by Diana Palmer
She was aware of him close at her side, and had to steel herself not to flinch every time he moved. She remembered so well another time when they’d lain like this, on Margaret’s sofa, and he’d come close to making love to her.
He chuckled softly, and she turned her head sideways to study his relaxed features.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“I was remembering that night at Margaret’s,” he reminisced, turning his head to catch her eyes. “You had me so out of my head that I was ready to take you, right there, door unlocked and all.”
She flushed, dropping her eyes to his partially unbuttoned shirt. That made her turn even redder, and he laughed more deeply.
“Does it bother you, little prude?” he whispered. “Look.”
And he deliberately unbuttoned the rest of the shirt and pulled it free of his slacks, letting her see the rippling muscles of his stomach and chest with their feathering of dark hair.
“John...” she protested.
“I like the way you look at me,” he avowed huskily, and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “I like the feel of your eyes. I like knowing that you want to touch me.” He reached out and brushed his fingers over hers, turning her hand so that he was lightly stroking the palm. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked. “You’d like to come over here and stroke my body the way I used to stroke yours, to watch me shudder and groan with desire.”
Her lips parted. He was doing it again, and she was going under like a drowning swimmer.
“Know what I’d do to you, young Priss, if the boys weren’t here?” he asked under his breath. “I’d roll you over on your back,” he whispered tenderly. “And I’d pull that elastic bodice down to your waist. And then I’d put my mouth—”
“It’s getting late,” she burst out in a high-pitched little voice as she sat up quickly and then got to her feet.
John got to his own feet and watched her like a mouse-hungry cat, all mischievous eyes and mocking smiles.
“Nothing’s changed,” he maintained. “Only the year.”
“I’ve changed,” she argued, eyes flashing. “I’m not a naive little teenager anymore!”
“No,” he concurred. “You’re all woman, and I want you now more than ever.”
“You won’t get me!” she promised.
“You said we could be friends, didn’t you?” he mused.
“Not if you keep saying horrible things to me!”
He grinned, showing his even white teeth. “What did I say that was horrible?”
“About pulling my dress...” She swallowed. “You know what.”
“That wasn’t horrible. It was exciting,” he contradicted with a lazy smile. “And that’s exactly what I’d have done if the twins hadn’t been around. And you’d have let me, Priscilla. You’d have helped me.”
“I won’t see you again, John,” she asserted firmly. She bent to gather up the picnic things, without looking at him.
“Of course you will,” he drawled lazily. He tucked his shirt back into his trousers and fastened it halfway up. “Tonight, in fact.”
She straightened up and looked at him. “What?”
“Renée invited me to supper.”
She’d strangle her mother, she told herself. “I’ll go see a movie,” she griped.
“You might as well give in,” John advised. “You won’t win.”
She glowered at him. “Yes, I will. I’ve got too much sense to let myself in for any more heartache!”
He shook his head. “There won’t be any heartache this time, little sheila,” he softly supplied, and he smiled. “I promise.”
“Because you won’t get close enough to cause any,” she returned.
“We’ll see.” He lifted his head and called the boys. They came running up, dripping wet, clothes clutched helter-skelter in their hands.
“That was bonzer.” Gerry laughed. “Thanks for coming with us, Miss Priscilla; today was just like being a family!”
“Dead right,” Bobby agreed.
Priss looked from one to the other. She hadn’t realized just how much such an outing might mean to young boys who’d lacked parental affection. She smiled softly at them.
“You could come see us at home, too, Miss Priss,” Gerry ventured.
“As a matter of fact, it’s lambing and calving over at the Run,” John added, watching her. “We’ve got a mob of babies you could look at.”
“Too right!” Gerry agreed. “They’re fun to pet, Miss Priscilla.”
“Priss used to come over and watch us muster cattle,” John volunteered, and his eyes were keen on her face. “Remember, Priss?”
She did, vividly. She’d always been around in spring. John never had seemed to mind, though. He’d take time to show her the newest additions to his herd and watch her enthusiastic response to them.
“You were very patient,” she recalled with downcast eyes.
“I still am,” he replied. “In every way that counts.”
She turned away before he could see the wild rosiness in her cheeks.
“How about it?” he persisted as he helped the twins into the Land Rover. “Want to come over tomorrow?”
She had to force herself not to give in to the lazy seduction in his voice.
“Not tomorrow,” she answered.
He tilted his hat over one eye and smiled. “All right.”
That threw her. She’d expected an argument. She faltered a minute before she got into the vehicle and let him close the door.
She was still puzzled that evening as she got ready for dinner. She stood staring at herself in the mirror, wondering why she was bothering to dress up. She wore a gauzy white skirt and pullover blouse, and looked like something out of the twenties—very frilly and feminine.
“It’s more than he deserves,” she told her reflection.
“Yes, I know, but he is a dish, my darling,” Renée said from the door. She grinned like a young girl. “My, he is in hot pursuit these days, isn’t he?”
