by Alison Kelly
‘Teasing. Having a go at you. Egging you on.’
‘Right,’ Bart said and decided to change the subject. ‘When we get to town I have to meet with Doug Shaffer about a bull he’s interested in buying. Why don’t you amuse yourself with some shopping for an hour and then I’ll meet you at the bank?’
Alessandra knew that it made more sense than to have her carrying around the ranch’s payroll while she killed time waiting for Bart, but the truth was she hated shopping. Oh, well, she could always hang out at the library and bone up on local history.
‘Well, it’s about time!’
Alessandra pounced on Bart as soon as he walked into the bank.
‘One hour, you said. I’ve been standing here so flamin’ long the security guard must think I’m casing the joint!’
‘Sorry, I got held up.’
‘Yeah, that’s what the security guard thought was going to happen to him!’
Bart couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. She was so damn sexy when fury flashed through those peacock-blue eyes, and the unamused line of her mouth was a temptation all by itself. If he weren’t so well known in the town he’d have hauled her off and kissed her senseless. In fact he was tempted to regardless.
‘Listen, mate, would you like to wipe that stupid grin off your face and answer me?’
‘What?’ he replied.
She raised her eyes heavenward and sighed, but not loud enough to drown out the growl from her stomach.
‘Pardon?’ Bart said with a fake expression of shock.
‘That’s another thing,’ she complained tersely. ‘I’ve been here so long my stomach thinks my throat has been cut. Let’s cash the salary cheque and go eat!’ Grabbing Bart’s wrist, she began leading him in the direction of the bank clerk.
Her touch sent rivers of fire rushing through his bloodstream and it took all of his will-power not to heave her into his arms and make love to her on the spot.
It wasn’t until she was standing in front of the bank clerk that Alessandra became aware of her hold on Bart’s wrist. She dropped it immediately.
‘Sorry,’ she apologised, wishing he would stop staring at her.
‘Why are you sorry?’
He was standing only inches from her. There was no physical contact between them and yet she was incapable of either moving or looking away. Something was tightening in her throat and she couldn’t speak beyond a husky whisper.
‘For…dragging you about.’
‘May I help you?’ the bank clerk asked.
‘Did I complain?’
‘Excuse me, miss…May I help you?’
‘No.’
‘Then please move away. You’re holding up the line.’
‘Then don’t apologise.’
‘Fine.’
‘Doug invited me to have lunch with him.’
‘Oh.’
‘Miss, would you please make a transaction or leave the line?’
‘I told him I had to meet you, so he said to bring you along and he’d bring his wife. Do you mind?’
‘If he brings his wife? Why should I?’
‘Miss! You are holding up the line! People are waiting.’
‘I mean do you mind if we have lunch with them?’
‘No. But I’m not really dressed for a posh restaurant.’
‘I think you look terrific.’
‘Excuse me, sir, but could you please let the lady make her transaction?’
‘Really?’
‘Always.’
As Bart’s head began to lower Alessandra raised herself on tip-toe and closed her eyes. Suddenly a heavy object dropped on to her shoulder. Turning, she found the bank security guard at her side.
‘Madam, you have been in this bank for nearly two hours already, but I doubt the people in the line behind you have that much time to spare. Would you kindly finish your business—your banking business, and move on?’
‘Sorry, Bill, my fault entirely. How are you doin’?’
Bart’s pally greeting spared Alessandra from having to answer the guard, but it didn’t save her from the irritated glare of the bank clerk. Giving her most cheerfully friendly smile, she slid the cheque across the counter.
Alessandra had eaten in some of the finest restaurants of the world, with people of all social classes, but never had she felt as uncomfortable as she did sitting opposite Rachel Shaffer in this small but pleasant establishment hundreds of miles from Brisbane. The woman was the nastiest piece of goods Alessandra had ever had the misfortune to meet. So far she’d managed to malign what sounded like every female member of the local community, and to make matters worse she persisted in calling her Alexandra. Glancing at Bart, she wondered just how important the sale of this bull was to him, because for two cents she’d tell the bitch just exactly what she thought of her. On second thoughts she’d do it for nothing!
