CULLEN'S BRIDE

by Fiona Brand

  Impatiently, he drove his fingers through his damp hair. The cool river current would slide over his skin, washing away the sweat and dirt, and maybe, just maybe, it would wash away some of the impossible heat that had taken up permanent residence in his loins.

  But he wasn't counting on it. Cold showers hadn't made a difference. And he doubted the lukewarm river water would succeed where his ice-cold river water had failed so miserably.

  His hands locked into tight fists as he waded into the water, deeper, then deeper still. The skimming current tugged at him, stroking his skin, making his muscles harden with a sudden, reckless need, a wildness he usually kept firmly under control. Flinging his head back, he gazed up at the wide, endless sky, a low curse grating from between his tightly clenched teeth. The days when he'd taken what he wanted and damned the cost were gone. He'd paid for that wild streak more times than he cared to count. Paid for it, and brought it under control.

  And he wasn't about to let it rule him now.

  * * *

  Rachel stared at the man swimming naked in the river.

  If she had a shred of decency, she would go quietly back to where she'd tied Jessie, ease her sore backside into the saddle and ride away. The trouble was, whenever Cullen walked into the picture, she lost any of the ladylike graces her very correct and formal guardian, Aunt Rose, had instilled in her.

  He surged out of the water at the far side of the swimming hole. Hair streamed over his broad shoulders; sheets of water slid off his heavily muscled back and ran in a rivulet down the long, deep indentation of his spine to his tight, muscular buttocks and powerful thighs. The sun struck, harsh and merciless, rippling like fire over his sleek, coppery skin. In the cool green setting Cullen burned with a primitive barbarism that made her mouth go dry.

  Heat speared through her—part mortification that she was actually spying on Cullen, and part the alien, disturbing excitement that frightened her with its intensity. Abruptly she relived the kiss at the Hansons' barbecue, the way he'd settled his mouth against hers and eased her against his long, hard body—the possessive stroke of his hand on her back. He'd been fully aroused and had made no effort to hide it. The strength and heat of his arousal pressing against her had made her go weak. Closing her eyes briefly in an attempt to shut out the too vivid images, she grabbed for a handhold and began pulling herself up the bank. She still couldn't believe the way she'd thrown herself at him.

  Her foot slipped, dislodging a small avalanche of pebbles, and she went down painfully onto her knees. Berating herself, she scrambled back into the stifling dusty confines of the manuka scrub. Damn, damn, damn. Her heart was pounding, and her skin was so clammy her clothes stuck to her where they touched.

  Backtracking with feverish haste to where she'd left Jessie, Rachel stuffed her towel into her duffel bag and searched frantically for something to use as a mounting block. At a pinch, she could haul herself on the tired creature's back. It didn't help that she was panicking, that she was certain Cullen would know someone was here, and that she would die of embarrassment if he found her.

  A trickle of sweat ran down her spine as she jerked the duffel closed. Rachel shrugged, irritably trying to unstick the back of her bathing suit from her spine. It was so still and quiet. Except for those annoying cicadas. The relentless chirruping sawed at her nerves, stretched them tight.

  A harsh, ripping sound had her spinning around, breath suspended in her throat. An iridescent gleam of peacock blue and glossy black with a flash of white shot past her. A bird. She let her breath out. A native tui. An array of sonic beeps sounded from high in the canopy above her head, followed by squawking and finally a series of loud, glottal clicks. The sheer indignant volume of the bird had her smiling in relief. With the birds and cicadas making such a racket, maybe Cullen hadn't heard her after all.

  But if she tried to ride out of here now, he would hear her for certain.

  Pulling in a calming breath, she forced herself to sit and wait. With fingers that shook annoyingly, she fumbled the duffel open and searched out her letter. No way was she running like some frightened virgin out of a fifties melodrama. She would read Sandy's news, and by the time she got through the usual marathon of lively gossip, Cullen would have finished his swim and gone.

