by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
‘I didn’t bring any bathers,’ said Erin, turning to Tristan. ‘Did you?’
‘No.’
Delia’s eyes brightened. ‘Of course, there’s always the secret pools hereabouts. The ones we don’t tell the tourists about. You can skinny-dip in those.’
Skinny-dip? As in get naked with Tristan Bennett in an isolated hot pool? Erin didn’t think so. But Delia was insistent.
‘Here.’ She found a map for them and marked it with an X. ‘It’s quite the picture, especially at sunset. I dare say you’ll have the place to yourselves.’
‘No,’ said Erin, shaking her head. She’d made it through the entire day without letting the sexual tension escalate. For dinner she was thinking the bowling club, carvery food, plenty of people and lots of noise. She was into awareness expulsion, not isolated hot pools at sunset.
‘I could swim,’ said Tristan, with a lazy smile that was pure challenge. The smile had Delia fanning herself with a tourist brochure. She fanned Erin too.
‘Relax,’ said Delia. ‘Go for a swim.’ And with a chuckle, ‘Don’t forget to breathe.’
The hot pool didn’t look particularly inviting from a distance. Someone had gone to the trouble of bringing in a few flat rocks and scattering them around the edge of the pool but otherwise it was as bleak as nature could make it. A scattering of stunted greenery, miles and miles of flat grey ground and a sun that looked like a fireball about to ram into the horizon. ‘I’m not sure why the locals feel the need to keep this one a secret,’ muttered Erin as she stepped from the car.
‘It has a certain elemental appeal,’ said Tristan from the other side of the car, door open as he stood there surveying the landscape. ‘Water looks good.’
‘Yeah.’ Pity about the thin film of grey-brown clay that covered everything, including the surface of the water. A desert oasis it wasn’t. Maybe if she closed her eyes she could rearrange reality and pretend it was a desert oasis. Add a few palm trees, white sand instead of the superfine clay beneath her feet. There, much better. She opened her eyes to find a shirtless Tristan just about to shed his trousers. Definitely not on her list of oasis improvements. ‘Er, we’re not really planning to skinny-dip, are we?’ she asked, eyeing his trousers with equal measures of what she was pretty sure were lust and apprehension.
‘I’m easy,’ he said.
That he wasn’t. Not even in her imagination. In her imagination, he was a wild and reckless lover, chasing pleasure, and taking it, with breathtaking intensity. ‘Underwear needs to stay on,’ she said firmly.
Tristan shrugged and moments later he’d stripped down to boxers and was in the pool and heading for the far side of it, explorer-style. Men! So much for sitting back and rejuvenating the mind while the water washed away the dirt of the day. Sighing, Erin stripped down to her black cotton panties and matching singlet and waded into the pool. The water temperature was just short of hot, and if she discounted the squish factor of the clay beneath her feet and not being able to see what was on the bottom, it was really quite pleasant. The water got deeper fast and Erin pushed off and swam lazily to the middle of the pool before turning onto her back and floating. ‘I’m picturing myself in a desert oasis,’ she murmured as Tristan appeared at her side.
‘You are in a desert oasis,’ he said mildly. ‘This is great.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
He regarded her with a tilt to his lips that she tried to ignore. ‘Are you alone at this desert oasis?’
‘No, there’s a waiter. He looks a lot like you.’
‘Tell him to swat that mosquito next to your ear. It’s the size of a bus.’
‘I would,’ she said, waving away the mosquito herself, ‘But he’s busy seeing to the horses.’
‘Horses? What kind of horses?’
‘A fiery black stallion and a dainty white mare. The stallion’s my ride.’
‘You should reconsider,’ said Tristan lazily. ‘That horse is far too powerful for you. Some things are best left to men.’
‘I can handle him.’
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He sighed and sank below the surface, reappearing moments later. ‘Don’t suppose your waiter has a cold beer handy?’
‘Good idea. I’ll get him to bring two.’ She rolled over and swam towards the side of the pool. ‘Hey, there’s a ledge to stand on.’
