Home to Eden

by Margaret Way

“Me, too.” His forefingers and thumbs teased her hardened nipples, a ministration that unraveled so many physical sensations that Nicole felt the strong pull right through her body, as the tide feels the pull of the moon. All previous experience seemed trivial by comparison. The passion rising in her now was thrilling—and dangerous.

  But she didn’t care, didn’t wish to retreat. Just as before, she worried her legs wouldn’t hold her, but he had her strongly about the waist, the lean fingers of one hand splayed across her stomach, the tips only inches from her pulsating mound. She could feel herself turn damp, grateful for the darkness that obscured the yearning expression she knew must be on her face. For all the deep-seated fears that stirred her brain, her body never doubted him at all.

  Time condensed. When he turned her in his arms to close his mouth over hers, such intensity engulfed her she became entirely what he wanted, not pausing for a second to weigh the outcome of her ardent response. If she’d thought she could control herself, control him, an aspect of intimacy with her past lovers, she swiftly found she’d been deluding herself. He was too bold. Too demanding. It was an erotic experience on a completely different level. She had never felt such physical identification with a man’s body. The total loss of autonomy. To her cost?

  The night swallowed them up.

  CALLISTA, EYES ADJUSTED to the darkness, kept to the path, looking frantically from left to right through the towering trees and banks of shrubs.

  How easily they had concealed themselves, she fumed. Drake and Nicole, a cruel echo of David and Corrinne. Just so had David and Corrinne, with her mesmerizing beauty, melted into the darkness of the garden, returning to the house with Corrinne’s face radiant, David with his arm around her as though he’d never let her go.

  Damn you to hell, Corrinne, Callista breathed. Life wouldn’t be long enough for her to forget that bitch’s treachery.

  AT SUNRISE he came for her. They had a date to go riding.

  “Ready?” Drake asked, so vivid and vital he almost crackled with electricity.

  “I’ve been ready for ages.” Nicole had hardly slept. She’d tossed this way and that, racked by physical frustration, wondering what it would be like to have him there in her bed. God knows he might have been, except by the time they’d returned to the house, she had recovered sufficiently to resurrect her guard. For every rash action there were consequences. She had almost gone over the brink. Falling in love with Drake could be her downfall. Sleeping with him would increase her vulnerability to an intolerable level. She had to cling to the illusion she was still in control.

  When they’d returned to the house—trying to appear normal was quite impossible—Karen was waiting for them on the veranda looking lonely and forlorn, vivacity quite gone, asking fretfully where they’d disappeared to. Nicole was acutely aware Karen was looking more coldly on her than she had till then. Callista, it seemed, had gone off to bed citing the onset of a migraine that promised to blow her head off.

  It was the opportunity for Nicole to excuse herself—save herself, whatever—leaving Drake and Karen to stay on and maybe fight it out.

  Not the sort of evening Karen had intended, Nicole had no doubt, but it didn’t pay for a woman on a mission to fall asleep.

  She and Drake had agreed on a dawn ride while they were walking back. Dawn was an ideal time, blessedly cool. Nicole rode a chestnut gelding, sweet-tempered and even-gaited; Drake a majestic stallion, black as coal. All the signs indicated the animal wouldn’t be easy to handle, but Nicole didn’t worry. Drake was a superb horseman.

  Twenty minutes later they were galloping across the enormous spinifex plains, giving the horses their head. All the old emotions came flooding back. She hadn’t lost her riding skills. She was rediscovering the great thrill of feeling the powerful animal beneath her. The wind in her face bore the lovely familiar scent of the wild boronia that grew thickly near the countless arteries of watercourses, stirring memories of when she was a child and had ridden with her grandfather.

  The sun was climbing. The pale blue of the sky deepened to cobalt with every passing moment, flooding the vast splendor with dazzling light. With the sun came the birds, an airborne explosion of glorious enameled colors, the tranquillity of the dawn broken by their loud and brilliant orchestrations. There seemed little evidence of human intrusion save for the two of them. A distant dust cloud gave evidence of a moving mob of cattle.

