The Australian

by Diana Palmer

  “I did want to forget,” he confessed. “But I couldn’t, Priss.” His darkening eyes searched down her body to where she was pressed so closely against him, and they clouded perceptibly. “Sit up,” he breathed huskily. “Let me look at you, for God’s sake!”

  Hypnotized, she drew away from him and watched his eyes blaze as they riveted to her.

  “You...you’ve been going around...with Janie Weeks,” she accused softly. The way he was looking at her made her feel faint.

  “Janie has nothing at all to do with you and me,” he said vaguely. He caught her around the rib cage and brought her breasts down to his mouth. “I kiss you here and taste rose petals,” he whispered hungrily, while his mouth nibbled and brushed until she gasped and began to moan helplessly.

  He laid her back on the sofa, crushing her mouth under his. One skilled hand cupped, molded, and caressed her, and she wanted him suddenly as she’d wanted nothing else in her life.

  He drew away to look at her, and what he saw in her face made him want to throw back his head and scream his frustration. The situation was impossible. He couldn’t do it, not on a sofa in someone else’s house, not in a flaming rush like this.

  Priss watched John deliberate for a long moment and searched his eyes curiously. “John?”

  “Marry me,” he said.

  She trembled all over. Her hands lifted to his face and held it, caressed it. “What?”

  “Marry me.” He bent and kissed her mouth, softly, tenderly. “Say yes, Priss. Come on. Just one word...”

  “Yes!” she ground out. Her hands tightened, trying to hold his wandering mouth to hers.

  “Not right away,” he explained. “I’ve got...a few problems to solve at the station. But by Christmas. Okay?”

  “Can I come home with you?” she asked.

  “No, darling.”

  “Why?” she complained.

  “Because distance is the only thing that will save your virginity,” he said bluntly. “I want you with a disgraceful lust; haven’t you noticed?”

  “I want you, too.”

  “Yes. But it has to be done properly,” he said heavily. He sat up and tugged her T-shirt back into place. “Once I’ve had you, Priss, I won’t be able to stop; don’t you know that?”

  “It must be like eating potato chips.” She laughed wickedly.

  “Much worse,” he told her. He smiled slowly. “And once you’ve had me, you’ll want me again. After the first time, anyway.”

  She felt drunk on pleasure. “I wish we could do it on the beach the first time.”

  “Pagan,” he teased, but his blood was running hot in his veins as he looked down at her slender young body and realized that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He could almost picture them, her tanned body writhing under him, her soft young voice moaning with the intensity of pleasure he could arouse...

  “You can imagine it, can’t you?” she asked perceptively. “So can I. Every second of it.”

  “You don’t even know what to expect,” he chided.

  “Yes, I do.” She sat up, too, staring into his eyes. “I’m not that naive. I know exactly what you’ll do to me, and how. And I’ll bite you, and wrap my legs around you, and move my body...”

  His mouth hit hers with the force of a tidal wave. He crushed her down into the sofa, his body moving roughly on hers, and she reacted like any woman in love. Her body ached for his, to know it. Her eyes misted with tears as she struggled to make him lose control, to give her what her body was starving for.

  But he wasn’t a boy, and he could see all too clearly what the consequences would be. Despite the raging desire that consumed him, he tore his body away from hers and rolled onto his back, dragging in air.

  “John,” she moaned.

  He pulled her close against his side and smoothed her long unruly hair. “Close your eyes. It passes. Remember?” he added roguishly.

  She blushed, smiling back. “That was my fault. I liked having my way with you,” she recalled.

  “Someday soon, I’ll enjoy letting you. But not,” he added with mock anger, “when my hands are tied. It’s all or nothing with me, Priss, as you should damned well know by now.”

  She stared up at his face lovingly. “I guess I can wait, if you can.”

  “We’ll struggle through together,” he said with a grin. “Now, get up. God knows what Margaret would say if she walked in.”

  “As a matter of fact, she did say something about not betraying her trust,” Priss confessed.

  “What an interesting time to tell me,” he returned. He pulled her to her feet, putting her wrists behind her back so he could study her young beauty with eyes that couldn’t seem to get enough of it. “Lovely Priscilla,” he said finally. “I’ll never tire of looking at you. You’re beaut.”

  The deep slow drawl made her tingle. She smiled at him, a woman so completely in love that happiness radiated from every pore of her skin. “So are you.”

  He breathed deliberately, forcing his heart to behave. “Go to bed,” he ordered, bending to kiss her delicately on the mouth. “We’ll talk some more in the morning, when it’s safer.”

  Her eyes searched his. “Can’t I sleep with you?”

  His jaw tensed. “No.”

  “Just sleep,” she pleaded.

  He put her away from him with a curt laugh. “I can see that. Sleeping, with you in my arms.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Couldn’t you?”

  He glanced down at her with impatient amusement. “You are a green one, aren’t you? No, darling, I couldn’t. I want you.” At her confused stare, he drew her against his powerful body and deliberately moved her hips against his. “Want,” he emphasized even as her mind made the connection between the changed contours of his body and the words.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed softly.

