by JC Grey
‘He sounded like a sweetheart,’ she told him earnestly after Bob placed the biggest burgers Blaze had ever seen in front of them. ‘I’m sure you’ll love him.’
‘I can guarantee I won’t.’
‘He’s not my type, anyway.’
‘What is your type?’
She put down her burger, met his eyes. ‘Don’t you know?’
His dark eyes glittered, a sign that he was aroused. ‘Yeah, I know.’
Suddenly, Blaze felt she couldn’t play the game a moment longer. She had to tell him she loved him and demand to know if he’d meant what he’d hinted about loving her. She’d given him time, hadn’t she? Given them time. She hadn’t pushed the issue, and had even resisted any attempt to hunt for the ring since she’d been at Rosmerta. But if he wasn’t going to ask her, what was to stop her asking him?
‘You’ve got tomato sauce on your face,’ Mac said. ‘And a strange look.’
‘Mac.’ Her eyes searched his face.
‘What?’
‘You know I —’
‘Everything okay, folks?’ Bob materialised at their table, the wattage of his smile tempered by the sight of their still half-full plates.
‘Great,’ she said. ‘Better than great. Your burgers deserve their reputation.’
Bob looked relieved and backed away. ‘Just holler if you need anything.’
Taking another bite of burger, she chewed with determination, although her appetite had disappeared.
‘You were saying?’ Mac asked.
The moment lost, she shook her head. ‘Nothing important.’
He searched her face for another few seconds, but she maintained her smile until he resumed eating, and changed the subject to how Rowdy would cope with two girls under twenty to care for. When they’d finished, he called for the bill and they drove home in silence, watching the eerie play of lightning to the north.
After the events of the day, Blaze should have slept well that night, but thoughts tumbled around in her head and she was aware of Mac lying sleepless beside her.
Was he, too, thinking that life was too short? Or that saddling himself to the wrong woman was a life sentence?
At one point, in the deep still of night, he stirred and said her name, but she feigned sleep and he pulled her close and finally slept.
Eventually Blaze did, too, but it was an unsettled sleep. Someone was watching her, following her every move with hatred burning in their eyes.
Who loathed her that much? Rick Beatty? One of the people who’d taken the time to write letters railing against her supposed promiscuity? Someone she knew or a complete stranger?
Bitch Blaze Bitch Blaze Bitch Blaze Bitch Blaze Bitch Blaze
She could feel hate feeding on hate, building into a malevolent storm, promising total and utter devastation.
Mac was searching for her, calling her name, stepping right into the path of destruction. She cried out a warning, but he couldn’t hear her. She couldn’t stop him; couldn’t save him. She screamed.
‘Blaze! Blaze!’ Bands of steel held her tight. ‘Honey, it’s okay. I’m here. Stop now, honey.’
‘I have to stop it. I have to tell Mac,’ she cried.
‘Tell me what, honey?’ he whispered against her ear.
She fought, trying to get free, but the bonds tightened. She was held against something hot, felt the rhythmic pounding of a heart beneath hers.
‘Open your eyes, Blaze. Come on now.’
‘Mac?’ she whispered, and stopped struggling. She blinked and saw she was against his bare, damp chest. He had a towel around his hips and his hair gleamed as if he’d just come from the shower.
‘Better?’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she was suddenly aware of her flushed, damp face.
‘I had a dream,’ she muttered.
‘No kidding,’ he said. ‘Want to tell me?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ She tried to concentrate on trapping the fragments in her head, but they’d already vanished. ‘I can’t remember.’
He reached out and took a glass of water from the bedside table, held it out to her. She drank thirstily until it was empty. He put it down and pulled her close again.
The sky was lightening and Blaze could hear the horses snuffling, the hands starting work outside.
‘Another day, another dollar,’ Mac said. She knew he should be out there with them but he made no attempt to move away.
‘Mac,’ she said with sudden urgency. ‘Be careful. If anything happened . . .’
