An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (9 page)

She just couldn't imagine Evan Thompson raising his hand in anger to a woman. He would find that despicable. She had come to think of Evan as a mysterious dark knight who had come into her life when she so badly needed one. He stirred so much in her, enriching her mind and her spirit, though the rhythm that was beating and building up between them felt only too sexual.

The truth, and she had faced it, was that he attracted her powerfully. He both excited and calmed her—brought an awareness of herself as a woman she had never experienced with Colin. She loved the look of him—the sculptured features, the perfectly straight nose, the broad brow, the strong jaw, his mouth, his muscular frame. She loved his strength and the pile-up of energy that was in him, the sound of his deep voice.

She wondered if he knew how he affected her by the way she watched him. There was peril in that. It was the wrong time, even if all her emotions were right. She was a married woman, for all her marriage was a farce, but only half of her remembered that. The other half was fascinated by her neighbour. She loved the way he called out to her if he saw her in the garden. She loved the way their eyes met. After Colin's cold azure stare it was wonderful to burn herself in the eloquent beauty of a man's brilliant dark eyes.

She had to pull herself out of her abstraction. Keep her little fantasies to herself. She knew what her heart and body craved but it was far too dangerous. Her fingers began to move on the keys, selecting a Chopin nocturne at random…but it was predictably romantic.

 

She was not only technically brilliant, she was brilliantly expressive. He had known she'd be good. Even then she had surprised him. How foolish to assume because she was so small she couldn't produce a wonderful big tone.

He hadn't thought it a good idea to intrude on her yesterday, but he hadn't been able to resist the impulse to come today, virtually sneaking into the theatre by a side door.

She was so engrossed in a Rachmaninoff
étude
that went like the wind she didn't hear the slight noise made by the door. Just as well. He wanted to listen to her without her being aware of it. He wanted to look at her—God, had he ever seen a woman pianist look so beautiful?—without breaking her concentration or making her in any way self-conscious.

He knew everything she played until the little piece at the end. A mournful little piece that had him thinking of his father. The melody wound this way and that, circling like a lost bird, until it suddenly opened out, spreading its wings. It struck him that it was like a soul proceeding to heaven. He would have to ask her the name of the composer. He would have to ask her to play it again. She had a beautiful singing tone.

He moved unconsciously and immediately the spell was broken. His chair turned into a squeaking machine.

“Laura, I'm sorry,” he called. “I was enjoying that so much.”

She collected herself instantly, overcoming the inevitable moment of sheer panic. Would she ever be free of the anxiety? Even here?

“Evan!” She stood up, peering out into the gloom. “I can't believe I didn't hear you come in.”

“You were too deep into the Rachmaninoff.” He moved into the aisle, walking up towards the stage. “Want my opinion?”

“I really need more practice. I'm rusty.”

“You're wonderful! That last piece broke my heart. What is it? I've never heard it before.”

Her heart was a throb in her throat as she watched him
mount the stairs, slowly walk towards her. Careful, careful, she cautioned herself. Every time he looked at her it was as though a switch had been thrown, sparking a dazzle of lights. She couldn't look any more. She half turned away, touched the piano.

“Did it speak to you?” she asked.

“It did.” He studied the way the soft colour rose to her cheekbones. “So sad—until the end, when it was absolutely transcending. I might have been watching a soul travelling to heaven.”

She drew in a sharp breath, frankly fighting the urge to cry. “How extraordinary you should say that. I composed it in memory of my father. I loved him so much. I wanted to express it. He was a good man. A fine man. I felt if anyone deserved a reward when life was over he did.”

There's a limit to what a man can take, he thought. Something about her was restoring his faith in life. He wanted to hold her hand. It was a beautiful hand. The same hand that had an extraordinary affinity with the keyboard. Now it seemed she was a composer.

“That's almost silenced me, Laura,” he said gently, thinking of the great love he'd had for his own father, so tragically and traitorously cut down. “How very gifted you are.”

