Princes of the Outback Bundle

by Bronwyn Jameson

  “I didn’t. Susannah did.”

  He felt Rafe’s focus shift from the horses to his face. Steeled himself for a smart-aleck observation that didn’t come. Instead, when he spoke, his brother sounded serious, if slightly suspicious. “You want to tell me how that happened?”

  Alex told him, in a bare-bones fashion that skimmed over the night in the cabin and ended with his current situation in limbo-land. And despite his best intentions, frustration coated every word. “Until I hear from her, I don’t know where I’m at.”

  “I think her not turning up on Saturday is a clear enough message of where you’re at, bro.”

  Irritation crackled in Alex’s blood. “‘I can’t marry you today’ is not definitive.”

  “Are you saying you’ll marry her if she turns up tomorrow?” Rafe’s voice rose, incredulous. “After she left you cold at the altar?”

  The horses thundered past their vantage point at a full-stretch gallop. Exasperation and a sense of hopeless futility pounded through Alex with the same thick drumbeat. The binoculars came down. Slowly he turned his head to stare at his brother. “Maybe I don’t have any choice.”

  “Because you like being a martyr? Or because you won’t allow Tomas or me our part in this?”

  A muscle ticked hard in Alex’s jaw. He felt it and took it as a warning to cool down, to take a second before answering. “I gather you’re doing your bit.”

  “As was Tomas, before Angie walked. She could be pregnant now. Catriona, too.” Rafe’s voice softened on his wife’s name. His expression, too, as if that possibility enthralled him. As if his new wife enthralled him.

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  “Like crazy.”

  Alex shook his head slowly as he watched another bunch of racehorses flash by. Rafe Carlisle, confirmed playboy, struck by Cupid’s arrow. Amazing. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “The rest were for fun. I knew Catriona was serious stuff the second I clapped eyes on her.”

  “Weren’t you concussed?”

  Rafe shrugged negligently but his gaze remained steady. “Unconscious I’d have still known she was the right woman.”

  The space following his pronouncement echoed with the retreating beat of galloping hooves for a good thirty seconds. Alex’s head echoed with the beat of his brother’s words. “What if this right woman—your Catriona—hadn’t wanted to marry you? What if she wasn’t ready for having babies?”

  The creases around Rafe’s eyes deepened, his gaze narrowed astutely. “If she’s the right woman,” he said slowly, “then the baby part isn’t going to matter…especially if, for example, my brothers had that covered already. In that case, I’d say ‘thank you, bro,’ and I’d set about convincing her that I was the right man.”

  Alex didn’t thank his brother for that advice before he left the track. He didn’t thank him later that night, either, when Rafe called to let him know that Tomas and Angie were back together and setting a wedding date. Rafe used the occasion to casually ask, “Who is she?” to which Alex deadpanned, “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  He had no intention of saying anything or doing anything until after he’d talked to Susannah. He didn’t know if he could take Rafe’s advice, if he could dispense with his familial responsibility, if it turned out he had a choice.

  On Thursday, Susannah called.

  She told him she couldn’t marry him and relief flooded through Alex like a dam gate had opened. Later, he knew, that sense of reprieve would get spliced with guilt and the sense that he was letting down the man who had given him so much, who had made him everything that he was and everything that he wasn’t. But for now, he could think no further than the moment, could feel no more than delight and satisfaction because now nothing stood between him and Zara.

  That night he picked up the phone and then put it down again. He didn’t call her on Friday either because he knew a phone call wouldn’t be enough. He flew down to Melbourne instead.

  Before his jet landed in the southern capital late on Friday afternoon, Alex knew exactly where to find Zara. Inside this fitness club. Satisfaction and anticipation jostled for supremacy in his gut as he flashed a smile at the receptionist.

  The smile—and the fact that her eyes widened in recognition—helped when he asked if he could take a look at the facilities. Of course, then he had to stave off her enthusiastic offer to act as tour guide.

  “Not necessary,” he told her briskly. “I’m only interested in seeing your weights room.”

  “To your left and you’ll see the sign, but it’s no bother, Mr. Carlisle, really….”

  Alex was already moving, and with every long stride his expectancy sharpened. For the last twenty-four hours he’d kept that keenness under tight restraint, but as he pushed through the door the rhythmic clank of weights swelled in the air and through his senses. So did his anticipation. His eagerness to meet Zara on equal terms, man and woman, without the will or Susannah strong-arming them apart.

  He sensed she would have used this week to shore her I-don’t-have-time-for-dating defenses. That’s why he hadn’t rung, why he’d chosen to surprise her and put her off balance again.

  His eyes zeroed in on her instantly…or on her reflected image in the long mirrored wall. For a moment he stood riveted to the spot, drinking in the sight of that killer body at work.

  She wore a similar outfit to last weekend. One of those racing-back athletic tops that bared shoulders and arms and the flat stretch of her midriff. Matching shorts—today’s color was sunshine yellow—with a pair of stripes tracing the flow of her hips and outer thighs.

  He watched the stripes bend and flex as she demonstrated a deep squat, then uncurl in a long, easy flow of limbs. The need to touch, to trace that path with the slow glide of his palms, crackled hot in his blood. When she switched modes, from demonstrator to hands-on instructor, Alex noticed she wasn’t alone.

