Australian Outback Kings / The Cattle King's Mistress / The Playboy King's Wife / The Pleasure King's Bride (12 page)

“No, but that doesn't mean you won't want him when he's with you again.”

“He's with
his wife!
”

“Miranda, you can say no in your mind.” He walked slowly towards her, his eyes boring into hers. “You said it to me. And you can mean it in your mind, bolstering the no with any number of reasons. I'm not questioning that.”

“Then what are you questioning?” she gabbled, feeling the strong male force of him increase as he stepped closer and closer, encompassing her, sending her nerves haywire, stirring all the wild desires she had nursed in the darkness of the nights. It was Nathan she wanted. Not Bobby. And her heart wept that he should think otherwise.

“I think you're worried about what you'll
feel
when he's here…when you're faced with him. Feelings aren't something we can easily govern. What if he draws you into his arms…”

He followed the words with the action, slowly gathering Miranda close to him, but behind the seemingly controlled deliberation in his eyes, she saw the flicker of something that wasn't controlled at all, and it ignited a wild, wanton recklessness in her. Or perhaps the pressure of his body did, the sexuality that seemed to brood from it and clutch at her.

“When you kissed me back, that morning beside the helicopter…were you missing him, Miranda?”

“No. I wasn't thinking of anything. I just…”

“Responded to me.”

“Yes.” It was barely a hiss of sound. His head was bending to hers and she wanted him to kiss her now, to completely blot Bobby Hewson out of anything between them.

“Then keep remembering this when he comes, Miranda.” A harshness in his voice now, scraped with raw emotion. “Remember how you feel with me.”

Then he did kiss her, and it was no exploratory dip to measure her response, no trial for any special element in their tasting of each other. It was full-scale plunder, a kiss of such driving, demanding passion, Miranda was instantly consumed by the explosion of need it ignited. The hot fusion of their mouths was not enough, nowhere near enough, though as they greedily fed on every possible sensation they could find and savour…intoxicating themselves with kiss after kiss, their hands followed their own instinctive path.

Impossible to remember afterwards whether she tore at his clothes or he tore at hers. The undressing was jerky, erratic, urgent, frantic, the compulsion to be rid of everything that came between them almost violent—no stopping it—no wish to pause or think or do anything other than revel in the impact of their bodies fully touching, bare flesh meeting bare flesh, the hot exciting friction of skin against skin, his hands skimming, squeezing her soft curves, her fingers raking the taut musculature that seemed to bristle with masculinity.

She remembered thinking he was a magnificent bull of a man and she wanted to be mated with him, wanted it more than anything she'd wanted in her life, to have the strength of him inside her, to feel him moving with her…this man who called so deeply to the woman she was, whatever else either of them were.

He propelled them to the bed, hauled her onto it, took the dominant position over her, and she automatically arched her body to meet his as he sought entry. His eyes connected with hers…a fierce blaze of desire…fiercely returned…both of them throbbed with an urgency that could not brook any denial.

Her whole body quivered with elation as she felt him push forward, sheathing himself with her moist heat, her inner muscles convulsing around him in bliss, the hard fullness of him opening a passage that pulsed with wild anticipation, wanting all he could give her. She wrapped her legs around him, pressing him on, and the plunge that followed was exquisitely fulfilling, so incredibly deep it felt as though he had entered her womb, an eerie, intimate sensation that spread out in concentric circles, totally captivating in its intensity.

From that moment on, Miranda's whole being was totally focused on the rhythmic ripples set in constant motion by Nathan's powerful thrusting. She was acutely aware of their strengthening infiltration of every cell of her body, the aching sweetness accompanying their invasion, the sense of their building towards a shattering peak, of pleasure becoming too intense to sustain within the space of her being. A time came when she seemed poised on the edge of it and a cry of anguish broke from her throat.

In the very next instant all the torturous tension exploded into a sunburst of glorious ecstasy, and she was floating in some heavenly space, and the man who had brought her there was sharing it with her, cradling her in a hug that kept them bound together as he rolled to one side, removing his weight, yet still enveloping her in a cocoon of strength, caring, protective, possessive.

