“Oh!” Sarah gasped as he found her, his fingers stroking her softness until her knees would no longer support her and he had to hold her up with one arm around her.
“Oh!” she gasped again, softer this time as his fingers did magic things to her, touching her in ways that sent arrows of fire shooting along her thighs. She felt a flood of heat as his hand slid forward to cup the soft mound of hair, pressing his palm hard against the triangle’s apex. Then his hand was sliding between her legs again, his fingers searching for and finding the secret place that he had claimed once before.
She felt her toes curl as one finger found its way inside her, moving to restake his claim in a shocking, wonderful rhythm. . . . Do people really make love like this? Sarah wondered heatedly just before she was caught up and rendered mindless once again by the tight, pulsing coil that started deep in her belly and radiated outward.
“I want you, Sarah,” he whispered huskily in her ear, pulling a little away from her.
Her eyes fluttered open to find that his bright blue gaze was smoldering now as it ran over her body, touching on her breasts and belly and thighs. She felt as if she might melt from the blistering heat of his eyes.
She whimpered a protest at the cessation of the marvelous things his fingers had been doing to her, and clung to him convulsively, trying to force him back to her with her strength that was nothing compared with his. He laughed; at least she thought it was a laugh, although it sounded more like a rasping groan.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised softly, and swung her up in his arms.
Sarah was scarely aware of anything but the quivering intensity of her feelings as he carried her toward the bank of the creek. She spread her fingers behind his head, lifting her mouth to meet his as it descended. She was on fire for him, wanting him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.
He lowered her to the ground just beyond the creek, his mouth fastened to hers, his arms cradling her as if she was the most precious thing he had ever held. Sarah’s eyes were closed as she felt the prickle of fallen leaves and twigs and dried grass against the soft skin of her back and buttocks; the warm wind blew over her breasts, caressing her small, rigid nipples. But the wind’s caress was not the one she wanted. Dominic held himself away from her, his hands braced on either side of her head, his muscular legs just brushing her soft inner thighs as they lay between them. Sarah could feel the touch of his eyes on her face, her body. But she wanted more. She whimpered, and when that didn’t work she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, tiny raw flames blazing at the backs of his eyes.
“Dominic,” she said hoarsely, lifting her arms as she reached for him. Her hands were on his shoulders, stroking the damp skin, sliding over the hard muscles to lock behind his head and pull him down to her. Still he resisted. She frowned, tugging. “Dominic.”
It wasn’t she who was calling to him, but that woman he had made her once before, the one who was beautiful, desirable, and desired. That woman felt free to express her desires, to call on her lover to fulfill them. That woman did not know or care who or what he was; she knew only that he was a man, and beautiful. And that she wanted him.
“You’re lovely, Sarah,” he whispered. His eyes were smoldering on her face and then her body as he spoke.
Sarah heard his words clearly. In her normal state she would have scorned the compliment, disbelieving it, wondering what had prompted him to utter it, what he wanted from her. But now, naked beneath him, seeing the fire in his eyes that was there just for her, she felt lovely. That other woman, the one who was inhabiting her skin, was lovely. She had transformed plain spinster Sarah into Sarah the beautiful, Sarah the seductress. . . .
“Your hair is wonderful, thick and silky and the color of a palomino mare I had once. Your eyes—they’re as bright and shining as twin suns. Your mouth makes me want to kiss it every time I look at it. Your chin—I love your stubborn little chin. It suits you, Sarah. Your neck is lovely, long and slender and tasting of warm honey. Your breasts—ahh, your breasts . . .” His voice thickened, trailed off as his eyes, which had been following along with his litany, fastened on the small, pink-tipped mounds that seemed to swell beneath the heat of his gaze. “They’re perfect, exquisite, so beautiful. . . .”
