The Man From Southern Cross

by Way, Margaret

  Around midday he returned to the homestead, well pleased with the morning’s proceedings. Emily, their part-aboriginal housemaid, was busy polishing up in the gallery, but she called to him that Mrs. M. and the twins were supervising at the Great Hall and Miss Grant was in the east wing with the painters.

  He should have been organizing road trains with his overseer; instead, he found himself moving off in the direction of the old drawing room. This course of action was only deepening his involvement, but what the hell! After all, he was expected to approve everything. Roishin Grant didn’t need to know his real reason for calling in.

  As it turned out, she wasn’t there, and he felt a stab of keen disappointment. Where was the legendary Mountford independence of heart? Surrendered the first moment she’d dazzled him in that magical dress. She’d probably gone down to the Great Hall where the domed ceiling was being draped with miles of rose and cream tentlike hangings. The framework had taken four of his men the best part of a week to erect, but he’d been assured by the decorator, Sydney’s most famous and fussy, that the effect would be sensational. A male assistant had been left behind to stage-manage the job until the decorator returned the day before the wedding to give his all-important okay.

  His own men greeted him warmly, as though they hadn’t seen him for years. Ernie Powell, known to everyone as Pee Wee, had already moved his gear aside, while Bluey Reynolds, his ginger-haired nephew, was seated up on a plank finishing off a section over the double doorway.

  He made a full circuit of the room before he pronounced judgment.

  “Nice work, men!”

  Pee Wee, who looked like a terrorist but had the mellowest of temperaments, grinned. “Real pleasure, Boss. The young lady had us mixin’ away at the color until we got it just right. Celestial blue, ain’t it?”

  “Damned if I know, Pee Wee, but it’s very effective.” He glanced at the shly painted walls, the blue perfectly matched to that of the elaborate ceiling. He could see the Persian rug from the library rolled up at the far end of the room; two matching gilt-framed mirrors with carved flowers at the corners and trails of gold leaves across the top rested against the paneling. Not only that, the enterprising Miss Grant had found a very fancy pair of armchairs, lavishly adorned with gilt scrolls and garlands, which he thought would look fine on either side of the double doorway.

  “Looks beaut, don’t it, Boss?” the diminutive Bluey called in a voice that would have made a deaf man jump. “Terrific idea Roishin had. A real sweetie, that one! No trouble to paint the place, either. Didn’t spill a drop. We’re gonna lay the rug and put up the mirrors after lunch. I believe them chairs are to go ‘ere.” He laid down the roller he’d been using, jerking his thumb vigorously downward. Just at that moment Roishin came back into the room, a charming smile on her face.

  It was too much for Bluey, always a disaster around women. Hell-bent on greeting Roishin’s return with a flourish, he threw up his hands, the left catching the handle of the roller and sending the tray of paint flying.

  There was barely half a second between Roishin’s expression changing to that of a woman awaiting something horrendous and the paint cascading all over her.

  “You bloody fool, Bluey!” Pee Wee yelled, otherwise frozen in shock, but Mountford had moved in fast, scooping up a cloth from the rung of the ladder and wrapping it around Roishin’s hair.

  “Don’t panic, Roishin,” he said in his normal crisp delivery. “Keep your eyes shut and I’ll get you under a shower.”

  She stood perfectly still, her arms folded inward, and he gathered her up, moving to the shower room that served the pool area at the rear of the east wing.

  He had the water running within moments. He kept his arms around her, steering them both into the cubicle. She’d started making little breathy sounds and he found himself murmuring encouragement in a voice that seemed to be pulsing with something far stronger than anxiety or concern. As steam billowed all around them, he cupped her face in his hands, holding it up to the wide-nozzled jet. The water-based paint began to thin out rapidly, running in blue rivulets onto the blouse that had born the brunt of the spill. He reasoned the blouse should come off. He loathed the idea of embarrassing her, but it didn’t seem the time for false modesty. More paint was coming from her blouse than anywhere else.

