by Margaret Way
Despite his casual manner, she could see the sizzling intensity in his eyes.
“Haddo, no!” She threw up a hand, bracing herself for the inevitable avalanche of sensation.
He could see the panic in her eyes. “Come here to me,” he said gently.
The odd tenderness in his voice played hell with her mixed-up emotions.
Stick to your agenda! her inner voice warned her. Don’t let him do this to you. Where’s your pride?
The only trouble was she was in an awful emotional mess. Her brain was telling her one thing, her body another.
Her body won. It was a big lamentation in life how often that happened. Her defences, so carefully constructed over the past four years, imploded.
Give in. Give in, her poor weak woman’s body cried out in anguish.
Not a peep out of her brain. She could feel the melt-down start up inside her. In one way she hated it. It gave her no peace. The tragic truth was, for all she had previously stated, she did love him. Damn him! She had spent sixteen years loving him. It was going to take a heck of a lot more years than four more to flush him right out of her system. No wonder she felt like sobbing. The most humiliating thing was that from his expression he knew all about the fierce battle that was going on inside her. He was right in his element, playing the dominant, irresistible male.
He drew her to him. Nothing hurried, but very sure. He turned her face up to him. “Tell me how many times you’ve been kissed since then,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes.
Suddenly she felt the balance of power had shifted slightly her way. She gave him a look of sparkling malice. “You really want to know?”
“I do.” His tone turned edgy.
She threw off a bittersweet laugh. “Hundreds and hundreds of—”
Before she could get out times he silenced her. His mouth came down squarely over hers, so warm, so compelling, so utterly perfect to her, it ignited a flame of physical desire. Call her weak, call her a complete fake, she still yearned for him. The bitter truth was, she was a closed case.
Everything was lost in a tide of sensation. It swamped her, carrying her under. It was a mercy he was so much taller, because she desperately needed support. Why did this happen with Haddo and no one else? Why did her legs go so weak and trembly? So, for that matter, were her arms. It was a kind of physical disintegration. She couldn’t have pushed him away even if she’d wanted to. Hers was a classic case of obsessive love. Only obsessive love never made anyone happy. She should know. People died for love. Killed for love. Some gave up everything for love, only to finish up with nothing but untold grief and unending heartache. Sex and love could be a fatal combination.
When he finally released her all she could manage was the single word. “God!”
When you loved someone as she loved Haddo it went on for ever, and there was no way to dislodge it.
Tremors were still racking her. Her voice was so husky she might have been coming down with a cold. “Can I go now?” she found herself near pleading.
“I’m not stopping you.”
They were in her grandmother’s garage, yet she felt as if they were sealed off from the rest of the world. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t allow him to search her eyes. Her eyes had always betrayed her.
He was standing very still, yet somehow he was giving the powerful impression he was about to swoop on her again and pull her into his arms. She was terrified that this time her arms would go up and lock around his neck, never to let go. Turned out she had no pride at all. The only way she had been able to carry off her role of indifference was in company. When they were alone together it was a vastly different matter.
“So? Are you going to move?” She made a truly Gallic gesture, lifting her shoulders and holding out her hands.
Haddo obliged without haste, giving her just enough room to push past him. He waited until she’d reached the bottom of the stairs before asking, “How long will it take you to pack?”
She felt liberated by the space between them. “Don’t you supply a school uniform?” she asked with sharp sarcasm.
“I thought you’d had enough of uniforms? You certainly won’t be needing anything like you’ve got on now. Or dare I say nearly got on?”
She swung back to him, her beautiful auburn hair in disarray, green eyes glittering, a flush enhancing her alabaster skin. “You mightn’t know it, but this is a great dress. I’m a trendsetter.”
“You mean the less you wear, the trendier you get?”
She laughed hoarsely. “Oh, go to the devil! By the way, I’m going to bring a friend with me.” The idea had presented itself to her on the instant. Her attitude defied him to object.
“You’re kidding!”
“I couldn’t be more serious.”
A warning glitter came into his eyes. “I just hope you’re not going to tell me your friend is male?”
