Australian Outback Kings / The Cattle King's Mistress / The Playboy King's Wife / The Pleasure King's Bride (7 page)

“This way,” he said, barely waiting for her to fall into step beside him before setting off.

Miranda kept her mouth firmly shut. The route into the gorge was signposted. She didn't really need his guidance. In fact, she would have been better without it. He set such a brisk pace, she was so busy watching her footing over the rough ground, determined not to stumble or fall, there was little time for gazing around.

The beehive domes gradually amalgamated into a gorge whose walls rose higher and higher. As the walking track narrowed and the terrain became more difficult, Nathan took the lead with a muttered, “Best to follow where I tread.”

As much as she bridled against his high-handed manner, there was nothing to be gained from disobeying. The sun had gathered heat and there was no shelter from it anywhere. Nathan unerringly chose the safest way over rocks and past tricky little chasms. A couple of times he paused to check if she needed a hand to negotiate an awkward ascent or descent but Miranda was proudly determined on not accepting any assistance.

Nevertheless, she reviewed her opinion about not needing a guide. The walk would have been much more hazardous and longer, picking her own way. As it was, she ended up misjudging her footing on a loose section of gravel at the top of a stony ridge, and as she took a steep step down to the next secure place, her back foot skidded out from under her, catapulting her straight towards the solid mass of Nathan King, who'd instantly swung at her yelp of distress.

She thumped into him, her hands automatically grabbing his arms to save her from falling in a heap at his feet. Not that she needed to worry about that. He reacted so fast, she found herself clamped to him, then hauled up his body until her feet found steady ground…between the legs he'd spread to anchor himself. But he didn't let her go…and she didn't let him go.

Her breasts were squashed against his chest and it felt as though their hearts were thundering in unison. Her pelvis and his seemed locked together, the key to his manhood fitting sensationally into the apex of her thighs. Her hands were wrapped around his biceps, loving their tensile strength. His vibrant heat and the sheer power of the man seemed to flood through her, holding her transfixed with a melting flow of insidious excitement.

She wasn't even aware that her hat had been knocked off. Her mind was abuzz with sexual signals that short-circuited all warning buttons. Her head tilted back, instinctively seeking more direct contact with him. The naked blast of desire in his eyes tore through the wanton glaze that had blinded her to what was happening. She sucked in a quick sobering breath through lips she realised were invitingly parted.

She saw his mouth compress, his jaw tighten and a savage mockery wiped the blaze of wanting from his eyes. He set her firmly apart from him, swept up her hat from where it had fallen and presented it to her.

“Better watch yourself more carefully, Miranda,” he advised acidly. “Another slip like that…who knows what might get broken?”

Like her credibility in insisting she didn't want him
.

“Thanks for saving me,” she managed to mutter, cramming her hat back on to hide her burning face.

“Tommy needs you operational,” he slung at her before turning a broad, brick wall back and setting off again.

Miranda's legs felt like jelly. She forced them to work as they should, willing more energy into them. It wasn't fair, she thought, staring resentfully at the pumped-out strength of his stride. She'd gone weak from that treacherous embrace and he'd gained power. Nothing was fair where sex was concerned, she grimly concluded.

Twice now she'd succumbed to his attraction. He seemed to have some inbuilt magnet that got to her, overriding all common sense. She found herself eyeing the taut action of his buttocks and wrenched her gaze away. Somehow she had to switch off this
physical
thing with him, get her mind focused on her job again. Nathan King was not the object of this sight-seeing trip.

The rock edifice on either side of them was not striped as the domes were. The colours were still striking, a mixture of red and orange, yellow ochre, beige and black. Miranda was wondering why this was called Cathedral Gorge, when she heard the sound, a deep haunting throb that seemed to vibrate off the cliff walls in a weird unearthly rhythm. She stopped dead, absorbed with listening to it.

Nathan moved on a few steps, then turned, aware of her failure to follow. He frowned at her stillness, emitting impatience. He was about to voice it when she whipped up a hand to stop him.