  His shadowy eyes surveyed hers. “Didn’t you understand?” he asked gently. “It’s uncomfortable for a man.”

  Her face flushed with color as she met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I really do have a lot to learn.”

  “It will be fascinating,” he murmured, watching her draw discreetly away.

  “What will?”

  “Shocking you speechless on our wedding night,” he said with a wicked grin. “I’ll live on the very thought for the next few months.”

  “John Sterling! And I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “Remind me, after we’re married, to give you the real definition of that word: it’s an eye-opener.”

  “Do I have to go?” she protested.

  His bright eyes twinkled. “Unless you want to be attacked.”

  She sidestepped his playful grab, laughing, bubbling with joy, gloriously beautiful with her pale blonde hair curling around her shoulders in a cloud, and her emerald eyes challenging him from the perfect oval of her lovely face.

  “I’ll go,” she said. “It must be the tropical air getting to your brain.”

  “It’s more a case of you getting to my body,” he taunted, his eyes sparkling.

  She forced her legs to carry her to the door, and turned back to stare at him, at the thick blond-streaked brown hair her fingers had mussed, at the sensuous look of him with his shirt unbuttoned, his mouth faintly swollen, his eyes glittering with desire.

  “I’ll be the best wife you ever imagined,” she said softly. “I’ll love you and give you children, and never even complain when you track mud onto my clean carpets.” She grinned. “And in bed, once you teach me how, I’ll just blow your mind, Jonathan Sterling.”

  He smiled slowly. “I can hardly wait.”

  “Sweet dreams...darling,” she added, feeling wildly adult and passionate and loved. He hadn’t said the words, but he must feel them. She was sure that he did. Otherwise why would he wa
nt to marry her when he’d always clung to his freedom? When he smiled back at her, all the tiny doubts rushed away in a surge of wonder, and she danced out the door and into bed, humming a love song under her breath.

  * * *

  The next morning he was sitting at the breakfast table with Margaret when Priscilla got downstairs. She’d overslept and it was midmorning, and she looked as flustered as she felt.

  “It’s about time,” John said with a grimace. “Some way for a newly engaged woman to behave, I’ll tell you.”

  Margaret was grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll leave you two to discuss your future alone, while I call Renée and Adam and just burst with pride.”

  John and Priss laughed as she retreated in a bustle.

  “Mom will have it all over the valley before you get back,” Priss warned him. “Perhaps you’d better call your mother...”

  “I told Mother before I left Australia,” he said softly. “She was thrilled at my excellent taste in women. Come here, for God’s sake!”

  She settled down in his lap and smiled into his amused eyes. “I like this a lot,” she told him, teasing his mouth with hers. “And I am going to love,” she kissed him again, “getting my hands,” she bit at his lower lip, “on your body...!”

  He was kissing her hard, and her head went back under the pressure. She clung to him, trying to be what he wanted, trying to meet his passion with her own.

  “When will you learn,” he murmured breathlessly, “that I like your mouth open when we kiss?”

  “Oh,” she whispered back, shaken. She parted her lips and touched them to his. “Like this?”

  “Yes...”

  She felt the penetrating warmth of his tongue, deeply searching, arousing, and she began to ache in the oddest places. Her nails clawed into the big muscles of his upper arms as he held her tight against him.

  “Why do you wear these things?” he groaned, searching under her T-shirt and finding a lacy little wisp of fabric in his way.

  “Take it off if you don’t like it.” She laughed.

  “With Margaret a few steps away?” He chuckled, but his voice was unsteady. He lifted his shaggy head and stared into her eyes warmly. “I’d much prefer your breasts to scrambled eggs, if you want to know.”

  She blushed from her cheeks down to her throat, and he watched with unholy amusement. “How old did you say you were?” he provoked.

  “Almost nineteen,” she returned with a flash of spirit. “And just be conceited, while you can. Someday I’ll be shocking you!”

  “I don’t doubt it a bit,” he agreed, smiling as he kissed her again, but softly this time. His hand pressed over her breast, and it was warm and strong even through the fabric. “I like stroking you here,” he whispered, moving his fingers slowly, erotically.

  Her lips opened as she struggled for breath. She looked into his dark hard face with awe. “I like it, too. Your hands...are so big.”

  “You’re not big at all,” he said gently. “You’re delicate and soft and you always smell of gardenias. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of making love to you.”

  “I can just see you doing that while you herd cattle.” She laughed unsteadily.

  “Mustering,” he corrected. “In Australia, we muster mobs of cattle.”

  “In America, we have laws against the mob, and we punch cattle. And we have ranches, not stations. And—”

  “And you talk a lot.” He stopped her banter with his lips. “Slide that little hand inside my shirt, and touch me the way I’m touching you. I like being stroked, too.”

  “Really?” she breathed, all eyes.

  “Really.”

  She’d gotten the first two buttons undone when footsteps sounded in the hall and she groaned. “Oh, damn, just when I’m getting the hang of it...”

  “Not my fault.” He laughed softly, letting her get to her feet. “You should have hurried.”

  “Just you wait,” she threatened as she straightened her T-shirt.

