An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (48 page)

He could feel the tremor that ran through her, hear all the fluttery sighs that rose and fell as he gave attention to her other breast, bending her backwards and lowering his head so he could take that sweet berry into his mouth, barely grazing it with his teeth.

It was better than his fantasy. A groan came from low in his throat. With every minute his desire was growing fiercer, fully-fledged.

Let her go.
Let her go.
Free her! A voice in his head made some attempt to stop him, urging restraint. Only she was clinging to him, her responses inflaming him further.

It was wonderful. It was terrible. Both in equal measure. His will was gone. The only thing that mattered was having her in his arms, his hands caressing her magical flesh, his mouth taking hers, over and over. Even in the driving heat of his passion he knew he was receiving as well as taking. They were kissing each other with such ardour and abandon anything seemed worth it.

He lifted her off the ground, pressing her body against him so she could feel his powerful arousal. Her sweetness flooded him, making him realize what his life had been like before he'd met her again. Shelley the woman—not the enchanting schoolgirl of his memory.

She was yielding her whole body to him, her face burrowed into his neck, the glorious tangle of her hair all around them.

“You should stop me.” His voice was urgent as he tried desperately to collect himself, a light sweat gathering over his body.

“I can't,” she whispered. “I don't want to.” She couldn't get enough of what he was doing to her.

“Even when you know what's going to happen?” His hand moved to her lower back, pressing her ever closer to him.

“I told you, I don't care.” She laced her arms around his neck. “What has my life amounted to up to now? Nothing. I've had no soaring joy. Don't ask me to forego it, Brock. I can't. I'm going into this with my eyes wide open.”

“But you're a virgin?” he asked with intensity.

“There's no point in denying it.”

“Shelley, Shelley,” he moaned, “What am I going to do with you?”

“Make love to me.” Her impassioned voice resonated in the cave. “Don't worry about it. You can't bring me to this pitch then stop. It's a safe time for me.”

“I wish I could believe that,” he said harshly.

“Look into my eyes.” She held his face with both hands, staring back at him. “On my honour. I would never trap you, Brock Tyson.”

“Trap me? My God!” That struck him as absurd. He could feel her whole body quivering in his arms, her naked breasts positioned against his chest like white roses. “You must tell me if I hurt you.”

“You won't hurt me,” she murmured, already feeling a series of piercing aches start up between her legs. They were painful and exquisite, as if minute splinters of glass were causing tiny hot slashes within her womb. It was an unnameable rapture that demanded fulfilment.

Gently, Brock urged himself, though he was feeling anything but gentle. He felt as though he had an endless ca
pacity to ravish her. But he had to go slowly. He imposed control on himself. This would be her first time. An experience that would stay forever in her memory. It had to be blissful, not full of regret.

He laid her out on the sand, her lovely limbs extended, smoothing her clothes away from her until her naked body was fully exposed to his sight.

She was exquisite, more beautiful than he'd imagined. He bent over her reverently, placing his hands on her breasts, curved pink and white. His tongue teased the nipples while his hands moved freely along the length of her silky flesh, smoothing, caressing, down over her hips, her thighs, her waist, her taut quivering stomach, until he reached the tiny lick of flame that guarded her sex. He opened his mouth and entered her very gently with his tongue.

“Brock!” Her whole torso arched up in galvanic shock, almost lifting off the ground.

“I won't hurt you.” He half lay across her, watching her face. Her expression revealed pleasure out of control, terror. For moments the two were fused as she struggled with revelation.

Never, never had anyone touched her there. Now Brock was, in the most intimate way a man could touch a woman. The excitement was so violent she felt unable to prevent herself from opening to him.

He lifted her light slender legs, as weak as a kitten's, and slid them over his shoulders, pausing for a moment to gauge her reaction. Her responses were more important to him than his own ever-intensifying hunger.

Now her eyes were tightly shut, but he murmured to her as he explored her body, whispering beautiful endearments like a ritual for her alone.

She felt him rise above her to take her mouth deeply. Felt his dark shadow. The scent of herself was on his tongue. Her small breasts thrust against his hands. There was so much heat inside her. It was like being slowly consumed.

