Then the grin faded, his eyes and whole expression became serious. Before Fiona could think to object, he was on his feet, lifting her and drawing her into his arms so that his lips could seek her mouth and plunder it, his kisses repeating his earlier claim that he loved her, wanted her.
‘To hell with warehouses and long-lost letters,’ he eventually muttered. ‘They’re not important and never were. Neither is this place; it’s yours and it should be. What I want to know is whether you’ll marry me or not.’
But he gave her no chance to answer, perhaps sensing that his power now extended in no neighbourly fashion, had no platonic intent. His lips claimed her own, his touch at her back held her firmly against him, where his manhood touched her with less gentleness but rousing fires within her she’d forgotten existed.
Fiona felt herself responding, felt her anger drain away, driven off by feelings of safety within his arms, by even stronger feelings of a passion growing to meet his needs.
When his fingers touched at her breast, her nipple thrust into his grasp. When his fingers slid beneath her sweatshirt, she wriggled as if to ease their passage.
She relaxed into bliss, accepting his lovemaking, his touch, his kisses. Only when he finally swept her into his arms and began to leave the kitchen did she speak, and then it was only one single word.
‘Yes,’ she whispered in acceptance of now and of the future. No more was needed; he knew where to go.
It was later, much later, that Fiona found logical speech possible, that she found her mind, now curiously relaxed after their lovemaking, able to filter through all that had happened, all that had been said.
‘Can you really fix things with ... with that woman without involving the children?’ she asked, keeping her voice quite soft because his ear was only inches away.
‘I can do anything you want me to do. Well, almost anything,’ was the reply. ‘I’ll damned well have the bitch out of Tasmania, at the very least, and out of the country if it comes to that, no matter what you say.’
Fiona paused briefly, then, ‘Would I sound horribly vindictive if I said I’d like that?’
He laughed, the sound reverberating pleasantly through the bed. ‘Hardly at all, compared with the way I feel about it. I don’t like people messing with my life ... or my wife.’
‘That has a rather proprietary ring about it,’ Fiona mused, wriggling closer, if that were possible. ‘I might have to change my mind if you’re going to be one of those husbands who reckons a wife is some new type of chattel.’
‘Not in the way you mean,’ was the chuckled reply, ‘and not as new as you’d imagine, either. But then I’ve never told you how much you remind me, in some ways, of that first Miss Boyd of this house.’
‘You won’t be marrying a ghost, or a substitute.’ The words held a mild reproof that her body totally denied. As did Dare Fraser.
‘I said you remind me of her, no more than that,’ he said. ‘And it’s true; you both have, or had, or whatever, that strong sense of belonging here, and similar types of attitudes and principles and that sort of thing. But don’t make any more than that out of it, although I do suppose it reflects her early influence on me.’
Fiona, unable to bother with any pretence of being offended, said, ‘They do say every man wants to marry his mother, for whatever sense that makes.’
‘Most men do, I suppose,’ he replied. ‘But I suspect Miss Boyd had a stronger influence on me, because she was such a strong personality. She was the original and she stayed just as she wanted to be, regardless of what anybody thought. Those letters, for instance, reveal a tremendous loyalty to a family that wronged her seriously at least twice in her life, but by her terms that loyalty was right and proper.’
Fiona sighed, but it was a comfortable sigh, one that reflected the pleasantness of her situation. She reached out absently to touch him, to run her fingers along the strong muscles, and wondered vaguely at how quickly and completely they felt comfortable together.
‘And I get to keep my land?’ she asked, the question rhetoric, the answer an assurance hardly needed.
‘For our children, unless you want to do something else with it,’ he replied. ‘I still reckon you could make it into a first-rate dog school, presuming as I do that you’ll want to build that into something.’
‘And to get me out of your shearing shed,’ she teased. ‘And to keep my horrible dogs away from your sheep.’
‘Your dogs aren’t horrible; 1 quite like them. It’s your other people’s dogs that I have mild concerns about. Still, I reckon we can work something out.’ And he rolled over to alter her touch, to guide it, now.
It wasn’t until some time later that he asked, quite unexpectedly, if she had any preferences regarding the so-called best man.
‘Well, that’s your affair, surely,’ she replied, rather surprised at the question, considering the circumstances.
She was even more surprised at his reply!
‘OK. I reckon John would be a good choice; he likes you.’
‘John?’ She tried to think, found it extremely difficult with his hands doing that. ‘John who?’
‘Our lawyer,’ he replied, pausing only long enough to reply before resuming his tongue’s assault on her breasts.