Sarah’s mouth opened in dazed anticipation as he bent his head to press a tiny, soft kiss to first one throbbing nipple and then the other. Her nails sank deep into his neck; her back arched as flames shot along her nerve endings. Her breath came in ragged little pants as he bent his head again, this time capturing one nipple and holding it prisoner. She moaned his name, clutching at him as his tongue rasped circles around the quivering bud, tantalizing it, claiming it, making it his. When he moved to the other breast, soft kisses were no longer enough. He drew the whole breast into his mouth, then released it to concentrate on the aching tip. His teeth caught the straining nipple, punishing it with a gentle nip before guiding it deeper into his mouth so that he could suckle it like a babe.
Sarah gasped at the red-hot spirals of sensation that radiated from the captured nipple. The sight of his black-haired head nestled so intimately against the pale skin of her breasts made her ache with desire. Her eyes fluttered shut as her back arched again and her hands spread across the back of his head, pulling him tightly against her. In response, his mouth tugged harder at her breast, ravishing it. She could not be still beneath the intoxicating onslaught. Her whole body writhed, mindless now with need, wanting him . . . wanting the ecstasy he had given her once before.
Her legs rubbed against the hair-roughened surface of his, coaxing them, pleading with them, seducing them. Her hips undulated against the heat of his, still held just a little away from her so that she was nearly out of her mind with frustration. Between her legs she could feel the hard, throbbing heat of him.
Her hands could not be still. They caressed the back of his head, delighting in the rough silk of his hair as it curled around her fingers, in the warm, strong neck, in the satin-over-steel shoulders and the broad back. . . . Her caressing fingers faltered as they encountered the raised, uneven surface of scars. From the beatings . . . The movements of her body ceased as her hands lingered over the weals. They reminded her, suddenly, shatteringly, of who he was and who she was, of what she was letting him do, of reality—and of shame. . . .
Her eyes opened to find that his body had frozen, too, poised over hers, his head lifted so that he could stare down into her eyes. She saw the same reality as that which had just been forcibly brought home to her surface in his eyes. The dark, smoldering embers solidified, hardened. . . . The muscles of his arms quivered as he lifted himself away from her, holding himself above her for a timeless moment as he stared at her with bitter anger. Then he was rolling away from her, getting to his feet, muttering a string of oaths so foul that Sarah winced to hear them as he found his breeches and dragged them on.
“Get up.”
Sarah needed no second urging to scramble to her feet, conscious of his eyes on her every second. She was appalled at what had happened between them, at what she had so nearly let him do, if she was honest had wanted him to do. . . . Moon madness. Sarah glanced up with agonized reproach at the slender witch floating high overhead. The silvery crescent seemed to mock her. Twice now she had succumbed to him under its seductive spell. Never again, Sarah vowed fiercely, cringing as she thought of what would have happened in just instants if he had not stopped. She would have experienced once again the ecstasy of his possession—and the shame.
“Get dressed.” He flung her clothes at her.
Sarah, standing with her arms around herself to shield her naked body from his eyes, could scarcely bear to look at him. He seemed no more eager to look at her, turning his back to her as he jerked on his shirt and then sat on a nearby stump to pull on his boots. The very rigidity of his back bespoke his anger. In the moonlight, the crisscrossing scars gleamed pale against the teak brown of his skin. Sarah stared at them as she scrambled int
o her clothes.
“Come on. We’re going back to camp.”
His terse order flayed her overstretched nerves. Head flung back as she struggled to adjust the blanket-poncho so that it provided maximum coverage, she whirled on him, her eyes flashing fire.
“Don’t give me orders!” she snapped, glaring at him.
“I’ll give you orders any damned time I please. And you’ll obey them. Get your behind moving. Now!” He turned his back on her again and marched away toward the camp.
“No!” Sarah shouted, nearly beside herself with anger.
Her eyes found what they had unconsciously been searching for. A rock! Snatching it up, she flung it with all her strength at his retreating back. It struck one broad shoulder with a satisfying thud before bouncing aside. His stride faltered; he hesitated for a moment, his back rigid. Sarah held her breath. How would he retaliate? Physically? Would he beat her, or . . . ? Her imagination ran riot as she balanced on her toes, poised to flee. To her astonishment, he didn’t even turn. After that one brief pause he just kept walking steadily until the trees hid him from sight.