“Why? Would you put your foot down?” she cooed, pursing her lips provocatively.
“You bet!”
He would too. No idle threat. “My friend is female,” she snapped. “And she’s desperately in need of a change of scene.”
“In trouble with the law, is she?” he asked dryly.
“She’s quite respectable. Her name is Chrissy Graham.” If anyone at the shelter needed help it was Chrissy, with her broken front tooth and her less visible broken ribs. She might leap at the chance of an Outback holiday. Then again, she mightn’t. “She’s a couple of years younger than I am. Maybe eighteen months.”
“Let’s see—that makes her barely out of school. So what’s the connection?”
“She’s a friend, okay?” Tori answered in some agitation, still feeling threatened.
Her whole body was thrumming with an uncontrollable excitement. She wanted to go back into his arms again. She wanted him to pry open her mouth, let the tip of his tongue slide over her teeth. He had only to touch her for her veins to turn into molten glass.
“Am I allowed to I ask where Chrissy lives?” Haddo’s tone was laconic.
“She lives in the inner city,” she supplied, purposely vague. “She doesn’t have any money. She’s young, and she’s struggling. She’s had a chaotic life.”
She didn’t tell him that Chrissy, after the death of her mother, with her father unable to cope, had been put in a home at age eleven. Over the years she had been bounced from one home to the next. Set free at sixteen, in under a week flat she had fallen into the clutches of an abusive boyfriend—hence her periodic retreats to the shelter.
“I want to help her,” she told Haddo defiantly. “Are you going to help me?” She was straining not to shout at him, but she couldn’t seem to control her voice.
“If you think it’s going to make your detention any easier, by all means.” He lifted an arm to switch off the lights. “What is she? A guest?”
“Why are you asking?” She frowned crossly at him.
“I just thought she might require room service. You, my girl, as I said, are going to work.”
“I’m not damned well useless, I’ll have you know!” She flounced on up the stairs, beautiful long legs very much on display. “You can find a job for Chrissy too,” she threw over her shoulder.
“What can the mysterious Chrissy do? Can she ride?”
She swung about, a considering frown on her face. “I would think so. She was born on a farm.”
“Lovely!” Haddo said with exaggerated satisfaction. “I’ll put her straight to muster work. Now, I can’t be too long away from the station. I’d like to leave the day after tomorrow. It will be an early start. I’d appreciate it if you and Chrissy could get yourselves organised by then.”
She shrugged. “I’ll never get my punishment over otherwise. Just remember,” she warned, “I’m the one under house arrest. Not Chrissy.”
“No need to shout at me.” He began to mount the stairs, tall commanding, insufferably sure of himself. “I can’t wait to meet her. Tell me, has she heard terrible things about
me?”
“She hasn’t heard a damned thing about you,” Tori told him fiercely, reaching out to seize the door handle. He beat her to it.
“Well, that’s a relief. Allow me.” His hand was over hers: a beautiful hand, long-fingered, strong, calluses on the pads. His tone mocked her.
Tori took a deep shaky breath. At times like this it was brought home forcibly that skin was the largest organ in the body. Skin on skin!
Oh, God! she thought helplessly.
Try to think of it this way. Her inner voice unexpectedly came to her aid. Love is only a four-letter word.
But it was a magic word. That was the thing. A word so powerful it changed lives.
She burst into the house as if a stalker was close on her heels, not Haddo. “Goodnight,” she tossed at him, very fast. “I know I’ll sleep soundly knowing that was our last kiss.”
“How long will it remain the last, I wonder?” Haddo called after her.
She didn’t answer, but a fierce flush burned her cheeks.
CHAPTER TWO
BRODY had the job of driving them to the commercial airstrip, where the Beech Baron awaited them, but first Chrissy had to be picked up from outside the women’s shelter. Tori had made a quick dash to the shelter the day before, to issue Chrissy with an invitation, not really sure whether Chrissy would accept or not. The truly bizarre thing she had learned about some of the battered women at the shelter was that husbands or partners only had to say they were sorry, they hadn’t meant it, and cite pressures and stresses, for the women to pack up their few possessions and return to the same dreadful situation. Not only that, but take their poor frightened little kids with them. It was heartbreaking! But Chrissy deserved a chance. She had sworn to Tori she was going to break free—“If only he’ll let me!”
