by Margaret Way
“Welcome back, Brock! I’m absolutely thrilled you’ve come to visit.” She spared Philip a sideways glance. “How’s it going, Phil?” Phil always looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. God, he was a bore! He always looked depressed.
“I’ve had better times. Grandfather is failing fast.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Amanda, managing to sound sympathetic when in fact she was busy thinking the sooner the better.
“Where’s Shelley?” Brock asked, wondering how he could prise Amanda’s pretty white hand off his arm without actually detaching her fingers one by one. He glanced over his shoulder into the dim interior of the house. It didn’t look cool. It looked gloomy. Or maybe that was the pervading atmosphere.
“She’ll be here shortly,” Amanda said, her pleasure going a little sour at the expression on Brock’s face. “She’s getting lunch ready.” She indicated an area on the verandah with a long table set attractively for al fresco dining.
“Maybe you should go and help her?” Brock suggested with a mocking smile. “We’ll sit here, if we may.” He moved back to a planter’s chair. “Are we to have the pleasure of saying hello to your father and mother? It’s a very long time since I’ve seen them.”
“Actually, Brock, Dad has taken Mum into Koomera Crossing,” Amanda lied, like a true professional. Which in many ways she was. Her father had a serious hangover—he would surely die of cirrhosis of the liver—and her mother was too darn neurotic to make an appearance. “Mum has an appointment with Dr Sarah. They’ll stay overnight at the pub.”
“Maybe next time,” Brock said, his keen antennae sensing he wasn’t being given the truth.
Some fragrance floated past him, like a burst of orange blossom. He turned his head expectantly as Shelley found her way out onto the verandah.
“Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you!” She tried to suppress her excitement, flashing a smile at both cousins, her smile impartial. She thought it best to keep her attraction to Brock well hidden for a good number of reasons—including self-preservation. She didn’t want to make trouble for him either, especially not now, when his grandfather was dying and there was so much resentment at Mulgaree. “I heard the chopper.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Philip grumbled, putting a possessive hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I told Brock not to land there.” He made it sound as if Brock was a rank amateur. “Thank goodness your father and mother aren’t at home.”
“Actually, it’s a good idea,” Shelley answered, avoiding having to repeat the lie. “It’s foolish to land too far away. You always have too big a hike to the house, Philip. It’s not as though we don’t have plenty of room.”
She gestured to the great open space in front of the homestead, the broad acres of grass, sun-scorched to a bright apricot, a scattering of majestic date palms, stands of grey and blue gum trees, blazing shrubbery that could withstand the dry heat and massive indifference. It was now hard to believe that her mother, in the early days of her marriage, had been devoted to the task of keeping a large area of dry climate garden and a vegetable patch alive.
“We didn’t want to put you to the trouble of making lunch.” Brock looked straight into Shelley’s emerald eyes, pinning her in place.
What was happening with this girl was too swift, he thought with sudden disquiet. He had a powerful impulse to kiss her again. Not her cheek, but her mouth. He could still feel it trembling under his. Shelley Logan’s effect on him was far more radical than he could allow. He’d long trained himself to be self-sufficient, but now he found the sight of this little Outback girl as fascinating as finding a delicately petalled wildflower in a rock crevice.
She wore a pink shirt with tiny pearly buttons over her jeans, and if anyone thought a redhead shouldn’t wear pink they should think again—or maybe Shelley’s beautiful skin changed the rules.
“It’s no trouble at all.” Shelley appeared bright and friendly, despite the turbulent feelings that were sweeping through her. Fronting up to Brock again took every ounce of her poise and self-confidence. “It’s all ready.”
“Isn’t there something I can do to help?” Brock enquired. Why the heck had he brought Philip? he asked himself angrily. Unless to protect her…
From himself.
He wasn’t a harmless kind of guy. There was such a torrent dammed up inside him that it wouldn’t make life easy for any woman, let alone an innocent like Shelley.
Philip pushed away from the wrought-iron balustrade. “Let me,” he said eagerly. “You stay here and talk to Amanda.”
“We’ll have plenty of time for that.” Brock took charge, smoothly turning Shelley in the direction of the hall. “I came over to talk about this Outback Adventures operation, remember? Who knows? I might decide to run one myself.”
Amanda, offended, nevertheless decided to follow. Only Philip, hot and thirsty, chose that precise moment to request a drink. He could see a big glass jug, frosty with condensation, which he knew would be full of Shelley’s excellent home-made lemonade, with slices of lemon floating in it and tiny sprigs of mint.
“So, Amanda, what have you been doing with yourself since I saw you last?” he asked, with a determined effort to be sociable though he didn’t like Amanda at all.
He settled his long length into a planter’s chair, moving another companionably closer. Was there nothing he could do to beat Brock to the jump? Brock not only didn’t obey the rules, he didn’t even know them. His grandfather behaved in the same way…
In the kitchen, bright and attractive given the dullness and relative sparseness of the rest of the house, Brock leaned against the sink and watched Shelley moving about. She didn’t appear the least bit self-conscious under his gaze. Those blazing kisses might never have happened.
