by Valerie Parv
Her patience was at a low ebb by the time he swung his car off the road on to the barest hint of a side-track. A few kilometres later she pulled up beside him and climbed stiffly out of the car. ‘Good grief, is it a mirage?’
The pool was vast and ringed by stands of majestic river-red gums. An ochre-coloured outcrop of rock bordered the far side. Clouds of finches and budgerigars swooped and dived to drink.
‘Looks like one, but it isn’t. It’s a favourite local swimming-pool and watering-hole for the stock from the nearby station.’
‘If this is private property, won’t the owners object to us stopping here?’
His mouth twitched. ‘The owner won’t object. He and I are intimately acquainted.’
‘You own this land?’
‘It’s one of three properties owned by McKinley Pastoral Company,’ he said, obviously enjoying her reaction.
Since he owned the company, the answer was the same, but she refused to let him see how impressed she was. ‘So why not hire a public relations firm to do your dirty work? You could probably afford to buy one, if the truth be known.’
‘I’m sorry you think that providing a future for a town’s youth is dirty work.’
Instantly she regretted her outburst. ‘Of course I don’t. But I’m not thrilled about being dragged out here against my will.’
He rested his back against the jeep and folded his arms. ‘You mean you’d have come if I asked you politely?’
She removed her hat and lifted the heavy mass of hair off her hot neck with a sigh. ‘Since I can’t imagine you doing any such thing, you’ll have to wonder, won’t you?’
Without answering, he strode to the water’s edge and dipped his bandanna into it, wringing it out as he stood up. Before she knew what was happening, he had pressed the cool compress against her neck. ‘Better?’
A delicious shudder rippled through her. Was it at the coolness, or the touch of his work-roughened palm against her nape? Before she could decide, he returned to the pool and splashed water on to his face.
When he straightened, the water made rivulets in the dust caking his features. Unshaven, he looked like a bushranger, the highway robbers who used to hold up travellers and demand their gold.
Some bushrangers carried off women, she recalled. Wild love in a wild land. She shook herself mentally. The heat must be distorting her thinking. ‘Don’t you believe in shaving?’ she demanded, taking her irritation out on the nearest thing handy, which happened to be him.
Her ire left him unmoved. ‘I do if I consider the occasion important enough.’
So today was unimportant in his scheme of things. The idea rankled and she turned aside, rummaging in the back of her car for the wellpadded box of supplies Denise had insisted she take along. ‘Denise packed us some coffee. How do you like yours?’
‘What happened to your much vaunted research?’ he challenged her. ‘You should know the answer—hot and strong.’
‘If you say “like my women” I may just throw this at you,’ she warned as his barbed response hit home.
‘Then I won’t say it,’ he complied. He didn’t need to. The confirmation was in his taunting look as she handed him a plastic mug filled with the fragrant brew. He would prefer women who were at home in this harsh brown land, she thought. It would probably help to be in awe of Bryan McKinley, too. She didn’t qualify on either count.
‘When do we get to Bowana?’ she asked between sips of coffee.
‘In a hurry? I thought tomorrow would be soon enough.’
‘Tomorrow?’ She choked on the drink, moving hastily out of reach before he could administer another bone-jarring thump on her back. ‘I’m not camping out in this wilderness with you.’
He made a sweeping gesture. ‘You don’t have a choice.’
‘But I can’t. It isn’t…’
Safe was what she meant, although it was debatable which of them she was afraid to trust. ‘Decent?’ he supplied with a mocking look. ‘You’re a liberated woman. Why should you care what anyone else thinks?’
‘Being liberated can also mean being fussy about the company one keeps,’ she threw at him.
‘Too true, but I’ll try to grin and bear it.’
‘I should think that spending a night with me would do wonders for your reputation,’ she said, furious at having her words twisted. Then her face flamed as she realised what she’d said. ‘Not that you’ll get any such chance,’ she added belatedly.
He finished his coffee and shook out the dregs on to the dry ground. ‘Pity. It’s the best invitation I’ve had in a long time.’