  “I’ll try,” he sighed, studying her slender lovely body. “But I’ll ache in the damnedest places until then.”

  She turned away, blushing wildly, as Margaret came back into the room, beaming, full of news from home, the biggest part of it being how thrilled Renée and Adam were about the engagement. And once she started, John and Priss didn’t have a chance for further conversation.

  Before she knew it, it was time to go with John to the airport. He seemed as reluctant as she felt, and he clung warmly to her hand in the cab and through the terminal. She stopped when he reached Customs and Immigration, and her eyes blurred with tears as she looked up into the rough, broad face she loved so much.

  “Don’t look like that, or I won’t be able to leave you,” he breathed. “God, Priss, I’d give anything to take you with me!”

  “Would I fit in your pocket?”

  “Not quite, I’m afraid.” He pulled her against him. “Although without your high heels, you barely come to my chin.”

  “John,” she said, scanning his face, “you meant it, didn’t you? You do want to marry me?”

  “Would I have asked you, if I didn’t?” he mocked. “After all,” he added, bending to whisper, “I haven’t seduced you, and we don’t have to rush to the altar before your waistline expands, do we?”

  She reddened and grinned at him. “I thought about it last night,” she confessed. “I thought about taking my clothes off and climbing into bed with you.”

  “What stopped you?” he asked.

  She shrugged, staring at the gray vest of his suit. “I was afraid you might not like being seduced.”

  He tilted up her chin. “I find the idea wildly exciting,” he confided, holding her gaze. “I’d like letting you make love to me.”

  “Oh, John,” she wailed helplessly.

  “Too late now.” He chuckled.

  Her lips smoothed over his, and he stopped laughing and kissed her with hungry passion. His arms crushed her, and his mouth devoured, penetrating, arousing, and she stood there and let him do what he wanted, drowning in the love she felt for him, loving his ardor. Her arms clung around his neck, and she felt her legs tremble when he lifted his head.

  “Want me, Priss?” he whispered unsteadily, with blazing eyes. “I want you, too.”

  “Yes, I can feel...I mean...” she faltered, drawing away a little in embarrassment.

  “We’re going to be married,” he said softly. “It’s all right if we know intimate things about each other now.”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  He brushed his lips over her closed eyelids. “When we’re together again,” he whispered, “we’ll undress each other and lie together and make out like crazy. I’ll try to get back next month, or maybe you can come home.”

  Her heart was beating so wildly, it hurt her. She buried her face against him, trembling with frustrated ardor. “Could we do that,” she questioned unsteadily, “and not go all the way?”

  “Yes, I think so,” he responded. He drew her close, holding her in a warm embrace, his face against her hair. “I want to do this right. I don’t want to anticipate our wedding night, but there are other paths to fulfillment besides the obvious one, little innocent,” he whispered softly. “I’ll teach you some of them....”

  “John,” she moaned, clenching her teeth as the wanting became suddenly unbearable.

  “Soon, darling,” he assured her. He hugged her bruisingly close, and his mouth searched for hers. He kissed her hotly for a long time, and his face was ruddy with frustration when he finally drew away. His nostrils flared as he observed her bright eyes. “Wait for me,” he said curtly. “No more dates with the college boy.”

  “No more,” she promised. She smiled slowly. “No more dates for you, either.”

  “Fat chance,” he c
huckled. “Every woman I see looks like you these days. Be good, love.”

  “You, too.”

  He winked and turned to walk away. She lifted a hand toward him, wanting to call out, wanting to say, I love you. But she didn’t. She watched his tall broad-shouldered back until he was out of sight. And then she went back to Margaret’s, torn between joy and grief. The waiting was going to be horrible. She didn’t know how she could survive it, now that he was going to be hers, at last.

  John. Her husband. The thought would sustain her, like water to a desert survivor. She imagined them together in bed, straining against each other in the darkness, loving each other with their bodies. She imagined them with children, John carrying a little boy on his shoulders and laughing. She imagined them being together in the evenings, sitting together while he worked on the books and she graded papers. The dreams were beautiful. And the memories of how it had been between them physically were as satisfying as the dreams.

  Chapter Five

  Priss couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d been so happy. The hidden photograph in her wallet came out of hiding. She showed it to Ronald—to all her friends—with such radiant love and pride that she glowed like a new penny. John was hers at last. Hers!

  She rushed downtown to an exclusive department store, where Margaret had an account, and searched for hours until she found just the wedding gown she wanted. It was a dream of a gown, with a keyhole neckline and yards of lace and satin and a floor-length veil. She sighed over it as the saleslady smilingly put it away in a box. Priss could just see how she’d look walking down the aisle to John in it.

  She came back to Margaret’s house with stars in her eyes. “You don’t mind that I used your card, do you?” Priss asked belatedly when Aunt Margaret seemed hesitant.

  “No, darling, of course not,” Margaret said gently. “It’s just that...well, don’t you think it might be better to wait a bit on the gown? Just until you and John set a definite date?”

  Priss felt a tension in the air. She studied the older woman quietly, intently. “Aunt Margaret, you don’t think he’ll back out?”