Sarah stared after him with fury stabbed through with triumph. She had gotten rid of him—and it had been so easy! Now she was free to follow the creek to safety, to make her way home. . . .
In the distance, a dingo howled, then another, and another. The moon stared down at her with a malicious grin on its sly face. Now that she had the chance, she knew with a rush of blind rage that she could not take it: it would be foolish beyond belief to hare off on her own, to attempt to walk back to Lowella or anywhere else without proper preparations. They must have come twenty miles or more since the night before. It was at least that far, she thought, to any place where she might find help. Without food or proper shoes or clothing, and with the sun beating down on her and one mile of bush looking exactly like every other mile, she would be insane to attempt it. She could easily die—people died in the bush all the time. Sarah gritted her teeth, uttering the same oath that had made her cringe when Dominic had used it just moments before. It fell from her lips with a very satisfying sound; for the first time, Sarah understood why men used bad language. There were times when nothing else would do. Kneeling to fasten her makeshift sandals, Sarah said it again. Then she straightened, squared her shoulders, and with fury in her heart trailed slowly, reluctantly, but inevitably in Dominic’s wake.
Minger and the others who were not on watch had bedded down near the campfire, Sarah saw as she approached the periphery of the camp. Dominic stood beneath a towering gum, his saddle near its trunk while he spread a blanket beside it. Sitting on the edge of the blanket, he removed his boots, then lay back with his head on the saddle and his eyes on the fire. His rifle was within easy reach. Still Sarah hesitated, of half a mind just to wait there at the edge of the camp until morning. But the thought of the other men, the ones who were on watch and didn’t know that Dominic had earlier placed her under his protection, dissuaded her. She would be easy prey. Besides, unless she wanted to be left behind, she would have to face him in the morning.
His eyes were closed when Sarah stopped beside him, but she sensed—how, she didn’t know—that he was aware of her presence and that he had expected no less. A smug satisfaction seemed to radiate from him. Sarah glared at his prone form, working to restrain the urge to kick him. She loathed every millimeter of that hard body, from the booted feet and long legs stretched so negligently over the nubby gray blanket that was nearly identical to the one she was wearing, to the arms crossed in relaxation over the broad chest, to the thick, curling black eyelashes that rested without a flicker on that maddeningly handsome face, to the glossy black hair still disordered from where her hands had run through it. Sarah waited, glaring, for him to open his eyes, to speak, somehow to acknowledge her presence. Gradually it dawned on her that he was not going to. He was not even going to offer to share his blanket! Not that she wanted to sleep with him, but . . .
Sarah glanced warily around the camp. The three other men appeared fast asleep, but they could awaken at any time. And there were the others to consider, too. She did not dare be left behind when Dominic took his turn watching the sheep. All she had to do was ask, she knew, and he would let her huddle at his side, under the mantle of his protection, however grudgingly he might now be offering it. But every vestige of her pride rebelled at humbling herself to that extent. She would not!
Glaring furiously at him, mouthing that oath again—silently, so that he would not hear it and take satisfaction from the straits to which he had reduced her—she stalked to the side of the tree and sank down against it, her back against the trunk. She did not dare go to sleep. It would be just like the unprincipled swine to leave her behind if she did. Arms locked around her knees beneath the enveloping poncho, head resting back against the rough bark, her back already aching as she sought to find a reasonably shaped section against which to brace it, Sarah directed one final, killing glare at Dominic’s supremely comfortable-looking form. Doggedly forcing her eyes to remain open, she then settled in for what she knew would be an uncomfortable night.
XVIII
“If you would let me use one of those other horses, I could ride by myself.”