  With the arrival of the sun, the desert country began to change color, always an incredible phenomenon even when one was born to it. The earth and the rocks, the low eroded hills, a soft salmon pink, started to burn with a fiery brilliance. The trunks of the desert ghost gums stood out starkly white against the glittering blue of the sky.

  They reined in their mounts and walked them in companionable silence to Deep Water Billabong, a smooth sheet of dark emerald water in a wonderful half-moon shape. The billabong issued a compelling invitation to dive into its cool depths; it was the perfect swimming hole and few could resist.

  They tethered the horses and moved down to the water, a milky apple green in the shallows.

  “Lord knows how I didn’t visit you last night,” he confided. “I came close.”

  “What stopped you?” She picked up a pebble and sent it skimming across the water. The movement startled a flock of little white corellas that exploded into the air in protest.

  “I have to let you decide what you want.” He glanced down at her. She wasn’t wearing makeup—she didn’t need any with her skin—not even lipstick, which he found strangely erotic. “Which isn’t to say I’m going to wait a long time.”

  “For me to decide to sleep with you?” Her head tilted, her eyes more green than blue in the shade of her wide-brimmed akubra.

  “You will, whenever, wherever. We both know it.”

  She looked back at the peaceful, unspoiled scene. “It could be a mistake. Neither of us is exactly reconciled to the past.”

  “I’m trying, Nic. You find it very hard to trust.”

  “I’m concentrating on getting my life right.”

  “You think increasing intimacy with me will only interfere with that?” His tone was deeply serious.

  She nodded. “I can’t deal with you like I’ve dealt with other men in my life, Drake.”

  “How many?”

  “Fewer lovers than you,” she answered tartly, suddenly finding the idea of him with other women unbearable.

  “How would you know about that?” He bent forward and picked up a small glittery stone, like fool’s gold.

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Ah, yes, your ears. They’ve never failed you.”

  She shrugged, her eyes on a sacred kingfisher, its plumage a glorious azure against the textured trunk of the tree where it had its nest. “Because no one ever told me anything, I had to eavesdrop to keep up with what was going on. It was a house of secrets. Even as a child I recognized that. I probably wouldn’t have gone with Granddad that day, only I was listening on the stairs. Heath was shouting, filling the house with his rage. I was so frightened. Not of him. I was never frightened of him. I had an awful feeling something dreadful had happened to my mother. I knew she was never coming home. Not alive, anyway.”

  “Poor little Nic.” He looked at her with enormous sympathy.

  “For years I thought I hated the McClellands, David’s family. Even you.”

  “You didn’t really.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I flew off to escape the mess. Now I’m home.” She moved restlessly. “And I’m hot. I’d love to go for a swim. The water is far too enticing.”

  “Who’s stopping you?” he asked mildly.

  She held her head the way she did as a child when she was about to challenge him. “I’m wearing a swimsuit.”

  “I know.” He gave her a lazy smile. “I can see the top through your shirt.”

  He moved back to sit on a large rock that protruded from the white sand.

  “You’re not going to watch me, are you
?”

  “Why so nervous?”

  “Because you make me nervous, damn you. I like sensitive subtle men, not men who look like they’re about to swoop me up and carry me off to their cave.”

  “You’re getting quite chickenhearted! I won’t touch you, Nic, I promise. I might, however, join you when I’m ready.”

  “Please yourself,” she tossed at him carelessly, though her heart rocked.

  Under the canopy of the trees, her back turned to him, she kicked off her riding boots, peeled off her cotton shirt and stepped out of her jeans—in so much of a hurry she almost tripped over them. She was wearing a navy-and-turquoise two-piece that didn’t go a long way toward covering her, but normally she was quite unselfconscious about her body.

  When she finally turned around, his appreciative eyes were on her, and she thought she might as well discard her swimsuit altogether, so naked did she feel. Without another word, she ran swiftly to the billabong, wading out a little before she slid into the surprisingly cold water, kicking out in a crawl. Her thick braid would get soaked, but she didn’t care. It was wonderfully invigorating to be in the water after the rigors of the gallop.