‘Handy,’ said Tristan, coming to join her on it.
She shifted over to give him some room, lots of room. Lucky for her it was a long ledge. She closed her eyes and concentrated hard on ignoring the effect a superbly muscled Tristan was having on her senses.
‘Erin?’ he murmured, his voice sliding over her like a caress.
‘What?’ Breathe in. Breathe out.
‘Open your eyes and turn around. Slowly.’
Erin’s eyes snapped open and she eyed him anxiously. ‘What is it? It’s not a snake, is it?’ She wasn’t fond of snakes.
‘No.’
‘Goanna?’ She wasn’t exactly fond of goannas either. Something about those razor-sharp claws.
‘No.’
‘Emu?’ Now emus she liked.
‘Turn around. You’re missing the sunset.’
Oh. The sunset. At the secluded hot pool. With Tristan.
With as much indifference as she could muster, Erin turned around.
The sky was ablaze with colour. Fiery oranges, and reds streaked with indigo, and a smattering of wispy grey cloud. Not your typical tropical island sunset, nothing like it, she thought in awe. This sky was all about power and raw, undiluted glory over an earth that was stark and barren. It was primitive and overwhelming and it slammed into her like a fist, daring her to be as bold when it came to living her life and making the most of the moments she was given. Like now, beneath a cinnamon sky at a secluded oasis. With a man she couldn’t even look at without wanting. And wondering what it would take to chase the shadows from his eyes.
She sank beneath the surface, searching for answers and some sort of direction and surfaced instead with a handful of mud. ‘Tristan?’
He looked at her in silent query, so solemn and restrained that it made her heart bleed. And then…
Splat!
The mud hit him square in the shoulder and Erin was racing towards the edge of the pool in search of more accessible ammunition, laughing helplessly at his astonishment. ‘People pay good money to be covered in this stuff. Honest, it’s supposed to have healing powers.’
‘Well, hell. Why didn’t you say so earlier?’
Splattt! His aim was good; his hands were large. One strike and she was all but covered in the stuff and still she laughed as she reached the shallows and tried, unsuccessfully, to nail him again. She turned sideways and crouched low in response to his next volley, flinging mud over her shoulder at random; out-manned, outgunned, but in no way outmanoeuvred as she disappeared beneath the water only to be snagged by the ankle and brought up spluttering, chest to chest with an amused and muddy Tristan. The sun was behind him, accentuating his darkness, but the shadows in his eyes had gone. ‘Hey, it works! You’re almost smiling.’ She was almost whimpering as her hands slid to his shoulders, finding sinew and muscle beneath mud-slicked skin. ‘Maybe we should bottle some. Bring it along for the ride.’
‘Can the oasis come too? Because I really don’t think the mud’s going to work without it.’ His eyes were darkening as he spoke, the amusement fading, replaced by something a whole lot more intense. Not shadows, not yet, but a flame of something that licked over her, licked over them both, and set her heart to hammering.
Be bold, she thought as his eyes grew heavy with intent and his hand brushed the curve of her cheek and slid to the curve of her neck as he drew her closer. And then his lips were on hers, soft and coaxing, and she wasn’t thinking at all because the fire in the sky was in her as well, burning her up from the inside as she melted in his embrace.
She sought the wildness in him and found it. Tasted it on his tongue, felt it in hi
s touch as he dragged her closer until there was nothing between them but the thin cotton of her singlet, her panties, and his boxers, and it was still too much to have between them and Tristan was in full agreement. Her top went, and then his hands were on her, rough and urgent, but his lips were in her hair, the curve of her neck, the hollow at her throat, and his lips were gentle.
‘I thought you said you weren’t ready for this,’ he muttered.
‘That was yesterday.’ His hands were at her hips, anchoring her against his hardness, and it was exactly where she wanted to be, exactly what she needed, and then his hands moved lower, positioning her against him more fully as he surged against her. More. She sought it. Found it in the slickness of his skin, in the slide of that hard, muscled body beneath her hands, and then her hands were in his hair and she was offering him everything she was, everything she had to give.
