Wasn’t it time she thought of herself for once?
Jamie studied her through narrowed blue eyes, as if trying to puzzle her out. ‘I think I misheard. You’re what?’ One eyebrow rose sceptically.
She offered him a rueful grimace, feeling a total hypocrite but determined to appear contrite. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, astonished to hear how steady her voice came out. ‘I shouldn’t have made that threat this afternoon.’
Jamie stood and staggered, clutching at his heart. ‘Did I just hear the lady say she’s sorry?’ he demanded of the others.
Harry chuckled while Lou grinned. Drawing on every ounce of gritty determination in her body, she smiled back when Jamie threw her one of those winks.
‘Yes, you heard right. There’ll be no encore, though. I’ve decided to return to Sydney tomorrow.’
‘Really?’ Jamie sank back onto his chair, eyeing her warily.
‘So soon?’ Disappointment tinged Lou’s voice, accompanied by a low grumble from Harry.
‘There’s no point staying any longer. I have to get back to work.’
‘That’s a ... pity.’ The reservation in Jamie’s tone did not go unnoticed.
‘It is, but ... ’ She gave a helpless shrug.
Jamie leaned forward to take her hand between his. ‘That doesn’t leave us a lot of time. What would you like to do tonight? I want to make it memorable for you.’
Her ploy had worked, resulted in the hoped-for response from Jamie, and now her crazy idea was becoming real. Her pulse quickened to a pounding in her throat while she tried to keep her expression calm and detached. What was she going to do now? She still didn’t know if she had the nerve to go through with it.
‘I’m open to suggestions.’
‘Okay.’ Jamie gave her a half-smile then sat staring into his glass, his genial expression slowly replaced by a furrowed brow and a distant look, as if his mind was on other things.
Gem let the rim of her glass linger at her lips as she examined him over the top. She stared at his mouth, remembering the feeling of being kissed by him, knowing that, if she allowed it, she could be experiencing that same sensation again before tonight ended.
Towards the end of her counselling sessions her counsellor had stressed the importance of ‘moving on’ from her abusive marriage—when she was ready. Was she ready? It had been two years since the separation, longer still since sex had been enjoyable. Roger had liked things on the rough side as their relationship worsened. It hadn’t been hard for her to suppress any longing to be with a man after that.
Until now.
Much as she hated to acknowledge it, the thought of making love with this man she’d once loved intrigued her. What would it be like? She pressed her thighs together as her body recalled the intimate touch of Jamie’s long square-tipped fingers. The impact on her senses— the thundering heartbeat, the rapid breathing, the somersaulting stomach—was instant. And unstoppable.
That’s what made this man so dangerous.
But the appeal of giving in to her sensual side was suddenly almost overwhelming and, if she and Jamie were as good together as memory served, it might be exactly what she needed to help her move on after Roger. The question remained though: could she allow herself to respond to Jamie freely, knowing that love was not a part of the equation?
Or would this habit of hers, of overthinking everything, prevent her from even going through with it?
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
‘I think it’s time we left.’ Lou’s words registered distantly.
Harry held up his half-full glass. ‘What, now?’ he protested.
‘Yes, now.’
‘But I thought—’
‘That we should go back to my place? Funny, I had the same idea.’ The stunned mullet look on Harry’s face was priceless.
Lou threw a quick grin over her shoulder as they departed.
‘I’ll catch up with you in the morning before I leave,’ Gemma called after her.
Jamie turned to fix his unsettlingly perceptive storm-blue eyes on her. Was he reading her thoughts again?
Then, without a word, he pushed off his chair and walked to the jukebox sitting against the wall in a darkened corner of the room. Next thing, the soft, beautiful strains of Can’t Help Falling in Love floated through the air. The music caught and held her and she smiled, despite herself; they’d both been fanatical Elvis fans.
He sauntered back. ‘Dance with me?’
How could she say no? She nodded, insides quivering like a bungee-jumper on the verge of a leap into nothingness. The anticipation was mind-blowing.