  “You need to get that blouse off, Roishin,” he muttered while the water poured over them like a miniature Niagara. “Don’t be embarrassed.” He slipped his palm over her collarbone, finding a bra strap.

  She seemed to nod her consent, still fearful, apparently, of opening her eyes. He unbuttoned her blouse down the front, peeled it off and threw it outside the cubicle onto the tiled floor. He was totally drenched, which mattered not at all. He continued to direct the water over her with his hands, relieved beyond words that her hair, face and upper body were almost washed free of paint. Now the panic was subsiding, and he started to experience a sense of excitement that was dizzying. Every nerve in his body was humming, every muscle bunched. Her breath was coming fast and he felt her give an involuntary shiver, though steam was swirling around them in clouds.

  For one long moment he allowed himself to look at her. How could he not? The strength of her magnetism appalled and confounded him, yet she was beautiful enough to take his breath away. He thought he would remember forever the first sight of her breasts, the upper slopes beaded with water, the rose-colored nipples peaking cleanly against the nearly transparent fabric of her bra. It seemed a fantasy that they should be there together like this. Shock waves were running through him. Pleasure beyond imagining. They were as close as lovers. Body to body. The sinuous slither of the water only acted as a stimulant.

  With her eyes closed, head bent, she seemed tremendously vulnerable. She had such graceful shoulders, a swan’s neck. Instead of keeping his distance as he’d vowed, he was plunging deeper and deeper into a sensual maelstrom. It came to him that he’d never wanted anything or anyone the way he wanted her. Like it or not, she’d entered his life; now he would never be able to return to his old, cynical self-contained self.

  Emotions warred in him, each struggling for supremacy. He wasn’t a man to cede control and yet…and yet… He wanted to kiss her, her full tender mouth, the hollow of her throat. He wanted to bend her back over his arm and kiss the white flesh of her breasts. He had to do something to assuage the hunger that burned in him so fiercely. She stirred up all the old misery and pain he carried deep within him; she challenged his elemental maleness, but something about her was pure balm. Desire wasn’t born out of cold reason but need. What he felt for her wasn’t just physical.

  Slowly she opened her iridescent eyes, staring up at him, surprising God-knew-what expression in his too-intimate gaze. Steam was rising around them like incense, perfumed by the boronia-scented soap that had fallen unheeded to the floor of the cubicle. Her parted lips were trembling slightly. Her slender body seemed to be racked by little tremors.

  His hands seemed to be moving of their own accord, driven by a single overwhelming impulse. They skimmed her hips, her narrow waist, shaped the satin-smooth rib cage. Her eyes were still staring into his, brilliantly clear, unaffected by her ordeal, the color now pure green. There was some star in their depths that seemed to be urging him on.

  Blood rushed in his ears. He lowered his head abruptly, catching her gasping mouth, sealing it brutally, tasting her sweet breath on his tongue. Her body seemed to melt into his and he tightened his grip on her.

  I must have her, he thought. I will have her. She embodied everything he most feared and worshiped. She set up such longings.

  It seemed to go on for a long time, their mouths fused together. He was kissing her as though she were exquisitely delicious and he a famished man. The sweetness of her mouth enslaved him.

  David!

  Had she moaned it softly? Was she trying to turn her head?

  He was infinitely stronger, taller—the top of her head just cleared his shoulder. But whatever happen
ed between them could only happen with her full volition.

  Hethrew his head back almost violently, and it was over. He reached behind her and turned off the faucets, unaware that the silvery glitter of his eyes revealed he was still riding strong emotional currents. Her body was still resting against him as though she was dazed. He had to admit that what had happened had been devastating. He dug his fingers through his wet hair, felt it spring back in waves. He stepped outside the cubicle and hunted up towels from a cupboard, then held one out to her. She wrapped it around her like a cloak. She’d been very pale; now color was flooding her cheeks, making her eyes blaze.

  “I thought you wanted no part of me?” she asked in a strained voice.