“It won’t do him any good,” Priss assured her. “I won’t be taken in again.”
Renée leaned against the doorjamb and watched her daughter brush her short hair. “He’s a proud man,” she remarked.
“Yes, I know.”
“It’s not easy for a man like him to admit to weaknesses,” she continued. “John was brought to his knees. He didn’t want anyone to see him that way. Especially not you.”
“He said it was only physical,” Priss said quietly. “That he only wanted me.”
“With a man, love often comes after physical infatuation,” Renée told her.
“Mom,” Priss began hesitantly, “whatever happened to Janie Weeks?”
Renée looked uncomfortable for a moment. “She married a fellow in Brisbane...shortly after you and John broke up.”
Priss turned with scalding eyes to face her mother. “I’m afraid,” she confessed. “I just don’t want to risk being hurt again. I don’t think I could bear it if I got involved with John and then he gave in to physical infatuation for another woman, the way he did with Janie.”
“My darling,” Renée advised gently, “you mustn’t judge John too harshly. He’s paid a terrible price for the decisions he made...whether they were right or wrong.”
John was wearing a blue blazer, white shirt, and white trousers when he arrived for dinner. His blond head was bare, and he looked as urbane as any Brisbane businessman.
“You look nice,” Priss complimented reluctantly.
He smiled at her. “So do you. Very roaring twentyish.”
“I’m an old-fashioned girl,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he remarked with a devilish smile, and she dropped her eyes.
“Come on in
to the living room while the women get the food on the table,” Adam said, “and I’ll pour you a brandy.”
“That sounds fine,” John said. “What do you think about this new political crisis in the States?”
They went off into a long discussion about politics in general while Priss and Renée set the bowls of steaming hot beef and rice and Brussels sprouts and biscuits on the table.
“What’s your opinion, Priss?” John asked as they were seated.
“About what?” she asked, going blank as she looked at his rugged face with its dimpled chin and twinkling eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured, as if staring back at her had knocked a few words out of his head, too. He searched her soft green eyes for a long moment and watched her pupils widen, her lips part. It took all his willpower not to get up and go across the table after her.
She cleared her throat and reached for her glass of iced tea. Not until she’d taken a calming sip of it did she try to talk again, and she didn’t look straight into his eyes this time.
“How are things going, John?” Renée asked as they waded through international politics and marked their way back to everyday topics. “This is your busiest time, I recall.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Lambing, calving, mustering, shearing.... It’s great to get away from the station and all the complaints.”
“You’ve hired on some new men, I hear,” Adam remarked.
“Have to.” John grinned. “Our own would quit if they had all that work to do alone. Besides, the shearers are a breed apart. It’s an experience to watch them in the sheds.”
“Indeed it is,” Priss agreed. She smiled at him over her coffee cup. “I got to help once.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, you did. I had the only sheep in the river basin with mohawks.”
She flushed. “Well, I tried.”
“You wouldn’t have gotten near my Merinos if that shearer hadn’t been sweet on you,” he added, cupping his coffee cup in his big hands. “I watched you, too, just to make sure he didn’t get fresh. You were a dish even at sixteen, little Priss.”
“Big brother to the rescue,” she chided, embarrassed because she’d never told her parents about that.
“Thank God you were around to look out for her,” Adam gratefully acknowledged. “She’s always been a handful.”
“A lovely handful, my darling,” Renée said with a smile. “The greatest joy of our lives.”
“I was almost the undoing of John a few times,” Priss admitted. She glanced at him, and for once all the animosity and bitterness fell away. “I worried you terribly, didn’t I?”
“I could have stopped you anytime I liked,” he confessed. He searched her puzzled eyes. “Or didn’t that ever occur to you?”
It hadn’t. She studied his craggy face curiously. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, her voice soft.
His thumb caressed the porcelain cup absently as he looked back at her. “I liked having you around,” he offered quietly. “Despite the fact that we all knew you were years too young to be daydreaming over me,” he added with a wicked grin.
“We trusted you,” Adam chuckled.
“Of course,” Priss submitted. “I was like his kid sister.”
John’s eyes narrowed and when she looked into them, she read graphically that in no way had she been like his kid sister.
“How about some dessert?” she asked quickly, and rose to get it.
In the kitchen, she uncovered the Southern pecan pie she’d made and began to slice it. Her heart was wildly racing, and she hoped she could calm down before she went back into the living room.
She felt him before she heard his voice, sensed his presence as if she’d been born with radar.
“Can I help?” John asked at her back.
“I’m just finishing up,” she replied. Was that squeaky voice really hers? The kitchen shrank when he walked in.
“I love that pie,” he said. “A southern-American specialty, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she returned breathlessly. She reached for saucers, but his big hands slid around her waist and she froze, helpless, as his fingers moved, fondling her.
