by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
Tristan liked women. Warm, smart women who could make a man laugh. Sharp, serious women who knew what they wanted to do with their lives and weren’t afraid to work towards it. He liked them all, liked being with them, enjoyed making love to them. As long as they didn’t get too close.
With Erin it was different. He looked at Erin and something stirred inside him. Something potent and unfamiliar and powerful enough to declare war on his old and constant companion that was fear.
Not love. Not yet.
Desire, maybe. The kind that went soul deep and left a man aching and needy. Not love, never that. His brain shied away from the notion, determined to resist it.
While his heart trembled.
Erin couldn’t sleep. The memory of Tristan’s kisses and her newfound knowledge of his occupation kept her tossing and turning long after she should have been asleep. He was all wrong, no matter what her mother thought. Her mother was wrong. He was too intense, too intriguing, too much everything for her peace of mind.
He kissed like an angel.
Erin glanced at the clock. Not quite midnight. She should call him. Tell him she’d changed her mind about needing his company on this trip. She was a grown woman. A smart woman. Far better to make this trip alone and take her chances than lose her heart to the likes of Tristan Bennett.
No. He’d looked tired. It was far too late to call him now. What if he were asleep? What if this was his first decent sleep in weeks and she woke him? Besides, she didn’t have his number. Maybe she should go to sleep. There was plenty of time to call him in the morning. Erin turned over, rearranged her pillow, and closed her eyes.
Nope. Not working.
Two minutes later she had Tristan’s number, or more accurately his father’s number, and was standing by her bed, cordless phone in hand, listening for a dial tone. She punched the numbers in quickly, before she changed her mind, and waited for him to pick up. She could do this. All she had to do was calmly tell him the trip was off, everything would go back to normal, and then she could get some sleep.
Five rings. Six rings.
And then the ringing stopped.
‘Bennett.’ Tristan’s voice was a sleepy rasp. The downside was that she’d woken him. The upside was that he’d get to sleep late tomorrow morning. She was pretty sure he’d appreciate the trade off. Eventually.
‘It’s Erin,’ she said, starting to pace the room. ‘I’m having second thoughts about this trip.’
‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Wait!’ So much for calm. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m having second thoughts?’
‘No.’
‘I mean, you can’t just kiss a girl like that and expect her to carry on as though it never happened. I think I deserve an explanation.’
‘There is no explanation,’ he said. ‘It’s one of life’s little jokes.’
‘Not laughing.’
‘Trust me, it won’t happen again.’
‘Damn right it won’t!’
‘Pixies don’t swear,’ he said.
‘I’m not a pixie. About this trip—’
‘Does that mean we’re done with the kissing talk?’
‘Unless you’d like to tell me that our kiss was absolutely perfect and that you can hardly eat, breathe, or sleep for thinking about it, yes.’
‘Moving on,’ he said.
Right. Where was she? Oh, yeah. What to do about the trip. She stopped pacing in favour of sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. ‘I’m thinking of cancelling this trip.’
‘Because of the kissing?’
‘Not at all. We’re done talking about the kissing, remember?’
‘Sorry. My mistake.’ He sounded slightly more awake, a whole lot more amused. ‘Why are you cancelling?’
Because of the kissing. Because of the potential for more kissing. ‘I heard there were some good stones coming up for auction this week. I figure I’ll get those instead.’
‘Liar,’ he said. ‘But it was a good try.’
‘How do you know I’m lying?’
‘I’m a cop.’
She hadn’t forgotten. ‘What kind of cop?’ She didn’t expect a straight answer. She just wanted to see what he’d say. ‘What exactly is it that you do?’
‘I investigate international car theft.’ He was all the way awake now; she could hear it in his voice.
‘Do you ever work undercover?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Ever talk about it?’
‘No.’