He drew out the stimulation, teasing, taunting, adoring,
himself lost in erotic pleasure, until she was losing all breath, her head lolling back, her arms and legs spread wide. It was then he slid down over her, his body slick with sweat, no longer able to contain himself or the urgent passion he felt for her.

This was the moment. Their moment. His shaft was rock-hard and then he was inside her, on his way to ecstasy. A starburst of pleasure he had never experienced before.

A
S HER
senses began to return Shelley opened her eyes to Brock's face. He was leaning over her as she lay naked on the sand. She was sighing voluptuously without knowing it, filled with the strange feeling that her body wasn't her own any more but his.

“Shelley!” He stroked the wild tangle of damp curls away from her face. “Are you all right? I was a little worried.”

She didn't answer, but continued to stare into his eyes, jewels in a dark copper mask. Her initiation into the rites of love seemed to be the only real thing that had happened to her in her entire life. Even the terrible trauma associated with the drowning of her beloved twin was steeped in mystery, almost like a ghost story.

“You wanted me as much as I wanted you.” He spoke with tenderness. This from a man who had so recently shown the full range of wild passion.

“I think you must love me a little,” she said dazedly, huge eyes lustrous, her breath still unsteady.

She was trying to take in all that had happened. The tiny aches and hurts in her body told her it was no fantasy. They really were one flesh. She knew this man, body and soul, but never in her most erotic dream could she have conjured up such an extraordinary sexual encounter. A great storm of emotion when her every want her every need had been fulfilled. How long had it lasted? She didn't know. She might even have lost consciousness so great was the stimulus.

He remained above her, gazing into her eyes. “Perhaps I do.” His answer was barely audible as he bent to kiss her.
“How do you feel? I tried hard to be gentle but I must have hurt you.”

“At the beginning,” she answered gently. “But then I was—possessed. I wanted everything you did to me. You're the most wonderful lover. You've taught me what making love is all about.”

He stroked her cheek. “Lovemaking only becomes special when a man and a woman truly care about each other. Then it's a communion of bodies and a communion of souls.”

“Yes,” she agreed dreamily. “I didn't know it was possible to feel like this. The downside is, I don't think I can get up. I don't think I want to. I want to stay here in this cave with you for ever. I'll always think of it as our cave.” Tears filled her eyes.

“Please don't cry, Shelley,” he begged, his tongue gathering up a single tear, only to swallow it.

“Don't you know women cry when they're happy?”

“That's all right, then.” He slowly leaned forward to kiss her waiting mouth, his lean body superbly naked, totally unselfconscious with it. “I want you again,” he confessed. “You've seduced me.”

“I want to.” Delicately she let her hand move down over his velvety body, feeling it tremble beneath her touch.

“So what are we going to do about it?” he demanded, his voice deep and husky. “I was supposed to be taking you home. I should be back on Mulgaree, mourning my grandfather, guarding my own interests.”

“Instead you're with me,” she whispered, lifting her arms to link them like the lightest chain around his neck. “I think we've earned ourselves a little piece of heaven after what we've both endured.”

“To have you like this always,” he muttered, sliding an arm beneath her beautiful naked body so perfectly constructed for his loving, entering her again powerfully.

 

The entire family in its wisdom was waiting for her when she arrived back on Wybourne. It was sundown and the sky
was a glory of deep crimson and gold, with long streaks of pink, yellow and amethyst on the horizon. It was a spectacular change after the blazing blue of the day.

“Where have you been?” Amanda demanded to know before Shelley even put a foot on the verandah where they were now assembled. “You left Mulgaree hours ago. Where have you been?” she repeated, frowning blackly.

“With Brock, obviously,” Shelley said, trying desperately to act normally, convinced she couldn't possibly after her life-changing experience. When she wanted her family they were never there. When she didn't want them she had their undivided attention. “That was him flying the helicopter. He's pretty upset. What business is it of yours anyway, Amanda?” Shelley did a rare thing. She rounded on her sister.