‘Bart tells me you’re quite a cowhand,’ Doug Shaffer said conversationally.
‘Well, I must say it’s nice to know one’s boss appreciates one’s work. Perhaps I should ask for a rise?’
‘Never hurts to try, I always say.’ Doug gave her a wink.
‘Please, Doug, don’t encourage her.’ Bart smiled at Alessandra. ‘Otherwise I may have to increase the price on Black George to compensate for the rise in her pay.’
‘Ouch!’ Doug said with a pained expression. ‘On second thoughts, a rise might not be a good idea, my dear.’
‘Really, Doug, I’m sure Alessandra is more than adequately compensated for her duties at Rough Rivers,’ Rachel Shaffer chided her husband.
Alessandra quietly gripped the stem of her wine glass and forced a smile at the elegantly made-up redhead. Talk about mutton dressed up as lamb! The woman’s mind was so far in the gutter that you’d need a fireman’s ladder to get it out.
‘I must say, Alessandra, that is a very—er—interesting skirt you have on. Terribly sixties. Of course, all the old stuff is back in…in some circles. Personally I always found it a rather scruffy era,’ she said.
‘I can barely remember the era,’ Alessandra said sweetly. ‘I was only a toddler, but my mother has told me about it.’ She saw Bart quickly smother a chuckle.
‘Actually I bought this skirt in Israel two years ago; from memory it cost me two pairs of cut-off jeans.’
‘You’ve done a lot of travelling, Alessandra?’ Doug enquired.
At least he was pleasant, she thought, giving him a genuine smile in appreciation.
‘I got the bug at nineteen and haven’t spent more than a couple of years, total, in Australia since.’
‘You never went to college?’ Rachel’s question was weighted in horror.
‘I studied at the University of Sydney for one year.’ Alessandra shrugged. ‘I opted for travel over study and freedom over money.’
‘You have no desire to settle down and forgo the nomadic life you lead?’ Rachel’s tone was blatantly disapproving.
‘At the moment I have no reason to settle down. Excuse me a moment, would you?’
Bart and Doug rose simultaneously, as Alessandra left the table.
Ooohh! That woman! She was a perfect example of what money and designer clothes couldn’t do. Turning the cold tap on full strength, Alessandra held her wrists under the stream of water in an effort to cool her blood. She was just beginning to enjoy the solitude of the ladies’ room when the overpowering smell of Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium hit her nostrils. Anyone with real class knew one didn’t wear Opium during the day!
‘A bit tipsy, Alexandra?’
‘No, Rachel, just a little overheated.’
The redhead lit a cigarette and drew back slowly, making a very obvious appraisal of the younger blonde. Alessandra watched the distaste her white off-theshoulder blouse and vivid yellow embroidered skirt created in the woman’s face. Her hand-woven sandals were dismissed in the same pithy manner.
‘So you’re Bart’s latest?’
‘Latest bookkeeper, I presume you mean
.’
‘Of course! Whatever did you think I meant?’
‘I assumed, quite correctly, you meant lover.’
Rachel gave a nasty chuckle. ‘You should be so lucky!’
For a fleeting second Alessandra wondered if this woman was speaking from experience. No, Bart had cows more appealing than Rachel Shaffer!
‘I only hope that meeting you today isn’t an indication my luck is taking a switch for the worse.’ Alessandra reached for the door before adding sweetly, ‘Oh, by the way, I love your hair. It must be awfully difficult to dye the roots black.’
Feeling better, she let the door swing shut on the woman’s outraged gasp.
For most of the drive home the conversation had been spasmodic and hadn’t touched on anything heavier than local history, Bart asking Alessandra about various things that he’d read about in the library and she telling him of other events that had shaped this part of Australia. But guilt was getting the better of her.
‘How desperately do you want to sell Black George to Doug?’
