She bit his earlobe. "Don't turn into a gentleman on me now, O'Reilly. Not when I want you to be a degenerate Australian."
"But you're covered with bruises and cuts from getting caught in that bloody storm. I don't want to hurt—"
"I am not made of porcelain." She nibbled at his neck, her hands spreading fire as she rubbed her palms over his shoulders, his chest. "I'm a flesh-and-blood woman, and I've spent the last two months waiting for you. Aching for you."
With a laughing groan, he snagged his hands in her hair, bringing her head back. Her lips were parted with desire, her eyes dark with love. For him. It was still a wonder to him, that she loved him, that she wanted him. Wanted him with a wild- ness that surprised and delighted him, and loved him with an intensity that awed and humbled him.
"God, Amanda," he whispered. "I've missed you so." He covered her mouth with his in a kiss that was meant to be gentle but soon blazed up into something hot, frantic. They clutched at each other, their lips and tongues twining as if they could make themselves one flesh. Her lips were soft and sweet, her mouth hot. He thrust his tongue past her teeth, loving the feel of her, the taste of her, the little breathy, erotic noises she made deep in her throat as she strained against him.
Reaching down, he cupped her buttocks to lift her hard up against him. She squirmed, rubbing herself against him, and he grabbed fistfuls of her nightdress and shoved it up around her waist so that he could spread his hands over the naked flesh of her bottom.
"O'Reilly," she said with a gasp, her warm breath flowing over his mouth. She lifted one slim white leg up to curl it around his hip, and he let his hands drift over the bare skin of her thigh, seeking the tender folds at the secret entrance to her body.
He touched her, there, and she gasped again and flung her head back, arching against the support of the arm he held braced about her waist. "Oh, if you only knew how I've ached for your touch," she whispered.
Her skin was so soft there. So soft and hot and sensitive. He moved his fingers, exploring, stroking as he bent his head to lay his open mouth against the creamy column of her throat. "Tell me," he said, moving his mouth lower, to where the placket of her nightdress opened to reveal the upper curves of her full breasts. "Tell me what you want."
She bracketed his face with her hands. "You. I want you. Please... I want you."
He raised his head and looked down at her. Her lips were parted, and swollen from his kisses, her eyes wide and dewy with passion, her glorious hair a fountain of fire that flowed over them both. "Ah, Amanda. I love you so. I've missed you so. I've wanted you so."
He let her leg slide to the floor and backed her up until they tumbled together across the rumpled sheets of her bed. She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and rolling with him until he landed on top of her. He braced himself above her on one outstretched arm, and for a long moment, they lay still, simply gazing into each other's eyes. Then she grasped his shirt and yanked it free from his waistband. "I want you naked," she said, in a rough, smoky voice that seemed to flow into his blood like a fever.
Standing up, he stripped off his shirt and sent his boots flying, never taking his gaze from where she lay sprawled across the bed before him, watching him, the hem of her nightgown hiked up wantonly about her hips to reveal her slim white legs and the faintest hint of a fiery triangle. He shoved down his trousers and peeled them off, then straightened to stand tall and naked before her. He saw her eyes widen, and grinned as he stretched out his hand to tug at her rucked-up nightdress. "You next."
Wordlessly, she reached down, her arms crossed, to gather the worn linen in her hands and draw it up slowly, wriggling her hips to free the gown from her weight and expose a flat belly, then her full, rosy-tipped breasts, puckered now with arousal. Another tug, and she lay before him, naked and inviting.
"You're beautiful," he said on an awed expulsion of breath as he lowered himself beside her. He let one hand rove over the pale mounds of her breasts, then leaned forward, using his tongue to draw a slow circle around a dark nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
Her head tipped back and her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting in a soft cry of pleasure. He made love to her breasts, first one, then the other. He explored her body with his hands, with his tongue, stroking, sucking, nibbling at her throat, her chin, kissing her eyelids, her breasts again, then lower, across her belly and down.
He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, her hips bucking up as he moved between her thighs. "I love you," he said, letting his hot breath wash over her wet flesh. "I love you, love you."
She writhed beneath the touch of his tongue and fingers, made small keening sounds of yearning that aroused him almost beyond bearing. Then he felt the tremors start, deep within her. Felt her hands clutch at his shoulders, trying to draw him up to her. "Now," she said, her head lifting off the pillow, her gaze meeting his. "Please."
He eased himself up the length of her slim body, trying to be careful, but she rose up to meet him eagerly, her mouth seeking his, clinging to him as if she were starving for him. A powerful animal desire roared through his blood: a primitive, wholly masculine urge to posses her, to join his body to hers and make her his.
"Yes," he said, the word a harsh gasp as he felt her open her thighs beneath him, her hand reaching down to guide him home. Home, he thought, as he clenched his buttocks and thrust his hips forward, pressed his hot, hard flesh against her yielding entrance, pressed, pressed, until he finally eased himself fully inside her.
He groaned and lay still for a moment, feeling his body stretching her, filling her. She was so hot and wet and tight around him, and he loved her so much. He drew himself partway out of her slowly, then thrust in again, and she arched her back and sighed.