“Come into the house, Shelley.” Her father rose from his planter's chair, giving the stern order. Once a handsome man, with good features and black Irish colouring, Patrick Logan looked what he was: a sick wreck, his looks and health eroded by drink and grief. But at least he was sober. Her mother, too, was present, hovering like a blonde shadow of herself near her father's shoulder. In their youth and up until the death of their little son, the Logans had been a popular, fine-looking couple, hard-working, with every expectation of a good life in front of them. The tragedy had affected both parents profoundly. Both had cracked wide open.

“You've got sand all over you,” Amanda accused, her eyes moving all over her sister, cold with suspicion. “You haven't been up to any tricks with Brock Tyson, I hope? He has that reputation.”

Shelley flushed violently. “That would be the first thing you'd think of, wouldn't it, Mandy? You've got such a lily-white reputation yourself.”

“That will do, Shelley,” her father suddenly roared. There was no way Shelley was allowed to attack her older
sister. “Amanda is right to ask. We were worried about you. Philip Kingsley has rung several times.”

“What on earth for?” Shelley felt a great spurt of anger. Who the hell did Philip think he was? Her husband?

“He wanted to know why you weren't home,” her father replied, as though that were reason enough. “You left Mulgaree shortly after two p.m. We all had fears you might have crashed.”

“More likely Philip had fears I was with Brock,” Shelley answered sharply, forgetting to keep her tone respectful. Her father had a hair-trigger temper, though he had never struck her. He knew she wouldn't have tolerated that. Maybe he knew as well. “Philip is very jealous of Brock. I'm sorry if you were all worried. Brock wanted a little time out. He landed in the desert. He's always loved it there. It gives him comfort.”

“So that's where you got the sand?” Amanda continued to stare at her sister, picking up immediately the fact that there was a change in her. Shelley, after an afternoon in the heat of the desert, looked ravishingly pretty. And ravished? Amanda glared at her.

“I'd really like to take a quick shower. May I? It was so hot.”

“Make it very quick, Shelley.” Her mother spoke for the first time. “We have things to discuss.”

 

When she returned, in fresh clothes and smelling of boronia, her family was sitting in the living room, her father staring at his knees, her mother with her eyes shut, Amanda almost on fire with impatience.

“Sit down, Shelley,” her father said, lowering his gaze from her face the way he always did. “I took the first call from Philip. He confided in me about his grandfather's will. As I understand it he is the main beneficiary—Rex Kingsley's heir. Mulgaree is his. The other boy, Brock, was not mentioned in the will. Personally I find that totally unjust, though I suppose it's none of my business. He was a
hard, hard man, Kingsley. Cruel, really. I can't imagine why he brought the boy home.”

“Brock's not a boy, Dad. You remember the boy. He's very much a man. Philip couldn't hold a candle to him.”

“So much for that!” Amanda, her father's favourite, hooted. “It's Phil who's got the money. He must be worth millions and millions. Oh, God, I wish he was attracted to me, but it has to be you.”

“You're welcome to him,” Shelley said.

Her father glanced up quickly, a strange light in his faded blue eyes. “I hope we can all come together on this, Shelley. Philip tells me he loves you and he's ready to marry you. Isn't that enough for any girl? By the way, I should tell you I cancelled that party of tourists who were coming out here. I don't like strangers around the place. I know they've brought in money, but we won't need it now.”

Shelley felt it like a betrayal. “Oh, Dad, why did you do that? I have everything planned. They'll feel very let down. I'll have to give the deposits back. You should have consulted me. We do need the money.”

Her mother leaned closer, took hold of Shelley's hand. “Listen to your father, Shelley. Don't think we don't appreciate how hard you've worked on your project. We do. You're a very clever, capable girl. You could be anything you want to be, given the opportunity. Now you have it. No young woman in her right mind would turn down Philip Kingsley. He can give you the world. Moreover, he's prepared to do it.”

Shelley felt her face burning. “Except I don't love him, Mum. When are you going to take that into account? I'll never love him. He doesn't attract me in that way.”

“Not like Brock, I suppose?” Amanda broke in, expression taunting. “I agree he's very sexy, but he's not the type to offer marriage.”