It was clear from his expression that her question caught him by surprise.
‘Well, it’s not a case of being desperate. Just a matter of good business. Why?’
‘Because I think I might have cost you the sale.’
Bart sent her a puzzled look. ‘If that was the case I’m sure Doug wouldn’t have invited us to the party they’re having Saturday night.’
Alessandra sat bolt upright and swore.
‘Charming language—’
‘Tell me you didn’t accept! Please tell me you didn’t accept.’
Bart pulled to the side of the road and stopped the engine.
‘Of course I accepted. Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Tell me you didn’t accept on my behalf.’ Alessandra saw his pained look. ‘Bart, how could you? Oh, God!’
He ran an exasperated hand across his face.
‘Alessandra, you were in the powder-room and Doug said they were having a small party Saturday night and would we come? I thought since you hadn’t met many of the folks from around these parts socially you might like the opportunity.’
‘Not if they’re like Rachel Bitch-face Shaffer, I don’t!’
‘Ah, so that’s it.’
She threw him a dirty look. ‘Stop smirking.’
‘Look, I know Rachel is a bit of a gossip and tends to be a little snobby——’
‘“A little snobby”? That’s like saying that Jack the Ripper was a little aggressive! Or that Hitler was a little crazy!’
Alessandra’s outrage was so comical that Bart let loose with uncontrolled laughter. It was, he decided, not improving the situation any, and with great effort he fought to control his mirth.
‘You…you have to admit you gave as good…as you got! “I can barely remember the era, but my mother has told me about it.” Hardly meek acceptance.’ He was still chuckling.
‘You think that’s funny? Try this on for size…In the powder-room, she implied that I was your latest bedmate.’ The laughter stopped. ‘I thought that might kill your humour.’
‘What did you say to that?’
‘I told her I was your bookkeeper. Not that the truth is likely to stop her from spreading rumours.’
‘Would it bother you that much?’
Something in his voice drew her eyes to his and suddenly she felt as if she were drowning in their cool pale blueness. Instinctively she knew he wasn’t talking about how she’d feel as the subject of gossip.
‘I wasn’t the one who changed their mind down by the creek. Was I?’
‘I want you, Alessandra. We both know that. What I don’t understand is why I want you.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ she said.
‘I’m trying to be honest with you, Alessandra,’ Bart told her.
‘Bull! You’ve tried to talk yourself out of having an affair with me by telling yourself you’re not my type, but it hasn’t worked. So now you’re hoping that I’ll make it easy for you by agreeing that we aren’t suited and that it’s best if we just ignore this…this sexual pull that we feel whenever we get within cooee of each other. Well, I agree. We aren’t suited,’ she said fervently.
‘I take it you feel pretty strongly about all this.’ Bart held her gaze as he ran a slow finger back and forth across her lips.
‘Very,’ she sighed. ‘And if you don’t hurry up and kiss me…I swear I’ll go mad.’
Bart reached across to unbuckle her seatbelt, without taking his eyes from her face. Already his breathing was beginning to sound laboured and his shaky fingers were making hard work of a simple task.
Then Alessandra’s hand moved to work with his and as if by magic the buckle released. He watched a tiny smile of triumph tug at the corners of her lipstick-free mouth.
‘See,’ she whispered, moving to him. ‘We work well together.’
There was nothing tentative in the way Bart’s mouth met hers and just for a second Alessandra wondered why she should have thought there would be. Then she was beyond any form of mental logic as his tongue slipped between her eagerly parted lips. A hint of coffee lingered in his mouth and its bitterness invited her excited tongue to slip deeper. Bart’s responsive groan of pleasure sent waves of erotic warmth tumbling through her.
Bart was again stunned by the complete lack of shyness Alessandra displayed, but he was helpless to question it. Her hands were creeping ever so slowly up his back and he swore she was singeing the thin fabric of his shirt with every movement. Moving his head into the crook of her neck, he trailed his tongue along it and was rewarded not only by the softness he found there, but also by the strangely erotic magnolia scent that was essential to all his images of Alessandra.