“If only I could lay all my sorrows to rest that way.”

There was a haunting little smile on her mouth. Not the slightest hint of sexual provocation, yet he found it intoxicating. He dug his hands in his pockets in case he reached for her, pulled her into the shelter of his arms, dipping his head so he could cover her mouth with his own.

“You seem to have an infinite capacity for feeling pain. Probably as a musician it's inherent. Then again, something has happened to you to cause a lot of damage.”

“You really wouldn't want to know, Evan.” Quietly she closed the keyboard.

“I think I would.” He moved to lower the heavy lid for her.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I take it the recital is over?”

“I've been playing for quite a while. One day you might hear my life story, I promise.”

“Not now?” he asked quietly.

“I have to get clear in my mind what to tell you.”

“You mean you're going to edit it? Cut out the bits that might be of vital importance?”

“You've not told me your story either,” she countered. “I haven't heard about your life.”

“Why would you care?”

“For all you know I might care an awful lot,” she surprised him by saying. “You've been very kind to me, Evan. I have a sense of security when you're around, like a shining shield. I'm very grateful to you too for arranging for me to practise like this. I hadn't expected such a beautiful instrument.”

“Just about the best. As soon as Harriet finds out how gifted you are you'll be roped in for concerts.”

“Oh, no!” She brushed a nervous hand down the lilac cotton skirt that she wore with a matching cotton and lace camisole. She'd quickly found she had to dress for the heat.

“Are you a nervous performer?” he asked, with a quirk of the brow.

For a big strong man he could be unbearably sweet. “Who isn't?” She shrugged.

“Too nervous to go on? I did know a very good cellist who was too nervous to perform in public. Just among friends. Fellow musicians.”

“I can understand that.” It was easier than saying she couldn't possibly draw public attention to herself. Easier than saying that before her marriage she had performed many times in public. Always nervous, but focused the instant her hands touched the keys.

“But you could play for me?”

His deep voice touched a chord. “I have. You're a very good listener.”

“On the contrary, I can't listen unless the performer is special.”

“I guess I'm a bit like that too. One knows perhaps too much about it. The critical faculty is always in place.”

He nodded. “What about a coffee?”

“I'd like that.” She turned to hunt up the keys to the theatre. “The little coffee shop with the pink and white ruffled curtains? It has such a cheerful atmosphere.”

“Then Pamela's it is. We might as well go out the side door. It's easier.”

“I'll turn off the lights.”

“Right.” He walked down the short flight of steps to the auditorium, waiting for her to join him.

On stage, Laura threw the switch, at the same time making the mistake of staring up at the blinding dazzle of lights. They immediately left an afterburn on the retina.

“Laura?” he called up to her, seeing the way she closed her eyes and turned her head.

“I'm okay.” In fact she felt a little foolish. It was an inadvertent thing. The black dots didn't go away quickly, but she found herself stepping off the stage. Her vision slowly cleared, though she wasn't altogether sure of her footing.

“Lord!” Her every nerve jumped. She gave an involuntary little cry as the heel of her sandal caught. “Evan, I'm sorry, but I can't see where I'm going.”

“I'm here. Right here,” he called reassuringly, moving swiftly into position at the base of the steps. “You shouldn't have looked up at the lights.”

“No, that was stupid. Oh, God! I'm going to fall.” She had instant visions of a sprained ankle.

“No, you're not!”

The next moment she was locked securely in his arms, her feet dangling clear of the floor.

The whole world jolted to a stop. It was like coming into a safe harbour after a storm, though the air around them was full of motion.

Her mouth was a breath away from his chin. There was no fear. But excitement immeasurably beyond anything she had felt before. She wanted to stay like that for ever, em
bracing it. A dangerous way to feel, but it was out of her control.

“How did this happen?” His voice was very deep. He made no move to set her on her feet.

“I don't know. I'm embarrassed. That was stupid. I stumbled. You caught me.”