“Don't you hear it?” she queried in an urgent whisper.

He nodded, his eyes glinting with ironic amusement at her enthralment.

It goaded her into asking, “What is it?”

“A didgeridoo being played against the cavern wall. Come on. You'll see it around the next bend. Albert must have decided to give the tourists a demonstration.”

Albert?

A didgeridoo was an Aboriginal instrument. Did one of the tribes still live here?

Miranda sped after Nathan, eager to experience more of what she was hearing. And suddenly it came into view…the end of the gorge…a fantastic open cavern, the side walls towering up in incredibly sheer sheets of rock, the back one curved inward, sheltering a pool of mysterious black water surrounded by sand.

Behind the pool a group of six people sat on a jumble of flat rocks, watching an Aboriginal man blowing into a long hollow pole, the end of it resting on the ground as his hands moved over the holes in the wood, controlling the emissions of sound.

The eerie notes boomed up with all the power of a pipe organ in a cathedral, filling the cavern, echoing out like some primitive call that had passed through aeons of time, as though summoning the heartbeat of the earth itself so that those who heard it would feel its underlying rhythm and be in harmony with it.

It couldn't be called a song. There was no melody. Yet the interplay of sounds touched some deep soul chord that suddenly reminded Miranda of what Nathan had said earlier about his life being bound up in this land—ancient land—where survival reduced everything to basic needs.

She hadn't comprehended the full context of what he was saying but she had a glimmering of it now…the stark simplicity of choices laid out by nature, a cycle to be followed…birth, growth, mating, reproducing, death…an endless replenishment as long as the earth kept feeding it.

No romantic gloss.

Just life as it really was, underneath all the trimmings that civilisation had manufactured to sweeten it.

The playing ended on a long, deep, mournful note, which seemed to reverberate through Miranda, making her tingle in a shivery way. The Aboriginal man shouldered his didgeridoo. The group of six applauded, their enthusiastic clapping sounding totally wrong to Miranda, somehow trivialising an experience that should have been savoured in silence.

She was frowning over it when Nathan turned to look at her, his eyes hard and cynical. “The performance not worth your applause?”

She stared at him, feeling his contempt for the lack of understanding that connected what they'd just heard to a
performance
to be clapped. “Not everyone has your background, Nathan,” she excused.

He raised an eyebrow. “You're not going to show some mark of appreciation?”

She struggled to express what she'd felt. “To me it was a communication, not a concert.”

“Oh? And what did it communicate to you?”

His eyes were a pitiless blue, scorning any sensitivity from her. His challenge was a deliberate ploy to confirm the place he'd put her in—a woman without soul, a woman who cared only for herself, disregarding the hurt she might give to others.

Miranda's gaze bored straight back at him, resentment goading her into flouting his superficial and insulting reading of her character. “It gave me an insight into your life. And the life of those who have inhabited this land. How it must have always demanded they be attuned to its heartbeat.”

Her reply visibly jolted him. His chin butted up as though hit by a punch of disbelief. His eyes flared as though she'd done serious violence to his feelings. For a few nerve-shaking moments, she felt caught in a fiercely questing force that tore at everything she was. Then just as suddenly it was withdrawn, Nathan turning away and walking on.

Denial? Frustration?

Feeling as though she'd been pulped and tossed aside, Miranda had to recollect herself
again
before following. The deep drifts of sand made walking heavy going, but clearly the cavern was their destination so there wasn't far to go now, and at least she wouldn't be
alone
with Nathan here.

Having consoled herself with this thought, she was dismayed to see the group of six getting to their feet and gathering up their bags. They trailed after the Aboriginal man who was skirting the pool and heading towards her and Nathan. Then she realised he was dressed in a tour guide uniform and had obviously been hired by these people to give them the benefit of his specialised knowledge.

“G'day, Nathan,” he greeted familiarly, his face wreathed in a welcoming grin.

“G'day to you, Albert,” came the warm reply, a tone of voice Miranda hadn't heard for some time. “You'll be haunting the tourists if you keep laying that on them.”