"Ah, how I have wanted you." Her breath was warm against his neck, her hands spread against his naked chest.
He meant to be gentle, to keep the rhythm easy. But his desire for her roared through him, sucking him out of control. "I'm sorry," he said, bracing himself on his outstretched arms so he could watch her face as he speared into her, again and again, harder and harder. "It's been so long. And I've wanted you so very much."
She stared up at him, her eyes wide and glazed with passion, her skin damp and flushed, her hands clutching his sweat-slicked upper arms as she wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him in, deeper and deeper, faster and faster. He bent his head, his mouth capturing hers for a long, hot, sucking kiss. Then he felt her nails dig into his shoulders and she flung back her head, her teeth sinking down on her lower lip to keep herself from screaming. He felt the tremors start deep within her, so powerful and clenching that it pulled him over the brink into a climax so shattering, he thought for one endless, rapturous moment that he had -died and found eternity, and that it was an everlasting ecstasy.
* * *
He made love to her all night long.
Sometimes the pace was slow and erotic, at other times fast and passionate. Toward dawn, she fell asleep in his arms. But still he lay awake, prolonging the pleasure of holding her, of watching her face while she slept, of letting his heart fill to the aching point with his love for her.
The sweet morning call of a lark outside the French doors awakened her. She stirred sleepily, her eyelids fluttering open to find him staring down at her in the dim light, his elbow bent, his head propped on his fist.
He watched the joyful smile that blazed across her face at the sight of him. And again he felt blessed that she could love him so. Blessed, and terribly afraid that he might lose that love—lose her.
"It's nice to open my eyes and find you in my bed." She stretched her arms up to loop them lazily around his neck.
He rubbed his nose against hers. "You, Miss Davenport, are a shockingly wanton woman."
She yawned. "Yes, I know. Isn't it wonderful?"
He laughed softly, rolling onto his back as her hands traveled downward, stroking his chest, his belly, before dipping lower. He sucked in a quick, startled breath.
"Why, Mister O'Reilly," she said, her smile becoming saucy as her hand moved up and down that part of his anatomy that was always willing to rise at her beckoning. "What have we here?"
"Something you want, perhaps?" He reached for her hips, meaning to draw her up on top of him. But she was already moving to straddle him, her knees digging into the mattress beside his hips, the covers falling from her bare shoulders as she rose above him.
"I might have a use for it," she said, then closed her eyes and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she slowly lowered herself, taking his length deep inside her.
He put his hands on her breasts, lifting them, stroking them, as she rose up, and sank down, rose up, and sank down, timing her gentle undulations to the lift and drag of his hips. "Does it fit your requirements, ma'am?" he asked, his voice a bit rough now as he picked up the tempo, his buttocks clenching and unclenching.
She braced her outstretched arms against his chest to steady herself. "I believe I find it... more than adequate."
He laughed softly, but it was a breathy laugh that turned into a whispered sound of pleasure as she moved faster and faster, riding him, riding him, until they were both straining, and the only sound in the room was the harsh soughing of their breath in and out, and the slap of their bodies coming together.
"Oh, God, Amanda," he cried, lunging up to explode with such force, it seemed as if he were flying into a million pieces. He felt her inner muscles clench around him, saw his own stunned wonder mirrored in her face before she collapsed against him.
He tightened his arms around her, holding her to him. He kissed her hair, her dampened forehead, rubbed his hands over the sweat-slicked skin of her bare back. It took a long time for the pounding of his heart to begin to slow and his ragged breathing to even out. He felt his love for her swell within him, so deep and raw, it almost hurt. "I don't know how I'm going to bear being away from you again," he said, pressing his lips to her temple.
She lifted her head and stared down at him, her gaze wide and still. "You still want me to take the children to Adelaide."
He smoothed the tangled hair from her brow and cupped her cheek. "I want you out of this, Amanda. You, and the children." He searched her pale, strained face. "Please."
He expected her to argue with him again. But all she said was, "All right. I'll do it."
She rested her cheek against his chest, her head turned so that he could not see her face. But she didn't hide quite fast enough, because he got a good look at the expression in her eyes. He saw the fear and uncertainty she'd managed to hide from him until now.
And the relief that flooded in to replace it when she said she would take the children and go.
"But I don't want to go to Aunt Hetty's house," Missy said as O'Reilly swung her up into the wagon. "She makes me wear shoes. And gloves"
He laughed softly, even though it hurt so much to send them all away like this that he felt as if something were dying inside him. "Don't worry, pumpkin." He hugged her to him more fiercely than he'd intended. "It won't be for long. Just until the first good rain. Then I'll come get you."
"But it hasn't rained for yonkers."
"Then it ought to rain soon, don't you think?"
She didn't say anything, just wrapped her small arms around his neck and held him close in a surprisingly grownup silence of grief. He kissed the top of her golden head and forced himself to let her go.
The sound of horses' hooves brought his head around. Liam reined in his roan gelding and, without dismounting, reached down to grasp O'Reilly's hand. "Good-bye, sir," he said, only the tight set of his lips and the strength of his grip betraying just how much effort it was costing the boy to control an unmanly urge to cry.
