Southern Star: Destiny Romance (13 page)

In almost indecent haste, he paid for their meal, thanked the staff and ushered her smoothly through the restaurant and back to the Audi. After opening the door for her, he got in the driver’s side and within seconds they were out of the parking lot and wending their way back down the coast to where the highway intersected with the road home.

Blaze’s skin felt hot and tight. She pressed the button to open the window, and let the rush of air cool her skin.

‘I can switch on the air conditioning,’ Mac rumbled.

She shook her head. ‘No. I prefer fresh air.’ She glanced at him, and saw the drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Clearly, he wasn’t any more immune than she was to the electricity that zinged between them in the close confines of the car.

Blaze stared out the window and tried to muster some control, but all she could think about was what would happen when they reached Sweet Springs.

She tried to take the heat out of the situation. ‘Tell me about the new foreman you’re employing?’

‘Fuck the new foreman,’ he growled.

‘I don’t even know him.’

Mac choked out a laugh and then swore under his breath. ‘Tell me what you were thinking back at the restaurant that made you look like you were about to orgasm in your chair.’

‘I don’t think this is the time or place,’ she ventured.

‘Tell me.’

‘You’re driving,’ she pointed out, watching the speedo hit ninety, ninety-five, one hundred. ‘This is an eighty zone.’

‘I’m in a hurry.’

Blaze glanced at his lap, away and back. Her eyes widened slightly. ‘I can see that.’

His jaw tightened. ‘Touch it.’

‘Mac!’

‘Touch it, for fuck’s sake. I’m going crazy here. I’ll slow down.’ He took his foot off the accelerator.

Because she wanted it as much as he did and the road ahead was empty, Blaze snuggled in so her breast brushed against his arm. Her nipple went tight and he groaned. She reached over and delicately drew a nail over the bulge between his legs. He shifted in the leather seat to give her more room to manoeuvre. She repeated the action with increased pressure, and he bit off a curse.

‘Enough. Stop. I can’t —’

With a last, lingering stroke she withdrew her hand from the danger zone to press against his thigh. Feeling the tension in him, she snuggled even closer till her mouth was close to his ear.

‘I was thinking about something you did. The last time.’

‘Jesus.’ He expelled a lusty breath. ‘Go on.’

‘You put my legs over your shoulders and then you kissed me. There.’

‘And?’

‘I want you to do it again.’

‘Witch! Are you trying to drive me over the edge?’

‘You wanted to know.’ Blaze smiled smugly, and pressed her head back to his shoulder as he brought the speed up again.

The Audi, built low to the ground, hugged the corners as Mac steered expertly through them, making it to Sweet Springs in little more than thirty minutes. Blaze concerned herself with caressing his thigh, his stomach, his chest, with long unhurried strokes that moved close but not close enough to the erection that bulged against the crotch of his dark dress pants.

By the time he pulled up in front of her house, his loins were pumping, rising to meet the hand that loitered just out of reach. He was panting as he shot out of the car, rounding it to drag her out of it and on to the bonnet, pushing her silk dress up as he went.

‘Mac!’ She tried to climb off as she realised his intent. ‘We can’t. Not here.’

‘No one can see us.’

‘But —’ She yelped as the tiny silk panties were ruthlessly pushed down her legs. She could feel the warmth of the car beneath her, the heat of him in front as he tugged her legs wide. His eyes, hot and intent, were on hers, his hand on her bare knee, as the other dealt efficiently with his fly and protection.

‘I like you like this,’ he told her, pushing her legs high and wide. ‘Spread open for me, ready to receive me.’ He ran a thumb down her wet slit to prove the point. ‘Wet for it.’

More turned on than she’d ever been in her life, Blaze arched up to meet him, lifting her hips even as he thrust heavily into her, filling her with one long, hard stroke. One of his hands curved around her neck, loosening her hair from its knot, as the other gripped her thigh. Deliberately holding her still, he withdrew slowly, dragging flesh over sensitive flesh until she cried out. He slammed back into her, repeated the slow withdrawal, making her core throb and pulse, whispering words – dark and dangerously sexy words – into her ear until she was just a mass of nerve endings, of sensation, of pleasure and pain that could end only one way.