He studied her face. ‘I’m always careful. But Woodall’s in custody. Ryan will tell us if he has to release him.’
‘I know, but if something happened to you because of me . . .’
‘Which it won’t.’
She squeezed her eyes shut and let the words spill out before she could rethink the wisdom of them.
‘But if it did and I never got to tell you I love you and I want to wear the ring and be with you, I’d be pretty mad at both of us.’
When he didn’t immediately say anything, she slowly opened one eye and then another. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from her rough, tough cattleman, but it probably wasn’t a satisfied smirk.
‘Is that a proposal, Hollywood?’
She folded her arms over her chest. ‘Well, if I waited for you, I’d probably still be single by the next turn of the millennium,’ she pointed out.
‘If you know about the ring, you’ve been going through my stuff.’
‘It was an accident. It fell out of your pocket in LA.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘And you’ve waited all this time.’
‘I can be patient.’ She sniffed. ‘To a point.’
His grin broadened some more, and he got off the bed and went over to the top drawer of his bureau, pulling out the velvet box she remembered.
Blaze thought her heart might stop there and then as he flipped open the lid to reveal the square-cut topaz surrounded by white and yellow diamonds. His hand trembled just a little and his expression grew serious as he slid it on to her left hand. They both stared at it.
‘Marry me, Blaze Gillespie, love of my life.’
Gold eyes met jet. ‘Try and stop me, Macauley Black.’
Gently, he lifted her face, his mouth seeking hers in sweet promise. But what started as a slow burn soon sucked the oxygen from their lungs, scorched their skin, turned hands into heat-seeking missiles.
Mac dragged her cami over her head, and Blaze responded by releasing his towel and putting her hand on him. He was thick and hot and pulsing in her hand as she gripped him tightly and stroked him from root to tip.
She gasped as he removed her French knickers, and his hair-roughened thighs moved between her legs, forcing them wide. By now their bodies were well-attuned; he knew how she liked to be held open, unable to control the speed or ferocity of his penetration, just as she knew the rhythmic pace that sent him over the top.
‘Put me inside you,’ he groaned. ‘Now.’
She did as he asked, loving the way he filled her with one heavy thrust and held himself there, watching her face as she pulsed around his invading cock.
‘I want you,’ she panted. ‘Everywhere.’
‘You have me,’ he promised, and then the time for talk was over as desire drove them from one shattering peak to another, blasting away all inhibitions in its path.
And as their fire turned to embers, sixty kilometres away another began on the grassy plains to the north and a line of smoke moved steadily south on the rising wind.
Frustrated, palms itching to give Pete Woodall’s smug face a slap, Detective Sergeant Ryan watched the cowboy swagger out beside his smarmy solicitor. The law was fucked – seriously. But the DNA results on Blaze Gillespie’s laptop, mirror and the lipstick weren’t back yet, and although the police prosecutor had made a strong case – based on the fact that the make-up was an expensive brand not available locally – it hadn’t been enough for the magistrate to keep Woodall behind
bars.
He slammed back into the squad room. Inspector Elsom looked up from a quiet conversation with another officer.
‘Calm down, Ryan, and focus on what we need to do next,’ she said, coming over. ‘We’ve still got a case to work. Let’s get some evidence and get Woodall back in here as soon as possible.’
‘What evidence?’ Ryan asked. ‘Woodall senior is sticking tight to the alibi, his mates know nothing – so the pricks say – and the lab might get us some results before Christmas. But maybe not.’
‘Well, what can we do?’ she asked. ‘What’s Woodall going to do?’
‘Get pissed, probably,’ he muttered. ‘Arsehole.’ He looked up. ‘Not you, ma’am.’
‘I should think not.’ She sighed. ‘Come on, Ryan. What does Woodall do when he gets pissed?’
‘Gets into strife.’ He thought about it, started to smile. ‘Gets pissed and starts mouthing off to his mates. Alcohol and an audience get his courage up, and he wants someone to pay for all the shit that keeps on happening to him.’
