Her Galahad (18 page)

She couldn't look at him, but felt the soft rushes of breath over the back of her neck. A warm shiver of carnal desire rippled down her spine, settling low in her belly. "How do you want me?" she murmured, low and husky.

His warm, furry voice came behind her ear, sensual, rasping with need. "Every minute of the day. Every second of those minutes. With your hair damp and mussed like that, and wearing that ridiculous calico nightie, you should look like something out of
Anne of Green Gables—
but
instead you're all cute and rumpled and so damn sexy I'm in pain with wanting to take that thing off you. I want to kiss touch, taste every inch of you as I peel it up and off your body. I want to love you all night, with you undressing me, loving me right back."

"Oh," she gasped. A quiver ran all the way through her, her blood so thick with the excited pounding it clouded her brain. "Just like we used to," she whispered, her inner vision filled with erotic memory, his bands and lips on her body, moving inside her. Time after time of beautiful, blinding fulfillment.

"Yeah." The breathless hush of sound sent anguished yearning through her, telling her he was reliving the same times, the loving that had been their addiction. "Just like that."

She closed her eyes, her craving body fighting her terrified heart. Terrified of becoming so lost in him she'd never find her way back out when their lives parted. She drew a deep breath. "But I'm in control?"

A tiny rumbling chuckle. "Just consider me your love slave. I'm up for the challenge … in more ways than one."

She choked on a giggle.

His voice, deep, soft and full of a man's need rippled into her, burning her from the inside like tiny licking tongues of flame. "Turn around, Tess. Look at me."

She turned. He was so close she could see the reflection of her aching desire in his eyes. "Tell me," he rasped. "Tell me you want me,
ngaya mulgu,
my wild black swan."

She couldn't deny it; she knew her eyes must be ablaze with the pounding need thrumming through her very veins and pores. "You know I want you, Jirrah," she breathed. "I want you more than I thought I could ever want a man again."

He closed his eyes, smiling wryly. "But you're not ready."

"It's only my fears that make me this way—the memories of what it was like with him. My body's gone twenty rounds with my mind over it, but the fears keep winning. Give me time Jirrah," she pleaded softly. "Just a little time."

"And you can't forgive me yet. You don't learn trust in the school of hard knocks. Don't you think I know that?" He touched her cheek. "Take the bed. I'll pull out the sofa."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, needing his nearness, his warmth and strength. But the feel of his hot, aroused body against hers made the pain worse. Oh, how she wanted to press her lips to the strong column of his neck, to run questing hands over his lithe, muscled darkness…

She didn't realize she was fulfilling her fantasy until he said, in an agonized tone, "Tess, I can't take much more. Not when a bed's right behind us."

She gulped, and tore her hands and lips from his body. Her eyes searched his face. It was alive, ablaze with masculine need—but he was still trying to smile, even if it came out like a grimace. "Please, mulgu, if you've got any compassion at all, ask the manager to put ice in the water of my very cold shower—and snore like Fred Flintstone when I come out."

Caught off guard, she giggled again.

He leaned forward, kissing her with infinite gentleness and care. "Good night," he murmured huskily. "Sweet dreams."

"Good night," she whispered against his mouth.

From the sanctuary of the bed, she watched him pull out the spare bed, and make it up. She watched him pick up his pyjamas and walk into the bathroom for that very cold shower.

He was only wearing the pants when he came out—and his gleaming brown maleness in the soft, half-lit darkness tested her resolve to its limits. His words pounding like a jungle drumbeat in her head:
Kiss and touch every inch of your body as I slowly peel that thing off you … make love to you all night.

He came over to where she lay, and she tensed, filled with such anguished need she felt only a little fear of the act she'd hated for so long. "Sleep well." He kissed her forehead.

Her heart almost burst with the melting tenderness in the single touch. "You, too," she whispered, finally closing her eyes. Jirrah wanted her, cared for her and, most important of all, he respected her body. For the first time in a long time, she was no longer alone. He'd given her the greatest gift of all: dignity of choice. They'd be lovers again—but only when she wanted it.

Lovers until they found Emily, or until he found evidence against her family. If it were only for a few days, she'd take the risk. Only Jirrah could make her want to be a woman again; and whatever price she paid in the end would be worth it.

Chapter 10

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"
I
'm so sorry. She's not on the register. Nothing at all about her." The social worker with JigSaw spread her hands in a gesture of helpless empathy. "I'll put your names on the parent register, and hope she applies. They usually do sooner or later, once they're told of their adoption."

Tessa nodded, her face a cool, private mask. "We'll do that. Thank you."

But when they were out on the streets of Sydney, she slumped against the wall. "Just the same as LinkUp. Nothing."

"She'll join the register, Tess."

She'd never wanted anything more than to feel his arms around her—but they were on a busy Sydney street, people pushing and jostling them for the offence of standing still. "She's five, Jirrah. Her parents may not tell her until she's eighteen." She passed a shaking hand over her brow. "How do I wait that long? How do I wait for my daughter another thirteen years?"