  Curiously, there was only one sheet, which enclosed a smaller, formal, cream envelope. The envelope slipped to the ground as Rachel concentrated on the letter, gripped by a sudden apprehension. For once Sandy was to the point. Adam had asked her to write and enclose his letter and the invitation in the hope that this way it would cause her the least upset.

  Rachel's hand tightened on Sandy's trademark, extra thin onionskin, crumpling the delicate paper. Now that the divorce was final, her ex-husband was inviting her to his wedding. Vaguely, she heard the tui scolding overhead, brushed absently at a sand fly, and felt perspiration gather and trickle between her breasts. Adam had tried to talk to her several times over the past few months, but Rachel hadn't let him, hadn't been able to bear having a conversation about his plans for the future. He'd written, but she'd thrown the letters away unopened. But it wasn't as if she hadn't expected this. It wasn't as if she didn't know—

  A snapping sound had her jumping to her feet. The letter fluttered to the ground.

  Cullen was leaning against a tree about six feet away, a broken stick held between his hands. He'd pulled on worn tight denims and scuffed riding boots, but moisture still slicked his shoulders and dampened the dark pelt of hair shadowing his chest.

  "You're trespassing," she said, her voice unexpectedly harsh.

  He tossed the twig away. "You're on my land."

  Rachel wiped her palms down the side seams of her cutoffs. He followed the movement, then let his gaze slide the length of her legs and back up again. There was an edgy glitter in his eyes that made her stomach tighten.

  "I've been swimming here all my life. There's no way I'm trespassing."

  He shrugged. "This has always been Logan land. It's just that my neighbours have never been too particular about observing the boundaries."

  "Then maybe you should fence the boundary."

  "And make the Sinclairs and the Hansom pay for what they've been taking for free all these years? Now there's a thought."

  Her chin came up. "My family doesn't need to take anything. I'm sure that if Cole was aware of the boundary he would be more than happy to pay for the right to water his stock here."

  "Cole knows. So does Hanson."

  "So why don't they—"

  "Don't sweat it," he growled softly. "If I was that concerned about my neighbours using water when there's more here than I'll ever need, I'd be knocking on their doors with a contract in my hand."

  Rachel's mouth settled into a stubborn line. Cullen wasn't saying it, but it was clear this was just another example of the general prejudice against him, and this time her own family was involved. Well, despite his lack of interest, she wasn't going to let it go. As soon as she got back, she was going to have a piece of Cole.

  Cullen straightened from his lounging position, his expression back to the hard, impenetrable mask he usually wore. "You look hot. I'll leave you alone so you can have your swim. I presume that's what you came for?"

  Rachel's eyes locked guiltily with his. The silence drew tighter, relieved only by a faint breeze rattling through desiccated trees. The forgotten letter flipped over on the ground, she snatched for it, but it skated along, ending up snagged on Cullen's boot. He retrieved it, then gathered up the cream envelope, which still lay where she'd let it fall. He handed the mail back to her with the discreetly embossed words Wedding Invitation right side up.

  "Anyone I know?"

  Her fingers closed on the invitation. "I don't believe you ever met my husband."

  Before he could answer, before that rock-hard impassivity could change to something as damning as compassion, she grabbed her duffel, spun on her heel and scrambled with as much dignity as she could muster down to the river. When she was al
one she sat on the bank, the invitation with its letter scrunched in one hand, staring at the water for long minutes. Finally she let out a breath and felt an inner tightness relax. Sighing, she tossed the scraps of expensive paper into the flowing water and watched them float away.

  She wouldn't go to that wedding and watch her ex-husband marry someone else. But she didn't feel as devastated as she'd thought she would. She wasn't exactly over the moon about Adam's impending nuptials, of course. Maybe ten years from now she could think of Adam and his wife-to-be with relaxed civility. But she was only human, and right now her only regret in throwing the invitation and letter away was that she was littering the stream.

