The Australian (6 page)

“Stop that. I’m having hell trying to straighten things out at the station and worrying myself sick over you all at once. I bought a plane ticket I couldn’t afford, and it wasn’t just to hear you make cute remarks. How soon can you get here?”

Her mind went blank. “Get where? To Australia, you mean?”

“To the airport in Honolulu, dammit,” he ground out.

Her jaw dropped. “You’re here?”

“Yes, I’m here. Tired and hungry and half out of sorts—darling, get a move on, will you? And ask Margaret if I can stay the night. I have to talk to you.”

It was heaven. Dreams drifting down. The end of the rainbow. She cried huge hot tears and laughed through them. “I can be there in twenty minutes,” she said. “If I have to run all the way...!”

He caught his breath. “Hurry, darling,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

She kissed the mouthpiece tenderly and hung it up, suspended for a moment in a world that had nothing to do with reality. Then she sprang out of bed and burst into Margaret’s room.

“It’s John; he’s here; can he stay the night? We can put him on the sofa, and I have to get to the airport...!” It all tumbled out in a mad rush.

Margaret, who’d never married but remembered her own special season of love, smiled tolerantly. “Yes, he can stay the night. Get a cab to the airport—there’s money in my pocketbook in the hall. Blankets in the closet. Now I’m going to sleep. Soundly,” she added. “But don’t take advantage of my complicity, dear.”

Priss flushed. “No, I’d never do that,” she promised. “Oh, Aunt Margaret, I love you,” she said, impulsively hugging the older woman.

“I love you, too, dear. Now scoot!”

Priss was dressed in record time, in a pullover T-shirt and jeans and sneakers. She barely took time to run a brush through her hair, called a cab, and sat on the front steps of the small house waiting impatiently for it to come. Palm trees were silhouetted against the streetlights; the breeze rustled. And Priss was in agony. John was just miles away. John, here in Hawaii! The long months they’d been apart felt like years.

The cab came, at last, and she sat rigidly in the back until they got to the airport. She took just time enough to pay the driver before she went scurrying into the terminal.

Her wide soft eyes searched the crowd frantically. It wasn’t until she felt the touch on her shoulder that she realized John wouldn’t be wearing work clothes.

She turned, and there he was. All majesty and sophistication in a gray vested suit, his blond-streaked brown hair gleaming in the light, his face rigid, his eyes burning with blue sparks.

“Priss,” he said in a tone that melted her knees.

“Oh, I thought I was dreaming,” she remarked. Her lower lip trembled. “John, I’m sorry, but it hasn’t changed, I haven’t changed, I...”

He held out his arms, and she went into them like a homing pigeon, burying her face against his vest. His arms hurt, he was holding her so tightly, and she didn’t even care.

She nestled her cheek on the soft fabric with a loud sigh. Her hands smoothed over the taut muscles of his back, under his suit coat. His heartbeat at her ear sounded heavy, rushed. She smiled, savoring it.

“No questions?” he asked quietly. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

“Eventually,” she affirmed with a smile. Her chest rose and fell against him.

He laughed, although it sounded a little strained. “Let’s go, honey.”

“Didn’t you bring a suitcase?” she asked as he put her gently away from him.

“I didn’t have time. Not after Renée told me about that damned college kid,” he said, and his eyes burned down into hers.

Her eyes widened as she read the stark jealousy in his expression. “You mean Ronald?” she asked, dazed.

He stared pointedly at her slender body. “Have you slept with him yet?”

Her lips parted. “No!” she gasped. “Of course not!”

“Why, of course not?” he demanded.

Her eyes softened as they searched his rugged face. “Because I belong to you, of course,” she said with quiet pride. “I don’t want another man’s hands on me, ever.”

He seemed to freeze in place. The breath he took was ragged. He touched her face with slow unsteady fingers. “I want you,” he said huskily.

She managed a smile of her own. “I want you, too.”

“Is Margaret asleep?” he asked.

She nodded.

He looked around. “Let’s get out of here. I want to be alone with you.”

She slid her hand into his big callused one, and let him lead her out of the terminal.

Minutes later they were in Margaret’s plush living room, staring at each other in a momentary daze.

“I wanted to wait,” he said. “I wanted to give you time, to let you see something of the world.”

“Why?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders and glowered at her. “You’re only eighteen.”