"We don't." She looked up at his hard tone. His face was full of steely determination. "LinkUp said not to give up. They have ways of tracing kids we wouldn't dream of. And don't forget Rod at the Aboriginal Legal Service. He might have a few tricks up his sleeve—especially with Mrs. Whitlow's affidavit that she believed you were drugged when you signed the adoption papers."

"He's a lawyer, not a magician."

"You don't know Rod." His eyes twinkled. "He could talk his way into information and out of trouble faster than any kid I ever met." He held out a hand; and, needing the comfort right now, she took it. "Don't lose heart, mulgu," he said softly, his fingers brushing her palm. "We're in this together. We'll find a way. We'll meet our daughter."

He was so close she could drink in his warmth, inhale his clean male scent, the soft tang of deodorant and honest sweat. "She's my only child," she whispered, fighting to keep her strength, to not lean on him. "I have to be a part of her life."

"We'll find her, mulgu. I won't let you live alone again."

"Excuse me!"

Startled, they realized they were blocking a woman's entrance to the building behind them. Apologizing, they moved off, walking toward the new four-wheel-drive they'd bought that morning.

He opened the passenger door for her. Tessa smiled, albeit a small, watery grimace. "Even Sir Galahad couldn't give his fair maiden her heart's desire," she said huskily. "Don't make promises you're not sure you can keep about finding Emily, or about us, my Galahad, my knight in dark armor. It's not fair to either of us."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Tess—I—" He sighed. "Let's get Emily's birth certificate." He walked to the driver's side.

She watched him, aching. Watching him walk away from her had become her habit. He wanted to help her—by some crazy miracle, he even wanted to make love to her again—but he deserved far better than the pitifully little she had left to offer a man.

At Sydney's historic Rocks district beneath the Harbour Bridge, where streetwalkers once lined the cobble-stoned paths with pimps and murderers, and felons and transported convicts mingled with sons of lords in hidden gaming hells, Tessa asked a bored clerk for her daughter's birth certificate.

"Name?"

The simple question left her floundering. "I—um—" What would they have put on the birth certificate?

"Beller," Jirrah put in, quick and smooth. "Emily Anne Beller." Tessa stared at him in amazement; but the clerk punched in the information, then nodded. "And you are the natural mother?" she asked. "I'll need identification."

"Yes, I'm the natural mother," Tessa replied, supplying her driver's license. She paid the required amount.

The clerk punched in a few keys, and nodded. "Fill in the form, please. It should be ready for you in an hour or so."

"I'd like to get a copy of my brother's marriage license while I'm here," Jirrah added casually. "David Jirrah Oliveri."

The clerk punched in the name. "I'm sorry, sir, nothing's coming up listed for that name except his birth and death."

Tessa gasped, starting back. "That's impossible!"

"What?" Jirrah croaked at the same time, taking an involuntary step back with her. "But I—but he married his wife on March 10, 1996. Could you look again?"

But the clerk shook her head. "Sorry. It's not here. What's the name of the woman?"

"Theresa Rachel Earldon."

"Earldon … with an
o
or an
e?"

"O.
E-a-r-l-d-o-n."

The woman punched it in, and shook her head. "No, sorry. The only Theresa Rachel Earldon in New South Wales married Cameron James Beller on April 17, 1994." She frowned. "Beller—?"

Tessa smiled, quick, insincere. "Thank you. We'll be back for the birth certificate in an hour."

"Like hell. I'm not leaving it like this," Jirrah snarled softly, for her ears alone. He said aloud to the woman, "Does Emily Beller's birth certificate name her father?"

The clerk checked. "No. It's marked 'father unknown.'"

Jirrah looked at Tessa, his eyes narrowed in challenge. He was helpless to change this situation until he was declared alive. Only she could do this for him, and for Emily; and she couldn't leave it like this. "Is it possible to change that part of the birth certificate and name the father?"

The woman blinked. "I don't know … I've never heard of anyone asking before. I'd have to see the Registrar."

"Do so." She lifted her chin. "The birth certificate was incorrectly filled. The father is David Jirrah Oliveri."

The woman stared at them, then started backing off, her face showing patent disbelief. "The dead man. Of course, Mrs. Beller. Mr.—um. Oliveri—yes. Sorry. Please take a seat. I'll be back in a moment. I'll call the Registrar to inquire about the matter. I'll just be, um. Yes." She walked to a desk behind her, picking up the phone. "Security?" she mumbled into the receiver, trying to cover the word by blocking it with her hand.

"We'd better get out of here. She'll call security to throw us out. She thinks we're nuts," he murmured in her ear. "If the cops pick me up now, I'm gone. We'll see Rod. He can get it, and get things set in motion. We've done all we can here."

"But—the certificate!"

"Don't you get it, Tess? I blew it by asking you to change Emily's birth certificate now. I should have waited, kept this simple. I just can't afford the cops checking me out until we've talked to Rod, and given him all our evidence." He took her hand, his eyes anguished and furious. "As much as this stupid farce galls me, until I have a few legalities in motion to have myself declared alive, I have to lie low. It'd be a total debacle if the police pick me up now. With my record they'd suspect me of declaring myself dead to commit a felony—and Beller and Duncan would be right on top of it. They must be desperate to get me put back in the car by now. Let's go."