He groaned, deep in his throat, and shuddered hard. There was no gentleness in the arm that snaked round her waist like a steel band, binding her to him while his other hand came up to cup her breast. Nothing gentle about that rough, urgent hand at her breast, kneading and teasing with ruthless skill. She wanted more, wanted his mouth on her skin, and she nipped at him to break their kiss, and dragged his head lower.
He couldn’t get enough of her, of the sleek feminine curves beneath his palm. Couldn’t get enough of her flavour, her flesh, and she was with him every step of the way; he could feel it in the hard little tremors that ripped through her body, hear it in the mindless whimper he drew from her as he devoured her breast with his lips.
He wanted to stop. He desperately wanted her to do something or say something that would make him stop before he drowned in her, drowned them both, but passion held sway here now; passion and raw, unfettered need and it was merciless.
He wanted her naked, couldn’t see how to get her that way without drawing away from her and that was impossible. ‘Stop me,’ he muttered. ‘For God’s sake, Erin, make me stop.’
‘No.’ As she wrapped her legs around his waist and water swirled around them and the sky caught fire.
There was nothing gentle about the kiss that followed. It was mindless and brutal and it was all that mattered. Nothing but this man and this moment and she matched him, need for violent, desperate need while the pleasure built and built. He was all darkness and greed and he was all she’d ever wanted. Everything she’d never wanted. Too strong, too wounded.
Too much.
She hesitated, just for an instant, wondering what she’d done, what she was doing, and he felt her withdrawal, he must have done, because the hands that held her so tightly released her. He broke their kiss and pushed her away to stare down at her with eyes full of anger, frustration, and a hint of pain that nearly destroyed her. He uttered a harsh, one-word expletive and turned away.
Not what a woman hoped to see in a man after the most intense sexual experience of her life.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said gruffly.
Not what she wanted to hear.
‘I was rough on you. I lost control. There’s no excuse for that.’
‘I didn’t mind,’ she said, trying desperately to break down walls as fast as he built them. ‘I liked what you did to me. I liked it when you lost control.’
He speared her with a glance. ‘I didn’t.’
She could see that.
‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
‘No. Tristan—’ What could a woman say to a man who was hell-bent on re-establishing his emotional and physical distance? ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.’ She didn’t want his guilt. There was no need for it. No reason he should carry it. ‘What do you normally do?’ she said, with a tentative smile. ‘After you’ve kissed a woman and she’s melted in a puddle at your feet.’
‘I’m not normally in a hot pool,’ he said.
‘Wing it.’
‘I might dry off,’ he said, his eyes lightening, just a little. ‘I might bring her a towel so that she can dry off too.’
‘That would be a good start.’
‘Then I might find her that beer she was after on the way home. Or wine. Whatever she wanted.’
‘I’m really liking where your head’s at.’
He smiled at that, really smiled, and Erin bit back a sigh of relief. She didn’t want his apology for what they’d just shared. Didn’t want him to stew and to brood over something that neither of them had been able to control. ‘It’s not such a big thing, you and I and a couple of kisses.’ She was lying through her teeth.
‘You don’t want to know where all this is heading?’
‘No.’ She was heading for heartbreak, she knew that much already. One step at a time.
Chapter Six
TRISTAN was in turmoil. He didn’t know what to think. Damn sure he didn’t know what to say to the woman who’d just destroyed him with her kisses and then blocked his retreat with nothing more than clever words and a warm smile. He was used to keeping people out. Never revealing too much, never caring too much, always staying in control. His work demanded it, and when it came to his private life he demanded it.
He never lost control when he was with a woman. Not ever. He certainly didn’t ravage them beneath a blood red sky with no thought of tenderness or care. No thought at all, truth be told, beyond sheer animal need.