‘Oohh…yes, Bart, I love that.’
The breathless quality of her voice motivated him to explore the golden expanse of shoulder exposed by her blouse.
Alessandra let her head fall back as Bart’s mouth continued its caress downward. At last he reached the elasticised top of her blouse and she waited without breathing for his tongue to renew its slick exploration. She waited, gnawed at by a need, such as she’d never known, for the feel of his mouth’s sweet wetness against her. But it didn’t come.
‘Ba…Bart?’
‘Don’t move,’ he ordered softly, turning the ignition key with an unsteady hand. ‘Unless I…get this vehicle…off the main…road, we’re gonna draw one hell of…an audience.’ His voice was a shaky as his hands.
Less than a minute later Bart brought the vehicle to a stop behind the ruins of what must have once been a storage shed of some description. Bart took her chin in his hands and kissed her gently.
Alessandra marvelled at how she had once thought him less than handsome. His face was without doubt the most beautiful she’d ever seen. There were fine lines at his eyes—character lines. Lines of strength, integrity and good humour.
‘You haven’t changed your mind, have you?’
She shook her head, smiling.
‘Good. Now stay put for a minute,’ Bart instructed, opening his door and striding towards the old building.
Despite the kinetic energy consuming her, Alessandra sat and watched as he made a quick check around the old building. He opened the rear of the 4 by 4 and spread an old blanket on the ground, before opening the passenger-side door and holding out his hand.
She took, it feeling like some fairy-tale princess. When she would have taken a step towards the blanket, Bart swept her up into his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing. No man had ever treated her so gallantly, and, as a one-time hard-core feminist, she was surprised to find herself loving every minute of it.
‘How will you explain it if you throw your back out?’ she teased, drawing an invisible line across the width of his shoulders and delighting in the ripple of muscle beneath her finger.
‘I’ve carried heifers that weigh more than you.’
‘Well, there’s a backhanded compliment if ever I’ve heard one! Do you say that to all the g
irls?’
Gently he lowered her on to the blanket and positioned himself on his elbows above her.
‘I don’t make a habit of this, Alessandra.’
‘No, I can tell. If you did you wouldn’t have fought so hard to prevent it.’
His fingers played across the top of her blouse, barely skimming her skin and yet working the fabric slowly but surely lower.
‘But you, you never fought it, did you, Alessandra?’
He asked the question just as he caught the elastic beneath her left breast, and her answer was lost in his awed gasp.
‘I never fight the inevitable.’
He smiled. ‘Somehow I can’t see you as a model of docile acceptance.’
‘I’m never docile, Bart.’
His mouth closed over the gem-hard peak of her breast and Alessandra’s knees jerked up in reflex to the power of the sensation he created within her. Never had she experienced such a surge of raw sensuality as he eased her back, carefully removing her blouse, his touch inflaming her body with just the slightest contact. She could hardly breathe while for several moments he admired the firm, yet soft perfection that lay bare before only him, God and the Australian sun.
Her fingers moved quickly to the buttons of his shirt and deftly she undid them one by one, pausing only to reef the fabric free of his jeans and undo the remaining two. She ran her finger from the base of his throat down his sternum to the muscular firmness of his belly and revelled in the granite strength layered under smooth but heated masculine flesh and a thatch of thick, silky hair.
In a fluid motion Bart shrugged clear of the shirt, but Alessandra had no time to gaze idly at what she knew was a magnificent chest, for he claimed her mouth with a passion she’d known only in her most recent dreams. His hands roamed and caressed her breasts with such gentleness that she marvelled that they were the same hands which bore the evidence of his hard labour on the ranch. When he moved them beneath the elastic band of her skirt and across the smooth softness of her lower abdomen she was helpless to control the excited shudders of anticipation that coursed through her. She felt Bart roll off her and in a distant part of her mind registered the snap of his jeans opening.