When Tori had issued the invitation Chrissy had burst into tears. “God, Vicki, I don’t believe this,” she had sobbed, desperate to take the support offered. “No one has done anythin’ for me. Ever! Not since Mum died.”
Tori had wiped the mascara streaks from Chrissy’s thin cheeks. “You’re going to love it, Chrissy,” she assured her. “And best of all you’ll be safe.”
Chrissy’s bully of a boyfriend would be in huge trouble if he ever found out where Chrissy was and decided to follow. One could almost wish he would, just so he could be taught a lesson he would never forget. Violence against women and children occurred everywhere in the world, but not on Mallarinka. Chrissy would be safe.
As it happened, the Master of Mallarinka was now asking, “If it’s not a rude question, Victoria, where exactly are we going?” Haddo was up front with Brody. Tori was in the back.
“Not far now,” she said vaguely, as the Rolls proceeded on its stately progress through one of the least desirable parts of town. Gangs of adolescents at neither school nor work were standing about on street corners. A few turned to make vulgar salutes at the Rolls, accompanied by the usual look of challenge in their eyes.
“I’ve a feeling you haven’t been straight with me,” Haddo observed crisply.
“No kidding?”
“Well, if I offend you I don’t give a damn. Chrissy isn’t a prostitute, is she? One with a heart of gold?”
Brody turned a laugh into a cough, while Tori said sharply. “Of course not! Chrissy is a good kid. She just needs a break.”
“It’s a women’s shelter, isn’t it?” Haddo guessed, staring out at a heavily moustachioed bald guy who looked like a movie bank robber.
“You’ve never seen such sad cases in your whole life,” Tori lamented. “Oh, there she is!”
Up ahead Chrissy was waiting in front of the shelter, a suitcase at her feet. Tori had warned her in advance she would most probably be picking her up in a Rolls-Royce—something that had made Chrissy choke with laughter—so when she saw the Rolls approaching Chrissy began to wave a hanky very energetically.
“And that is Chrissy?” Haddo turned his head over his shoulder to enquire.
“Miss Victoria takes a real interest in the shelter,” said Brody, a long time confidante, with considerable approval in his tone. “No one could say Miss Victoria is lacking in heart,” he added fondly.
“You dark horse, you, Miss Victoria.” Haddo’s blue eyes mocked her. “You’ve been very careful to keep that to yourself, haven’t you?”
“That’s the way I am!” she retorted breezily. “I notice you don’t advertise all your numerous acts of philanthropy either, or all your good deeds. It’s a family thing. Now, let me do the talking, Haddo,” she said, as Brody pulled the big car into the kerb beside Chrissy, who was almost tap dancing in excitement.
“Go right ahead,” he invited nonchalantly. “It’ll take me a moment to catch my breath anyway.”
A beaming Chrissy awaited them, decked out in her finest. Some might have said they were extraordinary garments. Others might have mistaken her for a little bag lady. A red beanie was pulled down over brown corkscrew curls that stuck out at random. Her ears were pierced with several metal rings. She wore a fake diamond stud in her nose. Red stockings to match her beanie clothed her brolga-thin legs. A pair of substantial black boots weighted down her small feet.
The two young women, who couldn’t possibly have presented a more dissimilar image, exchanged hugs while a fascinated Haddo took in Chrissy at a glance.
Just what I need, he thought. Someone else to worry about. And as for Tori? Tori was constantly surprising him. Not that she hadn’t always had a tender heart. This poor little waif, who showed every sign of having had a tough life, was Tori’s friend—though he thought Chrissy could look a whole lot better minus the heavy metal, dressed in decent clothes and with more weight on her. They could take care of that part of it.
It was obvious she was wildly excited, even kissing Brody, who had stepped out of the Rolls to store her small tattered suitcase—she wasn’t over-burdened with possessions—in the boot. Brody took the kiss well.