As though from a distance, she heard him say her name. She clenched around him, on him – arms, thighs, her molten core – welcoming them both home.

Dazed, they lay there under a midnight sky sewn with tiny threads of silver. Eventually, Mac found the energy to groan, and some minutes later to shift his weight, stand, deal with the condom and fix his pants.

He glanced over his shoulder at Blaze as he did so. Like some pagan slave-princess, she lay there in abandonment, her hair a gleaming mass in the dim light of the moon, her dress barely covering her thighs. One high-heeled sandal had come off.

When he found it on the ground and slid it back on to her foot, he realised her eyes were open and she was staring at the heavens.

‘The earth really did move,’ she murmured.

Mac leaned over her, one hand either side of her head. He took her ear between his teeth, nipped. ‘Stay like this and it could move again.’

‘You couldn’t,’ she protested. ‘No one could, after that.’

‘Try me.’ He got her bag from the car, handing it to her as she slid off the hood and back to her feet.

‘I think I need a minute.’ She wobbled a little on the way to the door, but managed to unlock it. Paddy, waiting for them outside, brushed past, making for his bed in the kitchen.

Mac followed Blaze up the stairs to the first floor, where she explained she was sleeping while work was in progress on the attic level. She looked suddenly nervous, almost shocked by their al fresco lovemaking. Avoiding his eyes, she said something about taking a shower and made a move for the door. Without moving, Mac reached out a hand, spinning her back into his arms and down on top of him as he dropped on to the big, soft bed. Some things were more important than showering.

This time when Blaze woke, there was a flower – a pansy, presumably appropriated from her front porch – and a note written in a large, masculine hand.

You don’t need your beauty sleep, Hollywood, but I thought you’d appreciate some rest. Mac

Smiling, she went to shower. When she returned to her room to dress for the day, the sight of the pansy, dark against the white of her pillow, made her pick up the note to read it again. It was brief, but it made her happy. She twirled the flower in her hand and her smile widened to a beam. Whatever she was to Mac, it was more than a one-nighter.

Downstairs, she found Rowdy putting on the kettle.

‘Sorry,’ she said, as it had become her job to have coffee brewing when he arrived. ‘I didn’t think you’d be working today so I had hot chocolate this morning.’

‘I wanted to do a few hours on the attic floor.’ Rowdy glanced at her. ‘You look chipper this morning.’

‘I feel great. In fact, I’m about to cook a huge breakfast: eggs, bacon, the whole bit. Want in?’ She got bacon from the fridge and lit the stove.

He looked a little bemused. Not surprising really, Blaze admitted silently to herself, as she added eggs to the sizzling bacon. Only a few days ago they’d had the run-in about the missing plans, and since then she’d been pretty distracted by a certain sexy farmer and her decision about the role in
Siren
.

Oh, Lord. She was really going to do it. The contract had arrived by courier yesterday. Which reminded her, she needed to run through it with Jax. Glancing at the wall clock, she saw it was nearly nine; about six on Friday evening in LA, by her calculation. Probably too late, seeing as the call might take an hour. She would email him and let him know she was still going through it and would call him tomorrow.

‘Miz Blaze?’ Rowdy’s voice interrupted, and she jumped. The bacon was starting to scorch.

‘Sorry. Sorry. I just thought of something I have to do, but it can wait.’ She flipped the bacon, cracked four eggs into a bowl and beat them with a little milk. Rowdy was seeing to the coffee. She managed to complete the rest of the breakfast preparations without incident, and they sat down to a companionable meal.

Rowdy told her he’d spent the past evenings clearing out the studio, cleaning the floors and touching up the paintwork. In his quiet way, he seemed almost endearingly excited about the prospect of having Marianne live in his granny flat.

‘It only has one bedroom, mind.’ He looked at her worriedly. ‘There isn’t a separate room for the baby. Do you think she’ll mind?’

Blaze smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m sure she won’t. If you think the studio will be ready, why don’t you invite her over for lunch next weekend?’

‘I could buy quiche,’ he said. ‘I’m more of a pie man, but girls like quiche, don’t they?’