She grinned. “Just the right age,” she replied. “You can teach me.”

“God, the thought of it makes me go weak in the knees.” He laughed, staring at her. “Come here, you little torment, and let me love you.”

She ran to him, glorying in his strength as he lifted her completely off the floor and laid her down on Margaret’s green upholstered sofa. She sank into it, stretching with delicious anticipation while he shed his jacket and vest and slowly, sinuously, unbuttoned his shirt.

She’d seen him without it before, but that was a lifetime ago. The expanse of rippling bronze muscles excited her.

“Hurry up,” she whispered impishly.

He grinned, his teeth white in his dark face. “Patience, darling.”

She arched delicately, letting him see the thrust of her breasts through the thin material. He reached down and jerked the T-shirt up, baring her body to him. She hadn’t bothered with a bra.

Her lips parted. “Yes, I like that,” she whispered as he stared blatantly at her. “I like you looking at me.”

“I’m going to do more than look.”

“Be still, my throbbing heart,” she teased, although her heartbeat
was
going wild.

He bent his head, and she lifted herself to meet his lips, gasping as his mouth found soft mounds and hard peaks and devoured them. Her nails dug into his upper arms and a tiny moan escaped her throat.

“Shhh,” he silenced. “You’ll have to be quiet, darling, or we’ll wake Margaret.”

“It’s so sweet,” she tried to explain through trembling lips as she stared up at him with her heart in her eyes. “Oh, so sweet, I can hardly bear it...”

“I know.” He slid down beside her and let his hand run down her yielding body as his lips touched her eyelids. She whimpered as his mouth moved softly on hers, relishing every tender line of it. “Priss,” he breathed. His mouth moved over her flushed face, brushing, exploring, in a rhapsody of taut silence. And all the while his hand roamed over her body, finding the slimness of her legs, the softness of her flat stomach.

Her hands tangled in his thick hair. Her thrusting breasts encountered the hairy roughness of his chest, and she froze. Her eyes opened, wide and soft and full of discovery at the intensity of pleasure the contact gave her.

“Does that please you, little sheila?” he asked softly. He moved, easing his big body over hers. “Don’t fight me, all right? I’m only going to let you feel me.”

Her lips parted on a rush of breath as he let his weight distribute itself over hers, and she learned something shocking about the differences between men and women. And when his chest melted into hers, she shuddered helplessly, grinding her teeth together and burying her forehead in his throat.

“Delicious,” he whispered shakily. “Feeling you...this way.”

She moved a little, and he groaned.

“Now who’s noisy?” she teased with a nervous laugh.

“We’ll have to make love in a soundproof room,” he retorted. “Kiss me now. Kiss me hard and slow, and let’s get drunk on each other.”

His large hands slid under her head and held it while his mouth moved in and took absolute possession of hers. It was like that hot kiss they’d shared back in Australia, and she felt his tongue exploring her mouth.

His body began to move against her, and she let his leg part her own, let him bring their bodies into a shocking kind of intimacy, and cried wildly into his mouth.

“Hush, darling,” he whispered. His voice was shaking, and his mouth was insistent. His hands went down to her jeans and began to tug at them.

“Oh, John,” she moaned, staring up at him.

“Do you want to?” he asked huskily. His blue eyes were dark and bright and wild-looking. “Do you want me?”

“H...h...here?” she managed.

He lay there, his body pulsating against hers, his muscles rigid, as he stared into her eyes. “Here?” He blinked and looked down at her and groaned. He forced his body to relax, although the feel of her softness under him wasn’t doing his self-control a bit of good. He nuzzled his face against her hair. “I forgot where we were,” he said raggedly. “See what you do to me?”

She was learning a lot about that, in a very elemental way. But oddly enough it wasn’t embarrassing. It fascinated her to know that he was vulnerable with her.

Her hands moved under his shirt, against the hard muscles of his back, and felt them ripple, as if they liked her hesitant searching. She smiled with pleasure. “I never realized men were so heavy. No...!” she protested when he began to lift himself away. “No, I like it, I like feeling you over me.”

“God!” he ground out, and shuddered. He rolled over onto his side, taking her with him. He wrapped her against his firm body, holding her there with a heavy leg thrown across hers.

“Sorry,” she admitted dryly. “I’ve got a lot to learn.”