  The soothing sounds of the river closed around her. She stared determinedly at the water until she was certain Cullen had gone. When she couldn't stand the inactivity for a second longer, Rachel peeled off her shirt and shorts and dropped them onto the mossy bank, revealing the old cream one-piece swimsuit she wore beneath. It seemed somehow symbolic and cleansing to dive into the deep green centre of the pool. But when she surfaced and pulled herself up onto the diving rock on the opposite side, Cullen was there, still minus his shirt, sitting atop a big, black stock horse with all the smooth, easy grace of the natural horseman.

  Anger at his calm arrogance overcame her instant awareness that once again he'd caught her at a disadvantage. "Like what you see?" she demanded coolly.

  His head came up, eyes narrowed and intense. "I'm male."

  "Well, hallelujah for that!"

  "And what about you? Did you like what you saw?"

  Rachel gritted her teeth. So, he did know she'd watched him. "I only saw half."

  "You haven't answered my question."

  Her own eyes narrowed at his persistence. She was too unsettled to do anything other than counter his bluntness with bluntness of her own. "I couldn't comment honestly until I'd seen all of it."

  The horse jibbed as if Cullen had suddenly tightened his hands on the reins. He brought the animal under control, his shoulders flexing and glistening with the movement. "Is that an invitation or a challenge?"

  "Take it whichever way you like."

  The small silence that followed had all the hairs at her nape lifting and her skin quivering with every brush of the breeze, every trailing droplet of water. Cullen's chest rose as if he'd just filled his lungs to capacity, but when he spoke his voice was completely devoid of inflection.

  "Feel free to swim here any time you like. Have you got another swimsuit besides that one?"

  Her jaw loosened. "Several. Why?"

  "Because when it's wet, it's the same colour as your skin."

  It wasn't what she'd expected to hear. The suit was an old one she'd left behind in her room and, apart from the high-cut legs, was very modest. She'd never dreamed the fabric had become so thin and faded that it had become transparent.

  "I can see everything," he growled. "You might as well be naked."

  Wheeling his horse, he urged the big black animal up the bank. It took the steep grade with all the agile grace of a big cat before disappearing from sight.

  Exit stage right, she thought shakily, staring down at the dark peaks of her breasts, easily visible through the light material of her suit, then farther down to the shadow at the apex of her legs. She wrapped her arms around her middle, embarrassment washing through her, along with another emotion, one not easily admitted to.

  She'd been standing almost naked in front of him, and he still wasn't tempted. His rejection somehow seared more deeply than the wedding invitation she'd just disposed of. Sinking down onto the rock, Rachel let her head drop onto her drawn up knees. She'd already learned that her feminine assets were ordinary at best. They hadn't been enough to hold Adam. And compared to the sheer magnetism of Cullen, Adam seemed as tame and ordinary as a sleepy house cat next to a hungry Bengal tiger.

  * * *

  Cullen got far enough away from the river that the scents of damp earth and water had been replaced by dry vegetation and dusty cattle. His hands curled on the reins, drawing the horse to a standstill. Mac snorted, his neck flexing against the reins.

  Cullen couldn't leave her.

  The revelation unfolded slowly within him, locking up his muscles until the horse jigged forward at the unintentional pressure of his thighs. Cullen curbed the sudden movement with the reins, making the gelding toss his head, then peer around at him with an enquiring look.

  "Damn," Cullen said softly, running a reassuring hand along the satiny line of Mac's neck and staring at the distant, brooding hills, then closer in, at the flood-damaged bridge he was supposed to be checking over preparatory to getting an engineer in. Always before he'd been able to concentrate on whatever goal he assigned himself, to control his emotions—to not allow this kind of intimacy to develop.

  Rachel's personal life was none of his business.

  Her ex-husband was a damned fool, and that was also none of his business.

  He swore in the roughly eloquent patois of one of the several different languages he'd learned in countries that were just as harsh and damned as the syllables that leaped from his tongue. Then he wheeled Mac and sent him at a fast easy-moving lope back to the shady grove they'd just vacated.

  * * *

  A faint sound had Rachel scrambling to her feet as Cullen appeared, minus his intimidatingly large horse. He came down the bank and onto the rock shelf with the smooth animal grace that was as natural to him as breathing.

  Crossing her arms over her breasts, she watched him warily. "I thought you were leaving?"

