by Diana Fraser
Her strength seemed to leach out of her, leaving her weak and she slumped against him. He took her in his arms, supporting her, holding her, caressing her body with his own. His lips took possession of hers and their kiss became intense as she came in a blinding flash, pulsing around him. She pulled away from his kiss and gasped for air, staring blindly, her mouth close to his ear, her arms tight around his neck.
Only after her breathing became regular again, did she pull away. He rolled her onto her back, so she lay underneath him, their bodies still connected.
He pushed her hair from her face and kissed her, his lips soft, yet controlling against hers. She melted under their command. Too soon he pulled away.
“Gemma? Are you sure you’re okay with this because I can’t hold off much longer.”
She kissed him in reply and wriggled closer, relishing how completely he filled her. He withdrew slowly and she gripped his shoulders, anxious that he was going to withdraw completely, she leaned forward and kissed him again, drawing him close as he plunged deep within her again. Slowly the rhythm built, pushing her senses beyond their frontiers, beyond her knowledge until she could hold back no longer. She cried out as her body held him, moved against him, gripped him, again and again in waves of ecstasy and then he came pulsing into her center.
He pressed his forehead against hers and for a long moment they were silent, neither moving, only their rapid breaths mingling, slowly calming, slowly returning to reality. Then he brushed her lips with his and rolled off, drawing her to him until her head rested against his chest.
She smiled and ran her fingers down his semi-erect length once more. He clamped her hand with his own. “Don’t do that or you’ll get more than you bargained for.”
She flicked a look down his body. “Not yet, I won’t.”
“Gemma, don’t tempt me. Seriously, that shouldn’t have happened.”
“Well, it did. And I, for one, am very glad. Aren’t you?”
“Woman, you are seriously gorgeous. But I don’t go around having unprotected sex.”
The thought of this man having sex with anyone other than herself, protected or otherwise, cast a flicker of jealousy through her body. She felt, for the first time she could remember, that she was where she was meant to be.
Her fingers trailed over his lips, so knowing and passionate, over the roughened stubble of his chin and his cheekbones, broad and strong. She traced his brows, darker than his hair, which framed eyes that were a smoky blue in the dull light. She touched his hair, then thrust her fingers into it and pulled him to her. She felt more alive than she’d ever been as his weight moved on top of her and his hardness grew, pressing on her with an uncompromising force as his fingers ranged over her body, his mouth hot against her neck.
Shivers coursed through her body. A damp heat spread through her already sticky legs. She opened them wide. He groaned as she curled first one leg around his hips and then the other, drawing her into him, claiming him as her lover. She felt her sexual power over him and reveled in it. But only for one moment before he growled her name, pulled her hands upwards, trapped them under his and moved deep within her in one thrust.
It would be on his terms after all.
Callum sat and watched Gemma as she slept, unselfconscious, draped across the bed. Her red hair, a tumbled mass, spread over the pillow like sunset over a cloud, her limbs slim and pale in the dull pewter light of early morning. Her chest rose and fell under the tangled duvet and his gut tightened with desire. Just the smell of her, the memory of the taste of her, aroused him. For all her initial shyness she was as wild as the mountains. She was a contradiction. But one he wanted to understand.
Since Claire had died, he’d avoided women. Claire had been his only love and he’d failed her. That was ten years ago. He’d never trust himself with love again. His family was hounding him to get over it and get re-married. But he was done with love. Since Claire, his relationships had been strictly practical. His only interest was the land, making the estate whole once more, and having heirs he could leave it to.
And this beautiful stranger, who’d come from nowhere, could deliver both to him. He went over and lay down beside her once more, kissing her shoulder gently so she wouldn’t awake. Perhaps another marriage wouldn’t be such a terrible thing after all.
CHAPTER THREE
By the time they both awoke, the sun was high and its bright glare shone, unhindered, through the now un-shuttered window. Gemma carefully extricated herself from Callum’s sleeping embrace and eased herself out of bed into the cool morning air. She opened the fire and dropped in a couple of the smaller logs whose loose bark sparked in the hot embers. She carefully replaced the lid, grabbed the towel that had dried overnight and made for the shower.
She stood in the bath, unmoving, under the blast of warm water, as she tried to come to terms with what she’d done. She twisted to allow the water to run across her breasts and stomach. Was it the whisky? She shook her head as she soaped her deliciously aching body. No, it wasn’t that. Then what the hell was it that had made her act so rashly?
She closed her eyes and the image of his eyes, darkened with lust, his muscles tense as he drove into her, filled her mind. It wasn’t the whisky, it wasn’t the jet lag, it was him. The water might rinse away the signs of their lust but not her memories of it. They would be forever burned deep within.
But it would make no difference. She’d come to New Zealand to find her freedom and she couldn’t turn her back on that. It had been too hard-won. She tilted her head back and let the hot water sluice through her hair.