To the accompaniment of whistles and friendly-sounding gibes from the locals, she found herself led by the hand onto the floor. Locked within the confines of his strong arms, she fell into the song’s smooth rhythm. They moved perfectly in step. Like old times.
His hand firmly on the small of her spine, he pulled her against him, folding their fingers together on his chest. Pulsatingly aware of his heartbeat under her hand, of his cheek pressed against her hair, of his warm breath on her neck, every nerve in her swaying body palpitated with the awareness.
‘This feels good,’ he murmured, his voice a low rumble vibrating in her ear.
‘Mmm,’ she hummed back.
The agreement was unfeigned; it felt way better than good. He held her the way he had when they’d first fallen in love. Tightly. Protectively. His body felt so solid, so reliable, and his arms provided such a sense of safety it was difficult to resist the dangerous ground he represented.
But she had to resist it. And with a lot more success than she was currently experiencing. She needed to play along but couldn’t afford to let the absurdly intense chemistry between them lead to anything more than a physical release. Could not allow herself to be caught up in some ridiculous romantic fairy tale.
Then she breathed in his spicy aftershave and her eyes slid closed.
The heat from his muscled body spread through the thin clothing that separated them, filling her with a glow of remembered pleasure. Her hands buried themselves into the thickness of the hair at the nape of his neck while her hips pushed against him, intimate signals from their shared past, instigated by her body without any conscious direction from her mind.
She surrendered to the sensations, forgetting everything else, until he whispered into her cheek. ‘You’d better take a step back.’
The open admission of her effect on him sparked an electric thrill, a tingling tremor that set her heart thudding and her stomach tying itself in knots. Then, from somewhere deep inside a ragged breath escaped, a flag of warning going up, reminding her of what she was doing here.
She had to save Gracie.
The sobering thought brought her back to earth with a thud. It was only natural, this physical response to his closeness—Jamie was a devastatingly attractive man and they had history—but there was a vast difference between biology and body chemistry. If she could somehow manage to give herself up to the excitement he had the power to arouse in her, while still keeping her head and her heart detached, she could do this.
‘I don’t embarrass easily,’ she said into the stubbled spice-scent of his jaw.
His arms loosened their grip just enough to push her slightly away from his warmth. ‘Hate to admit it, but I do.’
She let her gaze wander over his chest, lingering upon the broad expanse from one shoulder to the other before flicking back up to his face. ‘We should do something about that.’ Her voice came out so much calmer than she felt.
‘What do you suggest?’ he breathed into her neck, his lips inflaming the sensitive spot.
She tried to ignore the shivers of anticipation and thundering pulse-rate as his hands roamed over her back. The sensation was wonderful and she wanted it to go on and on but she wouldn’t give in to total surrender; her heart might slip away while her guard was down, and that was untenable.
The thought cemented her resolve. If the only way to save Gra
cie was to use her body she’d do it, but her heart was not up for grabs. Her heart would not be broken again by this man.
‘Do you want to come back to my room?’
Jamie’s look was identical to the earlier one on his father’s face at Lou’s unexpected invitation. The time for subtlety was past; no going back now.
‘You said you want to make the evening memorable,’ she added, glancing up at him from beneath her eyelashes.
Her growing capacity for deception was unnerving. Better to not think too much on that, it would do her head in. She buried her face in his chest before it gave her away.
He pulled himself back to look at her and a grim smile took over his features. He nodded. ‘Ohh, I get it.’
She froze.
‘The coy look gave you away. It’s not your style Gem, and I’m not a complete idiot. What do you think you’re doing?’
She was wondering the same thing, doubt jostling with her own self-belief in being able to see this through.
As if he knew her thoughts he shook his dark head. ‘You’ve got no idea, have you?’
Her hackles rose. She knew exactly what she was doing—taking on the man in whose hands lay the power to save a unique treasure from destruction.
Reaching up, she cupped his face with her hands. He continued to glare down at her but at least he didn’t flinch. Uncertainty prickling her spine, she rose on tiptoes and moved her mouth tentatively towards his. Prolonged anticipation of the pressure of those lips on hers again had her stomach churning. Just as their mouths met an unholy racket exploded around them.
