Southern Star: Destiny Romance (18 page)

‘All right,’ she said, returning to Mac’s side. ‘Duty’s done. We can make our escape.’

‘Thank Christ for that,’ he growled and gave her another dose of goose bumps. Then he dragged her from the theatre in a way that would no doubt leave tongues wagging in their wake.

As though he’d been doing it all his life, he hailed their limo. Blaze thought she would have liked to walk a block or two, enjoy the balmy March evening and blend in with the crowds. But it was unlikely they’d get more than a few metres before she was noticed and then pandemonium would break loose. In any case, her feet were killing her. For a moment, she longed for the old battered boots she kept by the kitchen door at Sweet Springs, and then grinned to herself. Things must be changing if she preferred scuffed brown leather to custom-made heels.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Mac murmured as he held the door for her.

Head on one side, she considered him as he got in beside her. ‘Leather and lace. Something like that.’

‘Sounds kinky,’ he said, looping an arm over her shoulders to tug her close. ‘And uncomfortable. I hope it’s not me wearing it.’

Blaze gave him a devilish look. ‘I could make it worth your while.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said in a low voice that set up a carnal throbbing in her most private parts, something that less than two weeks ago she couldn’t imagine ever feeling again.

She felt a swish around her shoulders and realised he’d unpinned her hair. ‘Bugger Rudy and Rolf,’ he whispered against her ear. ‘I’ve been longing to do that all night.’ He slid a hand up her silk-covered thigh. ‘And smudge your lipstick, too.’

Sighing, Blaze pressed the button that closed the panel between the cab and the back. ‘We can’t,’ she told him. ‘Not yet. Not . . . fully.’

To his credit, he didn’t miss a beat. ‘I know. There are plenty of other things we can do.’ He lifted his head, turned her face up to his and smudged her lipstick good and proper. ‘Anyway, nothing beats delayed gratification as an aphrodisiac.’

‘Yes,’ Mac murmured in the dream world between sleep and waking. He reached out a heavy arm to bring Blaze close for another session of loving, but touched only cold, empty pillow. And the smooth grain of fine paper. He lifted the note and read it with bleary eyes.

Photo shoot. Back at five.

B x

A glance at the clock told him it was nearing noon. Well, they had had an energetic night, but Mac couldn’t help feeling a little cheated. It seemed as though one or other of them was always destined to have an early call.

While he was staying in a six-star hotel, he might as well make use of it, he thought. Room service didn’t bat an eyelid – not that he could tell over the phone, anyway – when he rang down for breakfast and coffee even though it was lunchtime. By the time he was out of the shower and buttoning his jeans, a po-faced waiter was knocking at the door.

Feeling energised with a decent meal in his belly, he went down to the lobby, picked the friendliest looking girl at the desk and asked her where he could go nearby for some fresh air and greenery. Within half an hour, a hire car had been delivered and he was on his way into the Hollywood Hills, an enclave sliced from the desert that was home to some of the city’s most lavish homes.

Stopping for a cup of take-out coffee, he leaned against the hood of the hire car as well-dressed people strolled past the galleries and pricy jewellery stores that ran along the main street, window-shopping. He wondered idly if Blaze had a place in these hills that reeked of wealth and exclusivity, or if not here, then somewhere else.

Mac was sophisticated enough to know that those who said money didn’t matter were talking shit, and primitive enough to want to provide for his woman. Relative to the people he lived and worked amongst, he was wealthy himself, at least in land, stock and prospects – if not always in hard, cold cash – but in the crisp, clear air of a spring afternoon, this was another realm of wealth altogether.

Here, it all seemed so effortless and clean, whereas whatever found its way into his bank account he’d earned in raw hands, sweat and aching muscles.

Clenching a fist around the small square box in his pocket, he wondered if he’d lost his mind. He must have – just a brief brain explosion after spotting, in the dusty window of an antique store, a square-cut topaz surrounded by white and yellow diamonds in an old-gold setting. It reminded him of Blaze’s eyes. On the spur of the moment, not sure what it meant, he’d bought it. Costing sixty-five thousand dollars, it had made a sizeable dent in his available funds, but it was a drop in the ocean to the jewellery she’d been wearing last night, and that fact had been nagging at him all afternoon.

Draining his coffee, Mac lobbed the empty cup into the nearby bin. The money issue was one thing, but a far bigger one was the fact that he’d purchased a ring at all. A ring! He, who’d remained single for thirty-six years, had bought a fucking engagement ring!

The reasons were many and confusing: because he wanted her, because for a brief period they had shared a child, because he needed something that shouted ‘Mine – hands off!’ And mostly just because he had seen it and known it was right.

That would have to be good enough for right now.