“We're not talking sex here, Amanda.” Patrick Logan stared at Amanda angrily. “But we are talking marriage. That's a most serious business. The most important in a
woman's life. Philip is a good-looking, decent young man. All right, he never was a patch on his cousin, but he's young and healthy and love will come later. You both have many interests in common, Shelley. You'll be a great asset to him.”

“Dad you're not listening,” Shelley cried out despairingly. “I'm not interested in Philip.”

“Then you'd better get interested in him,” Patrick shot back. “He'll devote his entire life to looking after you. He loves you, you fool of a girl. You should be honoured.”

“And think how he can help us,” Amanda piped up in all seriousness. “If you became Mrs Kingsley that would be a big step up for us. The Kingsleys are important people. Now his grandfather has gone Philip will be rich and powerful. He'll probably blossom and gain in confidence. If you gave him a little help he could turn into the man you want him to be.”

Shelley stared incredulously at her sister. “What are we talking here, Mandy? Prostitution?”

Patrick Logan's face turned beetroot with anger. “You should go and wash your mouth out with soap. I won't have you speaking like that, Shelley. What we're talking about is making a good marriage for you. We love you.”

“Do you, Dad?” Finally she decided to ask it—what she had always wondered in her mind. Shelley looked at her parents sadly. “You can hardly look at me, Dad, and Mum scurries away every time I try to talk to her. You don't love me. You bitterly resent me for surviving when Sean didn't.”

“Stop now, Shelley,” her father thundered, as though she had no right to broach the subject.

“Please, Dad, allow me to speak. All this avoidance of anything connected to Sean has been bad for all of us. He was my twin. My other half. He's never left me. He's still around. He wakes me every morning of my life. I talk to him. I tell him things that I can't possibly tell anyone else.”

“Are you going to stop?” her father gritted, shaking his head like an enraged animal.

“Yes, stop, Shelley!” Her mother and Amanda cried together.

“Oh, yes, you'd all like me to. It suits you. Since that day you've treated me like I was involved in foul play. I was six. I can't remember much except the screaming. Everything else has gone white. I know I didn't cause Sean any harm. I couldn't have. I loved him. He loved me. He loved me more than any of you. He always ran to me. Never Mandy.”

“Such a pity, then, that you pushed him,” Amanda said bitterly. “Oh, don't look like you're going to faint. Everyone knows.”

“How cruel you are, Amanda.” Their mother spoke in shock and pain. “I never knew.”

“You're all cruel.” Shelley's voice broke. “One day I'm going to remember. Some little chink of light is going to fall into my brain. You've always been the accuser, Amanda, but you couldn't have been fully engaged looking after us.”

“I want this to stop,” Patrick Logan bellowed, actually capturing his younger daughter's gaze. “No purpose can be served by trying to unravel the events of that terrible day. Sean was loved by us all. He was my son. I don't suppose you women know what that means to a man—having a son.”

“You've never given your daughters a chance, Dad,” Shelley said. “Especially me.”

“It's not like you're saying,” her father claimed. “Are we to be condemned because you remind us so terribly of Sean? Our little Sean! He was so very, very special.”

“I'm special too, Dad, if you could only see it.”

“Shelley, you mean so much to us,” her mother broke in, blue eyes full of remorse. More and more frequently these days she was coming to see the great wrong the family had done her younger daughter. “You're a dear girl. A strong girl. Your father and I know how difficult it's been for you.”

“And me!” Amanda insisted, looking outraged.

“You look like Mum,” Shelley said by way of explanation. “Sean and I took after Nana. We inherited her colouring. If my colouring wasn't so different—if I'd been blonde and blue-eyed like Amanda—you might have been able to love me, too.”

Her mother hung her head in shame and sorrow, as though her deepest secret was out. “All I can say is your father and I do love you, even if we've found it very hard to put it into words. We want the best for you. And the best for a woman is a good marriage. You can work wonders on Philip if you try. He's a one-woman man. He'll be faithful to you.”

“We just want you to have security,” her father urged, as though that was the greatest goal in life. “Philip is coming over in the morning to formally ask my permission.”

Shelley was thunderstruck. “You've got to be joking, Dad. Ask your permission? Am I wrong? Are we not in the twenty-first century? Is Queen Victoria still on the throne?”