by Robyn Donald
‘Hmm. How are things going there?’
Aura shrugged. ‘She still doesn’t think I’m good enough for her darling son, but it’s not personal; she doesn’t think anyone’s good enough.’
Even if the older woman had reservations until the day she died, Aura wasn’t going to worry about her. She knew she could make Paul happy.
An hour later she was dancing in his arms, waiting for the sense of security, the deep inner contentment that Paul’s touch, his presence, his dearness, had always given her.
It didn’t come. Oh, she felt safe. She also felt empty, alone.
Her teeth sank a moment into her full bottom lip. Of course she was strung up; all brides were. It went with the territory. It was practically indecent not to wonder whether you were making a mistake.
That was why she wasn’t able to respond to Paul as quickly as usual. Forcing her body to relax, she let her eyelids droop until the rest of the room was just a blur of light and colour and movement.
Laughter, low and intimate, grated across her ear. When she lifted her lashes a fraction she saw Jessica’s slender form in Flint’s embrace. In spite of Sam’s absence, Jessica was enjoying herself. Or perhaps she was drumming up business for her agency.
From the predatory glint in Flint’s eyes, he didn’t find it at all hard to hold Jessica far too closely. Not that many men would, She looked just what she was, a smart, sophisticated businesswoman, but as well as being beautiful, she was intelligent and kind and fun.
Aura was stabbed by an emotion so intense that it felt like a spear ripping through her flesh. To her horror, she realised it was jealousy.
‘That was a big sigh.’ Paul’s voice, with his smile evident in it, caressed her ear.
‘Mmm.’ She snuggled into him, tilting her chin a little defiantly when she caught his mother’s eye.
‘You’ll be able to sleep in tomorrow. And in a couple of weeks’ time, darling, you can spend as much time in bed as you like.’ His voice was soft and significant.
Aura suddenly found herself wishing they hadn’t decided not to make love until they were married. Not that it had been a joint decision. When he realised just how afraid and wary she was Paul had told her understandingly that he could wait.
Now she wondered whether, if that hurdle had been surmounted, she’d be aching with forbidden desire for another man. Almost certainly the act of loving would have sealed their commitment to each other, and she would be confident and unashamed, not tormented by a shameful need that burrowed secretly beneath the shining surface of her self-esteem.
A poem of Blake’s came to her mind; he might have written it for her.
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
The attraction she felt for Flint ate into the fabric of her love like a worm, spoiling it.
‘Mmm,’ she murmured huskily, knowing it for a lie. ‘Sounds good.’
‘Darling, it will be more than good, I promise you.’
He kissed her hair, but all Aura could concentrate on was Jessica’s laughter, breathy, knowing. Jealousy and a bitter resentment of the woman she had called friend for more than half her life ate into her composure.
Then, thank heaven, the music stopped. Aura pulled away from Paul and, without looking at the other two, began to walk towards the stereo.
‘No, your cousin’s putting on another tape,’ Paul said, sliding an arm around her waist.
Aura stiffened; an instinctive withdrawal darkened her eyes, blocked her throat. Alick had chosen something smooth and slow, a sentimental ballad touched in places with salt, sung by a soprano with a voice like bitter chocolate. Steeling herself to relax, Aura moved back into Paul’s embrace.
But, smiling above her head, he said, ‘I think we should swap partners, Flint. I want to find out just what Sam’s up to.’
He looked down at Aura just too late to catch the feverish dismay that flared in her eyes before being swiftly hidden by long, thick lashes.
She couldn’t shake her head, she couldn’t shout at him for being so unperceptive, she couldn’t stamp and grind her teeth and yell as she used to when she was a child; she had to smile, and smile some more, and let Flint Jansen take her into his arms.
It was a revelation, an explosion of the senses. His smooth animal grace and controlled vitality made him a superb dancer, but that wasn’t what set her body springing to life. It seemed to Aura as though light streamed through her, filling her with the sparks that sunlight summoned from her diamond, lifting her into a rarefied region where gravity no longer held its ponderous sway.
