. Raul seemed the sort of guy that noticed those things. Tara shook out her blond hair and began to ask him if Buenos Aires was as exciting a capital city as everyone said. This was one Argentinian who knew how to take a woman’s breath away!
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS WAS HER ROUTINE when she visited Malagari, Cecile rose at dawn to take an early-morning gallop before the heat of the sun became too fierce. She had always loved these early-morning rides, moving about the stables complex, talking to the stable boys, who were always up and about, fluttering and fussing around their charges, feeding, cleaning, grooming, exercising. No point in trying to wake Tara to accompany her. Tara Wasn’t an early riser; neither did she take much pleasure in riding. Let her sleep.
By the time she reached the cobbled yard, the sun was rising in its fiery glory, dispelling the layers of pinks, indigos and pale yellow on the horizon. Blue light was starting to pour from the sky, the legions of birds were shrieking and whistling as they called to each other, and the desert wind was busy lifting the tantalizing mauve river of mist that hovered over the garden, blowing it away.
As chance would have it, there was no one around, though it was clear work had already begun. The place was lit, and fresh, sweet-smelling hay covered the floors. She walked about, speaking affectionately to the horses, Arabs and Thoroughbreds, all groomed to a silken shine. The horses nodded and whinnied back before she turned her attention to her favorite mount, the beautiful palomino, Zuleika, a separate breed from the others. Horses were just like people, Cecile thought. They had different, sometimes highly individual, personalities. Zuleika was the perfect match for her—or that part of her personality that was mostly hidden. The palomino with her golden coat and light blond mane and tail was sweet-tempered but high-spirited, with a sense of adventure and a certain unpredictability that often kept Cecile on her mettle.
Humming beneath her breath, Cecile pulled the girth tight and adjusted the buckles automatically while Zuleika tried a playful nip or two with her teeth and stamped her lively feet in a show of pent-up energy. The palomino was as eager for a gallop as she was. In fact, Cecile had to hold her back until they were well clear of the home compound. Then she let loose.
The blood sang in Cecile’s veins. It was glorious! Such a thrill to have a spirited horse beneath her, a horse that was galloping strongly, pulling at the bit, its hooves thudding into the ground. Moments like this she lived for. They were just what she needed to clear the mad jumble of thoughts out of her head.
A mile from the Pink Lady Lagoon she relaxed the pace. Way across the flats she could see a large mob of cattle being moved toward a water course, which at this time of year would be full of shallow, yellowish water from the clay bed. The omnipresent flights of budgies, a symbol of the Outback, swirled above her in long ribbons of emerald and gold before finally flying off toward the lagoon where she. herself was heading. She wondered what her grandfather would have lined up for today to entertain their guest. He had been talking about flying to Lagunda, deep across the border, sometime soon. Lagunda was a working station and one of the country’s premier polo farms, producing outstanding polo ponies shipped anywhere in the world where playing polo was a passion. She’d overheard Raul telling her grandfather he’d played in his first tournament when he was fourteen. His team had won. He was now on seven goals, so he had to be pretty darn good. No surprise!
Yesterday her grandfather had set a cracking pace. She was particularly proud of his stamina and fitness. He had always taken pleasure in having young people around him. In the afternoon, after a leisurely lunch, they had traveled in the Land Rover around the station, so Raul could get a good idea of the operation. The two men, despite the huge age difference, had quickly developed an excellent rapport. Indeed one might have thought Joel Moreland had long been Raul’s mentor. Her grandfather drove; Raul joined him up front, both of them keeping up a near nonstop conversation with the emphasis on station operations. She and Tara sat in the back throwing in a comment from time to time; Hers, informed, as it should be, Tara’s so frivolous it had made them all laugh.
As the afternoon wore on, it struck Cecile, that the Argentinian was perfectly at home on a big Australian cattle station. He was deeply familiar with a station’s workings, was able to communicate easily with the station staff, in particular Brad Caldwell, the station manager who had risen through the ranks. Raul loved and knew horses right down to the yarded brumbies awaiting “schooling” from Brad. Most significantly Raul gave every impression of being at one with their desert environment, which, after all, in character was unique in the world. She’d had an idea she intended to check out: that the vast plains of the Argentinian pampa were black soil and Wonderfully fertile like Queensland’s Darling Downs. That would make a stunning contrast to the aridity of the Red Heart, with its fiery, shifting sands, yet Raul Montalvan seemed as much at home in Australia’s Red Centre as was her grandfather and for that matter, herself. It struck her as somewhat unusual. Of course he had been reared in vast open spaces, but a lot of visitors to Malagari found the isolation and the sheer starkness of the wild landscape with its infinite horizons quite intimidating. Not so Raul. Cecile had caught many of his passing comments as they had traveled around the station. The man was fathoms deep.