Surprise, surprise. Maybe she could manage a week in his company. Clearly, he had no intention of following through on that kiss. And if he kept his distance, then surely she could. Maybe she’d been a bit hasty about cancelling the trip; maybe she wouldn’t lose her heart to him after all. ‘It probably wouldn’t hurt to take a look at those opals out at Lightning Ridge, anyway. Just in case.’
Tristan sighed heavily. ‘Why don’t you sleep on it and call me in the morning?’
‘Well, I’d like to. Really. It’s just that I’m having a little trouble sleeping. I’d rather sort it out now and then sleep.’
‘Wouldn’t we all?’ he said darkly.
Not a man bent on seduction. That was good. And she hadn’t once pictured him lying there in a big old bed, on a mass of white cotton sheets, surrounded by fluffy white pillows that were a perfect foil for his eyes, that face, and that gloriously hard body of his.
‘Erin?’
His voice was soft, sexy. Pity about the underlying thread of impatience. ‘What?’
‘Make up your mind.’
Cue the unmistakable air of command. Not that she was impressed by that. She was immune to weary warriors who wore command as if they were born to it and reticence like a shield. ‘We’re going.’ There, she’d done it. She’d made her decision.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ll pick you up at eight o clock. Just like we planned. This morning’s kiss was an aberration. I see that now.’
‘That’s a relief,’ he said, and hung up.
Erin was awake before dawn the next morning. Now that she had her feelings for Tristan sorted out—breathtaking, but not the one for her—she was eager to be underway. She had their lunch prepared and the car packed in record time and only iron control stopped her from hightailing it over to Tristan’s two hours earlier than planned.
There was something magical about the start of a trip. Something marvellous about possibilities just waiting to be discovered. The perfect stone and the design she might dream up for it…A long straight stretch of road and a beckoning horizon…People to meet, places to go…Erin glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time in the last fifteen minutes. Five forty-six a.m. She wondered if Tristan was awake yet. Wondered if she should call him and find out.
Probably not. One embarrassing phone call a day was plenty.
It was just on seven-thirty when she reached his house. She was half an hour early but it couldn’t be helped. Surely he’d be awake by now. She saw an old brass doorbell by the front door, rang it energetically, and stepped back to wait. Twenty seconds, thirty seconds, and then she heard the sound of footsteps coming to the door and then it opened and Tristan stood there wearing nothing but jeans, with his hair wet and tousled and a towel in his hand. Freshly showered and shaved was a very good look for him. ‘Good. You’re nearly ready,’ she said, trying hard to ignore his superbly sculpted chest, complete with a sprinkling of dark hair that tapered to a vee. ‘Not that I want to rush you.’
‘You’re early.’
‘Only a little.’
Tristan stood aside, silently inviting her to come in. He looked past her, towards her mother’s late model Ford, and sighed.
‘It’s a comfortable ride,’ she said reassuringly.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But it’s not quite the Monaro, now, is it?’
‘It’ll still get us from A to B,’ she said firmly. ‘Do you have any idea how much attention the Monaro draws on the
road? What with the rumble, and the racing wheels…I swear it’s a guaranteed trouble magnet.’
‘I know.’ His grin was swift and decidedly dangerous. ‘Why do you think we like it so much?’ he said as he shut the door behind her and padded back down the hallway, leaving her to follow in his wake.
Watching Tristan’s back muscles flex and ripple as he towel dried his hair on the way down the hall made Erin’s hands itch and her mind fog, so she dragged her gaze away from the half-naked Tristan and turned her attention to her surroundings instead, hoping for a distraction. The house was masculine; there was no other word for it. Darkwood floorboards, a navy hall runner, wood panelling halfway up the walls…The painted part of the walls was a cool forest green. She followed Tristan into what she figured was the living room, only to discover more dark furnishings and walls lined with books. Tristan had mentioned that all his siblings had left home and that his father lived here alone now, but the house still bore the marks of a loved and lived-in family home. She spotted a karate belt behind glass in a cabinet. Now there was a distraction. ‘Who’s the seventh Dan black belt?’