Her reactions became keener, more acute. Her nostrils were teased by a faint fragrance of male, infinitely exciting, infinitely tantalising. The material of his jacket beneath her fingers was suddenly there; before, she had barely noticed it, but now its smooth matt texture intrigued her fingertips. And Flint’s hand around hers was warm and firm and strong, the long fingers holding hers loosely yet with an assurance that sent flutters of sensation along her nerves.
The heat in the pit of her stomach burst into flames, urging her body into instant life, an awareness which was barbaric in its intensity, violent, miraculous.
Her eyes were dazzled by the whiteness of his shirt against the fine black material of his dinner jacket. How well the austere garb suited his big, lean body; it should have clothed his potently male charisma in conventionality, but instead the contrast heightened it.
‘You’re very quiet.’ His voice was low and amused, its sexy roughness abrading every nerve and cell inside her.
‘I’m tired.’ It was the only excuse she could think of. She would die if he realised the effect he had on her. Her only hope was to stay silent until the dance had finished and she could get away from him and the overwhelming, totally terrifying response he summoned.
‘Arranging flowers exhausts you?’
She smiled weakly and didn’t answer.
‘Or perhaps it’s too many late nights?’
The razor slash of sarcasm in his voice startled her. Even as she told herself not to do it, she glanced up.
He was watching her with fire smouldering in the crystalline depths of his eyes, a fire that was immediately extinguished, yet she recognised it, because the same dark fire had burned inside her when she’d heard Jessica laugh in his arms.
It was sexual jealousy, primitive and unrestrained, as harsh as an Antarctic winter, as hot as a solar flare.
A fierce exultation almost loosened her tongue, but she curbed it. Her defences against this destructive, cataclysmic response were few and puny. Silence, passive resistance, was all that she had.
And her honour. She had pledged her love to Paul. She was not going to break that vow, not for the meretricious fool’s gold of sexual attraction.
‘No,’ she said remotely. ‘Brides are supposed to exhaust themselves. It’s part of the mystique.’
‘I don’t know much about brides.’ His voice was bland, as though he had a secret amusement he wasn’t going to share.
Yet her sharpened senses told her that he was not impervious, that he was just as stimulated as she was by their closeness. ‘Never been married?’ she asked steadily.
‘Never.’
‘Did you and Paul make some sort of vow of bachelorhood?’ She used Paul’s name deliberately, trying to dampen down the strain that sizzled between them.
Flint’s ironic laughter sent a febrile shiver down her backbone. ‘No. I’m away too much to make for a good marriage.’
Some of Natalie’s teachings came into her head. Men liked to talk about themselves, about their jobs. It just might save her now. ‘What exactly do you do?’
His shoulders moved. ‘I mend fences,’ he said. ‘If they’re irrevocably damaged, I stop too many sheep fr
om falling over the cliff.’
‘That tells me nothing except that you grew up on a farm, and I already knew that.’
‘My job’s not for discussion. Besides, I’m thinking of giving it up.’
Her upwards glance caught a strange look on the tough, hard-honed features. She’d swear that Flint was just as surprised at what he’d said as she was. ‘Are you going to swallow the anchor?’ she asked lightly. ‘Take a desk job?’
‘No.’ His hesitation lasted barely a second. ‘I’ll make wine.’
Aura missed a step. ‘Wine?’ It seemed an odd career for a man who earned his living in various hot spots around the globe, some of them very dangerous indeed, if Paul was to be believed.
‘My great-grandfather was a vintner,’ Flint said. ‘He grew grapes and made his own wine. I want to produce a red wine as good as those they make in France.’
He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice, and she was seized by a stupid, unattainable desire to have him smile at her without any agenda, openly, frankly.
‘That’s every winemaker’s ambition, surely,’ she said, more to hear what he had to say than to object. If Flint said he was going to give French winegrowers a run for their money, she believed him. He was that sort of man. Success was written in his face, in the way he walked and moved.