Approaching the Pink Lady Lagoon, so called because of its thick mantle of exquisite water lilies, Cecile noticed off to her left, parallel to the line of river gums, a swirl of red dust that resolved into a horse and rider traveling at speed. She knew the horse, the magnificent, black-as-coal stallion, Sulaiman. He was being given his head. Out in the open she recognized the rider, Raul Montalvan. Instantly she felt a mad rush of blood to her head. She should have noticed the stallion wasn’t in his stall. Their powerful rhythm over the ground flooded her with a breath-catching emotion.
He rode splendidly. She had been prepared for that. He was Argentinian raised on an estancia, but he had obviously adapted in the blink of an eye to the Australian saddle. She was stunned. So, he had set off before her! No time to make her escape either—horse and rider were coming right for her. No way she and Zuleika could outrun them. Zuleika, in fact, was becoming jumpy and excited so by the time Raul had slowed to join her she’d just got the palomino under control.
“Buenos dias!” He swept off his wide-brimmed hat with an engaging little flourish that showed his background. “Pretty horse.” He studied the palomino with a smile. “You must learn how to handle her.”
“I beg your pardon?” Cecile’s chin came up before she saw the teasing look in his eyes. “You’re joking of course.”
“Do you mind I joke?” he asked, his eyes moving over her face and lovely supple body with an admiration he didn’t bother to hide. “I thought I might see you out on an early-morning ride.”
She breathed in deeply. It was exciting. just to look at him. In fact, he was so damned handsome it nearly brought tears to her eyes. “No doubt Granddad told you?” she said, sounding a little vexed.
“Saved my having to ask,” he mocked. “Do you wish to ride down to the lagoon? The horses would appreciate a breather. This Sulaiman is magnificent.” He leaned over the stallion’s neck, stroking it with his hand.
“He is. How did you get used to our type of saddle so quickly?”
A smile flickere
d across his dynamic features. “Cecile, I’ve learned more about riding than you can ever imagine. Do we go down to the lagoon or not?”
“If you give me your promise to—” She broke off, not quite knowing how to continue.
“Not to play games?” he asked with a wicked glint in his dark eyes.
“Exactly.”
“But it’s no game I’m playing,” he assured her. “I should tell you I can’t help admiring your riding style.”
“But you haven’t had time to judge it.”
“On the contrary, I took time out to watch you put the palomino to the gallop. A remarkable display. I was tempted to run out and applaud.” He inclined his head in the direction of a copse of trees. “I hid back there, sorry I didn’t have a camera with me. I’ve seen a lot of women riders where I come from, but you’re as good as the best.”
“Praise indeed.” She sounded cool, but her nerves were running riot.
“The simple truth,” he said.
Sunlight filtered a greenish-gold through the avenue of feathery acacias and bauhinias that lined the banks of the lagoon on one side. On the other was a stand of coolabahs, and at their arrival, a flock of gorgeous parrots exploded out of it and rose high above the canopy. She saw Raul lift his head, an expression of pleasure passing across his face. He truly did understand the bush.
Cecile dismounted quickly, tying the reins to a low branch before making her way across the expanse of golden sand to the water. The beautiful pink water lilies were profuse, holding their heads above the silver-sheened dark green water. She had removed her akubra, and now she bent to the crystal-clear stream to splash her face with water, throwing back her head afterward to let her skin dry in the warm breeze.
Cooled and refreshed, she began to take deep, calming breaths. One thing she was really afraid of was this new lack of control in herself. She had never believed in love at first sight. She still didn’t. But she had since been converted to desire at first sight. Its suddenness, its power, though it was far more than sexual attraction that was between her and Raul Montalvan. Whatever it was, it had real meaning to it. She was dying for him to touch her. When had she ever been dying for Stuart to touch her? It was like she was a different woman. This sensuality, this awareness of her body, had come over her all at once. If ever a man had power over her, it was Raul Montalvan.
He came behind her as though he easily read her thoughts, pulling her hair free of its thick plait so it uncoiled across her back. Then he turned her to him, speaking in his dark, faintly accented voice. “You were with me last night,” he said, staring deep into her eyes. “Was it a sin to dream it, Cecile? You were with me when I awoke at dawn. I think you are beginning to possess me. What more could you wish to know?”
“If it’s real?” she answered very seriously.
His nod was solemn. “You think we need more time?”
She turned her face away. “I don’t know what to think, Raul. Since I first laid eyes on you I haven’t been doing much thinking.”
“It upsets you to feel?”
“No problem if one can handle it,” she said wryly.
“Isn’t being able to feel a miracle?” he asked. “Some people can go through life not even knowing what the word means.” His finger stroked her flawless white skin. She wore a touch of lipstick, nothing more. “You look ravishing first thing in the morning,” he said. She was a truly beautiful woman, his for the asking; but the enormous want he felt for her could so easily tum to love and thus wipe out any thought of reprisals. It was tuming into a big dilemma with the joke on him.
Little currents of electricity activated the. muscles of his hands. He cupped the perfect oval of her face, conscious his fingertips were rough against that magnolia skin, then he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers as if her mouth was luscious fruit and he was ravenous.