But then he saw her outstretched hand faintly tremble. Deep inside her she was throwing out a challenge. He admired that. She moved swiftly and gracefully, at ease if not with him with what she was doing.
“That was an excuse, wasn’t it?” she asked, looking up at him. “You don’t want to know about my tourist scheme?”
He shook his head. “Of course I do. I respect resourceful people who know how to make a go of things.”
“But you’ve absolutely no intention of doing something like it yourself?”
He eased away from the flood of sunlight coming in the large window. Sunlight that drew plum-coloured highlights from his raven hair. “I wouldn’t have the time. Running the Kingsley empire will be a full-time job.”
“Are things already determined?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Has your grandfather said something positive to you?” In her urgency she came so close to him they were almost touching.
“None of your business, Miss Shelley.”
“I’m sorry.” She flushed under his brilliant gaze.
A long lock of her beautiful hair had fallen out of its upswept arrangement, provoking him to reach out and hook it behind her ear. For all her attempts at calmness and detachment he was very conscious that the attraction between them would take very little to ignite. His hand, tanned and bronzed against her white skin, brushed her cheek. It was a brief almost accidental contact that turned suddenly electric.
“Remember your vows.” Suddenly challenge sparkled out of her green eyes.
“Damned near impossible around you,” he grunted, clamping down on a rush of desire.
“I can see you’re a man who loves women.”
“I certainly loved my mother.”
“I know, Brock.” She turned away.
“I think you do. The thing is, my grandfather is not a man I can trust, Shelley. He’s a devil, a twister and a tormentor. He’s a man living in a world of his own making. The only thing I can trust is the fact he wouldn’t want his world destroyed.”
“That doesn’t say much for poor Philip.” Sympathy gathered around her eyes.
“I guess it doesn’t.” Brock gave her a brooding stare.
“He’s worked so hard. Suffered so much humiliation at his grandfather’s hands. I know what straining to please is like.”
“Stop acting like Philip is precious to you,” he said with a decided edge.
“What can it possibly mean to you, Brock? Anyone would feel sorry for him.”
“Not me, Shelley girl.”
“Then why did you bring him?” she asked, thoroughly puzzled. “I know I suggested it, but I didn’t think you would.”
“Are you disappointed or pleased?” He watched her, narrow-eyed. “Actually, I had no intention of asking him right up until the last minute. But strategy dictated I keep him right under my nose.”
“Strategy?” For some reason she winced. “Of course you’d have a strategy. In a way you’re almost as imperious as your grandfather.”
A flash like lightning came from his remarkable eyes. “Don’t say that, even in fun. For your information, I hardly make a move without a strategy, so don’t go judging me.”
She was unrepentant. “Far from judging you, I’m on your side. At least, I think I am. Though obviously you’re not overwhelmingly friendly today, I don’t want to see you get hurt or cause hurt, Brock. Which I know you’re capable of. Like exacting revenge, for instance, for the way you and your mother were treated. It might rebound on you. Eat away at your soul. Besides, Philip’s not the problem. He’s very much influenced by his mother.”
Brock permitted himself a cynical sigh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I’ll have to grow a new layer of skin around you.”
“Why?” He held her green eyes.
“Because you’re so damned caustic.”
“Which is why you prefer Phil?”
She chose her words carefully. “At least Philip isn’t dangerous to know.”
He laughed grimly. “I feel duty-bound to tell you that you don’t know Philip as well as you think you do. There’s obsessiveness in his nature. It’s not ardour. And don’t forget,” Brock continued arrogantly, “you loved being kissed by me.”
“Hah!” Shelley almost leapt away. “You’re excessively sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Put it this way. I’ve learned a lot about women.”
“That’s not lost on me, but I’m not about to burn my fingers.”
“A lot of women need excitement, Shelley. They can’t get it fast enough. Charming, worldly women, bored to distraction.”
“Are you telling me you helped out?”
“Absolutely!” he mocked. “I needed to get a whole lot out of my system.”
“And you’re still not cured?”
“I didn’t expect the girl next door to turn me on.”
Heat flushed her whole body. “Just how long do your dalliances with physical attraction last?”
“Well, I’m not over you yet! Go easy, there.”
Flustered, she’d been tearing an iceberg lettuce to near shreds without realizing it. “I bet a few women have wanted to kill you.”
“None that I know of.”
“Did you ever come close to falling in love with any one of them?” She dared to glance at him for a moment.
“Why do you want to know?” His brilliant gaze locked on hers.
“Just curious.”
“Being in love ain’t for me, baby.” He laughed and picked up a juicy red apple, biting into it with his fine white teeth.
“Too bad.” She reached for a large serving platter that already held a colourful galaxy of green beans, red peppers, spring onions and chillies, lining it with the lettuce. Next she garnished the whole with olives, black and green. Finally she added dressing from a small jug.
“Voilà!” he said. “I’m impressed.”
“By which part of it?”
His hand came forward to clamp on her wrist. “You’re turning into a flirt before my very eyes.”
“I am not,” she protested. “You enjoy challenging women, Brock Tyson. You always did. Don’t forget I remember you from your lordly days, when you played at having all the girls in love with you.”
“Rubbish. The charge is quite untrue.”