Blaze had to stifle a grin at his increasingly anxious expression. ‘I’m sure that’ll be fine, Rowdy.’ She made a note to pick up something at the bakery, and fresh flowers. ‘I really appreciate everything you’re doing, Rowdy. Have you thought about the rent?’

‘Rent?’ His voice rose on a panicked note. ‘I know we talked about keeping it business-like and all but I can’t charge her rent. I mean, she’s about to have a baby.’

Blaze looked at him patiently. ‘Yes, she is, and that means she has to learn about taking responsibility. She’ll be working at the supermarket for a few months yet, so she can pay for her board, and after that she’ll get a single-mother’s pension while the baby’s small. Marianne plans to use that time to study so she can apply for better jobs when the baby’s old enough to go into child care.’

‘All right,’ Rowdy agreed with a sigh. ‘I’ll talk to her about it, but can you stay?’

Blaze sighed. ‘I’ll stay as long as I think you need me,’ she agreed, draining her coffee mug.

Rowdy nodded, and polished off the last of his breakfast before pushing back his chair to get up. Blaze forestalled him with a hand over his. ‘You’re a good man, Rowdy Parsons.’

Astonishingly, he blushed from his chin to the tips of his ears, mumbled something under his breath and escaped upstairs to his comfort zone.

Mac phoned later to invite her over for a late supper and, without actually saying so, to stay the night.

‘Can we take a raincheck?’ she asked him, with a light voice. ‘Rowdy’s had me hard at work today and I’m about to hit the sack.’

‘I want you in my bed,’ he said in a low rumble. Blaze heard another voice faint in the background, followed by a door shutting. His whispered voice returned. ‘Sorry. Bloody cook is always sneaking up behind me. Thank God Peg is on the mend now. She should be back at work soon.’

‘How is she?’

‘Not bad, except for the headaches. She doesn’t remember a thing about that night.’

‘Maybe that’s a good thing.’

‘As much as I respect and like Peg, the only woman I’ve been thinking about today is you.’ His voice went throaty. ‘You have no idea what it’s like having a fucking hard-on when you’re riding a horse.’

She laughed and promised to make it up to him another time, and he rang off partly mollified. Blaze stared at the phone wondering if she was insane to turn down the opportunity to sleep in his arms tonight.

But, apart from her reservations about making their relationship too public, the day had been overwhelmingly sultry, leaving her feeling limp and listless by the time she’d spent the morning poring over the contract. Nobly, she’d offered to help Rowdy sand and varnish the attic floor, despite the dust and revolting smell of the varnish, and was relieved when he’d refused.

Giving in to her exhaustion, she dozed off on the couch instead, and didn’t awake until the clump of boots on the stairs and the shutting of the front door in the early afternoon told her that Rowdy was leaving.

She didn’t feel like eating, but, as she hadn’t had food since her breakfast with Rowdy, she got a banana and a cool drink, and went to sit in one of the deeply cushioned new cane chairs grouped invitingly in the corner on the back veranda.

Beyond the waterhole, clouds gathered ominously, predicting a storm to come. With no rain for weeks, the land was desperate for a soaking. Her head began to throb as she watched the kangaroos drinking at the waterhole, strangely skittish, as though they too were affected by the build-up of cloud on the horizon.

Paddy slunk out from whatever shady spot he’d slept away the afternoon in, and Blaze fetched his dinner. Although it was barely six o’clock, she was ready for bed. Tomorrow would be another full day. As the boys wouldn’t be working on the house, she wanted to spend the day with the screenplay. Thinking about the movie reminded her that she needed to tell Mac that she would be away for two months after Easter. She suspected he’d either go ballistic or shrug as if she’d told him she was going into town. Either way, she’d have to handle him as well as her own feelings, but she was too tired to worry about that now.

She called to Paddy and when he didn’t come trotting up, she figured she’d leave him to chase rabbits or whatever he was doing. She locked up and trudged upstairs for a restless night of dreams.

Mac paused in the motion of mucking out the stables, straightened his aching back, and cursed loud and long enough for True to lift his head over his stall and snicker in concern.