Chapter 8
Gemma stared at the body sprawled at her feet before Jamie unceremoniously pushed her behind him. She peeked out, watching in horror as a man swaggered over to kick with vicious ferocity at the prostrate form on the floorboards. When no response followed he lunged in for another attack.
‘Enough, Slade.’ Jamie spoke quietly but the anger in his voice was tangible.
The man glared at him. ‘Mind ya own bus’ness, Coltrane,’ he slurred.
‘Matt’s a mate, which makes this my business.’ He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops.
Swaying, Slade mirrored his actions. ‘I don’t ‘preciate ya mate trespassin’ on me claim while I was away.’
‘I doubt Matt did anything of the sort. He’s no ratter.’
‘Since when are you tha judge an’ jury round ‘ere?’
Jamie stood silent. From the muscle working the side of his jaw he was having a hard time biting back a response.
Slade sniggered as a couple of men dragged the groaning man on the ground out of harm’s way. Then he listed, off-balance, and Jamie grabbed his arm. Snake-like eyes, little more than red-veined slits, raked belligerently over him before swivelling past to rest on her. The lecherous appraisal made her skin crawl. Grateful for the shield preventing the man’s hands from following in the wake of his eyes, she pressed closer to Jamie’s side.
‘G’day gorgeous,’ Slade rasped, wrenching his arm free. ‘Wanna dance wi’ me?’ A strong whiff of whiskey-breath assaulted her nostrils.
She returned her most poisonous look. ‘I don’t think so.’
His lips drew back in a sneer. ‘Think ya too good f’me, huh? Lemme give y’a taste of what y’missin’.’ Fingers groping, he lunged for her, only to be caught by the arm again.
‘You owe the lady an apology.’ A carefully controlled rage underlay every syllable. His gallantry triggered a thrill that rippled through her body. She recognised this Jamie; he was the decent man she’d once fallen in love with.
Slade shrugged free. ‘Not talkin’ to you, talkin’ to the lady. So, lady,’ he smirked at her, ‘if you don’ wanna dance how ‘bout a quick—’
If Jamie hadn’t grappled him by the scruff of the neck to march him off, Gemma was outraged enough to have done so herself. Although, after a quick calculation, the odds of someone her size managing to manhandle the thick-necked giant were probably not in her favour.
They’d almost reached the door when Slade twisted out of Jamie’s grip, reeled around and swung a ham-sized fist into his mid-section. The almighty thump expelled the air from Jamie’s lungs with an audible whoosh and he doubled over, gagging. The next blow smashed his cheek. A trail of bright-red blood trickled from the cut.
Stunned, Gemma could only stare, cold fear washing over her, as Jamie threw a retaliatory uppercut. Slade staggered backwards, falling heavily. He struggled to his feet, grunting and swearing, and with a bellow of rage, charged. He caught Jamie around the middle and they both crashed to the wooden floor.
‘Somebody stop them!’ Who was screaming? Surely not her?
Nobody heard. The crowd, formed into a tightly packed impromptu arena, was yelling encouragement. She elbowed her way to the front in time to see both men clamber to their feet. Eyes fixed on the other’s face, they began circling, moving closer then away from each other in a travesty of partners performing a square dance. Finally, Slade took the lead.
Gemma watched in helpless horror as they slugged it out, every punch landing with a sickening thwack that had her heart palpitating in painful bursts at each blow.
Biff. Oof. Bash.
Jamie’s knuckles were torn and bleeding, and the cut below his left eye swelling bigger by the minute. This was barbaric! She didn’t need someone maimed in a bar-room brawl over a drunken insult. Particularly if Jamie came off second best. His broad shoulders were now hunched over in defence and Slade held the upper hand.
‘Stop!’ She almost choked on the sob wrenched from her throat.
