An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (47 page)

“Where do you want to go?” He had his thumb on the blue and white translucence of her wrist.

His sheer excitement invaded her, making her spirit open to him. She had a mad desire to say, Anywhere, with you, and barely brought it under control. “Perhaps we could go as far as the hills?”

He halted briefly, still swinging her hand. “I mean seriously—if you could go some place where would it be?”

“Would you take me?” She felt real pressure behind her ribcage. She realized now she couldn't protect herself from this man. She couldn't withdraw her heart.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“You don't think I'd be safe with you?” A poignant little smile touched her mouth.

“Not the way I am these days, Shelley girl. You offer exquisite comfort.”

“You're afraid of what you might do?”

He looked down at her. “Outside of my mother, I've never had a woman tug at my heart.” There was a hard ache in him that momentarily escaped.

“You don't want that?”

“Tugging on the heartstrings can hurt a lot,” he said, handsome mouth down-curved. “You haven't answered my question. Where would you go? Anywhere in the world?”

“The ocean.” She didn't hesitate. “The Pacific, the Indian. I don't care. I've never seen the ocean.”

“God, I suppose you haven't.” If anyone was trapped by love and concern for her family it was Shelley.

“There's such a lot I haven't seen and haven't done.”

“That's easily fixed.” A certain tenderness softened his expression.

“Money, money, money! It's hard to do anything without it.”

“Probably why your family was ready to sell you off to Philip. Wait until they hear he's inherited Mulgaree. They'll be ecstatic.”

“I have trouble with what we heard today.”

His whole demeanour darkened. “It's Maitland's word. He heads a highly successful legal firm. Still, he's acted unethically.”

“Do you mean with Philip's mother?”

He halted so abruptly she thought she might have offended him in some way.

“Of course. But you have to take my word for that. My mother and I were well aware of what was going on between Frances and Gerald. Kingsley being Kingsley most likely knew as well. Perhaps it amused him, in a devilish kind of way.”

“Wouldn't Gerald Maitland hate doing something that would put his career at risk?”

They walked on, lost in speculation.

“People who know a great deal about the law know best how to break it,” Brock responded grimly. “I don't believe what he did—or said he did—was open and above board. The difficulty will be to prove it. Then there's the time factor. The case could take years. Forget the scandal.”

They were approaching the base of the hill country and she could see the little wallabies moving among the rich chocolate rocks streaked with yellow, magenta and blood-red. “Can you?” she asked.

He was silent for a moment. “My family is full of scandal.”

“There's a lot of gossip about my family as well. Not on the level of yours, of course. The Logans are small fry. But it seems to me this whole business of the unexecuted will is on slippery ground.”

“As are you.” Brock caught and steadied her, one hand at her elbow as a section of rubble gave way beneath her flat-heeled shoes.

Small rocks of curious shapes that probably would have yielded all sorts of fossilized marine life, crustaceans and frogs, rained down the slopes, the sound carrying a long way in the desert. It stirred up a group of red kangaroos and yellow-feathered emus that took off for safer ground, the kangaroos bounding, great tails acting as balance, the huge flightless birds easily outpacing them.

“I suppose we shouldn't explore too deeply,” Brock said, taking a quick look around. “Bound to be snakes. But they'll do their utmost to keep out of our way. Is it too hot for you?” He turned to inspect her small face. Both of them
were wearing akubras to shelter their heads from the blazing sun, wide brims at a tilt.

“I'm used to it.”

Masses of red-gold tendrils like licks of flame encircled her face, her skin the texture of a white camellia. It was flushed with heat and exertion, and little beads of perspiration gathered beneath her lustrous eyes and above her top lip. He found her so sexual. The ever-present desire hit him with such force it almost knocked him off balance.

He wanted this woman and the want would never go away. As he looked into her eyes he was moved to believe he not only wanted but needed her. A thousand threads seemed to bind them, growing stronger by the day.

