Dance with the Devil (17 page)

Emma walked around to the driver's side and got in. Disappointment nagged at her. Of course there was no reason for her to stay. Drew had his own vehicle now and was back where he belonged. Why should she feel like he'd cut her out of his life? She should be pleased - it was exactly what she wanted to do to him. But damn him! It didn't feel half the relief she thought it would.

She tried to shift her thoughts and concentrate on the tasks in front of her. First on the list was arranging her father's funeral, then seeing his lawyers. Out of some perverse sense of guilt, she had refused her mother's offer to help. If her father had not thought Emma competent while he was alive, she was sure as hell going to show him how well she handled his death!

Drew heard the Land Cruiser roar off and paused as he entered The Centre. Emma certainly was in a hurry to get away. Pain shafted through him. If she had her way, it would be as soon as possible. He breathed a sigh of gratitude for the slow turning of legal wheels. Emma would be here for a long time yet while her father's estate was being wound up. Time enough, he hoped, to convince her that he was in her life for good.

But now he needed some time alone.

He couldn't think straight when she was around. He'd tasted the sweetness of her body once, and it hadn't been enough. He'd been a perpetually coiled spring since, craving what she was determined not to give him - herself. Not just for sex, though he hungered for that with a desperation which gave him an insight into a drug addict's craving, but that connection with her emotions which would finally let him into her heart.

In his office he turned on his computer, wondering how far his secretary had got in her bid to input all his case histories. He'd been working for himself for several years, and if he had to look up each case manually it was going to be a long day.

Frustrating. There was no other way to describe it.

Drew was working on the hypothesis that whoever had kidnapped him was in some way connected to one of his cases; and that Dario's murder had happened because of their friendship. Then he switched tactics, and tried looking for any connection between himself and Dario and the killer, but he and Dario had faced each other in the courtroom so often he would need a more definitive connection than that.

Six-thirty, and he still hadn't made any headway. Between the frustration with his search, his sexual frustration and his nagging urge to see Emma again, his concentration had all but disappeared. He turned off the computer.

Diane had switched off most of the lights when she'd left at five o'clock, but Drew checked the toilets and the small storage room before switching off the rest of the lights and locking the main door. Diane's husband had driven Drew's Rodeo in that afternoon and parked it at the front of The Centre. As he threw his bags in the back seat, Drew caught a fleeting movement behind him and whirled swiftly.

A dark shape separated from the recessed entrance of the closed takeaway.

'We've been keeping an eye on things for you, Mr J.' Dale's voice echoed softly in the peaceful night.

Drew smiled. There had been a world of hostility and bitterness in Dale when he'd first started hanging around The Centre. When Dale's mother had approached Drew to defend him two months later, Drew was privately convinced nothing would change the sullen young man. But as he fought to convince Dale he had a future worth striving for, Dale had begun to hope. And with the hope came a willingness to break down the barriers his father's desertion had erected.

Then Carly had announced she was pregnant. Within hours, Dale was pleading with Drew to keep him out of jail so he could be there for his child. When the community service sentence was handed down, Dale had promised Drew he'd never see him in court again.

Drew held out his hand to the young man. 'Thanks, Dale. I know I can count on you.'

He watched the swell of pride in Dale's chest and smiled as the dark hand gripped his firmly. With Dale and his street-wise mates keeping surveillance on The Centre, it was one thing less for Drew to worry about.

As Drew drove up to Emma's mother's house, he noticed the Land Cruiser wasn't parked in the carport. A small twinge of worry nagged him. Emma should have been home by now. Perhaps she'd gone out again.

He dropped his bags at the front door and rang the bell. Within seconds the door opened. Trish smiled, then looked past him and frowned.

'Where's Emma?'

Fear, cold and heavy, clawed into Drew's guts. 'Isn't she home? She left hours ago.'

'I've been here all afternoon. She hasn't come in.' Drew's worry echoed in Trish's eyes, in her voice.