Their breathing slowed. The thunder of their heartbeats dropped to a barely discernible pulse. The languor that stole over them was seductive…warm, peaceful, enticing a prolonged stay of judgement on what they'd done. It couldn't be examined with words. It had gone beyond words.

Miranda was acutely aware she had never experienced anything like this before…such primitive, compelling passion…yet somehow instinctively right with this man…and being held by him now felt right, too, as though she belonged with him. While it made no rational sense, her mind stood in awe of these feelings, and the longer he held her, the more immersed she became in the blind conviction that they were meant to come together and this was how a man and woman should feel when they did, and she wished she had always known this. Then she could never have been fooled about what it was supposed to be.

Eventually Nathan spoke. He was trailing strands of her hair through his fingers as she lay with her head on his chest. She felt his intake of breath and the words he said were soft but very, very decisive.

“You don't need Bobby Hewson, Miranda.”

Bobby? The part of her life he had inhabited felt so minimised she could barely bring it to mind. “No, I don't,” she answered fervently.

“I'll be here tomorrow evening to make sure
he
understands you don't need him.”

Here? Did Nathan mean in her bed? How would Bobby know—see—the incredible difference of what she felt with Nathan?

“I'll join you and your party of guests for dinner, but I'll come earlier,” he said, his voice firm with the plans in his mind.

Miranda struggled past the fuzziness in hers. Nathan meant to be with her publicly, showing Bobby she was not alone, very much not alone!

“In time for the Happy Hour gathering,” Nathan specified.

“Happy Hour!” Miranda jack-knifed out of Nathan's embrace and looked at her watch. It was almost six o'clock. “I've got to get going. I should be out there.” A flush of embarrassment poured into her face as she turned to look squarely at him. “This is my job, Nathan.”

“Duty calls,” he said equably.

She hurtled off the bed and raced into her ensuite bathroom, frantically turning on the taps in the shower, shoving her hair into a plastic cap and stepping under the hot spray before pausing for breath or further thought. Only then did it strike her that Nathan's mind had been locked on Bobby, before and after, and he hadn't said anything about what he felt with her.

What if it had only been a male competitive thing with him?

Instantly her whole body revolted against this thought. Nathan had wanted her before he'd ever known about Bobby. It had nothing to do with Bobby. Nothing! He was purely incidental in their coming together.

It came as another jolt to realise they hadn't used protection. Just as well she was on the pill to keep her cycle regular. And she couldn't see Nathan being a health risk, having recently been in a long monogamous relationship. All the same, there should have been questions asked.

On the other hand, obviously there had been no premeditation by either of them. Which said something about the strength of the attraction between them. The moment Nathan had started kissing her she'd forgotten Bobby, her job, everything. Such a total wipe-out had never happened to her before. Never. It had to mean something special. There was no other explanation for it.

Clean and fresh again, Miranda turned off the taps and quickly towelled herself dry. A nervous energy possessed her as she attended to her hair and make-up. Had Nathan left, having made his arrangements for tomorrow? Did those arrangements mean more than fixing the problem with Bobby?

She wrapped a towel around herself before emerging from the bathroom. Modesty, at this point, seemed rather foolish but she didn't feel comfortable flaunting her naked body with the heat of passion gone, and if Nathan was still in the apartment…this was so
new
. Her mind was torn over how he viewed the intimacy they had just shared. She wanted to be sure.

He was fully dressed and placing the parcel of diaries he'd brought her on the bedside table when she opened the bathroom door. He swung to face her, his gaze making a swift, comprehensive sweep of her appearance.

“Are you all right?” he asked, searching her eyes for any flicker of concern.

“Yes.” She offered an ironic smile. “A little stunned.”

He nodded. “I didn't think of protection.”