  “Oh, come, Roishin! I’m only human.” A cool comment to cover what had been a very passionate encounter. “I’ll be amazed if you’re able to wear that blouse again. We must get you another.”

  “No need,” she said quietly. “I hope you’re not going to tear strips off Bluey?”

  He shrugged. “Pee Wee’s bound to have done that. You must think I’m a hard boss?”

  “You’ve shown a certain hardness to me. I’m not imagining it. It’s there.”

  “Maybe I don’t care to see myself one of your potential victims.” He gave her a tightly drawn smile. “Now, if you’ll wait a moment, I’ll send Emily to you. She can bring some dry clothes.” After the briefest pause, he added, “I’m sorry that happened, Roishin.”

  She bound her long dark ribbon of hair around her hand. “Your kissing me or Bluey spilling the paint? I have a feeling it’s the former.”

  “In that case, ‘sorry’ doesn’t cover the situation. At any rate, I’m glad you suffered no harm. I wouldn’t have cared to see paint get into your beautiful eyes.” He finished pressing a towel over his wet clothing, sopping up the worst of it before he threw the towel over a brass railing. “No need to worry—I won’t grab you again. It must have been all that steam!”

  She looked at him, a little turbulence in her eyes. “You’re speaking from experience here? I understand you’ve had any number of women friends.”

  “Not in the shower, no. I do believe that’s a first.”

  She laughed, spilling music in his ears. “Shall I tell Sasha and the twins about the…incident?”

  He swung back toward her. “But of course! It’ll be the talk of the place, anyway. Better to forget the part where things got out of hand.”

  “Oh, absolutely!” She coolly matched his tone. “Especially as it’s not going to happen again.”

  Chapter Three

  THREE DAYS to the wedding, and the homestead began to fill up. The bridegroom, Michael, and his parents arrived, along with his sistearey, and his older brother, Skip, who was to be best man. Red Mountford—David Mountford’s uncle—piloted his own plane in from their central Queensland property, Sapphire Downs, bringing his wife, Emma, the two bridesmaid cousins, Leith and Tiffany, and the madcap member of the family, Matthew, a first-year university student on special leave. The following day, another large Mountford contingent flew in, picking up the three groomsmen from a domestic flight along the way. The day before the wedding, the musicians, the decorator, the floral designer, the large consignment of flowers, the caterers and food were scheduled to arrive midmorning by charter flight from Sydney. Several VIPs sharing a private Learjet arrived late that afternoon.

  Over the years, the homestead had extended its original ten bedrooms to sixteen to accommodate guests. Most guests would have their own bathrooms; a few would have to share. Temporary facilities had been set up elsewhere in the main compound and the station staff would stay there, vacating their dormitories and bungalows so they could be taken over by guests. A celebration barbecue was being held for the staff, to start immediately after the wedding ceremony, and the station aborigines had planned a special corroboree in honor of the bride and groom on the eve of the wedding.

  Excitement was building at a tremendous rate, affecting everyone on the station. A lot of staff had been taken off their normal duties to help out where required—the homestead, the grounds, the Great Hall, which was barely recognizable draped as it was with rippling fabric.

  “It’s been an enormous amount of work,” Sasha admitted to her stepson, “but well worth it, don’t you think, darling?”

  “Sure.” Mountford lowered his coal black head to smile at her. “I just hope to God it all stays in place. Just how much fabric is there?”

  “Enough to carpet Monaco,” Vanessa joked. “Belle wants sunset, she gets it!” Sunset was Annabel’s theme. It was the time of day she loved most. The vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall billowed with pleats of rose and cream interspersed with bands of gold. Ceiling-high poles, bound by more of the rose-colored fabric, had been erected around the perimeter to deepen the illusion of a great tent. It all created a very romantic roseate glow.

