No Greater Joy (10 page)

Alison strove for calm. 'The goodies were from his parents. He didn't want them gobbled up in a minute. He wanted to savour them slowly because they meant so much to him. I'm sure you understand, Virginia.'

'I understand that Timmy means too much to you.'

Which is why you don't like him, Alison realised, but didn't say it.

There was something else she realised. The clash with Virginia only partly concerned Timmy. It concerned Clint, too. And that was something else she could not say to Virginia.

She did not want to admit it even to herself.

A
LISON
walked out of Virginia's office, out of the camp grounds.

Taking a seldom-used path up the mountain behind the camp, she walked very quickly, enjoying the wind in her hair and the sting of cool air against her face. She came to a densely wooded area where the wind hardly penetrated, but, by the time she emerged from the trees on to almost barren cliff, the wind was blowing much harder.

'Alison! Alison, wait! Alison...'

She did not know quite when she realised that someone was shouting her name. Pausing, she looked back—and there was Clint.

Clint? The breath stopped quite suddenly in her lungs. She had not even known he was back.

Reaching her, he gripped her shoulders in his hands. His eyes were sparkling and his hair was as windblown as her own. So attractive did he look that Alison's pulses began to beat a crazy tattoo that was becoming rapidly familiar. Deep inside her pleasure burgeoned. It was a pleasure that seemed centred in the very core of her being.

She was unable to keep the sparkle from her own eyes. 'Clint! When did you get back?' she asked.

'Half an hour ago.'

'I didn't know. That must have been just after I left.' She tilted her head back so that she could look at him.

'Good grief, Clint! Did you really say half an hour? Why aren't you at camp, then? What on earth are you doing up here?'

'Looking for you, of course.'

The pleasure deepened. 'Really?'

'Really. Do you always walk so fast when you're upset?'

'How did you know I was upset?'

He grinned. 'Wasn't difficult.'

The sparkle vanished from her eyes. 'Virginia told you. And I'm willing to bet "upset" wasn't the word she used. She probably said I was having one of my tantrums.'

'Something to that effect,' Clint agreed. He turned her around in his hands. 'Look, we can't talk now. In your hurry to walk off your fury, did you never stop to think of taking the weather into account?'

The weather? Why, yes, she'd been aware of the wind, but only in as much as its wildness suited the wildness of her mood. Now, for the first time, she actually took in her surroundings. Clouds, dark and heavy, hung ominously over the high peaks, and in the air was the smell of rain.

'You must know that storms blow up out of nowhere in the mountains, but it seems you were in no mood to notice. Have to make a dash for it, Alison.'

They started back in the direction of the camp, running wherever the path was smooth, walking when they came to low rocks beneath the scrub, Clint in the lead, Alison close behind him. And all the time the air grew colder, while the wind became something of a gale.

'OK?' Clint shouted once, looking over his shoulder at Alison.

'Fine!' she called back.

In fact, his long legs were able to cover more ground than hers, so that her breath was coming in gasps with the effort to keep up with him.* But now that she was aware of the storm—had she been out of her mind not to have realised earlier what was coming?—she saw that she had climbed much higher than she had realised. Even if they did not make it all the way back to camp, at least it was important for them to reach lower, less exposed ground before the storm struck.

The first hard raindrops came pelting down when they were still quite some distance from the camp grounds. Lightning sparked alarmingly, and thunder bounced and echoed against the mountains. Alison understood how lucky she was that Clint had found her when he had, while there was still time to leave the high, bare ground where a human being would have been a magnet for lightning. They were back in densely wooded terrain now and, though trees were always potentially lethal in a storm, here they were so thickly clustered that no particular tree would be a target.

Alison was frightened when the hail began; hail could be a killer. She gasped when Clint shoved her roughly to the ground and threw his body over hers.

She did not know how long they lay there. It seemed like an age, though perhaps it was just minutes. With Clint's body shielding her own, she could see nothing. The only reality was the dreadful noise—the booming of the thunder, the creaking of the trees, the lashing of the hail. It was as if all the fury of hell had descended on thij one spot.