Relief surged through her. It might be practical caring but it
was
caring. “I've been on the pill for quite a while. I used to have problems with…” She shrugged, realising she was gabbling and he wouldn't be interested in how heavily and haphazardly she'd menstruated without medication to give her a normal cycle.

He returned her ironic smile. “I'm usually more responsible. I'm not a health risk, Miranda.”

“Neither am I.”

“Then there's no problem.”

Supposedly not for two healthy adult people accepting a simple case of lust gone wild, Miranda thought, needing more from him than this matter-of-fact manner. He started walking towards her and she was once again mesmerised by the overwhelming power of the man, his air of solid self-assurance.

“I'll go now. You have work to do.” He put his hand on her shoulder, a light reassuring touch, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Just to remind you to keep
us
in the forefront of your mind tomorrow, when Bobby Hewson arrives.” His eyes seared hers with the intense recollection of their intimacy. “Expect me at six o'clock. I'll be here to stand by you. Okay?”

“Yes.” Was this all it was to him…blotting out Bobby? “Thank you,” she added, searching his eyes for more.

He suddenly grinned. “My pleasure.”

She watched him leave, too captivated by his presence to move until the door closed behind him. Then conscience pricked her again and she flew to her cupboard, discarding the towel and hastily pulling on clothes.

Nathan's words—
I'll be here to stand by you
—lingered in her mind. Bobby had never done that, not in the supportive sense Nathan meant. Her mother had never had a man she could truly lean on. It was, at least, one good feeling Nathan had left her with, being able to count on him, and Miranda had no doubt he was as good as his word.

But what about when Bobby was gone? Was she to be another Susan in Nathan's life? His…
pleasure?

Miranda shied away from these questions. She couldn't deal with them now. She had guests waiting for her. Everything else had to be pushed aside. Tomorrow would come soon enough…Bobby…Nathan…and hopefully some answers she could live with.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I
T WAS HER
job to greet the incoming homestead guests, and greet them she would, but Miranda's stomach was twisted into a painful knot as she watched Bobby Hewson and his new wife arrive.

He alighted from the luggage buggy first, still looking like a sun-king as she had always thought of him—his light brown hair streaked with blonde, his skin gleaming with a perfect golden tan, a dazzling white smile flashing from a face so handsome it was guaranteed to make any woman melt. But it didn't melt Miranda today. It was a strange shaky feeling, seeing him again and knowing the brilliant facade of the man hid a corrupt heart that could never, never be trusted.

“Miranda…” he called, as though the sight of her filled him with delight. “It's a real pleasure to find a familiar face in the great beyond.”

His charm washed over her, too, though once it had invariably turned her inside out, dispelling doubts and making her believe he really did love her, that she was truly the light of his life. This time, her mouth didn't automatically flash a responding smile. She had to force it.

“It's a surprise to see you out of the city, Bobby.”

He still managed to look city elegant in shorts and sports shirt, colour co-ordinated in navy, red and green, expensive Reeboks on his feet. His tall, gym-trained athletic body carried all clothes well.

“A new challenge always lifts the spirit,” he answered, his eyes raking Miranda from head to toe with sexual intent, even as he held out his hand to the woman now stepping out of the buggy.

Inwardly bristling at Bobby's blatant cockiness, Miranda switched her attention to his wife. Her skin was dark olive, making her look quite exotic, dressed as she was in scarlet shorts, a designer T-shirt—white, splashed with an abstract pattern of colourful poppies—and a very chic straw hat with one scarlet poppy artfully placed on the brim. She was also petite, her figure slender, almost boyish, small firm breasts clearly braless.

Miranda, dressed in her usual day uniform of khaki safari shorts and shirt, suddenly felt like a drab Amazon compared to this woman, but she quickly brushed the comparison aside. She was not in competition with Bobby Hewson's wife and never would be.

Keeping her smile in place, she said, “And you must be Celine. Welcome to King's Eden, both of you.”

“Thank you. It is amazing, this outback of yours,” she lilted at Miranda, her native French tongue giving her English a very attractive accent. “Very much an exciting adventure.”