“Charm. Deadly charm,” she continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. “It works all the time.”
“Not on you?” He started to play with her fingers.
“I’m too sensible. Stop that!” She pulled her hand away, feeling quite peculiar.
“You just have occasional flashes of letting your hair down?”
He stood there staring down at her, thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, elegant hands splayed over his lean hips. He looked marvellous, bitter, proud. The most physical man she had ever known. “You can use up some of your abundant energy and carry the food out,” she said, exasperated but even more thrilled.
“Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to take both platters?” He indicated thickly sliced cold chicken breasts on a bed of multi-coloured pasta.
“Think you can manage it?”
He gave her a droll look. “Do you know, my mother couldn’t cook? She never had to. I don’t think she even knew what the inside of a kitchen looked like before we left Mulgaree. Maybe a slight exaggeration, but Grandfather always employed a housekeeper. We always had servants. Eula has been at Mulgaree ever since I can remember.”
“Yes, I know,” she answered quietly. “I often run into her in the town. She was dreadfully upset when you and your mother left. She must be thrilled you’re back?”
He nodded. “Devastated about my mother, however.”
“Of course. She told me she adored her. She’s very tight-lipped about Philip’s mother.”
“The woman of the iron will.” He grimaced. “I think we might leave Frances to heaven.”
“Okay.” Shelley swiftly backtracked in an effort to calm him. “So, you’re trying to tell me you were the cook?”
“Is that so hard to believe? And take care how you answer.”
“I believe you could do anything you wanted to do, Brock. No problem.”
“What if I told you I want to kiss you this minute,” he said abruptly, not even bothering to suppress the desire in his eyes. Nothing gentle. But fierce, deep, burning into her flesh. He longed to make love before all love was lost.
Shelley didn’t answer at once. Her throat was blocked with emotion. “What good would come of it?” she managed finally.
“Who knows?” She was like a flower. A rose. Something natural and lovely. “I’d better shut the hell up,” he pronounced edgily. The longer he stayed near her the higher his desire would mount.
“I don’t want that. I don’t want you not to talk to me.” It came out far more emotionally than she’d intended.
“Shelley—!”
But whatever he was going to reply she wasn’t to hear. Both of them were alert to the sound of footsteps tapping along the polished floor of the hallway.
Amanda.
Shelley tried hard to clear her face of expression.
“I’d never hurt you, Shelley.” His voice was rich and deep, deliberately pitched low.
“It could happen without your trying. You know it. I know it.” In the bright light of day she fancied they were back in a moonlit night, locked in one another’s arms.
“I’m not playing a game with you. Don’t think that. This is my head and heart in conflict. I’d like to change my life, but I can’t. And I won’t. My future is in the balance.”
Tension stretched between them, so strong that for a moment Shelley felt unable to function—only Amanda appeared in the open doorway, blue eyes flashing from one to the other.
“What’s keeping you two?” she demanded, her voice loaded with implication. “I thought you said lunch was ready, Shel?”
Shelley was abruptly re-energised. “All bar the finishing touches,” she replied, amazed her voice sounded near enough to normal. “I never dress the salad until the very last moment. Now you’re here, Mandy, would you like to grab the basket of rolls?”
CHAPTER FIVE
&nbs
p; IT CAME as no surprise when Amanda and Philip tagged along on the bush trek that Shelley had planned to take Brock on.
Philip had insisted on helping Shelley to clear away, while Amanda finished off an icy light beer with Brock. There was no way Amanda was going to be done out of the opportunity of getting to know Brock Tyson a whole lot better. Something about the way he turned his silver gaze on Shelley alarmed her but Shelley was already taken, she reassured herself.
Philip would make an excellent husband. Rich and sober, he was the highest bidder—already a firm favourite with the family. As for Brock? Men like that knew how to enslave a woman. Plus the fact there was always the possibility Rex Kingsley would reinstate his prodigal grandson in his will. Amanda rather fancied joining the ranks of the idle rich, having been idle, though not necessarily rich, nearly all her life.
Brock drove. It just happened like that. He didn’t even bother to use his persuasive power. Shelley sat up front beside him, with Philip and Amanda in the back. Shelley was the navigator, pointing out various spots of particular interest to the station’s guests, and Amanda kept interjecting, saying there were better places they could go.
“It’s so hot in the back,” she complained. “Why don’t we find somewhere cool, like Malkie Creek? We should have brought our swimsuits,” she purred suggestively.
Amanda looked like an ice-cream, begging to be licked, Brock thought. But did she interest him? No. Though Amanda’s blue eyes, meeting his in the rear-vision mirror, were telling him the answer should be, Hell, yes! Evidently she was looking for an affair—except it was her sister who tempted him, without even trying.
The heat of the afternoon was compensated for by the glowing colours of the vast landscape. Every hour of the day had its own colour palette: the rocks, the distant eroded hills and ridges with their weird formations, softened by a larkspur haze, the eternal Spinifex that clothed the harsh, fiery earth gold. They presented the full range of dry ochre colours: flaming red, orange, cinnabar, pink, white and yellow, brown and black. Colours that stood out in bold contrast to the deep blue of the clear skies.