“So have I,” he confessed. He drew in a steadying breath and brought her small hands to his chest, letting her feel its dampness and rough heartbeat. “I’ve never had a woman affect me like this.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“No, really,” he said, looking into her eyes. He tugged a throw pillow under his head and smiled at her. His fingers brushed her face as they lay together in perfect accord, in a new intimacy. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much.”

She looked down at her fingers against the broad expanse of his chest. Her fingers tugged at his dark body hair. “You’re dark here,” she noted. “Not blond like on your head.”

“Sun doesn’t get to my chest often,” he reminded her. His eyes studied her pert young breasts pressed into that thickness, and he smiled. His thumbs edged toward the hard peaks and rubbed at them, feeling her shudder. “See how vulnerable we are to each other? You can’t be expected to know how rare this kind of thing is. I’ve lain awake nights ever since you left Providence, aching for you.”

Her eyes shot up to his. “But...”

“But what?” He brushed the disheveled hair away from her face, and his eyes darkened. “You said you’d write me.”

Her eyes fell to his firm mouth. “And you said you’d have your mother write me for you.”

He hesitated for a minute. “And you thought...yes, I understand now.” He rolled onto his back and lifted her over him to study her. “I had this crazy idea that I could keep you at arm’s length for another year or two—let this thing between us cool off a bit. Just until you could grow up.” He smiled ruefully at her quick frown. “And then when you left, the world went dark for me. I couldn’t work for missing you. And you wouldn’t even write, you little horror. I looked forward to Easter vacation—I was planning all sorts of reunions. Then you called Renée and said there was a boy...!”

She put her fingers over his mouth. “I chased you unmercifully,” she told him. “Everybody remarked about it. I kind of thought you came to see me that last day out of pity. I thought you felt sorry for me and then regretted what had happened and just wanted to forget it.”

“I did want to forget,” he confessed. “But I couldn’t, Priss.” His darkening eyes searched down her body to where she was pressed so closely against him, and they clouded perceptibly. “Sit up,” he breathed huskily. “Let me look at you, for God’s sake!”

Hypnotized, she drew away from him and watched his eyes blaze as they riveted to her.

“You...you’ve been going around...with Janie Weeks,” she accused softly. The way he was looking at her made her feel faint.

“Janie has nothing at all to do with you and me,” he said vaguely. He caught her around the rib cage and brought her breasts down to his mouth. “I kiss you here and taste rose petals,” he whispered hungrily, while his mouth nibbled and brushed until she gasped and began to moan helplessly.

He laid her back on the sofa, crushing her mouth under his. One skilled hand cupped, molded, and caressed her, and she wanted him suddenly as she’d wanted nothing else in her life.

He drew away to look at her, and what he saw in her face made him want to throw back his head and scream his frustration. The situation was impossible. He couldn’t do it, not on a sofa in someone else’s house, not in a flaming rush like this.

Priss watched John deliberate for a long moment and searched his eyes curiously. “John?”

“Marry me,” he said.

She trembled all over. Her hands lifted to his face and held it, caressed it. “What?”

“Marry me.” He bent and kissed her mouth, softly, tenderly. “Say yes, Priss. Come on. Just one word...”

“Yes!” she ground out. Her hands tightened, trying to hold his wandering mouth to hers.

“Not right away,” he explained. “I’ve got...a few problems to solve at the station. But by Christmas. Okay?”

“Can I come home with you?” she asked.

“No, darling.”

“Why?” she complained.

“Because distance is the only thing that will save your virginity,” he said bluntly. “I want you with a disgraceful lust; haven’t you noticed?”

“I want you, too.”

“Yes. But it has to be done properly,” he said heavily. He sat up and tugged her T-shirt back into place. “Once I’ve had you, Priss, I won’t be able to stop; don’t you know that?”

“It must be like eating potato chips.” She laughed wickedly.

“Much worse,” he told her. He smiled slowly. “And once you’ve had me, you’ll want me again. After the first time, anyway.”

She felt drunk on pleasure. “I wish we could do it on the beach the first time.”

“Pagan,” he teased, but his blood was running hot in his veins as he looked down at her slender young body and realized that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He could almost picture them, her tanned body writhing under him, her soft young voice moaning with the intensity of pleasure he could arouse...