The Aboriginal laughed as though it was a great joke. He patted his didgeridoo. “Only calling up good spirits.” He flicked a twinkling glance at Miranda before adding, “Maybe you need them.”

“Maybe I do,” Nathan said with a nod of appreciation. “This is Miranda Wade. She's taken over management of Tommy's resort. Albert's a tribal elder around these parts, Miranda.”

She offered her hand. “Thank you for playing. That was quite magical.”

He shook it, his dark eyes shining happily at her comment. “Always good magic, Miss Wade. You staying on for a while?”

“Yes.”

He released her hand and tipped his hat to Nathan. “Could be the right spirit for you, oldfella.”

He strolled off, chuckling to himself. Nathan threw her a look that simmered with scepticism, then trudged on towards the pool. The sand firmed as they neared it, much to Miranda's relief. Albert's group passed them, breaking their conversation to say “Hi!” Miranda smiled and returned their greetings. Nathan merely nodded, though Miranda noted he drew long appraising looks from the women in the group.

Physically he'd have an impact on any woman, she thought, though he probably wouldn't expend his energy on many. An extremely self-contained man, she decided, watching him stride forward around the pool to the flat rocks which would undoubtedly serve as their resting place for refreshment. Everything about him seemed to shout
elemental male
, and it was true what he'd said, she couldn't deny his effect on her.

In a primitive society, he'd be the prize mate to get. No denying that, either. She had no doubt he could and would endure anything from this land, and still make it work for him. In some quintessential way, he belonged to it…as hard as these rocks, and just as unforgiving.

Maybe she was a fool to pass up an intimate involvement with him. Not that he was likely to give her a second chance after this morning's contretemps.

Might it have developed into something very special? Some wanton core in her pulsed yes and it was difficult to argue away. Nevertheless, she worked hard at it.

Sexual attraction was no assurance of anything working out well. And why should she believe what Nathan King said about himself and his relationships with other women? He'd undoubtedly bedded the woman who'd chosen to marry another man. What did that say about him?

He dropped his bag onto a large flat rock. Miranda settled for one about a metre short of his. Since the cavern shaded them from the sun, she took off her hat, welcoming the cooler air here. In an attempt to ignore the tension of having to share some inactive time with Nathan, she emptied her bag, placing the plastic container of melon, which she'd sliced into finger-size pieces on the rock between them, then taking a long drink from the bottle of mineral water everyone had told her to take, warning of dehydration.

“I have a thermos of coffee. Would you like some?” he asked.

“Yes. Please.”

He used the same “table” rock to set out mugs and fill them, then produced two plastic containers of sandwiches. “Bacon, lettuce, tomato and cheese,” he informed her. “You'll need something more substantial than melon. Help yourself.”

“You, too,” she invited.

They sat, munching and drinking in a loaded silence.

Eventually Miranda decided to settle a harmless point of curiosity. “Why did Albert call you ‘oldfella'? I wouldn't call you old.”

“It relates to my family having been linked to this area for more years than Albert has lived. Longevity is counted in generations. Five generations here makes all of the Kings ‘oldfellas.'”

“I see,” she murmured, mentally kicking herself for even momentarily regretting her earlier rejection of him. A member of the King family would never seriously link himself with her, any more than a member of the Hewson family would, as Bobby had finally spelled out to her.

“What do you see, Miranda?”

She shrugged, meeting the searing question in his eyes with the inescapable fact she'd known from the beginning. “That I don't belong and you do.”

“Where do you belong?” he asked.

She broke into laughter, shaking her head over the emptiness of that question. “Nowhere. That's part of why I'm here. It doesn't matter where I am.” She flashed him an ironic look. “I guess you could say I belong to myself.”

He frowned and turned his gaze down to the pool below them. A dark, dark pool, Miranda thought, like her family background. Not that it could actually be called family, just her and her mother whose men had never offered a wedding ring…the whole sorry misery of it coming to a lonely end years ago. It was hardly the kind of history the King family would want attached to them in any shape or form.