  The lagoon spread around her, stands of trees like sentinels around its banks. She swam a distance downstream in a smooth rhythmic crawl.

  As Drake watched her stylish stroke, his yearning for her became a physical ache in his groin. He yearned, too, for that carefree closeness they’d once shared. He knew—in the deepest recesses of his heart he realized he’d known for years—that Nicole Cavanagh was very special to him. Now he was in up to his neck, even with the wretched issue of her parentage that had caused such deep division in the past still unresolved. At least for her. What was she backing away from? Dangerous love? He understood she didn’t want to complicate her life, when she’d fought hard to get herself together. Wounded psyches didn’t heal overnight. She said she liked sensitive subtle men, which he took to mean men she could control. He was sensitive and subtle enough when he had to be. Obviously something about him threatened her. Or was the threat the power of passion?

  He’d been thinking lately of making the pilgrimage to Eden’s escarpment and the desert floor where her mother and his uncle had died. He knew—not certain how he knew—that Heath Cavanagh had played no part in the final tragedy.

  SHE WATCHED HIM get to his feet and cross the sand to the water’s edge. From lifetime habit he’d come prepared for a swim, too.

  “Oh, man!” she breathed silently, realizing how beautifully he was built. Superbly fit, he wore royal-blue hipsters, no part of his body not darkly tanned. He was a man in perfect condition, every single ounce of superfluous flesh run off by hard work. She took in the wide shoulders, broad chest tapering to a narrow waist and lean flanks. Despite the coolness of the water, she could feel heat mount inside her like a furnace being stoked….

  “Ah, that feels good,” he said when he reached her, throwing back his dark head and smoothing his wet hair off his forehead. Droplets of water glistened on his skin. In the dazzling sunlight it bore a dark golden luster, his beard a faint outline. The thick black lashes fringing his eyes were long enough for any woman to envy.

  I want you for my lover, she thought. I want you badly. However carefully one prepared to protect oneself in a relationship, there was always someone who broke through the barriers. That was the dangerous thing about overwhelming attraction. Not with anyone else had she laid herself so candidly open. Yet how did a single kiss give him possession? Whatever the answer, she felt anxious about her ability to withstand him, even when she had the constant reminder of her own mother’s fate. In her mind since the tender age of twelve, adult passion had been linked to disastrous consequences. She realized that was an extreme view, but sadly it had become deeply ingrained.

  As for Drake? He was looking utterly carefree, reveling in the uncomplicated pleasure of swimming in crystal-clear water, cooling his sun-drenched skin. As she treaded water, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him, her mind conjuring up countless occasions like this in the distant happy past.

  Then, as if by mutual consent, they started swimming together, not a race, but a slow languorous progress down the deep lagoon with its galleries of riverine trees—the twisted trunks of the river red gums streaked and mottled with yellow, gray and white, the native cypress pines, the salmon gums with their tall umbrellas of dark green glossy leaves. Pushing their way between these trees was a variety of acacia, shock-headed with yellow blossom, the stunted inland mallees, their branches and leaves dusted with silver. Small aromatic shrubs abounded, some hung with inviting cherry-red berries Nicole knew were hallucinogenic. It was a lovely oasis in the middle of the desert’s aridity, a green corridor that cut through the fiery-red terrain.

  Again by mutual consent they veered away from the deep center of the pool with all its glittering incandescence toward the shelter of a leafy arbor. One of a series along the curving watercourse, it was deeply shaded by the branches of the overhanging gums, the leaves hanging in long pendant crescents. Their reflections lay upon the dark emerald waters, smooth as glass, gradually breaking up under their advance, little wavelets radiating out. Masses of sun-dappled water reeds and wild purple lilies, perfect gems of the wilderness, thickly screened the white sandy banks. Their sweet pungent fragrance released on the hot air suggested a combination of gardenia and passion fruit.