'Damn!' Drew picked up his bags and swung them inside. He unhooked his mobile phone from his belt and dialled Mick's mobile number. Within seconds, Mick growled a grumpy 'Hello'.

Fighting to control his worry, Drew queried Mick regarding traffic accidents or anything that could give him a clue to Emma's whereabouts. But Mick had no answers for him.

He turned to Trish as he finished. 'Did Emma say she was going anywhere else after she dropped me off?'

'Only to the gallery.'

'The Regional Gallery?'

'No, no. The Boutique Gallery. J.D.'s stepsister Kirri and I run a small shop selling our paintings and various crafts from other Cairns artists. I'd asked Emma to pop in if she had time and pick up a painting of mine. Kirri had phoned and said it was damaged.'

Just then they heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Trish sighed with relief as Emma's Land Cruiser came up the driveway.

'Thank heavens,' she breathed, and turned to walk inside. 'I'll go and finish cooking dinner.'

As the Land Cruiser pulled into the carport, Drew wrenched the door open.

'Where the hell have you been?'

'Picking up my mother's painting.' She frowned at the deep scowl marring his features. Why was he so concerned? He couldn't wait to be rid of her this afternoon.

'Something that should have taken an hour at the most.' Drew glared at her, then at his watch. 'Not till after seven at night.'

Emma's temper flared. She jumped out of the vehicle and pulled open the back door. She'd spent a miserable afternoon wondering why he'd suddenly changed into the ice man, now here he was acting as though she'd violated parole. 'Since when have my comings and goings been any of your business?'

Drew grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. 'Since some lunatic forced me through an audition for the Easter pageant and used my best friend as a sacrificial lamb!'

His anger escalated. How could she stand there looking so unperturbed and so…so…
beautiful
, while he'd aged five years in the five minutes he'd thought something could have happened to her!

He pulled her into his arms. His lips found hers, hungrily seeking the sweetness, the warmth, his body and soul craved.

She stiffened in surprise. He felt the rigidity in her body and used his hands, his strength, to mould her against him.

The desperation in his kiss touched her, made her ache. She melted into him, feeling the hot, hard contours of his body against hers, moaning softly into his mouth.

That little sound of need ripped the guts out of Drew. He exploded with a depth of passion that ground his hips against hers, his swollen, rigid flesh a declaration of his own need.

Emma flared in his arms, all thought of keeping a barrier between them extinguished. For too long she'd denied the sensual side of her nature, and now her body claimed its rightful due.

Unlike their kiss of the previous night, when they'd sought comfort from each other after the shock of Dario's death, this was pure lust, a wild, primitive compulsion to brand and be branded, a savage demand to answer the need in the other.

Drew wanted to throw Emma to the ground and take her on the soft grass, bury himself inside her and make her his in every way he could think of. But he fought to regain some control. They were bathed in the soft glow of light from the front veranda, and some tiny modicum of sense warned him that Trish may be observing them from inside the house.

With a groan of pure frustration, he pulled away from Emma. His deep ragged breaths seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet evening and the blood pounding through his veins seemed no less noisy.

Dazedly, Emma stumbled back against the open door, suddenly bereft of the heat and passion her body craved. She looked up at Drew, and her breathing stopped at the fierce hunger blazing in his eyes. Before she could recover, he reached past her and grabbed the painting.

She watched him stride past her mother, who'd come out and was standing on the front veranda.

Only then did she register the soft smile on her mother's face.

The next morning Trish rose early and went into her studio to repair the painting. Her husband had had the studio built when he'd seen Trish's talent blossom under the guidance of her art teacher. A covered courtyard joined it to the wing of the house that contained the main bedroom - far enough away from the visitors' wing to give privacy and seclusion.

She mixed paint and proceeded to blend it into the scraped area, grateful the canvas had not been affected. As usual when painting, she quickly became absorbed in her task, and it was only when a gentle hand touched her shoulder that she realised Emma had come into the room.

'I'm sorry for worrying you last night, Mum. Kirri wanted to talk to me on a professional basis about her daughter and the time just flew.'