At last the worst of the storm began to subside. The hail stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and the lightning must have moved to another part of the mountains, for the thunder no longer sounded quite so savage. It was still raining hard, but at least rain wasn't dangerous.

When Clint lifted himself away from her, Alison sat up. Anxiously, she looked at him.

'Are you all right?' she shouted through the roar of the rain.

'Yes.' Incredibly, he was smiling at her. 'Let's find some shelter.'

Her eyes scanned the mountainside. 'The nearest place is the camp.'

Clint was already walking, but to her surprise he was not taking the direct route back to Bushveld. Half a mile on and they came to a ramshackle structure. The shack was set well away from the path, and was hidden by trees, so that Alison realised why she hadn't suspected its existence. She understood too why they hadn't sheltered here through the worst of the storm. To reach the shack would have meant crossing more barren ground, and they might well have been killed on the way.

With a little heaving on Clint's part, the door finally opened. It was a relief to get inside, and away from the punishing rain.

To Alison's amazement, the hut was reasonably clean. There were even a few basic items—an old bed with what looked like a clean grey blanket covering it, a Primus stove, a few cups.

'I've used the place sometimes,' said Clint, seeing her surprise. 'When things have been a bit hectic at Bushveld, and I've felt like a couple of days alone.'

'To shelter from a storm when an impulsive girl walked further than she should have?''That, too. Don't you have any nice, docile qualities,
_v
Alison?*

'Doesn't seem like it,' she said ruefully.

His eyes sparkled. 'Perhaps that's why I like you so much.'

They looked at each other, and burst out laughing at the same time. And then Alison remembered the hail, and her laughter stopped in her throat. She took a step towards Clint. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

'Yes, of course.'

'I'm not sure I believe that. All that hail—you must have been hurt.'

He touched-a hand gingerly to the back of his head. 'Well, maybe a little.'

'God, Clint, this is all my fault!' she exclaimed. 'If it hadn't been for my stupid temper, this wouldn't have happened. I want to look at your back.'

'If you must. But it's not too bad. We were fortunate, Alison, the trees blocked out a lot of the hail.'

'And your body blocked out all of it for me. Let me see your back, Clint.'

He stepped away from the wall, and as he turned Alison drew in her breath. His shirt and trousers were torn. On his back and his legs and even in his hair there was some blood.

'Take off your clothes,' she ordered, as calmly as she was able.

'The very thing I keep wanting to say to you!'

His voice was teasingly seductive, so that Alison thought perhaps he meant it when he said he wasn't badly hurt. Still, she had to be certain.

'Take off your clothes, Clint.'

He began to unbutton his shirt, but when he tried to draw it away from his shoulders he winced.

'I'll do that,' she offered quickly.

'Be my guest,' he invited provocatively. 'Let's see how good you are at undressing me. I've always wanted to know.'

Ignoring the ridiculous way her senses leaped at the words, Alison undressed him gently. Beneath her fingers his skin was warm, and it came to her that she'd touched Clint often in her dreams—those wretched dreams which she was so completely unable to control.

Wordlessly, she surveyed the damage the hail had caused, and tears formed in her throat.

Altogether without thinking, she stepped closer, and pressed her lips against the bare skin between his shoulders.

A shudder shot through the long male body as Clint went suddenly rigid. 'Hey, I think I should get hurt more often,' he said huskily.

'Don't you dare!' Alison was trembling, as shocked as he was at her unexpected action.

'That felt so good. Kiss me again, Alison.'

'It's all the kissing you're going to get from me.'

'Come here...' He had turned, and was reaching for her.

'No!' The blood was pounding hard in her veins, but she managed to keep out of his arms. 'There's some cleaning up to do.'

'Alison, you started something.'

'I didn't mean to. Don't make anything of it.'

Dodging him, she pulled her shirt from the waistband of her jeans, and ripped off a piece of it. Then she went to the door of the shack and held the cloth into the rain.