‘In your dreams.’ At the same time, a contrary part of her imagination insisted on picturing two sleeping-bags drawn up beside a flickering campfire. The bags would be close together for warmth or maybe even zipped into one. Desert nights could be chilly.
Stop it, she commanded her thoughts. That vision was as much a mirage as the lake had seemed to be.
‘Then we’d better try to make Bowana by nightfall, hadn’t we?’
Contrarily, disappointment stabbed her as she realised they wouldn’t be camping out after all. Then her annoyance grew. He’d been testing her, and she’d fallen for it all the way. She schooled her features into a tolerant mask. ‘I guessed as much. I looked up the distance on the map last night. But I let you have your little joke. Boys will be boys, won’t they?’
Something flickered in his dark gaze. It telegraphed a warning which Jill heeded too late. Her hesitant step backwards was arrested by the clamp of his hands on her upper arms. His fingers felt like steel bands, and she knew she had gone too far.
‘Perhaps you’ve only known boys, to be so authoritative about them,’ he drawled. ‘A man is a different proposition altogether.’
As if she needed reminding! Her senses swam as he filled her field of vision, her nostrils pulsating with a mixture of outback scents blended with the powerful male aroma he projected.
She tried to squirm away, but was held fast in his iron grip. The kick she aimed at him glanced off his elastic-sided boots. ‘Let me go,’ she insisted, confused because he made her feel small and helpless. It was an unaccustomed sensation, and she wanted it to end.
‘When you apologise. I’ve had it up to here with your high and mighty attitude, Ms Richter.’
She tossed her head in a defiant gesture which concealed her inner tremulousness. ‘It takes one to know one—Mr McKinley. If you weren’t so sensitive about your masculinity, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. I should have remembered you’re touchy about it before I called you a boy. I apologise for my memory lapse, but that’s all.’
Fire danced in the black depths of his eyes. It was like staring into leaping flames, and the heat of it all but scorched her. ‘My manhood isn’t the issue here. Your behaviour is.’
She searched her mind for a biting retort which would put him firmly in his place. She was a writer, for goodness’ sake. Yet she couldn’t think of a thing. His closeness seemed to have driven every coherent thought out of her head, replacing it with a maelstrom of sensations which roiled through her like a cyclone. ‘It’s a free country,’ was the lamentable best she could do.
‘Freedom confers responsibility as well as rights,’ he reminded her. ‘You may write what you please, but only if you’re prepared for the consequences.’
‘It’s a fact of journalistic life that someone will always be unhappy with what I write. You can’t please everyone.’
His gaze hardened. ‘So you think what you did was justified?’
She felt the colour surge into her cheeks. ‘It was an accident, a mistake.’ Like coming out into the desert with him, she thought fleetingly. ‘I am sorry those things I wrote about you got into print.’
‘But not for writing them.’
He read the answer in her defiant gaze, even though her long lashes quickly veiled her response. ‘So you do think I’m over-rated as a lover?’
‘I was letting off steam when I wrote that. How should I know what
sort of lover you are?’
The trap yawned widely, but not until she’d fallen headlong into it. He released one wrist and his hand wandered to the side of her face, his fingers caressing. ‘There’s one way to find out.’
His mouth found hers with unerring skill, his lips teasing and demanding all at once. His arm came around her shoulders, drawing her closer until she was pressed against him, achingly aware of every male curve and sinew outlined against her.
Something new and indefinable erupted through her: So raw and unexpected was the feeling that her will to resist vanished in an explosion of need such as she had never known before.
As a child, she had burned her hand on a stove, and recalled looking at the burn mark in fascination. Moments later, the pain had caught up, searing her to her core. Bryan’s kiss felt the same: fascinating at first, then shocking as she realised she was still playing with fire.
He was cast in the same mould as David Hockey. Ruthless, taking what he wanted from life. Hadn’t she learned anything from her experience?