She re-entered the room and paused when she caught sight of Callum, dressed only in jeans, standing in the open doorway. She drew a sharp intake of breath as she was once more struck by his sheer strength and size. He was like a god, his strong profile and jaw thoughtful as he surveyed the trees that rustled in the brisk wind, the wide sunlit plains and clear, snow-capped mountain peaks. The bright sun highlighted the gold streaks in his hair, gold curls her fingers had found and twisted in the night as he’d brought her to orgasm. But now, standing there, she also felt the distance between them. She didn’t know a thing about him. He was a stranger—an intimate stranger.
He observed her silently for a few moments. She swallowed, wondering what he was thinking. His eyes gave nothing away. “The storm’s blown itself out. We should be able to cross the river.”
A strange mix of disappointment and relief filled her. Of course they couldn’t stay where they were forever, in this unreal world where everything was left behind. Life went on; life had just caught up with them.
“Great.”
He looked at her carefully. Her inability to hide what she was thinking was obviously alive and well. “Everything okay?”
“Of course. Time to move on.” She smiled and shrugged as she wondered what on earth would happen next. “I need to track down the car, salvage what I can from the wreckage, get myself a job and—”
“I’ll get that sorted for you. Don’t worry about it.”
A spark of some familiar dread leaped up inside her, coming from nowhere. “That’s kind of you but—”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s done. I’ll get someone onto it.”
An image of Paul slammed into her mind. One click of Paul’s fingers would have men—and women—running to him. She looked away and tried to breathe deeply to calm herself. Callum wasn’t Paul. She could leave at any time. He was just trying to help her out and she needed all the help she could get. “Okay, thanks. I’d appreciate it. I don’t know my way around and I need to get to Blackrock, find my house.”
“Blackrock?” He shook his head as if confused. “No, you may want to live in it at some point but until you’ve carried out basic repairs you can’t stay there. You’re coming back with me.”
The wide, open expanse of the plains began to close in on her. “I’m what?” Her voice was soft with incredulity. Had she just spent the night with another control freak?
She shook her head. “You assumed wrong. I have things to sort out.”
His gaze lowered once more. “What things?”
“Everything—job, car, et cetera, et cetera.”
“You can do all those things from home.”
She bit her lip, uncertain, and stepped forward. “If you think you need to do this because of last night, then don’t.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not under any illusion that it meant anything,” she added, determined to give herself what she needed and give him what she thought he wanted to hear.
The light, that had before seemed too bright on Callum’s face, suddenly darkened. He walked across to her until she was forced to look up at him.
“Didn’t mean anything? I don’t believe you.” He reached out and pushed a wet strand of hair back from her face. It might have been that simple gesture or it might have been the unguarded look of tenderness in his eyes as he did it. Whatever, suddenly the fear of control left her.
“Of course it meant something. But you’ve got your life and I’ve got to sort one out for me. I didn’t want you to think…”
He frowned. “I admit it was a strange way to meet someone. But that’s what’s happened and I want to see you again. And, as you are temporarily homeless, how about you come back to my house for a few days? Just,” he added noting her hesitation, “until you get yourself sorted out.”
She slipped her arms around his waist. “Well, Mr. Mackenzie, since you put it like that, how can I refuse?”
She pressed herself close against his naked stomach and chest, her fingers skimming over the ridges and hollows of his muscles as his lips took hers in a persuasive, and far too seductive, kiss. Her breasts were pressed hard against his body and absorbed the increased thudding beat of his heart, a beat mirrored by her own arousal. As his tongue explored her mouth, his hands deftly tossed away the towel and she was left naked. With a backward kick, Callum slammed the door closed and picked her up. She slid her thighs around his waist and he walked across to the bed where he laid her down, stood back and undid his fly.
By the time they left the cottage, the sun was beginning to lower in the sky and the white of the snow-covered mountains was tinged with pink. Looking around the high country now, it was as if there had never been a storm. The air was fresh and sweet and the golden plains spread before them with a grandeur and simplicity that seemed unchanging. But it did change. Its mood could swing violently from expansive and magical to restrictive and despotic in a heartbeat. The thought of the land’s unpredictable nature caused the same tremor of concern she’d felt when Callum had announced she’d be going home with him. The concern grew slowly into an idea that refused to go away. Was she trading one sort of imprisonment for another?
Despite her underlying fears Gemma couldn’t help being overwhelmed by the beauty of the rolling hills leading up to the mountains that towered in the distance.
“What’s the name of the highest mountain over there?”
“Aoraki, Mount Cook—highest mountain in New Zealand. Didn’t you read any guidebooks before you came?”
“No, no time.” That was an understatement. She didn’t know she was coming to New Zealand until a week before, when her friend had unexpectedly come up with a solution to her problem of where to run to. “I do know that it’s part of a range called the Southern Alps. Schoolgirl geography.”
“Not exactly impressive knowledge, considering your family came from here. Anything else? What’s the name of this whole area, any idea?”
She shrugged. “Christchurch county?”