  "I meant to leave. I guess I'm not as good at it as I should be."

  Rachel swallowed hard on the hysterical desire to laugh. The flippant remark, "I wouldn't take any bets on that, buddy," trembled on the tip of her tongue, but instead she found herself saying, "So, why did you come back? Maybe you wanted to offer the poor abandoned wife—or should I say ex-wife?" she amended, "a consolation prize?"

  "You still love him."

  For a moment she thought she'd misheard his flat statement. His sheer effrontery forced an answer from her. "I don't know what I feel for Adam," she admitted, surprising herself. "He wants to be friends."

  "And you weren't made to be any man's friend. With you, it's all or nothing."

  Rachel stared through the harsh sunlight into his eyes, into a molten darkness that threatened to pull her in. She must have made a small sound. She registered it vaguely, just as she registered the smooth, purposeful way he moved toward her. His hands settled on her shoulders, rough-textured, warm, the touch so featherlight it made her shake. The breath left her on a jerky sigh, half delight, half a shimmering tensile awareness of danger, as she stepped up against the muscular strength of his body. But instead of the kiss she expected, he wrapped his arms all the way around her and pulled her in close.

  His breath left him on a low vibrating rumble, his chin came to rest on the top of her head, and he pressed her face into the pad of muscle at the curve of his shoulder. Rachel closed her eyes briefly against the wonder of his gesture, the incredible heat surrounding her, and something only just realised—a quality that had been there all along with Cullen, but which she'd never fully defined—a sense of rightness. Of finally coming home. The though drifted, settled, but she was too tired, too momentarily content, to examine the curious dichotomy—that there was nothing in the least secure or domesticated about the man who was holding her with such care.

  "Didn't he get to know you at all?" Cullen mused in a voice that was little more than a rough purr. "You're so fierce and wild beneath that ladylike exterior. If you were my wife and I left you for another woman, I'd spend the rest of my life wearing a flak jacket and watching my back."

  "Adam's not like that," she mumbled, a strange, hesitant joy filling her at the teasing note in his voice. She tried to picture Adam. His hair was brown, he was a little above medium height, leanly muscled, assured and good-looking in a completely urban way. "He runs a successful advertising agency and p
rides himself on not having enemies. It would never occur to him that anyone wouldn't like him."

  "I don't like him," Cullen murmured, stroking his chin across her hair as if he liked the feel of her against his skin. "Want me to go see him for you?"

  "And do what?" She found herself smiling. "Tell him he has to marry me again?"

  That surprised a low sound of amusement from Cullen. "Hell, no," he drawled softly. "I'd give him a sympathy card, because one day he's going to realise what a mistake he made in letting you go. But it's not all bad news, because he was all wrong for you anyway."

  Rachel breathed in the river-scented musk of his skin, the unnerving delight of being so close to him. "So, tell me," she found herself asking while she braced herself for his answer, "who's right?"

  He didn't answer for a long time, just continued to hold her, and she couldn't help but be aware that his hug wasn't purely comfort—she could feel the firm male pressure of him against her belly. He was fully aroused, although he seemed prepared to ignore that fact.

  "Not me," he said finally.

  Pain sliced through her at the simple denial. Rachel knew that what they shared was little more than an abortive series of encounters, each one of which Cullen had been determined to walk away from without furthering their acquaintance. But even knowing that, and despite every attempt to armour herself against the attraction, Rachel hadn't been able to stem her feelings. She felt an attachment, a bond with Cullen, that went beyond logic or sensibility. When she was with him she felt more alive, more vital, more female, than she ever had before.

  With an effort of will she freed herself from his embrace, suddenly hating the comfort he was giving her, the notion that Cullen was letting her down gently, that he hadn't meant to come back at all and was probably regretting it. "You should wait to be asked before you turn a lady down," she said in a voice that, despite every effort at control, shook.

  The breeze stirred the feathery branches above them, sending shadows sliding across his skin. "If you asked, I don't know if I could refuse. I don't want to put my resolve to the test."