As he crossed the street, he caught the eye of a familiar face watching him from the driver’s seat of a car parked two behind his rental. He frowned when he couldn’t immediately place the guy, and then he remembered; it was the man who’d given Blaze such an ugly look at the premiere.

She’d covered up well at the time, but he’d wondered. Now the same guy was here and Mac didn’t believe in coincidences.

He went up to the car, put a hand on the roof and leant down, saw the soft, pasty face and weak chin.

‘No, don’t say anything,’ he said as the guy went to speak. ‘Just listen. You go near my woman, try to talk to her, speak about her to anyone – ever again – and I’ll come for you. Got it?’

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed twice before he nodded. Mac stood back as he fumbled with the ignition, and then took off with a squeal of tyres.

Watching as the car disappeared round a bend, Mac thought Blaze would have been impressed by his restraint – but possibly not by being referred to as his woman.

Their little interlude was over, Blaze thought with a sigh as she wheeled her carry-on case from the bedroom into the suite’s living area. It had been a moment in time that they’d both needed, and somehow in the past few days, the underpinnings of their relationship had changed subtly.

Strangely, instead of putting the brakes on their lovemaking, the temporary ban on full intercourse had allowed a new intimacy to flourish. The crackle and burn had become a slow simmer that allowed plenty of time for kissing and touching and murmurs of pleasure – and for occasional moments of raw grief that wouldn’t be denied. Maybe it was in these moments that lasting commitments were made, she thought, rather than in the fierce flame of unbridled lust – as much as the movies might have it otherwise.

Mac was more than ready to head home, and had been since yesterday. After the photo shoot, she’d taken him out to dinner at one of the city’s ritziest restaurants, thinking he’d enjoy a touch of star-spotting. But, apart from a brief study of the menu and wine list, he hadn’t looked anywhere but at her all night. Even when an overly endowed bottle blonde had virtually thrust her bosom in his face as they were leaving, he’d simply given her an impersonal nod and turned his attention right back to Blaze. If he’d wanted to demonstrate that he was not for turning, he couldn’t have made a more public statement.

Earlier today while she’d been caught up in a meeting with the team producing
Siren
, he’d used the time to speak with his people at Rosmerta. His new foreman seemed to be coping well, he’d said, but she could tell he was relieved to be going home.

They’d had one small bone of contention when she’d tried to upgrade his plane ticket to business class so they could travel together. In her eyes, it was only fair; after all, he was here because of her, and he’d already shelled out for a designer tux that he’d probably never wear again. But he hadn’t seen it her way. Thanks, but he could pay his own way if he needed to fly business class, he’d told her before calling the airline and organising his own upgrade.

It was no less than she expected. Mac was a proud man. As she mulled over the issue of how she could repay him for his unexpected expenses, she picked up the old leather jacket sitting on the couch, in case he forgot it. She tossed it on top of their bags by the door, and out of the corner of her eye saw a small box fall out of an inside pocket. Curious, she picked it up, flipped the lid and gasped with astonishment.

The topaz square surrounded by exquisite white and yellow diamonds gleamed dully in the centre of the vintage deco ring. Glancing towards the open door of the bedroom, she could hear Mac still packing up his toiletries. She had a few moments, so she turned the box from side to side, marvelling at the stones’ subtly different tones captured under different lights. She loved it.

And then it struck her. Surely Mac had bought it for her, but what did it mean? Snapping the old box shut, she shoved it back in the jacket pocket and rushed out on to the balcony, pressing her hands to her suddenly hot cheeks. Maybe it wasn’t what she thought it was. It wasn’t a traditional engagement ring, but any woman receiving that would have to think it meant something.

‘Ready?’ Blaze jumped as Mac came up behind her. ‘What?’ he asked, running a hand down her ponytail and leaning over to kiss her jaw. ‘Will you miss LA?’

Shaking her head, Blaze turned as his arms came around her. She looped her own around his neck and sank into him, lips clinging to lips in a sublime kiss.
Ask me
, she thought.
Ask me now before I have time to think of a reason to say no.
Their eyes caught and lingered as the words hovered between them, unspoken. Then a knock came at the door and the moment was gone.

Sighing, Blaze moved out of his arms and went to answer the knock. Two valets entered to carry their bags downstairs to the car that would take them to the airport. ‘We’ll be there in five minutes,’ Blaze told them and returned to Mac. Unshaven, he looked as striking today in no-name jeans and faded sweatshirt as he did in an Armani tux.

‘You must be happy to be escaping La-la Land.’

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Yeah, it’s been interesting but I’m a Queensland boy.’ He hesitated. ‘I know where I belong.’ He stopped and tugged her around to face him. ‘Come and live with me at Rosmerta.’