He groaned. “Nowhere close. It’s the Mackenzie basin, Mackenzie country.”
She shot him a quick look. “That’s your name.”
“There are plenty of us with Scottish names out here.”
She relaxed once more. She didn’t want to be with any big time property baron. All she wanted was a low-key life, lived under the radar, so Paul could never find her. Couldn’t get much more low-key than a shepherd, she thought to herself.
“Anyway, how come we’re heading towards the mountains? I thought we’d return the way we came.”
“The bridge’s gone and the river’s too deep there. There’s a crossing just north of here which should be passable now.”
She certainly hoped so because, as they approached the river, it still appeared swollen and dangerous to her eyes. But Callum drove slowly through the wide river that rose alarmingly all around them. After much bumping and revving over the stony riverbed, they emerged on the other side and climbed the far bank, passing the high water mark, which was littered with branches and debris. It would have been impassable at that level. Once again, Gemma thanked her lucky stars Callum had come by when he had.
They drove on towards the hills, overshadowed by the Southern Alps, which were growing rosier with each passing minute. As they entered a valley high above the surrounding plains, Gemma noticed the land wasn’t so wild. Fences and small houses dotted the landscape. She sat forward and blinked her eyes in surprise as she peered into the distance.
Framed by tall trees behind, and a smooth lake that acted like a mirror in front, was a sprawling two-story nineteenth-century mansion, complete with not one but two ivy-covered towers that flanked the porticoed entrance.
“Wow! What’s that?”
“Glencoe.”
“It’s huge.” They drove around the lake, up an avenue of lime trees, their vivid green leaves flashing bright in the late sun. Around the house were dotted buildings, houses, farm offices. It was like a small village. “You work here?”
He glanced at her. “Yes.”
“Pretty amazing house. Are its owners as snotty as the house looks?”
“Some of them.”
“Oh well. I guess it’s worth putting up with people like that to live in this place. It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, my thoughts exactly.”
She looked around. The houses where, no doubt, the workers lived appeared well kept and comfortable, if a little small. “Which house do you live in?”
Callum swung the car around the top of the drive and pulled up beside the front door which was as imposing as the rest of the house with its pillars and wide steps down to the drive.
“This one.” He pulled on the handbrake, cut the engine and grinned. “Glencoe.”
“But…” She frowned. “Don’t they mind? Having the workers stay in the house?”
His gaze drifted to her hair, which he pushed back while stroking his thumb down the side of her cheek. “They’ve made an exception in my case.”
“Really?” She grinned back, teasing. “Because you’re so tall and strong and handsome?”
“That, and because I own the place.”
Her grin fell from her face as shock and dread filled its place. “No, you’re a shepherd.”
“Only when I want to be.” He swept his hand over her now frowning face and kissed her briefly on the lips. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
She watched him get out the car and greet a man who emerged from the stables. She didn’t move for a moment, just watched him. One minute she felt she knew him, she trusted him, was safe with him. And then something like this. She’d got him wrong. What else had she gotten wrong? Only one way to find out.
“Morgan, this is Gemma. She’s come to stay for a while.”
Gemma slammed the car door closed and walked up to them and shook Morgan’s hand. She wondered whether there was something in the water at Glencoe that made all the men so tall and fit. Callum put a protective arm around Gemma. “Morgan’s my right-hand man.” Gemma noticed Morgan’s expression didn’t change.
“Nice to meet you, Morgan.”
“And you.” He took a couple of
steps back as if he couldn’t wait to get away. “If you need anything, just give me a shout.”
As Morgan returned to the stables, which were set back to one side of the house, Callum collected Gemma’s bag and put his arm around her and walked up to the front door.
“Is Morgan related to you or do all Glencoe men look alike?”
Callum laughed. “No, we’re not related. He’s only been with us a few years but he’s made himself pretty invaluable.” He opened the front door and held it open for her. “Welcome to Glencoe.”
She stepped into a large room and turned 360 degrees, taking in the portraits that lined the opulently wallpapered walls, the ornate, Adam-style fireplace around which sofas were grouped and the rich reds and blues of the fine over-sized rug on the polished floorboards. A two-story wooden staircase with a gallery at the top swept up at the rear of the space.
“Wow! Those paintings, are they all your family?”
“Apparently.”
“Amazing place.” Gemma had seen luxurious homes in England—had lived in one with Paul—but nothing like this. It was as if she’d walked back in time. “So, do you live here, in this huge house, alone?”
“Mostly. Family comes and goes—my mother, brothers and my elder brother’s family. But otherwise I’m on my own. I have people who help around the house and the farm, but at night I’m alone.”
“So, no wife then.” She caught his eye and smiled. “That’s good.”
But he didn’t smile in response. “I had a wife. She died.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “So was I—but that was a while ago now.”
“So, have you always lived here?’
“Yep. My great, great grandfather built it—Caleb Mackenzie. He emigrated from Scotland in 1870, bought up all the land hereabouts and built this house.”