My turn! thought Haddo, detecting from long practice the look of anxiety Tori was trying to hide behind big black Gucci sunglasses.
“This is Haddo,” Tori introduced him, rapid fire. Get it over.
Chrissy blushed scarlet and gave him a nerve-strangled, “Hello. Pleased to meet you, Haddo. Or should I call you Mr Rushford?” Haddo noticed the broken front tooth.
“Haddo will do,” Tori clipped off for him.
He gave Tori a quick glance. “Well, you did say you’d do the talking. Nice to have you along, Chrissy,” he said. That tooth had to be fixed. He filed it away for future attention. He didn’t want to waste any more time, so he began to shepherd both young women into the back seat. “Better get going,” he murmured to Brody as he slipped into the passenger seat. “Before someone throws a rock at the Rolls.”
“Will do, sir,” said Brody, surprised someone hadn’t already done so.
The flight into Mallarinka was the most exciting event of Chrissy’s young life. In fact it was the only flight Chrissy had ever taken. She had never been anywhere near a plane, much less seated in one, looking out at the white billowy clouds. It was all too fabulous! She had thought she was going to be apprehensive, but Haddo was a great pilot—and what was even more astonishing was that he flew his own plane. How cool was that? And so was he. Gorgeous, and such a gentleman. He treated her as if she was one of Vicki’s real friends, instead of someone Vicki had been kind enough to rescue from a women’s shelter.
Everyone at the shelter thought of Vicki as their guardian angel. Vicki had blushed when she had first heard it, and held up protesting hands.
“Listen up, ladies! You haven’t got enough; I’ve got too much. It balances out.”
Be that as it may, no other heiresses had ever stopped by. Vicki had heart.
They all knew her. Some had formed not terribly complimentary opinions—beautiful, an heiress, little asked of her, less expected, and so forth. They had seen the photographs in the newspapers and magazines. Photographers never seemed to get tired of her. A
nd why not? She was amazingly beautiful, even when she came into the shelter dressed up in the Goth stuff and gave them all a good laugh. Nevertheless, it was just the most unlikely thing that the Victoria Rushford had turned up on the doorstep of the shelter wanting to help. Vicki and all of her friends were seriously rich, whereas for most of Chrissy’s life she had had to struggle just to stay alive. It gave her an enormous feeling of security to know that just being a visitor on Mallarinka meant she was free of Zack’s intimidation, and the periodic beltings when he was drunk. Easy for Zack to belt her; she would love to see him try to swing a punch at Haddo. That was if he could even reach Haddo’s chin.
They had been flying over Mallarinka for some time. Now they were on their descent, which gave Chrissy a fresh burst of pleasure. For the first time she could see the homestead and all the outbuildings. It looked so exciting, yet bizarre. Who would expect what looked like a small town to be set down smack in the middle of absolutely nowhere? Chrissy had been born on a dairy farm near the lush Queensland/New South Wales border, and it was a fantastic experience to see the real Outback—especially from the air.
She was stunned by the vastness, the emptiness, and most of all the riot of dry ochre colours, that flared all over the landscape: the umbers, the yellows and purples, the orange and the dominant red. No wonder this was called the Red Centre. She had never thought of the Outback as full of colour, but more usually as arid, with wide brown land stricken by drought, but there it was beneath her, awe-inspiring. She was glorying in it. The fiery red of the plains that stretched to the horizon contrasted brilliantly with the cobalt blue of the sky and the big golden bushes like giant pincushions. She supposed it was spinifex, yet it made such a gilded splash.
Mallarinka—she loved the name—meant five lagoons. Haddo had told her. To her further astonishment, the station itself looked like a miraculous green sanctuary in a million square miles of shimmering red sand. She could feel the blood tingling in her veins. It was truly breathtaking—and she had to admit frightening too. It would be perilously easy to get lost down there. She knew—every city dweller did—that the Outback was a dangerous place, especially the desert. Poorly schooled, she had nevertheless learned about the early explorers who had perished there on their ill-fated expeditions. And Mallarinka was on the great desert fringe, the legendary Channel Country—a riverine desert and the stronghold of the nation’s cattle kings.