  He’d known, of course. That’s why she was here. It’s what she did as a personal trainer.

  He knew all this, yet when she put her hands on the man—when Alex saw the sandwiching touch, one hand on his abs, the other his lower back—an acid burn of jealousy seared his gut. Perhaps she actually heard the steam of that reaction, because suddenly she stilled. Her spine stiffened, her shoulder blades snapped back, and their gazes collided in the mirror. Her eyes widened, sparking with shock and something else.

  Oh, yeah. It was still there. The same bolt of attraction. The same smoldering charge of awareness.

  She said something to her client, bent to pick up a towel, then started to cross the room toward him. Her eyes flicked over his suit, rested a tick on his mouth. Remembering the heat of their kiss? Recalling his taste in her blood?

  Heat burned in Alex’s veins. He wondered what the half dozen or so members working on the resistance machines would think if he greeted her like he ached to. If he put his hands on her shoulders and rolled her around against the wall and kissed her until neither of them could remember where they were or why they hadn’t kept on kissing last Sunday.

  She stopped in front of him. Alex managed to keep his hands at his sides but he couldn’t manage another smile. “Hello, Zara.”

  “Alex.” With her usual steady confidence, she met his eyes but a note of wariness crept into her voice. “Why are you here?”

  “To see you,” he said simply.

  Expression guarded, she stared back at him. “Why didn’t you call first?”

  “Would you have agreed to see me?”

  Her lips tightened and her gaze rolled away. Perhaps he should have skipped the awkward introduction and explanation and gone with the kiss.

  “So, you found out where I was working? How did you do that?”

  “I called Personal Best. Jen was very helpful.”

  Her brows pulled together in vexation. “She shouldn’t have told you I was here. That’s not—”

  “Don’t blame Jen. I told her you would want to see me. I
said we were…friends.”

  The way he lingered over that last word, investing it with an extra layer of meaning, brought her gaze rocketing back to his. “And she believed you? She actually believed I was ‘friends’ with Alex Carlisle?”

  “Apparently,” he said mildly. “Or she wouldn’t have told me where to find you. Would she?”

  No. The answer sparked in her eyes a second before she exhaled an audible breath. Before she lifted her towel to wipe the sheen of perspiration from her face. “Well, I can’t talk now. Even to ‘friends.’ I’m working. I have a client.”

  “I noticed,” he said evenly, taking the towel from her hands. Dabbing at her throat. “You missed a bit.”

  Under his hand, he felt her reflexive swallow and paused with the towel against her skin. His eyes lifted to hers in time to see the spark of response. It caught alight in his body.

  “Are you always so hands-on?” he asked, slowly wiping across her collarbone, dipping into the hollow above. “With your clients?”

  “Robert wasn’t using his core muscles. I was instructing. Doing my job.”

  Of course she was. He had no right to this primitive possessive burn. None.

  He slung the towel over her shoulder and met her eyes again. “Have dinner with me.”

  “I can’t. I—”

  “Don’t make excuses. Jen told me this was your last client. You have to eat, I have to eat. I would enjoy your company.”

  She started to shake her head.

  “Come on,” he coaxed. “You know you want to.”

  For some reason that made her take a step back. Not physically, but mentally. He saw the grab of focus in her eyes and could feel the rejection coming off her in waves. He’d expected this response, had planned for it, but that didn’t make it any easier to take.

  “It’s just a meal, Zara. And while we eat I can tell you about Susannah.”

  Her eyes widened. “She’s back? You’ve seen her? When? Where was she? Why hasn’t she called me?”

  “She isn’t back. She’s on her way to America. Come to dinner and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

  Zara agreed to meet him at the restaurant because, a) she had to know what was going on with Susannah, and, b) if she wanted to keep this “just a meal” then she wasn’t inviting him anywhere near her home, and, c) same with his hotel, only more so.

  But when she stepped off the tram and saw him on the opposite side of the road, waiting outside Caruso’s and scanning the street with the kind of restless impatience she recognized in her own blood, she knew she’d been fooling herself about why she’d agreed to meet him.

  She’d been fooling herself, too, in thinking her choice of restaurant—a friendly, boisterous, Italian place—might make him feel uncomfortable and out of place. Ha. He’d dispensed with the corporate suit but still looked like a million dollars in dark trousers and a blue-gray shirt.

  The same as in the gym two hours earlier, she couldn’t stop staring at the hard, chiseled beauty of his face. Couldn’t stop the memories of his kiss from unraveling in silky ribbons of response, a long yearning streamer of desire for this man, no matter how wrong, no matter how inopportune, no matter how destructive.

  You shouldn’t have agreed to see him, Zara. You know that. Turn and walk—no, run!—away before it’s too late.

  Except her feet remained rooted to the spot, not going forward but not doing the smart thing and running away. And he saw her then, his restless gaze finding her face through the traffic and not veering for several long, breathless moments. Run now, her brain screamed, as he started toward her, his progress stalled by the rattling passage of two trams, one after another.