The words, bald and unvarnished, ricocheted between them, hitting raw nerves.

Blaze stared at him, waiting, wanting more.
Ask me now.

She waited too long; wanted too much.

‘Forget it,’ he said, his eyes hooded so she couldn’t see his expression. ‘It was just a thought, a badly timed one. The car’s waiting.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t. Just not quite what I expected.’ She went to touch his arm, but he evaded her, moving past her to pick up his jacket and carry-on bag.

‘Let’s go.’

Heart sinking, Blaze took the handle of her wheelie bag and followed him, wondering why every step forward in their relationship was immediately followed by two in reverse.

It was extraordinary how the most innocuous words, launched with precision timing and inflection, could land with such devastating effect.

In a moment of idle conversation, someone might just say, ‘You can be sure that Beau’s getting paid a pretty penny to run things while the boss is away. Lucky Mr Black’s not the kind of boss who robs Peter to pay Paul.’

Or to an older worker, ‘A good boss is a loyal boss. Once a bloke starts being shifted around, you can be sure he’s about to get the boss’s boot up his arse.’

Too easy to unsettle the men, and ditto the stock agent and feed supplier. Even Peggy’s return from sick leave wasn’t quite the happy occasion she’d been expecting.

‘Mr Black will be delighted to have you back fit as a fiddle, especially after paying your wages all those weeks you were off work.’

By the time the little ripples hit shore, you’ve got a tidal wave on your hands. Now we’ll see if Mr Superstud Black survives the deluge.

Blaze was asleep beside him in the second row of the A380, her head on his shoulder as the plane rode the night sky. Lightning crackled a hair’s-breadth from the left wing, or so it seemed. With the cabin dark and almost everyone taking the chance to sleep for the last couple of hours before reaching Brisbane, Mac thought he was probably the only one aware of it.

Having faced bushfires and floods, droughts and cyclones in his time, he wasn’t spooked by a small electrical storm. They’d be clear of it within seconds, most likely. But he felt unsettled, as though he was flying head on into something he’d never faced before.

He remembered Ryan’s text.
Forensic anomaly.
What the hell did that mean? If there was something unusual about the forensics in the case of Blaze’s murdered friend, wouldn’t the LA cops have wanted to meet with her while she was in LA? Yet she hadn’t had any contact with them as far as he knew.

True, she had seemed a little anxious when they were about to leave, antsy, as though she’d been expecting something to happen. Had she been worried she might be detained before their flight left?

If the LAPD wanted to bring her in now, it meant requesting extradition, and they could fight that. He tightened his grip on her hand. He’d move heaven and earth, do whatever he had to, to get her off the hook. In his gut, he knew it wasn’t in her to hurt anyone, and his head was nearly as equivocal. But whether she was guilty or not, Blaze would end up behind bars over his dead body.

If she wasn’t ready to live with him then she was going to have to accept him being around Sweet Springs a whole lot, at least at night. During daylight hours, he needed to be at Rosmerta, even with Beau managing the routine stuff. But he figured Blaze was relatively safe with Rowdy and Trent around most weekdays. On weekends, well they’d just have to figure it out.

During the months she was shooting, either she’d come back whenever she had a few days’ break or he’d go there. And when she was ready, he’d press the matter of a more permanent arrangement.

Mac reached inside his jacket to touch the little velvet box sitting close to his heart. This trip had brought them closer, but still the distance was immense. Despite the relative newness of their relationship, they already had a heap of baggage. And it wasn’t helped by all the uncertainties and unknowns they faced.

Sheet lightning bathed the plane in bright white, and he wished their relationship had a similar clarity. First step for him was to sit down with Blaze and talk, about where they were coming from and where they were going. Despite their intimacy these past days, they hadn’t actually spoken of their relationship. As far as Mac was concerned, they were in an exclusive relationship, but his assumptions had a way of blowing up in his face. He wanted to be sure of where he stood with her.

And when they were clear with each other, they were going to talk to Ryan, and hope he felt like reciprocating. Because somewhere, a clue was hiding that would link the killings in America with the attacks on Peggy and the dog. He was sure of it. And he was going to do everything he could to find it.

Home, sweet home. Blaze got out of the taxi and was promptly nearly bowled over by Paddy, beside himself with joy at her return before being distracted by a couple of cockatoos screeching on a fence. He raced off, barking in triumph as they flew away in a froth of ruffled white and sulphur feathers, and then raced back, running in circles around Blaze as she left her cabin bag at the foot of the stairs and continued down the hallway to the kitchen.

Except that it was no longer just a kitchen. The wall between the kitchen and dining room was gone, creating one vast living space spanning the entire rear of the house, with a bank of glass that overlooked the veranda and across to the waterhole.