Jamie shook his head, reared back and delivered a series of swift jabs to the other man’s vital regions. Then he slammed him into the wall, sending dust flying from the wooden panelling. Slade sank slowly into a sitting position, head slumped forward on his chest.
A huge roar erupted and Jamie raised both arms up, the universal winner’s gesture, acknowledging approval.
The crowd parted for a man in a blue police uniform pushing his way to the front. ‘What’s going on here, fellas?’
‘Nothing, Pete. Just a minor disagreement,’ Jamie explained, chest still heaving and fighting for breath.
The police officer looked down at Slade’s semi-conscious form and shook his head. ‘Drunk again. When are you going to learn, Brett? Come on fellas, help me get him up.’
As a couple of men assisted the sergeant, Gem could see Jamie searching the crowd. When his eyes lit on her, his face cracked into a tattered grin. He winced and she stepped forward, reaching for him, cringing in sympathy.
Then she stopped. Men were slapping him on the back, noisily congratulating him. And he couldn’t stop smiling.
He enjoyed that! Actually enjoyed beating someone to a pulp.
He moved a little unsteadily to stand in front of her, his left eye puffed up, hair plastered to his forehead, and a ribbon of red running down his chin onto his torn shirt. With the back of a hand he swiped at the blood on his cheek before reaching out for her.
‘Had fun, did you?’ she demanded, anxiety finding release in anger.
Jamie withdrew his hand, using it instead to wipe away the sweat trickling into his eyes.
‘No!’ he shot back. ‘But I am kinda happy to be the winning team. I would’ve thought you’d be the same.’ The look he flung her was wounded.
With a pang she realised he was right. He’d taken a beating defending her against that drunk’s lecherous advances and she was acting like she hated him for it. His gallantry had surprised her; it made her ashamed of even having considered taking advantage of him. ‘I—I’m sorry.’
‘Whoa! You’re apologising to me again? Must’ve got hit harder than I thought. I’m dreaming, right?’
She couldn’t help a wry smile. ‘You always were a dreamer.’
He eyed her guardedly, as if unsure of her meaning. ‘I don’t understand why you use that as a put-down.’
Now was not the time to discuss their different outlooks on life. F
or the moment other priorities held sway. Like getting his face seen to.
She took his arm. ‘Come on, we’d better get Lou to take a look at you.’
‘Are you kidding?’ he scoffed. ‘It’s only a scratch. Besides,’ he gave an embarrassed cough, ‘I don’t feel right about, um, you know, interrupting them.’
Lou and Harry’s liaison had completely slipped her mind. ‘You’ll have a first-aid kit at the motel, won’t you?’
He nodded, gingerly working his jaw back and forth with his free hand.
‘Don’t worry. Dr Stephens will look after you.’
‘I like the sound of that. I think.’
After collecting the first-aid kit from reception, Gemma returned to her room to rifle through the contents of her bag. While she poured some disinfectant onto a cotton-wool ball Jamie stood so close his pungent male sweat invaded her nostrils. She glanced up to catch his one-eyed gaze on her. A mixture of perspiration and blood had made runnels in the dirt on his chin and his left eye was now swollen shut. Roughed-up and bruised, reeking of raw masculinity, he generated an awful lot of heat. A responding warmth flushed her face.
This ridiculous physical awareness had to be wrestled back under control. ‘Sit down,’ she ordered.
‘Is this gonna hurt?’ he asked with a lop-sided grin.
‘I hope so.’
He planted himself on the end of the bed. She smoothed some stray locks of black-as-coal hair away from his forehead before dabbing at his torn face.
‘I appreciate you defending me against Slade, but it wasn’t necessary.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘He’s a ratter.’
‘Hold still.’ She continued to wipe away the blood and dirt. ‘I would’ve used a stronger word myself but I guess “rat” pretty well sums him up.’
He winced and grabbed her fingers. ‘No, Slade’s a ratter. The lowest of the low. He steals from other people’s claims.’ He let go of her hand.
Oh. The fight hadn’t been because of her then, only an excuse to air existing ill-feeling between the two men. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
Falling In Love Again Page 9