‘And who better to smash than the man who he blames for all his ills: Macauley Black.’ Elsom smiled. ‘You’ve got some surveillance to do.’
Mac eased back in the saddle, watching Beau with the men. Trying too hard, but better than not trying at all. Another few weeks and he’d be sweet, he thought. Already much of the day-to-day was off Mac’s shoulders. He could finally devote some meaningful time to his long-held dream of breeding the outback stock horses like True that cattlemen around the country relied upon.
He had the time but not the focus. His eyes strayed towards the house. Blaze had pretty much taken over his office. She spent several hours a day in there, studying the script for her new movie, making notes, doing internet research into the people and the period, or pacing up and down working the lines through in her head and out loud.
She wouldn’t object to sharing, he knew, and the office was big enough to accommodate them both. But, even when he was out here, he could barely keep his eyes from drifting to her every time her shadow passed the window. In there with her, he was physically unable to do anything but stare at her hungrily.
Their engagement, as yet shared only with Amos, Peg and Rowdy – all sworn to reluctant secrecy – had diluted his desire for her not one bit.
Suddenly, he understood her power to command the screen, to hold an audience in the palm of her hand. But all they had was a performance. The woman – the real woman – was his to have and to hold from this day forward until . . .
He frowned and pushed the thought away. The sooner he got the work done, the quicker he could get his wife-to-be back in bed.
Troubled, Blaze looked up from her contemplation of the script. Serene had a choice: to fight for what she believed in or to accept the easy life. It was a pivotal scene; one the entire film would hinge on. But Blaze was finding it impossible to concentrate, her own dilemma too immediate to allow room for anything else.
Paddy stirred from his nest on one of Mac’s old shirts, came over and nuzzled her. He trotted to the sliding door, looking at her. She sighed and got up, letting him out, wondering why any creature would prefer to be outside in the furnace. He raced across the yard, heading for where the men were busy drenching, vaccinating and branding. It was hot, sweaty, smelly work. She knew it had to be done, but she flinched every time the branding iron was applied.
Paddy made the back and forth journey twenty times a day or more, racing out to Mac and then back to her as though he couldn’t decide who needed him more. Sometimes she looked and found him staring at her with those intelligent yellow eyes as though he was trying to tell her something, but whatever it was it eluded her.
She walked out on to the deck, watching the dust swirl around the men and cattle. Even at a distance, she knew Mac: those broad shoulders, the air of command. His sheer masculine vitality reached out to her across the yard, and yet she couldn’t shake the kernel of anxiety that ate its way through the happiness of the past days. She twisted the ring on her finger.
What was it that photographer had said all those weeks ago?
Dicking around with Blaze Gillespie gets people dead.
Perhaps she should have kept her distance instead of proposing. If anything happened to Mac because of her . . .
Thunder boomed, closer today, and the cattle responded by stamping their feet and baying in protest. The weather was starting to get to everyone. The sky had turned a dangerous shade of teal and the wind swirled angrily. The faint smell of smoke hung in the air. Properties fifty kilometres to the north had been evacuated yesterday for a brief time due to encroaching wildfires and then allowed home when the wind changed, according to the evening news. The fire was under control and not expected to move this far south, but you never knew.
Peggy called out that she was leaving for the day, and Blaze responded absentmindedly. She shut the doors, but even with the air conditioning on, the glass was warm to the touch.
Restless, she picked up the phone to Rowdy, who was still on cloud nine with his little family.
‘Everything okay?’ she asked.
‘Good as gold,’ he said. ‘Little one’s an angel, and Marianne’s dad is doing his best to keep the peace.’
‘How are you and Trent coping with the heat?’
‘Okay. We’ve hired a portable air conditioner for Sweet Springs. You’ll have a bit of a bill.’
‘Don’t worry about that. If it gets unbearable out in the barn tomorrow, just work on whatever you can at the house or head on home.’