It was late Sunday afternoon, for God’s sake; the day of rest. Amos was inside in the air conditioning, watching some old movie. Lewis, having just turned eighteen, was out with the boys and probably getting off his face. Emily was wherever she went on her days off. Mac didn’t ask and didn’t much care what she did in her private life. Even True was taking it easy with a stall full of fresh hay and an apple-and-carrot treat.

Mac, as boss, was the only idiot still out working in this flaming heat. Thank God Beau was starting work at Rosmerta tomorrow – finally – and Mac was going to ensure the kid earned his weekly pay cheque.

Between a sick horse, visiting Peggy, fencing repairs and caring for the stock – and allowing for the fact that until Beau was actually here, they were still down one man – Mac had been pulling fourteen-hour days for the past week. The one evening he’d been able to carve out some time for Blaze, she’d pleaded exhaustion.

Their nightly phone conversations, though, were driving them right to the erotic edge and if they ever got around to having sex again, the delayed gratification would likely kill them both.

Seeing the animals were all secure for the night, he called out to Amos that he was checking out for the day. There was no reply, and as the TV was turned up loud in the bunkhouse, Mac didn’t want to disturb the old man, so he stamped and shook the dust from his boots and hat on the way up to the house, and closed his eyes at the first blast of the air conditioning.

With an ice-cold beer in one hand and his mobile in the other, he headed back outside, and sank down on the old wooden bench where he toed off his boots. As it had done when he’d called Blaze’s mobile a couple of hours ago, it went to voice mail where he left another terse message. He tried her landline, too, and was frustrated enough to yell when the message machine clicked in.

Damn it, where was she? And why did his inability to contact her give him a vague sense of unease? Come to that, why was he feeling so fucking antsy about a woman he’d known only a short time? He had no claim on her nor she on him, which was usually just the way he liked it – except that this time he didn’t.

It all irritated the hell out of him, but he had a right to be worried, for God’s sake. Unless Peggy was a closet contortionist with fatalistic tendencies, there was still some maniac on the loose. With one thing and another, Mac had only spoken once to Ryan in the last little while, and when Ryan had none-too-subtly begun pumping him for information on Blaze, he’d terminated the conversation pretty quickly. Still, Peggy would have mentioned it when he went to visit her earlier in the week if there had been any developments in the case.

Most likely Blaze was out and had her mobile switched off. But for hours? Didn’t she realise someone might need to contact her? Someone who was worried about her safety? Who needed to know she was all right?

Biting off a curse, Mac slammed his half-drunk beer on the ground and went inside to change. He was going over to Sweet Springs, and when she got back from wherever the hell she’d been, they were going to have a little talk about his need to know she was okay. She might not like it – in fact, he was damn sure she wouldn’t, and probably with good reason – but she would just have to deal with it. Their relationship might still be new, but it was more than casual and it was time they both admitted it.

Rowdy’s nerves and Marianne’s uptight defensiveness meant it was later than Blaze had hoped before she was able to leave them to discuss when Marianne would officially take up residence in the studio. The teenager had been enchanted by the self-contained space with its airy living area and tiny kitchenette, enhanced by the tulips Blaze had bought. She hadn’t been so enamoured of the tiny bathroom or the fact that she was going to have to foot her own bills, which meant surviving without the internet and a large-screen TV, but she’d sucked it up.

Marianne had been friendly and inquisitive towards Rowdy, except when he asked her about her pregnancy, and it had been left to Blaze to smooth the path and help Marianne understand that Rowdy wasn’t judging her. As her on-site landlord, he was just concerned for her wellbeing. And then she’d had to kick-start the discussion about the weekly rent, but fortunately Rowdy had written the details down and proceeded to recite them word for word.

She’d left them to bond over the quiche, and hoped it would all work out. But either way, she’d done her best. It was up to them now. She had her own life to consider and top of the list was speaking with Mac. Then she’d turn in early and recharge her batteries for the week ahead.

On the drive home, she was about to call Mac when she realised she’d forgotten to charge her mobile before she left, leaving it as flat as a pancake. Maybe it was just as well. Verbal sparring with Mac required her to be in top form and right now she felt she could sleep around the clock. Ten minutes from the house, she thought she would have to pull off the road, crawl into the back seat and sleep it off. But the thought of her own bed just a few kilometres away made her press on.