‘Jake. He runs a Martial Arts dojo in Singapore.’
‘And the aircraft books?’
‘They’re Pete’s. He’s flying charter planes around the Greek islands at the moment. Summer job. It’s only temporary.’ Tristan didn’t seem to mind offering up information about his family, she noted. Just not about himself. There was a photo on the sideboard of a young man in Navy whites who looked disturbingly like Tristan. ‘That’s Luke,’ he said, before she could ask. ‘You’d like him. He’s a Navy diver.’
Erin bared her teeth. ‘So much testosterone,’ she said sweetly. ‘Anyone in your family have a normal job?’
‘Hallie buys and sells ancient Chinese artwork,’ he said. ‘That’s normal.’
Yeah, right. At least he’d stopped towelling his hair. Only now it spiked in places and lay flat in others, framing his face in a way that was boyishly endearing and affording him an innocence that was deceptive. Very deceptive. There was nothing innocent about Tristan Bennett. Nothing at all innocent about her body’s reaction to his near nakedness and, judging from the way his eyes had darkened and his sudden predatory stillness, he knew exactly what sort of effect he was having on her.
Oh, boy. Not good. Must remember to breathe, she thought, and hurriedly turned her attention to an old framed The King And I poster hanging on the wall above the mantelpiece. It was the only vaguely feminine thing in the room. Deborah Kerr teaching Yul Brynner how to waltz. ‘I’m assuming the poster belongs to your sister?’
‘It’s here under sufferance,’ said Tristan, seemingly willing to be distracted. ‘It used to be Hallie’s favourite movie.’
The governess who tamed a proud and strong king. A motherless young girl growing up in a houseful of alpha males. No wonder The King and I had been his sister’s favourite movie. She’d needed a role model. ‘My mother and I caught a rerun at the cinema a few years back,’ she said with a wistful sigh. ‘It was lovely. I’ve been a sucker for bald-headed men ever since.’
‘Gimme a break,’ he said.
Erin eyed his tousled hair critically. Maybe if he didn’t have quite so much of it, she wouldn’t have this overwhelming urge to bury her hands in it. ‘You know, you could use a haircut.’
‘I am not shaving my head for you.’
‘Of course not,’ she said soothingly. ‘Although—’
‘No.’
Right. In that case the bare skin definitely had to go, because if he didn’t cover up soon she was going to start drooling. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready?’ she prompted. ‘Putting a shirt on?’
‘I would if you’d stop asking questions.’ His voice was long-suffering.
Erin smiled sweetly. ‘I’ll wait here. Don’t mind me.’
Tristan sent her a warning glance that she decided to ignore and headed for the door. He’d almost reached it when she spoke again. ‘So who collects the little toy cars?’
‘Models,’ he said firmly as he disappeared out the door, taking his tousled hair and his nearnaked body with him. ‘They’re scale replicas.’
‘Got it,’ she said, not bothering to hide her grin.
The little toy cars were his.
It was like driving with an optimistic fairy, thought Tristan some three hours later. He’d tried silence. He’d tried quelling glances. He’d taken over driving duty. None of it had the slightest impact on Erin’s general effervescence. They were aiming for Lightning Ridge that evening, a nine-hundred kilometre trip from Sydney. They weren’t even halfway there.
‘We could play I Spy,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Break for lunch?’
‘It’s not even midday.’
Erin sighed. ‘Want to change drivers again?’
He’d been driving for less than an hour. It was nowhere near time to change drivers again. ‘No. Put a CD on.’ They were between towns. They’d lost radio reception twenty kilometres ago.
‘I’m not in the mood for music right now.’
‘Perhaps a nap?’ he suggested hopefully.
‘Maybe after lunch.’
He slid her a sideways glance to see if she was playing him. She was.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said.