  The peace and beauty of the billabong was remarkable. The small chirruping sounds from the birds in the trees only served to enhance the extraordinary peace and quiet.

  For a little while Nicole stayed beneath the water that bobbed at her chin. If she stood up, the surface of the water would barely skim her breasts.

  “You look so young,” he said in a voice that was unnervingly tender. Her long hair had worked its way out of its thick braid and now floated around her like a mermaid’s. The beautiful rich auburn was sleek and dark with water, but nothing could subdue the highlights that glinted in the chinks of sunlight.

  He stood up, the water lapping at his waist, his eyes never leaving her. He held out his hand to her.

  “Drake, I don’t know…” To take his hand was the forerunner to giving herself completely. Giving herself to wild splendor. She saw this in his eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m the same guy you knew as a child.” He pulled her from the water, watching it stream off her, revealing the perfection of her shoulders and breasts, the luminous quality of her flesh.

  “What are we doing?” Desire was beating at her like wings, yet her voice was melancholy, as though she expected psychic injury.

  “What comes naturally, I guess. Like the song says, it had to be you, Nic, even if I don’t know what goes on inside your head.” He reached out to cup her face between his hands, holding it still while he studied her familiar features. They’d always seemed stronger to him than her mother’s. “You fight it from long habit, yet I’ve never met a woman so in need of love.”

  There was painful truth in that, yet she answered defiantly as pride welled in her. “Surely you don’t think I can’t get it, do you?”

  “I’m absolutely certain you can. You could have as many lovers as you like. But you need real love. Up until now, it seems you’ve just had sex.”

  “Which for the most part I found considerably overrated. What about you with your vast experience?” She shook his hands free. “Karen looked very tearful last night when we came back.”

  “She was hurt. I’m sorry about that, but I didn’t invite her. I like Karen. She’s a friend. She was never a casual one-night stand, but there’s been no fervent avowal of love or even passion. Just a man and a woman treating one another with affection.”

  “You’d better tell her that,” she advised.

  “Forget Karen,” he said, drawing her closer. “Forget your defenses.”

  “I need them to protect me,” she said in a light brittle voice. “This could be a maneuver of yours, Drake. A way of gaining contro
l.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” His voice was terse. “You sound neurotic.”

  “Perhaps I am. I seem to have been suffering emotionally all my life. My mother was wrenched from me in the most horrific circumstances. No child should be separated from its mother. And never like that.”

  Something had to be done and now, he decided. He folded her into his arms with utter thoroughness, the sound of lapping water all around them, warm little perfumed breezes, dazzling light. “Losing her has dictated your entire history,” he said, smoothing her long hair. “Just be quiet now.”

  They stood in an embrace for long moments in that enchanted place, then irresistibly his mouth began to move. It trailed down over her temples and cheeks, skirting her mouth to find the arc of her throat. This woman haunted his heart. She was so unlike anyone else.

  Nicole stood motionless, head turning this way and that to accommodate his kisses, her eyes closed. For all her genuine anxieties, her habit of suppression, once she was in his arms, her body, not her mind, articulated her needs. Romantic love was a profound kind of magic. It was able to dissolve conflict at a touch.

  He seemed to be breathing in the scent of her like much-needed oxygen. He teased her, his mouth stopping just a shiver from hers so that in the end, ravished by sensation, she was driven to set her mouth on his.

  “Stop being so cruel,” she said against his teeth.

  He laughed and kissed her more deeply. “Is this really you, Nic?” he drew back to ask. “I thought you said you wanted me to leave you alone.”

  She kissed him feverishly. “I accept that you won’t.”

  His hands moved with a kind of reverence to her breasts, the Lycra of her bra top slick and wet. Her little gasps came into his mouth as he undid the clasp, sliding the straps from her shoulders. Feeling startlingly exposed, she tried to snatch the top back, but with one expert throw he hooked it onto a low branch. “Your breasts are exquisite. I want to feel their weight.” He began to fondle them, molding his hands to the creamy, dusky-tipped globes.