O'Reilly felt the morning breeze gusting warm and lonely around them. "Good-bye, son," he said, his own voice sounding uncomfortably thick. "Take good care of those horses, you hear?"
"Yes, sir." Liam stared off across the pale, dried hills, turning golden now with the rising sun. His teeth worried his lower lip, as if he had something to add but was having a hard time pushing the words out. At last, he said, "I wish you'd let me stay."
"I know."
Their gazes met and held for a moment before Liam's veered away again. O'Reilly watched the boy's throat work as he swallowed. Then he ducked his head and wheeled the roan toward where Jacko waited, the dog Barrister at his side.
"Papa?"
O'Reilly turned to where Hannah stood beside her horse, and found himself hesitating awkwardly. He wanted to hug her, the way he'd hugged Missy. But then he thought maybe she wouldn't like that, and maybe he should just shake her hand, as he'd done with Liam. Ever since that day when Katherine had finally arrived at Penyaka and presented him with a fretful daughter already one and a half years old, he had never quite felt at ease with this child, never quite been sure of himself with her the way he had with his other children.
He was still trying to make up his mind when Hannah threw herself against his chest. "Good-bye, Papa," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Please be careful."
He closed his arms around her, holding her close. "I will, baby," he said. And he knew then that Amanda was right, that Hannah was growing up. Growing up enough to realize just how dangerous it would be for him, staying here. Growing up enough to realize that she might not see him again.
He helped her mount, then watched her ride to where Jacko and Liam waited with the mob of horses they'd be driving. Along with his family, O'Reilly was also moving Fire Dancer and the other breeding stock south, to be put out to pasture in the Adelaide hills. If he survived this drought, he thought, as the mob started off down the track, he was going to open up runs in different parts of the country—Victoria, New South Wales, even Queensland—so that he could move his stock easily whenever the rains failed in one area or another. If he survived this drought...
His swung back to Amanda, who had come out of the house again and was now busy tucking away the hampers of food Ching had packed for them. She was wearing the same ugly brown dress she'd had on the first time he'd seen her, standing on that dusty, windblown street in Brinkman. Remembering that day now, it was a wonder to him how far they had come, how much things had changed.
And yet, when he looked at her, he still saw a tiny, fragile- seeming woman with pale skin and fine bones and an air of rarefied gentility that seemed all wrong for this harsh, hostile environment.
As if she sensed his gaze upon her, she turned her head. He saw her lips part, her nostrils flare as she sucked in a deep breath. He saw the pain and longing and fear that were his own, mirrored in her eyes, and for one shameful moment, he was glad of it. Glad to know that she was hurting, too.
He still wasn't unshakably certain of her love for him. He thought she loved him enough to wait for him in Adelaide. But that didn't mean she loved him enough to overcome her hatred and fear of this country. To stick with him through the worst this land could throw at a man and a woman, and not come to hate him, too. He kept remembering the look he'd seen in her eyes the morning she said she'd go, and it scared the hell out of him.
If he'd been sure of her—really sure—he'd have asked her to come back to him after she saw the children safely settled with Hetty. Even now, the temptation to ask it of her was so strong that when she walked up to him, he couldn't trust himself to say anything for a long moment; he simply stared down into the deep, shifting gray oceans of her eyes.
"We're ready," she said.
He nodded. They'd already said their good-byes in private, in the pale, hushed hours of early dawn. He had held her naked body close to his, made slow sweet love to her. And told her that he'd love her forever.
But there was one thing he'd deliberately waited until now to say, when he knew she wouldn't be in a very good position to argue about it. "I want you to take this," he said, pressing a thick wallet into her open hand. "You'll be needing it."
Her fingers closed automatically around the leather. She glanced down at
it, then up at him, her eyes widening when she realized how much he'd given her. "There's far more here than we could ever need for the journey. Would you like me to give what's left to your sister?"
He shook his head. "No. I have an account set up in Adelaide that you'll have access to. If you need anything—either for yourself or the children—there's money in the bank. Not a lot, but enough that you won't need to worry about going without."
"Then why this—"
"This is for you, Amanda. If something should happen to me, there's enough here to get you back to England and help you get reestablished. Especially if you—"
She pressed the fingers of her free hand to his lips, silencing him. "Nothing's going to happen to you."
He closed both his hands around her small one, holding it to his mouth so that he could kiss her curled fingers. His gaze locked with hers. "Something might."
"But—"
"Promise me, Amanda. Promise me that if something happens to me, you'll use this to get back home."
Her face was white, pinched by some emotion he couldn't begin to name. And it occurred to him, looking at her now, that as much as he loved this woman, he didn't entirely understand her yet. It was a thought that excited him, but it scared him, too. He could feel the fierce golden sun beating down on them. Hear the wind gusting, rustling the dry leaves of the dying gum trees. Hear the heavy pounding of his heart as he waited for her answer.
As if she'd been holding it, she let her breath out in a low, keening sound that was like an ache given voice. "All right. I promise. But nothing's going to happen to you."
September Moon Page 32