‘It won’t be the same as those they grow in France,’ he said, taking her point immediately. ‘It will be different, because the climate and the soil are different, but it will be a world-class wine, nevertheless.’
‘Why red?’ she asked, intrigued. ‘We produce some of the best white wines in the world; why not make them?’
The wide shoulders moved a little beneath her hand. ‘The challenge is in the reds.’
Yes, he’d want a challenge.
‘I know they’re growing superb wines in all sorts of places in New Zealand now, even in Otago, where you’d think it would be far too cold. Where will you go?’
‘I’ve got land just north of Auckland,’ he said, almost indifferently. ‘It’s perfect for growing wine with character. A hundred acres on a peninsula with an estuary and a river on three sides, soil that’s iron sandstone with clay, an ideal climate, hot days and cool nights and some fairly ferocious frosts in winter, and a range of hills to keep off the worst of the winds.’
‘Doesn’t it rain too much there?’
‘Not according to the climate charts.’ The aloofness had vanished from his voice, replaced by an enthusiasm he couldn’t conceal.
‘And what do you know about making wine?’ she asked with interest.
‘Quite a lot,’ he said, ‘but I have a French friend who wants to get away from a tricky family situation, and he’s an expert. Between us we’ll show the world that it’s not only the Australians who can produce good red wine in the South Pacific’
‘It sounds fascinating,’ she said.
‘Hard work,’ he returned dismissively, glancing down at her with a sardonic amusement that raised her hackles. ‘And very little money for years, if ever. A life on the land is not at all romantic. It’s sheer slog, often expensively frustrating, with the weather and everything else against you. You’re a high-flyer, too polished, too finished, to be able to settle down in some small country area.’
His insulting opinion shouldn’t hurt, but it did. She had to force herself to smile up at him, watching with a secret, passionate pleasure the slow darkening of his golden gaze, the tiny muscle that flicked a betrayal against the harsh sweep of his jawbone. Yes, he felt it too, the wildfire need that swept like silken doom through her veins. Recognised it, and resented it as much as she did.
And then, thank heavens, the music stopped, and she pulled free of his arms.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured, smiling dangerously, hooded eyes concealing his emotions.
Ten minutes later, once more safely in Paul’s arms, she saw him dancing with a cousin of Paul’s whose name she couldn’t remember. The tall, lovely blonde was gazing into his eyes with open, acquisitive eagerness.
To hide the obscure pang of pain that sawed through her Aura said on a half laugh, ‘It looks as though your best man’s made a conquest.’
Paul laughed. ‘I’d have been surprised if he hadn’t. Ever since he was fourteen Flint’s only had to walk into a room to have half the women in it make eyes at him.’
Aura said dismissively, ‘It’s that macho air. Some women find it impossible to resist.’
‘But not you?’
She lifted her brows at him. ‘Well, I can see why he attracts interest,’ she said, trying to sound objective and sensible. ‘Alick’s got it too, that inner hardness, a sort of toughness of mind and character. It’s exciting, but it takes a rare woman to cope with it. I want other things in my husband.’
His mouth quirked into a smile. Aura sensed that she had disappointed him, but she would not lie to him. ‘Some time you must tell me what they are,’ he murmured, his eyes on her mouth.
Her smile was demure. Oh, she loved him, loved him for all the things Flint didn’t pretend to; she loved him because he was kind, because he was tender and thoughtful and safe, and because he loved her. Set against all that, what did Flint have to offer but a wild thundering in the blood that would inevitably lead to disillusion? Men like Flint were too arrogantly masculine for safe taming.
‘Some time in the not too distant future,’ she promised, fluttering her lashes upward in a parody of flirtatiousness, ‘I will.’
His arms contracted around her. He was aroused, and for one paralysing second Aura wanted to twist away from the telltale hardness of his body. As though he understood, he held her only for a moment before gently releasing her.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ he said softly, the words a vow.
An hour later she and Jessica were sitting in a corner of the room, discussing a few minor, last minute details about the wedding.