‘We’re picking up new timber for the barn repairs tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘Actually, I was hoping you could make some time. The study . . . well, we can clear it if you don’t want to go in there but with Paddy’s personal papers and your stuff . . .’
‘No, you’re right. I need to deal with it.’ She’d been putting it off, long past the time when she should have faced it head-on. Banish the demons.
Bitch Blaze Bitch Blaze Bitch Blaze Bitch Blaze Bitch Blaze
Rowdy was talking, telling her about the living-room floor and his initial assessment of what needed to be done to the barn to make it usable. She listened with only one ear until he’d finished.
‘That’s great,’ she said automatically.
‘You okay?’ he said. ‘With Mac and all?’
‘Yes, sorry – just this weather.’ She rolled her shoulders, feeling the heat glide over her skin.
‘Take it easy, boss. Gotta take it slow in this climate. See you tomorrow.’
She put the phone down on the desk and stared at the script. Perhaps she needed to give it a break for a bit.
Sorry, Serene, she thought. But I need to handle my life before I can deal with yours.
Blaze was in the shower when Mac came in. He stood for a moment at the bathroom door, watching her naturally sensual movements as she palmed water across her shoulders, her belly and breasts. And lower.
He must have made a sound, probably of desperation, because she turned around with a start. Seeing him, she shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around herself.
‘All yours,’ she said brightly as he attempted to navigate around the cotton wool in his mouth and suggest that they shower together. By the time he got it together, she was smoothing cream on her face.
‘Blaze . . .’
‘Oh, before I forget, I need to be at Sweet Springs tomorrow. The boys are nearly ready to start on the study so I need to clear it.’ She grimaced to indicate it wasn’t going to be a pleasant job. ‘They’ve finished with the living room so I can move the furniture back in, too, apart from the sofa, which is shot. I think I’ve found a new one that will work. It’ll take a couple of months to make and ship from Sydney.’
Macauley stared at her. What the hell did that mean? That she intended to return to Sweet Springs to live when she came back from the States? Regardless of his opinion on where they lived? He didn’t care where they ended up but he did care about not having a say in it.
Tired, aroused, irritated, he dragged his dusty shirt over his head. ‘I’ll take you. Ryan called to say Woodall is out on bail.’ He didn’t want her going alone, even if Rowdy and Trent were around. In any case, the trip there and back would give them a chance to talk. At the end of next week she was due to leave for America, and time was running out to establish some ground rules about their marriage, such as consultation and compromise. He also wanted her to commit to a date, the sooner the better.
‘It’s fine —’
‘I said I’ll take you!’ he said, ripping off his socks and shucking his jeans. He strode into the shower and turned on the cold tap full blast.
When he looked back, she’d already vanished into the bedroom.
‘You look like hell,’ Elsom said without much sympathy.
‘Thanks.’ Ryan felt like hell, too. Without anything to show for a long, hot night in the front seat of his car – spent in a futile wait for Woodall to follow the script and do something stupid enough to justify hauling his arse back in – he felt worse than hell. He felt defeated.
He slumped into his chair, too unmotivated even to get a cup of coffee.
Elsom folded her arms. ‘Heard from Fabrese.’
Ryan looked up. ‘What’s he got to say?’
‘You’ll be happy to hear that an extradition isn’t likely any time in the foreseeable future. Fabrese managed to convince his boss how expensive it could get if they arrest a movie star before they have all their ducks lined up and she turns out to be not guilty. Scared them off.’
Ryan sighed in relief. ‘What about the DNA question mark?’
‘Still waiting on the experts, but Fabrese says the hair that tested as Gillespie’s was almost wrapped round the knife. It’s just too neat for his peace of mind.’
‘Does Fabrese have anyone else in mind?’
Elsom shook her head. ‘Not that I gather.’
‘We’re missing something,’ he said. ‘Macauley Black said something the other day, something about her being the connection but not the culprit.’
Elsom studied him before nodding. ‘Okay, keep on it. And on Woodall, too. Keep me in the loop.’