All the same, passion warred with common sense as he deepened the kiss. Involuntarily her lips parted, allowing him entry to the moist cavern of her mouth. An electric charge jolted through her as his teeth ground against her lower lip. His unshaven skin rasped against her cheek.
When had her arms crept up around his neck? Pity help her, she was actually cupping the back of his head to draw him closer. She dropped her hands and twisted her head to one side, groaning as his lips found the tender skin of her throat while his absurdly long lashes feathered across her mouth.
‘No, please,’ she whimpered, the words as much for herself as for him. She didn’t want to be aware of him as a man. She was here against her will, and the sooner she returned to her own well-ordered life, the better. This tide of erotic longings holding her in thrall was a mistake. It had to be.
He finally allowed her to slide free, and she ran to the billabong to splash cool water over her burning face. Behind her, he laughed coldly. ‘Next time, it may be simpler to apologise.’
She spun around, her face on fire. ‘You’re the one who should apologise for taking advantage of me when we’re alone out here.’
‘Taking advantage implies that it was one-sided. We both know it wasn’t.’
It was futile to argue. She had already betrayed herself too thoroughly. Why was something she’d have to study more closely when she was alone. For now, attack seemed like the best form of defence. ‘This is all about your male ego, isn’t it?’ she demanded, hurrying on before he could answer. ‘Your male pride was wounded by my column, so your revenge is to seduce me. Then I’ll have to admit I was wrong to cast aspersions on your skills as a lover. I’ll bet you even made up the public relations job to get me into your clutches.’
She was shouting now, but she didn’t care. Who would hear her besides the kangaroos and the dingoes? ‘Well, why don’t I save us both a lot of bother and admit it now? I was wrong and you’re Australia’s greatest lover. There, I’ve said it. Can I go back to Wildhaven now?’
‘Have you finished?’
His question caught her by surprise. Hadn’t he heard a word of her outburst? ‘Your column made me well aware of what you think of me—or, should I say, how little,’ he went on, ‘but this has nothing to do with my ego, although it may have a lot to do with yours. Something about protesting too much, I believe.’
He brushed the back of his hand across his mouth in a gesture which caused her stomach muscles to cramp in response. The feel of his mouth was too vividly imprinted on her mind. ‘If I needed confirmation of how I can turn a woman on, you provided it most effectively just now. Would you care for a repeat demonstration?’
He took a half-step towards her, and she retreated until she felt the hard bulk of the jeep at her back. He hadn’t moved any further, but she had proved his point. ‘Damn you,’ she seethed. ‘Hell will freeze over before I let you near me again in this lifetime.’
A shiver shook her as his gaze dismissed her brave denial for the lie it was. At the same time, a thrill coursed through her, confusing in its intensity. What was going on here? She hated him, yet every move he made resonated through her like the plucking of a harp string.
He frowned. ‘No matter what you think of me, I’ve never forced myself on a woman yet. And I hate to disappoint you, but I didn’t bring you out here to seduce you. Bowana needs you, and that’s where you’re going.’
‘Then there really is a public relations job?’ She flinched as her voice came out infuriatingly husky.
He gave a sigh, but whether of regret or impatience she couldn’t decide. ‘Yes, there is. I’m sorry if it shatters your illusions about being dragged off to my harem.’
She drew herself up to her full height, which was still only as far as his shoulder. ‘Thanks, but I prefer the job anyway.’
His mocking laughter followed her back to her car. ‘You have a hell of a way of showing it, lady.’
He was whistling as he climbed aboard his jeep and gunned the motor. Damn the man. Why couldn’t he accept her apology and let her go? He was obviously rich enough to hire anyone he wanted to solve his town’s problems. Unless he believed in an eye for an eye. It would explain why only her personal service would satisfy his need for revenge.
The rough track demanded all her concentration as they continued on between crumbling sandstone cliffs and stands of tall gum trees. After a while the driving became automatic and her thoughts drifted back to the billabong. Kissing her had been an act of revenge, she was sure. Yet part of her had enjoyed surrendering to his embrace, and he knew it. How he must be laughing at her now.