  Even the actual ceremony in the ballroom had been timed exactly for the moment when the glory of the sky would invade the large room through its arched walls of glass. Afterward the wedding party and the guests would walk across to the Great Hall for a formal sit-down dinner. Dozens of tall glass cylinders were already in place, rising four feet above the table and capped by three-branch candelabra, which in turn held tall pink candles. The floral arrangements that were to go around the bases of the candelabra would be placed there on the morning of the wedding, along with the low display that would run the length of the great table. In keeping with Annabel’s sunset theme, the four bridesmaids’ beautiful shot-silk gowns were the muted colors of the sky as the scarlet blaze softened into rose pink, mellow gold, misty mauve ombréd with blue and Roishin’s rich champagne, which had the faintest shimmer of green. The men’s vests had been matched to the bridesmaids’ gowns, as were the gold-patterned cravats. The flowers, spiked with lots of bridal white, were to continue the theme.

  He would be at the official table of course. Without their father, he was to give Annabel away, so he’d be seated next to her at the reception. He would act also as master of ceremonies. The official table had been arranged at the head of the T-shaped formation, allowing their guests to see them. Sasha and the twins had completed the handwritten place cards weeks ago. They would be given to the caterers to set on the morning of the wedding. There were lots of people involved and things had to run smoothly. Even so, it was going to be a crush. But Southern Cross had hosted many a gala event—balls, New Year’s parties, banquets, post-polo parties. No big wedding, though, not since his father’s disastrous first marriage. His father and Sasha had been married very quietly in Sydney.

  Sasha must have picked up on his thoughts. “Belle’s starting to get the jitters,” she said. “The big day is closing in. I was a total mess before my wedding. I knew two things. Your father, Mont, had been crazy about your mother, and I was as different from her as it was possible to be.”

  “You’re a very sweet lady, Sasha.” Mountford caught her to him and dropped a kiss on her soft springy curls. “You made Dad happy. He loved you. So do I. That’s another two things.”

  “If only your father were here now.”

  “Listen, Mum, Dad will be watching,” Vanessa exclaimed emotionally.

  He put an arm around both of them. “He’d be very proud of his girls.” His words must have held comfort because they both relaxed. “Now, if Belle’s getting nervous, we have to be strong for her. Where’s Roishin, by the way?” he added as though it were an afterthought.

  “Now there is a sweet girl!” Sasha said with obvious affection. “She’s been an enormous help to us. Such a pleasure to have in the house. She has the happy knack of mixing easily with everyone. Family and staff.”

  “Everyone except you, Mont!” Vanessa gave him an almost painful dig in the ribs. “Although that must have been pretty provocative stuff, the two of you taking a shower. Roishin is so alluring and you’d be a hard guy to resist.”

  “You think so?” he said derisively.

  “Brother, I know s
o. You nearly crackle with energy and excitement.”

  “Dear God!” he said.

  “You’re not in the least vain, are you?” Sasha smiled. “You’re the best son a mother could have.”

  A sense of anger and loss bore down on him abruptly. “So sad my mother never thought so.”

  “Darling, you were a perfect son to me. And you never did hear her side of the story.”

  “Actions speak louder than words, Sasha,” he muttered. “So, then, where’s Roishin?”

  “I told her to go off and enjoy herself,” Sasha said. “We’ve asked far too much of her, but she’s so competent and willing. Last time I saw her, young Matthew was chasing after her.”

  “You forgot to mention he’s already got a crush on her,” Vanessa groaned.

  /div> “I hope he’s not planning on making a nuisance of himself.”

  “Roishin can take care of herself,” Vanessa laughed. “She’s used to guys mooning after her.”

  “No one guy?” As soon as the words were out, he regretted the slip.

  Vanessa looked at him keenly. “Why, exactly, do you want to know, big brother? You’re interested in her, aren’t you? Well, you two would make a terrific team, don’t you think?”

  “I’d think it would be a case of history repeating itself.” It was a bitter remark, but he couldn’t control it.

  “I understand your feelings, Mont,” Vanessa said simply, “but Roishin’s beauty isn’t just on the surface. She’s a fine human being. Can’t you see that? You’re usually so fair-minded, too.”