Trish shrugged. With a daughter who worked in the most troubled countries in the world, worry had become second nature. 'I think you should be saying that to Drew,' she commented.

The hand on her shoulder tensed and moved away. Placing her brush and palette on the bench, Trish turned to her daughter.

'He was worried sick about you, Emma. He really cares about you.'

'I don't
want
him to care about me! And I don't want to care about him. I don't need to make another mistake. He has a life here that means a lot to him - you only have to look at how he is with those kids.' Emma gazed intently at the soft hues of a half-finished seascape as though it would provide her with answers. 'I'd go insane if I had to practise in a normal clinic, Mum. You know that.'

'Has he asked you to do that? From what you told me last night about The Centre, Drew doesn't seem to be very conventional in his attitudes.'

A faint wisp of a smile threatened Emma's lips. No, 'conventional' certainly didn't apply to Drew. Other people might support worthy causes, but not too many actually
lived
them. She couldn't stop the gentle glow that thinking about his compassion for the street kids brought. A man as caring as that…She shook the thought away.

'Emma, you know I loved your father, and how hard I tried to make our marriage work. I read his diary you gave me, and it made me weep for all the bitter, wasted years. He could have had a much happier life if only he'd allowed himself.'

Trish reached up and touched Emma's cheek. She loved her daughter fiercely, and it broke her heart to see her refuse to acknowledge her true feelings. 'You went into aid work for all the right reasons, and you've given many years of wonderful service. But don't make the same mistake your father did. Don't use work as an excuse not to let yourself love.'

'Love? How do you
know
what love is, Mum? How do you know if someone is worth changing your life for?'

Trish's chuckle surprised Emma. She watched the bemused smile on her mother's face as Trish reached out to hug her.

'Oh, darling,' the words whispered in her ear as Trish embraced her, 'you'll know. You'll know.'

They walked into the kitchen just as Drew did, and Trish felt the tension arc between him and Emma.

Last night they'd been freezingly polite to one another and Trish would have been surprised if either of them had slept well.

In spite of his short-sleeved chambray shirt and butt-hugging blue jeans, Drew looked as though he should be going to bed for a good night's sleep. Fatigue lines edged his eyes, and their normal brilliant blue had dulled a little.

Trish gave up trying to talk to either of them as they ate breakfast. Instead, she watched the covert glances one would throw at the other, and the pretended indifference when caught out.

Drew thanked her warmly for the meal, then said he had to go shopping for new clothes as he'd lost so much in the fire. Trish hoped Emma would volunteer to help him, but she simply wished him well with a politeness that made Trish's teeth grind.

As she tucked her crisp white blouse into her pale jeans, Emma was thankful she'd left most of her good clothes at her mother's house. On the property there had been no need for anything other than work and surgery attire, and on her infrequent trips to Cairns she'd been grateful to wear something different.

Not that fashion was high on her list of priorities, but she'd discovered, after working in countries where her usual attire was boots and khaki, that changing into something fashionable helped to cement the mental shift back to a more normal lifestyle.

Opting for comfort over style, she slipped on a pair of cotton socks and white sneakers.

Kirri worked the first half of the week at the gallery before returning to O'Connor Valley, and Trish worked the last half, so when Trish left with the repaired painting ten minutes later, Emma found herself alone.

Alone, really alone, for the first time in a year.

Her trips to Cairns to buy supplies had been rushed as J.D. had kept an eye on her father and she'd felt guilty for adding to his workload. He'd never complained, even insisted she take her time, but anything connected to her father managed to make her feel guilty.

She drove halfway into Cairns before formulating what she intended to do. It didn't take her long to buy medical supplies to replenish her depleted stocks, then she drove to the gallery and had morning tea with her mother.

When she left, she had no intention of going anywhere near The Centre, but it was as though the Land Cruiser had a mind of its own. As soon as she parked in front, Emma wondered why she was there. She was still wondering as she walked into the office. Diane wasn't in the front office and the door marked Counsellor was closed.