His breath sighed out against the top of her head, and she could feel the warmth of his big body, feel the muscles of his chest against her back. She was drowning again. She wanted to turn and let him crush her body into his; she wanted to lift her face and let him kiss her hungry mouth until she stopped aching.
“Did you bake it?” he asked quietly.
“Yes...I...I can cook, you know,” she faltered.
His chest rose and fell roughly. His hands moved slowly up and down her waist. “You did the lunch today, too, didn’t you?” he murmured. “The chicken and potato salad...”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
He moved an inch closer, bringing his body into total contact with hers, and she caught her breath and stiffened.
“You still smell of gardenias,” he whispered in her ear. His mouth touched it and then ran slowly down the side of her neck to her shoulder. “You even taste of them.”
The feel of his hard warm mouth was doing crazy things to her willpower. Her head involuntarily went to one side to give him better access to her silky skin.
She felt the edge of his teeth then, and heard the ragged sigh of his breath.
“It’s no good,” he said roughly. “Turn around and give me your mouth.”
She wanted that, too. She needed to taste him, to let him satisfy the aching hungers he’d created. Without a protest, she started to turn, but the sound of footsteps broke them quickly apart.
“Sorry, but there’s a phone call for you, John,” Adam interrupted, peeking through the door. “Your jackeroo.”
“Damn,” John muttered darkly. He glanced ruefully at Priss before he went out the door, and Adam made a regretful face before he followed suit. Priss went back to dishing up the pie, with hands that shook and a body that hurt with unsatisfied need.
By the time she had the dishes on a tray and had carried them into the dining room, John was standing in the hall with Adam.
“Damned sorry,” John was saying irritably. He glanced toward the dining room. “I have to go,” he told her. “A blue down at the shearer’s quarters. My jackeroo can’t calm them down.”
She could imagine John doing that, quite easily. She’d seen him break up fights before.
“We’re glad you could come to supper,” she told him in a low voice.
His eyes searched hers across the room. “Walk me out.”
She went to him without a protest, a sheep going to the slaughter. She barely saw the knowing look her parents exchanged as she took the large hand John held out to her and went with him onto the darkened porch.
“Oh, God, come here, love,” he groaned urgently, drawing her trembling body completely against his. “Kiss me...!”
His mouth opened as it touched hers, and she met the kiss hungrily, reaching up to hold him, to plaster her aching body to the hardness of his. She clung to the strong muscles of his back, feeling his teeth against her own with ardent pressure of his devouring mouth.
She moaned helplessly, in the throes of something so explosive it rocked her on her feet, and his arms tightened.
“I need you,” he whispered into her mouth. “I need you...”
He was trembling, and so was she, and the darkness spun around her like a Ferris wheel while she tried to get enough of his warm demanding mouth, the deep penetration of his tongue, the rough massage of his hands down her spine.
She felt him maneuver their bodies so the porch wall was behind her. Still holding her mouth in bondage, he eased himself down against her, crushing her hips and breasts and thighs under his so she could feel the very texture of his muscles.
She cried o
ut, softly, helplessly, and he lifted his blond head and stared into her eyes in the dim light.
“I want you under me like this in a bed,” he said unsteadily, his eyes glittering.
Her nails bit into his back as she tried to find a protest.
“Don’t start making excuses,” he commanded gruffly. “You want me, too.”
“You’re heavy,” she moaned.
“Yes, and you love it,” he breathed against her lips. He moved his hips deliberately and felt her stiffen and clutch at him. “Oh, Priss, I’d give anything to have you alone with me in a dark room for just an hour. Just one hour...!”
“I can’t,” she whispered tearfully. “I can’t, I won’t...!”
His mouth crushed down on hers, and he kissed her with a wild kind of frustration before he arched himself away from her and stood glaring down at her trembling body and wide misty eyes.
“Nothing’s changed,” he whispered huskily. “We cause a fever in each other so hot, ice couldn’t quench it. Eventually you’ll have me, Priscilla. Because the day will come when you can’t bear the torture of wanting me any longer.”
“But it won’t last,” she returned bitterly.
“Yes,” he replied. “Yes, it will. You’re all I see, hear, think, or need in all the world.”
“It’s just lust!” she threw at him. “You said so!”
He searched her wild eyes. “So I did. But it’s much more than that,” he said. “Much more. We must talk, and soon. I just wish I had the time now, but I don’t. Good night, Priss.”
He turned and walked away. It was several minutes before she could get her rubbery legs to take her back inside. And it was hours before she slept. She tossed and turned all night long, worrying about John’s dogged pursuit and her own vulnerability. What was she going to do? She couldn’t survive a second rejection. Could she believe John when he said the blazing passion between them would last? It was a question to which she still hadn’t found an answer by morning.
She went with her parents to church and then came back home and brooded for the rest of the day. It was almost a relief when Monday morning came and she could go back to school.