At Sweet Springs, she dragged herself out of the car and was walking up the steps to the front door when she heard frantic barking in the distance. Paddy? The barking was coming from around the back, she thought, but it was hard to tell. Shaking with the effort, she put one foot in front of the other, unlocked the front door and walked through to the kitchen. She opened the back door and went out on to the veranda.

The barking had turned to a ferocious growling and snapping, and she scanned the lowering horizons, the energy-sapping atmosphere impossibly close. Finally the storm that had threatened for days was coming to a head.

Paddy was frantic now, yelps of pain mingling with the furious snarls. Knowing he needed her propelled Blaze into a run. Something was desperately wrong. A fat warm drop of rain splattered her face, then another. She blinked to clear her vision. There! She could make out Paddy in the gathering gloom, splashing desperately in the waterhole just a few metres from the tree-lined edge.

Panting and half blinded by the rain that continued to fall, Blaze fell to her knees on the rough leaf-strewn shore of the waterhole. Ants scuttled for cover, and, overhead, birds shrieked a warning. Perspiration and rain trickled down the neckline of her dress as she saw Paddy flounder. His head was barely above water and the barking had become just the occasional panicked yelp.

‘Paddy, swim, come on! Here!’ She called to him, patting the bank. Dogs knew instinctively how to swim, didn’t they? But she couldn’t make out his front feet – just his face slowly submerging beneath the glassy surface of the waterhole. ‘Paddy!’ she yelled. ‘This way, boy! Hurry!’

The yelps subsided. He was going under. She had no choice but to go in after him. Gripping the trunk of a tree, feeling the rough bark scratch her palm, Blaze got back to her feet, sliding off her flat sandals and dropping her keys next to them. Her summer dress was only light so shouldn’t provide much drag. The water was warm as she inched unsteadily down the bank and into the shallows. Wading slowly, she was soon out of her depth, but it was easier swimming than walking, and a second later she was reaching out for Paddy’s furry muzzle.

He was silent and unmoving as she dragged his head from the water, and she was exhausted; taking his weight was impossible.

‘Come on, Paddy, swim. Help me!’ she muttered.

Pushing off, trying to keep both their heads above the surface, she kicked out with her spare arm and both legs. Something wrapped around her foot. It felt like a chain and she kicked it away.

But the weight of the dog was taking them both under. She spat out mouthfuls of water, feeling the shoulder of her left arm burn as she tried to propel them the final metres to shore. It took forever but at long last she felt solid ground beneath her feet.

Hauling Paddy with her, she dragged them half out of the water, and it was then she saw that it was indeed a heavy metal chain, wrapped around Paddy’s legs. No wonder he hadn’t been able to swim! Too tired to unwrap the chain, all Blaze could do was push Paddy further up the bank. But he was so still, and his chest wasn’t moving.

‘Please,’ she whispered.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw slight movement in the fringe of trees.

‘Help,’ she croaked. ‘Down here. I need help!’

All the reply she got was the sudden gusty sigh of wind in the trees as the rain storm intensified. Rivulets ran down her face, and she was too weary to push them away as she contemplated Paddy’s still form. All she had to do was climb out, get to the house and call for help. It wasn’t too late, she told herself fiercely. She would phone Mac. He could be here in fifteen minutes.

But the bank of the waterhole rose steeply in this spot, and her fingers slipped helplessly in the mud as she tried to drag herself out. The water was pulling her back, back into its depths. Sliding helplessly back in up to her thighs, Blaze felt something claw deep within her belly, and she cried out.

Off-balance and with her stores of energy utterly depleted, she flailed for purchase. But the bank was too far away and receding.

The pain came again, a violent, sickening drag and she cried out hoarsely. If she rested for a moment, she’d feel better, she thought. She would try again later. It was easier just to float, staring up at the turbulent sky, letting the waves of pain roll through her, while the silent green waterhole pulled her gently down, down, down.

It was raining in earnest by the time Mac pulled up abruptly behind Blaze’s ute, which stood almost dangerously close to the front porch as though she’d only just braked in time. His boots hit the dirt before his own truck had come to a complete standstill, and he peered in the driver’s door of the other vehicle, which hung wide open, Blaze’s bag sitting on the passenger seat.