Very gently, she began to wipe the drying blood from Clint's back. When the cleaning up was done at last, Alison was relieved to find that he had been right, after all—the worst of the hail had been blocked by the trees, and he wasn't as badly hurt as she'd feared.

'That's it,' she said at last.

'Not quite.'

She looked at him. 'Is there something else you want me to do for you?'

'Something very important.' His eyes glinted. 'There's the matter of that kiss.'

His arms went around her, staying around her even when Alison tried to step away from him.

'The kiss didn't mean anything,' she said unsteadily.

'It did to me.'

'I wish you'd forget the kiss, Clint...'

His only answer was in his hands as they began to move over her, slowly, tantalisingly, exploring the sweet curves of her body; curving around her hips and her waist, touching her breasts, but so fleetingly that she did not have time to protest.

The long fingers were leaving a trail of fire on her skin. Alison's nerves had never felt more fragile. She wanted nothing more than to bury her hands in the damp, dark hair on Clint's head, to hold his head against her breast.

Still
holding her in the circle of his arms, he sat down on the bed, gathering her on to his lap at the same time. One hand tightened around her back, while with the other he brought her face towards his.

Much as Alison wanted him to kiss her, she knew that she had to resist him. She tried to turn her face away from him, only to gasp when Clint's tongue brushed a sensuous path downwards along her throat, coming to rest in the hollow where her pulse beat with telltale frenzy.

Mindlessly Alison turned to him, wanting to tell him to stop before she lost her sanity. Clint seized his chance. His kiss was hungry, passionate; she could feel his frustration because she did not give him the response he wanted. One hand slid beneath her shirt and, cupping a breast, began to caress a soft nipple to hardness.

Alison's emotions were raw. Her throat was so dry that each breath was agony. Yet some small vestige of sanity remained, and she knew that for her own peace of mind she had to resist him.

Somehow she managed to push a little away from him. 'You have to stop this, Clint.' There was despair in her voice now.

His arms were still around her. 'You're asking the impossible,' he said huskily. 'I want so badly to make love to you. More than ever before.'

'The answer is no—it's always been no. You know how I feel.'

'I was hoping that kiss on my back meant you'd started to change your mind.'

'I'll never change my mind,' she insisted.

'I believe I can make you change it.'

He was bending to kiss her again, but Alison wriggled away from him and stood up. There was a part of her that wanted quite desperately to let Clint make love to her. Which meant that, more than ever, she had to resist him.

'It's no good, Clint. I wish you'd believe me.'

Unfortunately it was still raining. For a while longer they would have to wait in the shack.

She looked around her. 'Don't you keep any supplies in this place?' She had walked away from the bed by now.

Clint's breathing was a little ragged, but he did not try to force her back to him. 'A few. There's the Primus stove, instant coffee, a couple of mugs.'

'Wonderful! Let's have some coffee.' Her voice was determinedly bright.

'Still running away from me,' he observed wryly. 'Are you really so scared of me, Alison?'

Scared? The word was an understatement. She was absolutely terrified of the things he could make her feel! It was growing harder and harder to stop herself falling in love with him.

Somehow she managed a little laugh. 'Scared? Of course I'm not scared. Look, Clint, I don't know about you, but I'm cold. Shall we get some coffee started?'

Without a word, Clint hauled out the old Primus stove, which he kept clean and filled. While he lit it, Alison held a saucepan into the rain. When the water was boiling, she made the coffee.

Clint sat down on the bed once more. Other than the floor, which was thick with dust, there was nowhere to sit, but Alison had no intention of being so close to him again. So she remained standing near the warm Primus and, while they drank their coffee, she steered the conversation to safe subjects.

She told Clint about the overnight trail-ride she was in the process of organising, and then Clint told her a little about his trip. They spent some minutes talking about Timmy, and he was glad to hear how well the little boy was adjusting to camp life.

After a while, Alison turned the subject to the incident of the afternoon. 'Before the storm.. .you were going to tell me what Virginia said. I suppose she told you what happened?'