‘I really think I’ve covered everything,’ Aura said with a sigh. ‘I just hope there aren’t too many snags.’
‘Oh, it’ll be a howling success,’ Jessica assured her confidently. ‘You’ve always been efficient and sensible, and you’ve got the knack for making an occasion fun. Look at tonight. Most pre-wedding parties are horrors, with both sides of the family eyeing each other up in affronted astonishment, and the friends wondering how on earth they’re going to see the evening out. But everyone’s having a marvellous time, and that’s due to you. You make people want to enjoy themselves.’
‘I was well taught.’ Aura’s roving gaze rested on her mother, flirting with one of Paul’s widowed uncles.
Mrs McAlpine was watching them too, clearly unhappy with the situation. She needn’t get her plaits in a tangle, Aura thought cynically. Natalie liked all the preliminaries to flirting, the sideways glances, the hammering pulses and slow, significant pauses, the magical meeting of eyes. Her great beauty ensured that she indulged frequently in such byplay, but she never followed through. She was essentially a frigid woman. If she married again, it would be to have a man about the house—rich, naturally—not for the pleasure of his lovemaking.
Her maternal grandfather, Aura decided, not for the first time, had a lot to answer for.
For a while Aura had assumed that her mother’s deep-seated inner coldness was hereditary. Then she had met Paul, and her worries had almost dissipated. Almost, but not quite.
It was bitterly ironic that it should be the best man who finally routed her fears. She wasn’t unresponsive in Flint’s arms; she damned near burst into flames.
‘Who’s the woman dancing with Flint? The tall blonde with the hungry eyes?’
Aura shrugged, keeping her eyes fixed on her mother. ‘Paul’s cousin, Belinda somebody.’
‘She’s certainly not trying to hide how she feels, is she? It’s a wonder she doesn’t just throw him down on the floor and have her way with him here and now.’
‘Here?’ Aura concealed her raw emotions with a caustic inflection. ‘Don’t be silly, Mrs McAlp
ine would disown her.’
‘Wouldn’t she just! A very proper lady, your mother-in-law.’
‘Future mother-in-law.’
Jessica sent a sideways glance towards her. ‘OK,’ she said amiably. ‘Future it is.’
They relapsed into silence. Unwillingly, Aura watched Belinda laugh at Flint, press her long, curvaceous body against him as they turned, and once more had to fight back a tide of corroding jealousy. Jessica’s voice was a welcome relief.
‘Paul and Flint don’t seem to have anything in common, do they? It’s odd that they’re still such great friends,’ Jessica said thoughtfully. ‘Even after—’
She stopped, an odd occurrence for Jessica whose tact was notorious.
‘Even after what?’ Aura stared at her friend.
Jessica shrugged uncomfortably. ‘My big mouth! You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you? Oh, hell, apparently it’s common knowledge. Brasilia Evans told me. Yes, I know she gossips, but you must admit her gossip is usually accurate. She said that a couple of years ago Flint more or less walked off with one of Paul’s girlfriends. Mind you, it can’t have gone deep, because they still remained friends.’
A movement from behind caught the corner of Aura’s eye. She recognised Paul, and wondered sickly whether he had heard. Swiftly she said, ‘Gossip is gossip, and none of it’s worth believing.’
But in her mind she saw Flint as a predator, taking what he wanted without worrying—no, that was silly, it was wrong, because he was very concerned about Paul. Guilty conscience, perhaps? No!
Jessica bit her lip and fell silent as Paul came up and slid his arm around Aura’s waist. ‘Everything’s going like a dream,’ he said. ‘You’ve done wonders. Hasn’t she, Jessica?’
‘I was just telling her so.’ After a worried glance at Aura, Jessica launched into a very funny story about a party she had attended the week before, and soon the disquiet was dissipated in the nicest manner, by laughter.
But later, when they were dancing again, Paul said abruptly, ‘I heard what Jessica was telling you, and it didn’t happen quite the way she thinks. I’m not such a wimp that I’d let Flint get away with stealing a girlfriend.’