‘Our lawyer? I didn’t even know you knew him.’ And she found herself rearing back, fending him off, forcing him to meet her eyes.
‘Stop over-reacting; he didn’t reveal any confidences or anything. And of course I know him; 1 went to school with him, for goodness’ sake.’
And he laughed at her forced glare of outrage. ‘I’ve told you I don’t know how many times — Tasmania’s just a big country town.’
‘And everybody who’s anybody knows everybody else who’s anybody,’ she finished for him. ‘Well, then, you’d best tell me all about you and that ... that woman, because after we’re married, then I’ll be somebody who’s anybody, and I’ll find out anyway.’
‘A little more than just an acquaintance,’ he admitted. ‘I knew her when I was in Argentina, where I was given to understand she was a Chilean refugee. I’ve since found out that that wasn’t true, along with a fair few other things in her past, but none of that’s especially important.
‘When she turned up here, we had a sort of a relationship, as you know, and with both of us having South American connections it’s not surprising we ended up both involved in the business over your warehouse.’
‘And she was responsible for the vandalism? But why?’
Dare grinned. ‘That should be obvious even to you. Pure, unadulterated, hot-blooded Latin jealousy, of course. I didn’t pick it straight out, because of course I didn’t have any particular commitment to her and didn’t think she had any either, which shows how much I know about women.’
He grinned again. ‘Of course, it became rather obvious when she pulled that little droving stunt in the middle of your class ‘
‘You saw that? And you never said a bloody word, you rotter!’
‘I had rather more important things in my mind,’ he replied with a slow smile. ‘Besides, I knew you could manage a few dogs. And even the woman herself, if you’d had to.’
‘Your confidence is overwhelming,’ Fiona replied softly, snuggling in closer.
‘I just wish my cleverness were as good,’ he said. ‘I should have twigged to what she was on about long ago. I wasn’t needed for that warehouse scheme; in fact there never was a real plan. She’d apparently done a bit of research of her own, found out your .situation there, and decided to use sleazy business methods to do the dirty on you.’
‘All that just from jealousy? It seems hard to believe,’ Fiona said.
‘Only because you’re not a jealous person,’ he replied. ‘Which is just as well, because I want a wife who’s interested in raising hordes of kids and dogs, not hordes of green-eyed monsters, thank you.’
Fiona couldn’t help but grin. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Any more secrets before I make my final decision?’
‘Guff! I don’t believe it,’ she scoffed. ‘There are secrets everywhere.’
Til prove it,’ he said blithely. ‘You’ve asked me fifteen times now if you can keep this property after we’re married, right?’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’ she replied.
Dare Fraser grinned mischievously. ‘Only that I’ll say here and now — you can keep your kennel licence, too! But you didn’t hear it from me.’
He was still grinning when she hit him with a pillow, and long after that. They both were!
~~~
About the Author
Victoria Gordon is the pseudonym and muse for Canadian/Australian author
Gordon Aalborg’s more than twenty contemporary romances.
As himself, he is the author of the western romance The Horse Tamer’s Challenge (2009) and the Tasmanian-oriented suspense thrillers The Specialist (2004)and Dining with Devils (2009)
as well as the Australian feral cat survival epic Cat Tracks.
Born in Canada, Aalborg spent half his life in Australia, mostly in Tasmania, and now lives
on Vancouver Island, in Canada, with his wife, the mystery and romance author Denise Dietz.
More on www.gordonaalborg.com.
THE BOOKS
As Victoria Gordon
Wolf in Tiger’s Stripes (2010)
Finding Bess (2004)
Beguiled and Bedazzled (1996)
An Irresistible Flirtation (1995)
A Magical Affair (1994)
Gift-Wrapped (1993)
A Taxing Affair (1993)
Love Thy Neighbour (1990)
Arafura Pirate (1989)
Forest Fever (1986)
Cyclone Season (1985)
Age of Consent (1985)
Bushranger's Mountain (1985)
Battle of Wills (1982)
Dinner At Wyatt's (1982)
Blind Man's Buff (1982)
Stag At Bay (1982)
Dream House (1981)
Always The Boss (1981)
The Everywhere Man (1981)
Wolf At The Door (1981)
The Sugar Dragon (1980)
as Gordon Aalborg
Cat Tracks (Hyland House: Melbourne: 1981)
(Delphi Books: U.S. edition: 2002)
The Specialist (Five Star Mysteries: 2004)
Dining with Devils (Five Star Mysteries: 2009)
The Horse Tamer’s Challenge (Five Star Expressions: 2009)
Love Thy Neighbour Page 17