“Okay, so we have an excuse.” His voice was deep and exciting. There was an identical expression in his dark eyes. “It's just too damned hard not to kiss you, Laura.”

“You mustn't,” she whispered, at the same time raising her head, welcoming his kiss so much she could barely speak.

“I know I mustn't,” he answered gently. “But that's not helping me right now. My God, what do you weigh? You're a featherweight. I could hold you like this until four in the morning.”

Her green eyes were staring uncertainly into his, her lovely lips parted, her skin as white and soft as a gardenia, glowing in the dim light. He could feel the ache in his body. The need for a woman. Not any woman. Laura.

“This is what comes of being alone in the near dark,” he said, drawing on all the gentleness in him. Inner wisdom told him Laura hadn't been treated with care. “Don't be frightened, Laura. I'd never hurt you.”

“I'm not.” Yet she instinctively braced herself from long habit. Waited. Other terrible kisses were coming back to her, the awful stroking of her white skin, the moments she'd tried desperately to escape. It was an involuntary thing thinking of Colin. Fear was always uppermost in her mind.

“Stop that,” he said, very quietly.

“What am I doing?”

“Your whole body has gone tense.”

Yet he held her so very tenderly. “It's just that—”

“Don't say anything unless it's the truth.”

In one fluid movement he lowered her until her feet came to rest on the second step from the floor. Her head was almost level with his, which was just where he wanted it.

“Let yourself relax,” he urged, his voice like black velvet.

“How can I?”

“You know I would never do anything to upset you.”

She did know, and it was a revelation. Joy overtook apprehension. She felt her body might not be able to accommodate the extremity of her emotions. But any lingering fears were lost as he drew her against him, lowering his dark head until his mouth settled over hers.

Waves of desire came off him, giving her such a heady feeling of confidence in her womanliness that she was radiant with bliss. Colin's image disappeared.

Evan's kiss was so beautiful, so exciting, so wonderfully moving. She could feel her heart, so used to beating loud and hard with dread, simply melt. Warmth was like a beautiful, enveloping blush moving over her skin. What she was experiencing was flawless male mastery, yet it so wrapped her in multiple layers of security she abandoned herself entirely to the enormity of the moment.

Such an infinity of sensation piled up in her body. She felt her spirit soaring, as it did when she made music. She didn't flinch as the kiss deepened, became more passionate. She wasn't frigid at all. She could never think that of herself ever again. Not with Evan kissing her as if he was drowning in unimaginable delight, aching for her. She had become so accustomed to withholding response, but now that was impossible. With Evan she had cast off all barriers, in a world without horizons.

His strong fingers were in her hair, not tearing or pulling, but smoothing, as if its length was a precious bolt of silk. There was more than a good chance she might simply swoon away from such boundless tendresse.

“Laura?” He lifted his mouth from hers, aware she was striving to come up for air. He, himself, had never experienced such an extraordinary play of emotion. “You haven't gone to sleep?” he gently teased, luxuriating in her heavenly softness. Her fragrance all around him. Desire. Delight.

She let her head tip forward onto his chest, her whole body tingling from the contact. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his cotton shirt, smell his clean male scent,
hear the thud of his heart. Her own heart was beating as if she'd just run one hundred metres.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“Not a bit.”

“Do you know how wonderful you are to kiss?”

“Am I?” She moved slightly so she could lay her cheek against him.

“Doesn't your peculiar boyfriend tell you that?”

“Don't let's talk about him,” she begged. Colin had no place there.

“You didn't think of him when I was kissing you?”

She was truthful. “Only to realize I've never been kissed before,” she said, her voice soft and intense.

“Then two kisses are surely better than one?”

How thrillingly quiet he was, yet his voice, his eyes, the way he looked at her, stirred her to her unguarded soul. It was a miraculous feeling, her body resting against his. She was getting such pleasure and comfort from it. What she'd said she meant. Evan's kiss was the only kiss she had received in her life.