Already caught in a maze of emotions, including betrayal, confusion, despair, and a grief that he had spent a lifetime keeping to himself, Brock realized he was within a hair's breadth of taking her.

Minutes dragged on as they stared at each other.

“Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly, painfully aware of his brooding expression and the throbbing intimacy between them.

“We should go back.” He came to a hard decision. Hurting this girl would tear the heart out of him.

Something about the way he spoke, the glitter in his shining eyes, made her heart lurch. “I thought we were going to find a cave? At least we could take a look inside the largest of them. Just up there.”

She pointed to a mesa-shaped dome with a single ghost gum growing at a peculiar angle guarding the cave's entrance.

“There could be some rock drawings. It might make you feel better. Just a few minutes before you go back to all your problems. Mine too.”

“It could be dangerous,” he warned, not talking about the terrain at all.

She gave a choked little laugh. “Did I hear right? Brock Tyson talking danger?” She grabbed his arm, using it as an
anchor to bring her further up the slope. “Come on. I dare you.”

As soon as she found firm footing she took off like a gazelle, as though a wonderful Aladdin's cave was about to open up for her.

“Stop, Shelley.” His tone was so inherently commanding she obeyed. “I'll go first. I'll decide whether we go in.”

“Okay, boss.” She tipped her brim, trying to act cheerful when she was feeling a whole range of emotions: excitement, anguish for Brock, a kind of trepidation for herself.

Apart from the lone ghost gum, with its chalk-white bole, there was little vegetation around the mouth of the cave except for a broad hanging cascade of some desert plant bearing innumerable tiny scarlet balls.

Moving carefully, Shelley picked her way to the top, watching Brock's tall, lean figure disappear into the semi-circular entrance. She stopped once to breathe deeply. It was eerie.

Those little scarlet balls must be the plant's flower-heads and they were releasing some aromatic odour like frankincense. The scent grew stronger the higher she climbed. It wasn't any kind of grevillea or hakea, or any of the widely distributed desert plants she was familiar with and had drawn in detail. She hadn't even seen it before, but the incense was drenching, invading her nostrils and making them flare.

She paused at the entrance of the cave, leaning against the striated rock wall with its furrows of multicoloured ochres. She felt a little dizzy, as though the rich, alluring aroma was overcoming her.

“Shelley!” Brock's tall shadow fell over her. “What's the matter?” He came right up close to her, focusing on her face. “Damn it, it's the heat,” he rasped in a kind of self-disgust. “We shouldn't have covered so much ground. I blame myself and my mood. I felt like walking off the edge of the world. Are you okay?”

He caught the point of her chin, turning her face up to
him. It was so delicate, her colouring so exquisite, she reminded him of some ethereal creature in a Old Master painting.

“I'm fine!” She tried a smile to cover up her slight feeling of disorientation. “Have you ever seen that plant over there?” She pointed to the blazing red hanging clusters.

He frowned, forcing himself to focus on the brilliant display. “I don't think I have. The perfume is very strong. Rather like incense. You'd better come inside the cave for a few minutes,” he said in concern. “It's amazingly cool in there.”

“Any rock paintings?” she asked, only too aware he was deeply disturbed. This complicated man.

“Wait and see.”

It took a few moments for her to adjust to the dim light after the blaze of the sun.

“Well?” He watched the quick play of emotions across her expressive face.

“Oh, Brock!” The interior of the cave began to take form and Shelley looked around her in amazed delight. The space contained strange, secret things! A gallery.

They might have been inside some prehistoric temple. The dome of the cave was high, its depth shallow. The floor of the cave, perfectly flat, with a tracery of lizard imprints, was ochred sand.

She threw off her akubra, feeling the cool air on her over-heated scalp. Her fingers speared into the red-gold silk of her hair, loosening it within its ponytail. Then, with something approaching wonderment, she lifted her head to study the painted ceiling.