Bryan McKinley and David Hockey were two of a kind, she reminded herself. They were both arrogant men who used their considerable charm to get what they wanted. Well, it had worked for David, but never again. Bryan had caught her off guard this time. Next time…no, there wouldn’t be a next time, she vowed.
They stopped for lunch at a small freshwater spring. On the eastern bank were the remains of a rock wall built hundreds of years ago by local Aborigines. With maddening good humour, he ignored her deliberate coolness towards him and pointed out small gates in the rock walls. ‘They allowed kangaroos and wallabies to reach the water to drink, where they made easy prey for the hunters.’
‘A method you’re familiar with, no doubt,’ she murmured savagely.
He caught her wrist and swung her around. ‘Wrong again. I’m a firm believer in the sporting chance.’
She looked disdainfully at the strong fingers looped around her wrist. The controlled strength in his grip amazed her anew. ‘You mean the main chance, don’t you?’
He released her and turned to the billy boiling on the open fire, tossing a handful of tea-leaves into it before he answered. ‘If I did, you’d have a lot more to worry about than driving in the desert.’
She folded her arms across her body in an unconsciously defensive gesture. ‘I’m sure they have laws about rape even in the desert.’
Hunkered down on the sand, he splashed tea into a pair of weathered enamel mugs and looked up at her, his eyes flashing a challenge. ‘I wasn’t talking about rape. I was thinking more along the lines of seduction.’
Alarm bells jangled in her head. She wished he wouldn’t say such outrageous things while looking so heart-stoppingly masculine. It only confused the issue. ‘I thought you said you weren’t interested in seducing me.’
In one smooth movement, he rose and moved closer, but it was only to hand her one of the steaming mugs. ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t interested, only that it wasn’t the reason I brought you here.’
The tea she swallowed hastily scalded her throat, but she pretended enjoyment. Anything to disguise the confusion which roiled through her. She would be mad to encourage any such thing. On an outback property, the boss’s word was law, and he had been a boss too long for his own good. She could imagine what sort of lover he would make—bold, demanding and probably insatiable. Giving p
leasure would probably come a poor second to taking it.
She felt her colour heighten as her thoughts bolted like a wild horse. What on earth was she doing, thinking such things? It was precisely what he wanted her to think, she realised as he regarded her with wry amusement. ‘Stop it,’ she spluttered in fury.
He took a sip of his tea, his eyes assessing over the rim of his mug. ‘Stop what?’
His innocent act didn’t fool her for an instant. ‘You know perfectly well. But I’m not—not interested.’
‘Is there a man back in Perth?’
‘I’m sure you know the answer already.’ He was the one who’d had her investigated. Let him supply his own answers.
‘I drew the line at bugging your bedroom,’ he supplied mildly.
She rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Thanks for small mercies.’
‘But you haven’t been seen with a new man for weeks. Are you still pining for David Hockey?’
Her mouth tightened. ‘There’s no point now I know he’s still married.’
‘But it did hurt?’
‘Of course it did. What do you think I’m made of—stone?’ It had hurt worse than she was willing to let him see. She had cried for two days after learning the truth, until she had convinced herself that he wasn’t worth it. But even now, driving down his street was a bittersweet experience. Part of her innocence had been lost along with David, even though she no longer loved him. How could Bryan think she could escape with no scars?
His taunting look roved over her trim figure, outlined in designer jeans tucked into western-style boots. A man’s checked shirt sculpted her full breasts and was tied at the waist for coolness. The top buttons were open, hinting at an expanse of cleavage which was probably more enticing than a low-cut blouse would have been. ‘Stone is the last word I’d use to describe you. Pliant, yielding, deliciously soft…’
‘But with a core of steel,’ she snapped.
‘Obviously I didn’t hold you long enough to reach that part.’
‘You can live in hope,’ she said in a discouraging tone.
His eyes flashed. ‘Is that a promise?’