It was mid-afternoon of the following day. Sarah was once again leaning back exhaustedly against Dominic’s hard chest, her legs almost on top of his as she rode sideways before him in the saddle. One of his arms was around her waist; the other rested lightly on his thigh. Sarah could feel his chin just brushing the top of her hair, which today she had woven into a single thick braid without the use of either brush or comb and secured with a bit of cloth ripped from the increasingly tattered edge of her nightrail. Any observer, seeing the slender, supple woman resting so completely back against the much taller, broader man who was, to all intents and purposes, embracing her in the saddle, might easily have concluded that the two were on the easiest of terms. But then, an observer would have had no way of guessing at the hostility that charged the very air around them.
“Getting tired of my company? You enjoyed it well enough last night,” Dominic jeered in reply.
Sarah clenched her teeth. Ever since he had made her practically beg him to take her with him when he went on watch the night before, Dominic had missed no opportunity to throw her behavior by the creek in her face. Sarah wanted to rant and rave at him, to turn around and box his ears until they were as red as the shirt he wore. But she did not. To do so would be to let him know how successfully he was managing to get under her skin.
“Riding tandem can’t be any more comfortable for you than it is for me,” she pointed out in a carefully neutral voice.
“It isn’t,” he promptly agreed in a growly undertone. “But as you know very well, both spare horses are loaded with supplies. To let you ride one would mean leaving half our provisions behind. Tell me, if put to the test, which do you think our fellow bandits would choose: you or a side of bacon? I know which I would.”
“Don’t lump me in with the rest of you miscreants,” Sarah muttered nastily. “You’re thieves, marauders, and kidnappers. I’m merely your innocent victim.”
“Innocent?”
This snide remark, a clear reference to her lost virginity, nearly sent all Sarah’s self-control flying. But she managed—barely—to hold onto her temper.
“I had no hand in my kidnapping. Or in setting fire to the stable and barns. Or in stealing my father’s sheep,” she pointed out virtuously, refusing to acknowledge that she had gotten the point of his latest hit.
“If you don’t quit talking, I’m going to have a hand on your backside,” he threatened.
Sarah smiled triumphantly at having come out the victor in this encounter. The name of the game seemed to be for each to goad the other into losing his or her temper, and so far the honors were about even. But this last exchange left her slightly ahead, Sarah reckoned.
“Temper, temper,” she chided with enjoyment, and didn’t even wince at the foul curse he muttered i
n her ear. During the course of the night and day, she had heard much worse from him.
Now that victory was hers, Sarah lapsed back into brooding silence, pulling the bandanna back up over her mouth and tilting the hat farther forward on her head to shield her nose. Despite their mutual animosity, Dominic had not repossessed his gear. Sarah supposed that some remnant of chivalry must be restraining him, or that he was so intent on scoring off her that he would not admit that he needed the protection of a hat and kerchief, while she did. Whatever the reason, she greatly enjoyed the notion that he was suffering in the broiling heat.
The sheep were on the move again, being driven through the dry bush country parallel to the creek. They would maintain this course for as long as possible, Sarah knew. To move away from a sure source of water before it was absolutely necessary would be lunacy. In this drought, even long-established water holes might be dry. No one had told her so, but Sarah guessed that they were headed for Sydney. Disposing of the sheep to an unwary or unscrupulous buyer would be fairly easy in that bustling port. But there were many miles between here and there. Once away from the water, unless more was found on a regular basis, the sheep would soon start dropping like flies. Sarah was torn between hope and dread that by the time they reached their destination the bushrangers would be left with nothing to sell.
It was after dark when they stopped for the night. This time, Dominic had first watch, and Sarah went with him. The sheep, having been allowed to drink their fill and having found a few blades of green grass on which to munch, bleated contentedly, taking comfort from being so close to their fellows.
Like the three other riders, Dominic patrolled the perimeter of the herd until well past midnight. When at last someone came to relieve him, Sarah was not even aware of it. She had fallen asleep hours before, lulled despite her dislike of him by the rhythmic beat of his heart and the secure feeling of being held in his arms. A rough hand on her shoulder shook her awake; blinking sleepily, Sarah saw that they had returned to the camp.
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