“Raul!” It was a noble exercise in restraint for Cecile to voice a protest. Only, he ignored her, continuing to nibble on her lips and then the tip of her seeking tongue.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered into her open mouth. “I’m only kissing you. I promise I will only kiss you until you break your engagement.”
“And what happens then?” She was shocked by the heart-broken sound of her voice. “We run away together? We create a scandal? What is this, anyway, Raul? A want, a need, a simple desire?”
“Simple?” He drew back, contemptuous of the word. “Simple desire is not an agony. There’s such affinity between our bodies.” He set his hand to doing what he desperately wanted. He palmed her breast, his long fingers shaping it, taking the tender weight. It was delicate, yet full. He wanted to tease the nipple with his tongue. Instead, he thumbed the bud, feeling it come erect.
Instantly passion seized her. Cecile arched her neck while a soft moan gushed from her throat. Her shirt clung damply from all the splashing at the stream. Beads of water glistened on her skin at the V neckline of her shirt. Her nipples were now ripe little berries that strained against the thin fabric. She had this violent need to be against him, her breasts crushed to his chest. Why had Stuart never had this effect on her? She had wanted Stuart, but never with such intensity. She should feel guilt, but the strength of her feelings brushed the guilt off.
“Look at the contrast of my brown hand against your white skin,” Raul said in an hypnotic voice. He had slipped open a button on her shirt so he could splay his fingers against the upward swell of her breast. “I’ve never felt such desire for a woman in my life!”
It was so strange the way he said it that she opened her eyes, fixing them on his face. His expression seemed to say his desire for her made him both defensive and angry. “You sound as though you don’t want it at all.”
He breathed in deeply. “There’s this thing called losing control, Cecile. Losing oneself in a woman could mean losing one’s own identity.”
“Has it never happened to you?” She tilted her head to one side.
He laughed. Not a happy sound. “A couple of weeks ago I wouldn’t have thought it possible. You are something utterly new to me, Cecile.”
“And it upsets you, though you’re trying to cover it.”
“As you are trying to cover your beautiful breasts.” He shifted her hand away. “Why don’t you take the shirt off altogether? It would make it so much easier for me to caress you.”
Like him, she exhaled hard. Arousal and anger were naked on her face. “I daresay it would, but I think we should call a stop.”
“This time,” he said, narrow-eyed.
“You’re assuming there will be a next time?” Her voice had sharpened.
“Tell me you don’t want it.”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “Tell me, Raul. Am I part of some plan? Watching you makes me think so. What goes on inside your head?”
Her beautiful eyes begged him to tell her. For a moment he even wanted to but it was all so complicated and she wouldn’t want to ever see him again. “Maybe someday I’ll share it with you.” His shrug lifted his shoulder. “For now I can tell you it was no plan of mine for the two of us to become enmeshed. It just…happened.”
“Maybe the novelty will wear off as quickly as it started,” she said, a certain bleakness in her words. She wanted him to keep on doing what he was doing to her; she also wanted him to stop.
His smile turned cynical. “Perhaps we shouldn’t miss the opportunityto find out.”
Cecile drew away. She was a woman who had once had self-control. “I think not. I’d better obey my inner voice. Do you have one?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “But no matter what it tells me, fate holds the cards.”
She had no answer to that. “I know so little about you, Raul. Even our being here together is completely crazy. Forget Fate. We’re ignoring all the rules!”
“Which astonishes you?”
She looked away. “I don’t want to be astonished at myself.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you a coward.” He watched the shadows pla
y across her face.
“Pretty close,” she said, thinking what would be in store for her once she broke off her engagement.
He read her mind. “You can’t be frightened of this fiancé, surely?”
“I’d be a darn sight more frightened if I tried to break off any engagement to you!”
“It wouldn’t happen.”
She shrugged and raked her long hair from her face. “The few things I do know about you, Raul, I don’t understand.”
“No matter!” He couldn’t stop himself from kissing her again. It was brief, but so much harder than before. The need just got worse and worse. He slipped the button of her fine cotton shirt back into its hole. “Anyway,” he said smoothly, “We have a whole week and more to fill in the gaps.”
“While you content yourself with your dreams.”
“Of course! Remember what I told you?” He caught her left hand, lifted it to the sunlight so the diamonds blazed. “We don’t sleep together until you get rid of this ring. Why are you wearing it? I don’t remember your wearing it last night at dinner.”
She hadn’t, but she had put it on this morning in a rush of guilt. Was she really willing to break Stuart’s heart, or she stopped short thinking, badly damage his pride? “This has nothing to do with Stuart, has it?” she asked very quietly. “I’ve sensed that all along.”
His smile was crooked. “Which clearly shows you have very sensitive antennae. It has absolutely nothing to do with your fiancé,” he confirmed.
CECILE KNEW she should say something to Stuart. God knows he rang every evening…but she should say it to his face. In the whirlwind days that followed she couldn’t seem to summon up her courage to even give a hint. Night after night in bed she composed opening sentences in her head:
