‘And it was time for dinner,’ Georgia finished for him, her voice just a little thin and breathy.
‘Ken and Evan have gone home to eat and change and we’ve invited Jarrod to sample your cooking,’ Andy told her affably.
‘As a thanks for letting me borrow his car,’ Lockie explained hastily.
‘Oh.’ Georgia’s heart had sunk, her new-found control wavering, but she straightened her backbone and lifted her chin. ‘Deciding to live dangerously, Jarrod?’ she quipped quite evenly.
He raised a dark brow. ‘There’s always the take-away joint to fall back on.’
‘Let their tastebuds be their guides.’ Lockie put his arm around his sister and then turned and gave the lopsided gate a kick. ‘Damn thing’s stuck again. That’s another job to do. We’ll have to climb over it, I guess.’ With the ease of long-legged agility he vaulted the fence.
Georgia tried the gate but it wouldn’t budge. ‘Do you mean I have to scramble over it too? I’ll probably break my neck.’
Andy sprang across and picked her up in his arms, holding her high. ‘What you need, fair damsel, is a strong knight in shining armour to ride to your rescue in your time of need.’ He beamed. ‘Sir Andrew of the Drums at your service.’ As though she were a featherweight he deposited her on the other side of the fence. ‘I’ve been telling you for years just to call and I’ll come at the double.’
With a laugh Georgia turned to thank him, but her eyes were drawn to Jarrod, surprising the burning light of plain, old-fashioned jealousy in the look he was giving the unsuspecting drummer. Andy was totally oblivious of the tension in the air, keeping his arm around her as they walked back to the house.
‘Did you notice how strong I am, Georgia?’ he teased her, and she made a show of feeling the bulging muscles in his upper arm.
‘How could I miss it? No wonder you’re so good at moving furniture. And I thought you were just a pretty face.’ She knew a surge of heady power as she followed Jarrod, his body taut with silent tension.
Their early-evening meal passed off quite well, although Georgia couldn’t later remember what they had talked about. Lockie opened some wine and they laughed a lot. At least, the men did. Georgia remained somewhat apart from them, and after the meal when they went out onto the veranda she cried off from joining them, deciding to wash her hair.
She took her time in the bathroom, blow-drying her hair, leaving it flowing in soft tendrils about her face. She donned a fresh pair of jeans and a loose cotton shirt. Now, she supposed, she should make some coffee.
She walked into the hallway and straight into Lockie. He was returning from the kitchen with two cold cans of beer.
‘I guess you don’t want coffee,’ she said, indicating the beer, and Lockie shook his head.
‘Georgia, about tonight at the club. And the song.’
‘You don’t give up, do you, Lockie?’
‘Will you do it?’ he persisted.
Georgia sighed loudly. ‘We’ve barely had a run-through.’
‘The boys and I practised while you were walking. We’re ready. And you were fine before. Anyway, we can do a quick rehearsal when we get to the club.’
‘Lockie, I can’t.’
He sighed. ‘OK, sis. If it brings back too many unhappy memories.’ Lockie lowered his voice. ‘Did you write it for Jarrod?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Georgia bit out.
‘Well…’ He shrugged. ‘I thought, as you were being so determined about not singing it, you must have written it for him and that you must still be hurt over-well, over everything that happened’
Georgia stiffened. ‘I’m not. And your imagination’s working overtime.’
‘Why else would you be so adamant?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’ll sing it. It’s just a song.’
Lockie smiled crookedly. ‘You will? That’s great, Georgia. You’ve probably just saved our careers.’
‘Humph!’
‘Coming outside?’ he asked. ‘Andy’s gone to have a shower so there’s only Jarrod and me.’
Georgia hesitated. ‘I should be getting ready for tonight…’ she began, and Lockie frowned.
‘Georgia,’ he appealed. ‘There’s plenty of time and you’re making it pretty damn obvious.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You know very well what I mean.’ He was grim-faced. ‘You’re still giving Jarrod the cold shoulder, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t start that again, Lockie. I really do need to iron my clothes for tonight.’
Lockie glared at her and then, shaking his head, he continued out onto the veranda.
Georgia lingered in the hallway before returning to the kitchen, putting away crockery, wiping down already clean counter-tops. She ironed her outfit and eventually made her way to the front of the house, listening for sounds of male voices coming from the veranda, but she could hear none and she relaxed. Jarrod must have gone home.
Unsuspectingly she walked out onto the veranda only to stop short at the sight of Lockie and Jarrod sitting back in easy chairs, their feet resting on the low veranda railings. Both men turned to face her.
Jarrod’s glance was as impassive as ever. ‘You look nice and cool, Georgia.’
She could hardly re-enter the house, so with much reluctance she strolled forward. ‘It’s going to be another hot evening, isn’t it?’ she said as she gazed out into the gathering dusk, watching a flock of birds fly over, black specks in the twilight sky.
‘It’ll be hot on stage at the club if they haven’t adjusted the air-conditioning.’ Lockie took a gulp of his beer. ‘I thought I’d melt last night.’
‘Would you like another drink?’ Georgia asked, and both men declined.
‘I think I might try phoning Mandy just on the off chance she’s returned early.’ Lockie stood up. ‘I’ll bring us some coffee when I come back.’ And once again he left her alone with Jarrod.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GEORGIA could feel her muscles tense, her nerve-endings quiver, and she couldn’t stop her gaze from finding his. He was watching her and their eyes met. Meshed.
And the fire burned. Georgia felt the warmth grow inside her, spreading so quickly that her breath caught somewhere in her chest. Did he feel it? Was it eating away at him too? Did his body cry out for her until the pain was a deep, yearning ache inside him?
She turned away to lean on the veranda rail in case he read the wanting in her eyes. Perhaps she should let him see, her inner voice suggested. Remind him of their past love. But she wasn’t in love with him any more, she cried back.
Love! She felt her lips twist bitterly. Love hurt, and hurt killed love, didn’t it? And she had no desire to suffer that way again.
So, if she wasn’t in love with him, then this turmoil inside must be purely physical. Her body hadn’t forgotten him-that was the whole trouble.
Lust! It was pure, unadulterated lust. Perhaps she should let him see, make him aware that she was available for the sins of the flesh. And maybe then she could get him out of her system completely. But leave love four years behind her where it belonged.
‘Lockie was telling me that the owner of the club has arranged for a well-known record producer to come along to see your performance tonight,’ Jarrod said into the silence, and Georgia shrugged.
‘Lockie seems to have high hopes.’
‘But not you, obviously. So you have no aspirations to become the next Anne Murray or Reba McEntire?’
‘Hardly!’ Georgia gave a short laugh. ‘As you said, it wouldn’t fit in with my career.’
‘You really would prefer that to the spotlights?’ he asked.
Georgia shrugged again. ‘As you said, it’s more secure. I may even get to own my own bookshop one day.’
‘You never struck me as being a career woman.’
But you never really knew me, she longed to say, or you’d never have hurt me so deeply.
‘Not a note of chauvinism, Jarrod?’ she made h
erself tease lightly. ‘Why shouldn’t I want to make the book trade a lifetime career? I thought that was what you were advocating last week?’
‘I just remember you as having more romantic leaningssay, a poet or a songwriter.’
Wife and mother, she burned to throw back at him. Wasn’t that being a romantic fool? Say it, Georgia, she goaded herself. Say it! And see how the cool, reserved Jarrod Maclean reacts.
He’d turned to glance sideways at her, perhaps sensing her vibes, but before he could continue she spoke.
‘Poet, songwriter, wife and mother?’ She actually heard the words spill from her mouth.
Some fleeting expression, one she couldn’t quite pinpoint, passed over his face before he had himself under control once more.
Was he not as composed, as self-possessed as he’d like her to believe?
‘Always the romantic, wasn’t I, Jarrod?’ Georgia was amazed at the calm, even timbre of her voice, while inside old love battled renewed hate, anger attacked despair, and her rekindled attraction mutinously fought her well-stoked selfdisgust.
Almost imperceptibly Jarrod flinched, as though she’d struck him, and his face paled, his eyes bleak, all at once naked with a deep agony.
She’d reached him, Georgia recognised, and part of her rejoiced. Well, the voice inside her said matter-of-factly, she’d taken aim just as she’d been wanting to ever since his return, and it seemed she’d scored a direct hit because it appeared as though her barb had gone home. And if she evoked a reaction he must at some stage have cared, perhaps was feeling some regret.
Hope flared but she quickly quelled it with practised ease. She was a bigger fool now than she’d ever been before. If he’d loved her he’d never have done what he had.
Then why was she again feeling guilt for causing him pain? He was the wrongdoer. She hadn’t broken his heart and left him to pick up the pieces. Nor had she expected him to shake hands now and chat as friends, pretending it had never happened, as though they had never known each other so intimately.
So why the pain, Georgia?
‘Actually, I thought you might have married,’ he was saying in a flat, even tone. ‘I half expected you to be settled down with a couple of kids.’
Something stirred deep inside her, a fragmented memory of that time of struggle for life, and she swung slightly away from him so he was unable to see her face, read the sorrow she knew was written so plainly there.
‘Did you? Why?’ She had herself under control again and turned back to him.
Jarrod shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You’re an attractive girl. The guys around town couldn’t help but notice.’ He paused. ‘Is there anyone special?’
‘Perhaps,’ Georgia exaggerated. ‘One or two.’ What a joke! She hadn’t so much as looked at another man since he’d left.
‘Andy?’ He twisted the empty can in his fingers.
‘Andy’s a good friend,’ was all she said.
‘So you’re not in love with him?’ he asked, his eyes narrowed on something in the darkness beyond the lit veranda.
How could he even say the word? He couldn’t begin to know what those four letters meant
‘Love?’ Georgia pulled a posed grimace. ‘I really don’t think love…’ she paused disparagingly ‘…has anything to do with it.’
His jaw had tensed and a tiny pulse beat near his mouth but he didn’t look at her.
She hadn’t exactly lied to him. She wasn’t in love with anyone, but her intonation had been such that Jarrod could have been forgiven for reading lust for love. Yet now, perversely, she was angry lest he judge her. But something drove her.
‘Perhaps I prefer playing the field.’
He did turn then, and she met his gaze defiantly.
Jarrod shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Georgia,’ he said quietly as he stood up and moved over to lean on the veranda railing, just feet from her. And far too close.
Her laugh was brittle, a little high. ‘Why not? I grew up, Jarrod. I’m not a green teenager any more.’
‘No, I suppose you’re not,’ he agreed.
‘And perhaps I’ve decided I can have it all. A career. Relationships.’
‘Relationships? Plural?’ The shadow of emotion in his voice had every nerve in her body on full alert.
Her eyes flew to meet his in time to see his own gaze move slowly downwards over her full breasts, and her skin burned beneath her suddenly transparent shirt. As though he’d touched her. The way he used to do.
There was a more tangible tension in him now and Georgia held her breath, waiting, wanting. Then he had relaxed and the moment passed. And Georgia knew the familiar ache of loss, and she despised herself.
‘Actually, you’re right, Jarrod.’ She folded her arms over her breasts, aware of their still aroused state, knowing it would be visible through the thin cotton covering them.
‘Quite frankly,’ she continued, ‘I don’t feel I need a manany man. I tried it once and, believe me, I didn’t much care for it.’
‘Georgia…’
She didn’t need to hear the strangled sound in his voice to know that another barb had found its mark. And she suddenly realised, in her effort to avenge herself on him, just how transparent she was being. She was all but laying her wounded soul bare before him. Where was her pride?
She tried for a light laugh, and almost succeeded. ‘Love, no. Sex? Now that’s a different matter. I guess the best lesson I learned was not to combine the two. It only complicates everything, don’t you think?’
‘What do you want me to say to that, Georgia?’ he asked flatly, not looking at her.
‘Why, nothing, Jarrod.’ Georgia shrugged, tired of the conversation now herself but somehow unable to end it. ‘But what’s good enough for a man is good enough for a woman. Don’t you think that’s fair? Modern science has made it just as easy for a woman to sow her wild oats as it’s been for a man. And practice makes perfect, you must agree.’
He stepped towards her, taking hold of her, his fingers biting into her arms, drawing her savagely against the hardness of his body. She could feel the tautness rampant in every inch of him and her own senses responded with sickening spontaneity.
His dark head lowered towards her, his mouth fastening onto hers, his kiss a cruel parody of the caresses they had once shared. Her lips were crushed beneath his, his tongue plundering. And Georgia found her traitorous body responding. She pressed herself against his hardness, moulding her curves to the strong, hard length of him.
It had been too long; she tried to exonerate her behaviourbehaviour that one tiny, still rational part of her vehemently decried. She had been waiting for this moment for four long years, this sybaritic part of her lying dormant, waiting to be woken.
And Jarrod, too, was totally aroused by their kiss. Georgia felt the heady hardness of him straining against her as his hands held her locked to him, fingers splayed out over her buttocks.
After no time or all time their lips separated and they drew gulping breaths. Georgia’s heartbeats raced inside her chest, the thunder of them echoing in her ears. Her darkened eyes rose, devoured his full mouth, met his stormy gaze. She licked her suddenly dry lips and she felt the muscles in his thighs tense.
They stood like that, neither moving, until Jarrod drew a deep, shuddering breath, his face gauntly pale. With a superhuman effort he controlled himself, his punishing grip suddenly relaxing. Then he had released her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said thickly. ‘I didn’t mean to do that, to hurt you.’
Georgia rubbed her bruised arms. But she was finding that her physical pain was fading much faster than the other, more potent feelings he had aroused.
‘I guess I’m on something of a short fuse these days, what with Peter…’ He took another breath and sat down again, his movements measured, almost mechanical, as though he was deliberately forcing himself to relax. ‘But I shouldn’t have done that. Kissed you.’
‘No. You-’ Georgia cleared her throat and turned aw
ay from him. ‘We shouldn’t.’
There was a moment’s thick silence. ‘Growing up together the way we did, I suppose I still see myself as a big brother, if you like, wanting to look after you.’
‘That wasn’t a big-brother kiss,’ Georgia said huskily.
Tm sorry, Georgia. You don’t have to worry. It won’t happen again.’
What if she told him she wanted it to happen again, and go on happening again, and again? Georgia swallowed, hot colour washing her face, and she was glad she’d turned away from him.
‘No. It won’t,’ she said with as much conviction as she could muster.
‘Then maybe we should just forget it happened and change the subject,’ he said, and she knew he was running his hand through his thick hair.
The nerves in the pit of her stomach lurched again and she bit her lip.
‘Lockie tells me he has some fantastic new material by an unknown songwriter,’ he continued, as though nothing had happened, and Georgia turned to blink at him incredulously.
‘He means some old stuff I wrote ages ago,’ she made herself reply. ‘He thinks they might be suitable for his album.’
‘You wrote?’ It was his turn to gaze across at her and she could see that he was recalling their previous conversation.
Poet. Songwriter. Wife. Mother. And lover. The words spun crazily in Georgia’s head. They were almost like the lyrics of a song itself.
‘I remember you used to write some pretty good ones. And will you be recording these songs with Lockie’s band?’ he asked flatly.
‘I think Lockie’s thoughts of recording contracts are a little premature.’
‘Not by the sound of it. But I thought you weren’t inclined to make singing your career?’ Jarrod picked up his can of beer in its insulated casing and took an almost casual sip.
Georgia shrugged. ‘I’m not.’
‘Well, if you don’t intend to make the record with Lockie I think you should tell him so,’ Jarrod remarked, when Georgia thought the silence stretching between them would deafen them both.
‘I have told Lockie I’m not recording with him. I’d hardly have time to fit in recording sessions with my job at the bookshop.’
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