It had to be a strange creature from another world. One skeletal white hand was lifted in a gesture that seemed to her more like a farewell than a greeting. The yellow head was as round as the sun, with red rays drawn all around it, and something like wings, but not wings, more like primitive flying devices, protruded from the shoulders. The feet were like the claws of a wedge-tailed eagle.

“A visitor from another world,” Brock remarked quietly. “I just hope we haven't disturbed him.”

“Oh, goodness me, no!” Shelley shivered as much from the mesmeric power of the cave drawing as the sudden drop in temperature. “It's really quite eerie. And who are all these people?”

She shifted her gaze to the scores of little stick figures who appeared to be dancing to some irresistible ceremonial music.

“I feel privileged to see this, don't you? Do you suppose he's a god? He looks like he's come from another world, like the famous Wondjina paintings in the Kimberleys. Non-human beings.”

“It's hard to get interpretations,” Brock said, moving closer to the rock wall to examine the little figures so simply drawn yet so brilliantly conveying movement. “That fellow up there on the ceiling looks like a sky traveller, or a mythical being who settled down in this particular cave. There must be tens of thousands of cave paintings all across the Centre and the North. Ours survive because they're right off the tourist map. Are you feeling any better?” He risked glancing over his shoulder to where she was standing.

“I'm loving this,” she said. “Aren't you glad I made you come up here?”

To temptation that had never been surpassed? Brock thought.

“What a day!” he said with fierce intensity, his face all taut planes and angles.

“Yes, what a day!” she echoed, herself filled with torrents of emotion. “It all seems too much to contain. I'm so sorry, Brock, for the way you're being treated. When I think how your grandfather—”

“Deceived me?” he cut in, starting to prowl restlessly around the cave. Movements that put her irresistibly in mind of a caged big cat.

“I was going to say made you a p-promise.” Her voice wavered at some expression in his eyes.

“We should go, Shelley.” He was determined to resist his feelings and made severe by the effort.

“Yes, I'm sorry. You didn't want to come up here anyway.”

She bent her head, a flower on a stalk, apparently not even daring to look at him for too long. The tension was tremendous. Like an actual grinding force. Everything would be all right as long as he didn't touch her.

She stooped to pick up her hat and then, straightened in one graceful motion that was unconsciously sensuous. Brock was unbearably aware he wanted her to keep going.

She was almost at the entrance when directly outside the cave a bird whistled so loudly, so shrilly, it was like an actual alarm. Already unnerved, she started violently. The involuntary cry that emitted from her throat was a shade hysterical even to her own ears.

“Oh, damn!” She knew she wasn't handling this terribly fraught situation well. She was too inexperienced. Brock had lived in her imagination for too long. She wanted him to reach out and hold her, not stare at her in that sombre fashion. How could a man with shimmering eyes look so brooding? There was strong emotion she knew he wanted to keep under control. Anything could send it crashing.

She moved urgently then, her pride coming to the rescue. Inadvertently she brushed his body as she passed. He wasn't blocking her path, but somehow she almost walked into him.

Sheer yearning! It had to be the incense from the desert plant. She was almost drunk on it, reeling slightly on her feet, her heart going madly. Her hand came up to half-cover her face.

It was then Brock lost it. With a bitter pang he realized there was no stopping him now. Her innocence and beauty disarmed him, and he was an emotional mess. He wanted her as badly as he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

He reached for her on a sharp intake of breath, with a swift movement sliding his arms down over her, pulling her
to him, enfolding her slender body. It was no use trying to fight this. He had left behind reason.

His mouth closed almost brutally on hers and her lips gave way instantly under the hard consuming pressure, as though his passion for her beat down all resistance. The sheer delicacy of her tongue! She was so small when measured against him, yet she seemed to fit his body perfectly, as if she were made for his pleasure.

She was wearing a white ruffled blouse with little buttons down the front. Buttons his questing hand found, undoing them with an expertise he wasn't proud of, flipping the soft fabric back so he could take the weight of her small silky-soft breast in his hand, thumb and forefinger caressing the already erect nipple. A berry on cream.