He didn’t want it. Didn’t want Erin Sinclair filling needs he’d never known he had and leaving memories that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Erin in his arms, lost to everything but sensation, and the only thing that saved him from complete self-loathing was the knowledge that she’d been as much at the mercy of their lovemaking as he had. That she’d wanted him as mindlessly as he’d wanted her.
She just handled the afterwards a hell of a lot better.
So he would follow her lead and be an adult in the aftermath of near catastrophe. Nothing he didn’t want to give, but he could show her some tenderness, he could do that. He could be civil and buy her a meal and act the gentleman.
It was the least she deserved.
He bought beer on the way back to the motel, and Chinese take-away to go with it, and she didn’t object to him paying, not by so much as a glance. She hadn’t objected to him doing the driving either. She was reading him, he thought grimly. Reading his need for some small measure of control with disturbing accuracy.
They ate back at the motel, in the little kitchenette, and he worked hard to make the evening almost normal and the conversation almost easy. It was the little things that tripped him up. Her delight at the spicy heat of the Mongolian lamb, never mind that her eyes were watering. Her unabashed appreciation for a cold beer straight from the bottle. The way she moved, the way she smiled. She was sensualist; he’d known that from the start. From the moment he’d kissed her in the driveway outside her mother’s house, and vowed to stay away from her.
‘So where to next?’ he asked when they’d eaten their fill and cleared away the plates, and even that small domesticity carried with it an intimacy he didn’t want. ‘Inverell for sapphires?’
‘In the morning.’ She regarded him steadily. ‘You don’t have to come with me, you know. You could head back to Sydney tomorrow if you’d prefer.’ Her lips curved into a slight smile. ‘You could drive your ute home. You’d cut quite the dashing picture. Very James Dean.’
‘James Dean drove a nineteen-fifty-five silver Porsche Spyder. I’m not quite seeing a connection between him in that and me heading down the highway in Frank’s old Ford.’
‘You’d probably have to be female to see that particular connection,’ she said dryly. ‘You men are far too literal. My point is that there are plenty of ways to get back to Sydney from here if you have a mind to.’
She was giving him an out, but damned if he was going to take it. Damned if he’d let her see how much she affected him. ‘You still need sapphires for your competition pieces, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but if you’re not comfortable—
‘Don’t,’ he said curtly
. ‘Just…don’t.’
She nodded once and looked away. ‘Two more days ought to do it.’
And two more nights. He didn’t know what to do with himself, with all this time between now and morning. There was too much Erin in it.
‘I thought I might work on some designs,’ she said as she hung the tea towel to dry. ‘Now that I have the opals.’
‘I might take a walk into town.’ She was the one who’d taken a walk last night. It seemed only fair that he be the one to do the walking tonight. ‘I could be a while.’ He might find a game of eight ball somewhere, or better still a rumble. Pity Luke wasn’t here. Luke was always on for an argument involving fists. Or Pete. Two against one. Just enough to take the edge off his hunger for Erin, and if that didn’t work there was always Jake.
Nobody messed with Jake.
He was halfway to town when he took it in his head to call his oldest brother. In Singapore.
‘You in trouble?’ said Jake, the minute he’d said hello.
‘No.’ Yes. ‘I’m in Lightning Ridge.’ Playing bodyguard to three opals and a beautiful woman whose body he wanted with a ferocity that left him aching.
‘And?’ said Jake.
‘And what?’
‘Ask me how I am and I’m likely to strangle you.’
‘There’s a woman.’
Dead silence at that, and then, ‘Is she a criminal?’
‘No.’
‘Psychopath?’
‘No.’
‘Married but nonetheless pregnant with your child?’
‘No.’
‘I’m not seeing a downside here. You’re going to have to help me out. Have you slept with her yet?’
‘No.’
More silence. A long, long silence, after which Jake sighed heavily. ‘Dammit, Tris. Please tell me you’re not calling for advice about women. Call Pete. He’s always in love.’
And never in love. ‘She’s in my head.’
‘This is bad,’ said Jake. ‘You need to get her out of there immediately. You need to head butt something.’