  By the time he’d dodged both trams and several cars to reach her side of the road, by the time he’d paused to take in her batik skirt and vintage silk shirt and loose flow of hair, it was much too late to run. Then he smiled and took her hands and drew her so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body and her knees went weak with longing.

  She swore he sniffed at her throat, just below her ear, before he kissed her cheek and drew back, still holding both her hands.

  “What?” she asked, mesmerized by the hot pall of appreciation in his eyes and the kick of his smile.

  “Just seeing if you smell as good as you look.”

  Oh, yeah, it was much too late.

  She was an absolute goner.

  Seven

  After they ordered, Zara asked about Susannah and Alex told her about the phone call.

  “Apparently there’s another man,” he said in an even voice.

  Zara’s heart turned over. Oh, Alex. Why would she want another man when she had you? “Who is he? When did she meet him? How?”

  “Someone from her past, apparently, who turned up again out of the blue. An American, obviously.”

  Bowled over by this turn of events, by not knowing about any major man in Susannah’s past, Zara slumped back in her chair. She mulled over the signs from last week, when Suse had seemed distant and distracted. Then she considered the even, impassive way in which Alex had imparted the news. “Are you okay with this?”

  “It would be hypocritical of me not to be,” he said wryly. “Given last weekend.”

  Given meeting her. Given that kiss. Given the way he was looking at her now.

  “Nothing has changed since last weekend,” she told him, wishing she could make her body believe the words. “I don’t want you to read anything into me being here.”

  “This is just a meal.” He lifted one shoulder and both corners of his mouth, ever so attractively. “That’s all.”

  Except dinner with Alex Carlisle was so much more than “just a meal.” One moment she talked and laughed in complete relaxation, the next she was struck dumb by the rush of heat when their legs brushed under the table and their eyes caught and captured the flame.

  But there was more than the sexual thrall, more than the mesmerizing swirl of storm-blue eyes and her fascination with the lines that bracketed his face when he smiled, in the dusting of dark hair on the back of his hands and forearms. There was the sultry beat of desire when she thought about those hands on her body, and the ache of restraint because hers weren’t on him.

  But mostly there was captivation, in his company and his conversation, in the connection she felt as they shared slivers of their lives, and in his attentiveness. Having a man like Alex Carlisle hanging on her every word was a heady, rich, empowering sensation that transcended anything she’d ever felt.

  If she weren’t so enthralled and, yeah, turned on, she knew that would bother her on numerous levels. She shouldn’t need a man’s approval and attention to feel this good, this alive, this female. But she did feel all those things and for once she shoved all the be-responsible, think-about-tomorrow, look-after-your-own-happiness stuff aside, and immersed herself in the moment.

  When he finally asked about her mother—as he’d promised after breakfast five days before—she only smiled and met his eyes over the rim of her coffee cup. “I wondered when you’d get to that.”

  “I wondered if you’d volunteer the information.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  And despite the casual exchange of lines, despite the smile on her lips and her relaxed posture, Zara felt a shiver of trepidation deep inside. This represented a new level of dinner conversation. This was the most important part of her life. This was everything that had shaped her world.

  One part of her wanted to share, but another part warned her about the promise she’d made to Susannah and how easily that could be exposed if she didn’t tread warily. “You want to know why Mum was in the papers?” she asked, knowing she couldn’t avoid sharing this part. Hating what this would expose, nonetheless.

  “That’s a start.”

  Zara nodded. Drew a breath. And decided she might as well tell it like it was. In straight, bald terms. “One of the tabloids found out she was mistress to a powerful man. He was
a big name in business and society and he’d set her up a flash house, bought her all the pretty things.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a story,” he said mildly, meeting her eyes across the table.

  “Possibly not. Except Mum was pregnant. At the same time as his wife, as it happens. Big story, big scandal, big scarlet woman.”

  “She didn’t know he was married?”

  “She didn’t know Mi—” She caught herself before the name slipped out. “His wife was pregnant, that’s for sure. She didn’t talk about him much, but I rather think he’d spun her the usual lines. His marriage was over but he couldn’t end it for business reasons. To protect his fortune and his status, I imagine. Then, when this story broke, she found out he’d been less than truthful.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment and Zara resisted a fierce urge to fill the silence by defending her mother for the unforgivable. To justify something Zara had only started to comprehend in the last week, since she’d met this man. Because, even knowing Alex Carlisle belonged to another woman, she had been tempted.

  You know you could have had me.

  I know.

  “This was your father?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  “Yes, but please don’t ask about him. Nothing personal. I don’t talk about him to anyone.” She attempted a smile and felt the tug of its tight, bitter edges. “It’s not good for my sanity.”

  “What about your mother’s?”

  “Oh, she got over him. She had her pride and she was always practical. She had a baby to raise.”

  “Appears she did a fine job.”

  “Yes. She did,” Zara said with no false modesty. “No one had a better mother than I did.”

  Something flitted across his expression as he watched her, an element she’d not seen before. Intense but with softer edges, it stole her breath and sounded alarm bells in her head. A warning that this man could steal so much more than her breath, that he could make her want too much and leave her wanting more.

  Then his eyes narrowed a smidgen, deepening the creases at their edges.