‘What happened to “Let’s not get to know one another”?’ he said dryly. They’d decided on that particular tactic about half an hour into the journey. He’d needed something to counteract her effect on him. That ready smile, those laughing eyes. Something, anything, to keep her out.
She was wearing a bright blue T-shirt and casual grey trousers, and there was nothing overtly sexual about them, nothing innately feminine, except that every movement she made was feminine, and graceful, and sexy. And then there was the dainty charm bracelet on her arm that accentuated the slenderness of her wrist, the earrings dangling from her ears that drew attention to the delicate curve of her neck, and the pulse he knew he’d find beating there if he put his lips to it.
How on earth was he supposed to get through a week or so of this?
‘I’m having difficulty with the let’s-not-get-to-know-each-other plan,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I figure if I get to know you I won’t find you anywhere near as intriguing. I figure if I’m really lucky, I might not even like you.’
There was merit in the idea, he decided warily. Maybe he could even help her out a little. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Tell me how you ended up working for Interpol.’
‘They had an opening in their stolen car division. They were looking for someone who knew cars. Someone they could send undercover. I qualified.’
‘And was it what you expected?’
‘It was the wildest game in town. For a while.’ He’d thrived on the excitement and the danger, the adrenaline rush that came with each and every takedown.
‘So what changed?’ she said, her eyes shrewd and far more knowing than he would have liked.
‘The odds grew longer, the stakes grew higher, and it stopped becoming a game,’ he said quietly. ‘I grew up. End of story.’
‘That’s a terrible story,’ she said. ‘Don’t you have any uplifting stories?’
‘Yeah. There was this stolen car ring operating out of Serbia once. Family run business. We knew all the players. We just couldn’t touch them. The old man died of a heart attack, the brothers took each other out in the ensuing fight for control, and everyone else lived happily ever after.’
‘Gee, thanks for that,’ she said with a grimace. ‘The kids are going to just love your bedtime stories.’
‘What kids?’
‘Your kids. You are planning on having children, aren’t you?’
‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’
‘Not ever?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You are such a bad bet for a husband.’
‘I know,’ he said solemnly, stifling a grin. She looked so disgruntled. ‘My
strengths lie elsewhere.’
‘I can’t imagine where.’
‘Yes, you can.’
She blushed furiously, opened her mouth to speak, caught his eye, and looked away.
Silence. Finally. Tristan grinned, savouring the moment. He loved it when a plan came together.
They stopped for lunch at Gulgong, changed drivers again at Gilgandra, and rolled into Lightning Ridge just as the sun was disappearing behind a desert horizon of red dirt and saltbush. The road sign on the way into the town said, ‘Lightning Ridge, Population—?’ because, bottom line, no one knew. Rumour had it somewhere between two and twenty thousand. More or less. Lightning Ridge—in the middle of nowhere and chock-full of eccentrics, opal miners, optimists, and fortune seekers—was the perfect place to hide.
‘Where are we staying?’ he asked.
‘We’re very flexible in that regard,’ she said, shooting him a smile. ‘Now would be a good time to decide.’
‘I see,’ he said, and wondered why the notion that Erin was perfectly comfortable embarking on a journey with no fixed destination in mind disturbed him so much. He always travelled this way. His undercover work demanded the flexibility and he just plain preferred it. Women, at least in his experience, did not prefer it. Women always wanted to know where they were headed and when they were going to get there—be it a conversation about a weekend away, or the terms of a relationship. That was just the way it was. ‘Let’s try this one,’ he said, motioning to a motel coming up on their right.
‘Done.’
The motel offered air-conditioning, satellite TV, and standby rates. The woman behind the reception desk was frighteningly forthright. ‘I can give you a family suite with two rooms and a kitchenette,’ she said when Erin asked after accommodation.
‘Not two separate rooms?’ he asked.
‘Take it or leave it.’
‘We’ll look at it,’ he said, and the woman took a key from the hook rack behind her and thumped it down on the desk.