‘Blaze!’ He called out, looking around and trying to temper his concern. Maybe she’d heard the phone ringing inside and had rushed in. He jogged up the steps and through the open front door.

‘Blaze! Where are you, honey?’

Moving through to the kitchen and out the open French doors, he squinted through the driving rain, but he couldn’t see any movement.

‘Where are you?’ he muttered.

He checked the other downstairs rooms, the upper levels and the barn before retracing his steps to her car. Something was wrong, he knew it. He could taste the dread in his throat. Pulling her bag out, he upended it on the bonnet of the ute, hoping to find a personal organiser which might reveal something – anything – useful.

Her mobile spilled out, the battery flat.

He felt the car hood beneath his fingers; still warm. She hadn’t been back long. But where had she gone? From a distance the sky let off a warning rumble as rain continued to fall.

Back inside, he checked upstairs again to no avail and was in the new attic suite when he heard something. Opening the window that would become the door to the balcony, he scanned the landscape. The sound came again, the yelp of an animal in distress. It was coming from the waterhole.

His long legs eating up the distance, Mac raced downstairs and out towards the waterhole. He broke through the fringe of branches, and slid to a halt by a pair of slender flat sandals in a style Blaze favoured.

The whimpering sound came again, and there was Paddy just metres away, lying half in, half out of the water. Mac’s mouth became grim as he saw the animal’s legs were chained together. ‘It’s all right, mate,’ he told the distressed dog as he dragged him clear.

‘Blaze! Blaze!’ He scanned the width and length of the waterhole, and there, just a little further along, he saw a flash of red fabric caught among the tree branches.

‘Blaze! Oh God. Blaze! Hang on.’

He dropped his phone beside her shoes and launched himself down the bank into the still water. It dragged at his boots, at his jeans, but he didn’t notice as he arrowed in on the woman lying so still, half-hidden among the foliage of the trees that swept low to the waterline. Her hair flared out, damp and dark, around her face. The water around her was tinged with pink.

‘Blaze.’ His throat felt tight with fear as he reached her. He thought her lips moved, but her eyes didn’t open as he freed her from the clutch of the tree branches and hoisted her into his arms. It was slow, unsteady progress as he carried her limp form back to the place where he could climb out. The bank was slippery, and he had to lay her down next to Paddy before he could climb out and lift her completely clear of the water.

Under the canopy of trees, Mac knelt down by Blaze’s side. Under his fingers he felt the flutter of a pulse. Her lips moved, framing one word: Paddy. She looked deathly pale and her eyes remained closed.

‘He’s all right,’ Mac told her, his voice shaking as he took one of her cold hands in his. ‘He’s fine.’ Due to the patchy mobile reception, it took him a couple of attempts to get Ryan on the line. ‘Get an ambulance to Sweet Springs,’ he told him when the cop’s voice at last came on the line. ‘And a vet, too.’ He looked over at the dog, which was trying to scramble further up the bank, still chained. ‘Something’s happened. I think you should take a look.’

‘What is it?’ Ryan wanted to know. ‘Who’s hurt?’

‘Blaze Gillespie and her dog. I don’t know what happened but they’re both in a bad way.’ He shut the phone off as Blaze whimpered. Her lashes fluttered and her hand gripped his. He saw her body stiffen.

‘It’s going to be okay, honey. They’re sending an ambulance for you. Where does it hurt?’ He ran his hands over the back of her head, then her arms and legs, searching for cuts that would account for the blood he’d seen in the water, but came up with nothing. Maybe it was Paddy’s but the dog didn’t appear to have a wound either.

She whimpered again, and he tore his shirt from his back, wrapping it around her damp shoulders. Her skin was cool and clammy, face the colour of milk. ‘Where did you cut yourself, baby? Tell me.’ Mac saw her free hand hover over her belly, and when he curved his hand over hers, she cried out. The cry turned into a scream as her body arched off the ground in agony. The dark brown lashes fluttered but still her eyes remained stubbornly and tightly closed as though afraid to face . . . something.