by Emma Darcy
It surprised and delighted Natalie that these last thoughts followed on so naturally. It boosted her confidence in her ability to fulfil the contract with her publisher. Sharon Kippax was right. The knowledge was there in her mind to be tapped when she was ready to start again.
‘Have you met Sharon Kippax, Damien?’
‘Never.’
‘Do you know anything about children’s books?’
‘Only what I remember from my childhood.’ He gave her a reminiscent smile. ‘My mother used to read to us every night. Bedtime stories were a ritual. I think they’re great for kids.’
The warmth in his voice reminded her of his desire to have a child of his own...with her. She formed a mental picture of Damien reading a book she had illustrated to their children, pointing out Mummy’s vision of the story with pride and love. It tugged on her heart, making it ache with longing.
She could not remember her own father. He had been killed in a cyclone trying to help other people to safety. She had been only two years old at the time and her mother had never remarried. Natalie had envied her friends who had fathers and brothers and sisters. It was no fun being an only child and she now recognised that her mother had not found it easy being a single parent.
‘Do you come from a big family?’ she asked.
‘Three boys, two girls.’ He grinned at her. ‘I was the youngest, but we were all close. Most of the kids in the neighbourhood came to our house to play. I had a great childhood.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Natalie prompted.
He recounted a series of wild adventures and outrageous mischief. It seemed that his parents had adopted a policy of free rein, occasionally pulled in with some salutary discipline when the line of acceptable behaviour was flagrantly overstepped. They were an achievement-orientated family, seeking to stretch their horizons and go wherever their interests took them.
Damien’s amusing anecdotes kept Natalie interested and entertained through the trip across the city to the foot of the mountains. He fell silent as they started the climb upwards.
Natalie was hard-pressed to keep the conversation flowing. She found out Damien’s oldest brother was a pilot working for Singapore Airlines. His other brother was a marine biologist, based in Tasmania. One sister lived in London, having gone to England on a working holiday and found employment as a nanny for the children of a widowed stockbroker whom she subsequently married. The remaining sister had gone to New Zealand, become involved with the women’s movement, fallen in love with a sheep farmer, and had settled happily into farm life, breeding Galloways as a sideline.
Damien’s parents had retired to the Gold Coast of Queensland years ago. They now enjoyed a life of leisure in the sun.
‘So you’re the only one left in Sydney,’ she mused.
‘Yes.’
‘You must miss them.’
‘We keep in touch. Mostly when Christmas comes around.’
Christmas was for families, Natalie thought, and especially for children. It was now the month of March. By next Christmas she would be twenty-nine.
‘How old are you, Damien?’
‘Thirty-four.’
If they were to have a family together, their first child could be born by next Christmas. Natalie was about to act on impulse and reach across to Damien when a familiar landscape caught her eye.
‘Oh! Take the left turn before the overhead bridge,’ she urged quickly.
Damien gave her a sharp and penetrating glance. ‘Does this mean something to you?’
‘Yes...no...I don’t know.’ The question flustered her because she had no ready answer to it. ‘I just feel this is the way to go.’
He took the turn. ‘The road leads to Leura.’
It meant nothing to her. They had left the outskirts of Sydney some considerable time ago and she had only been vaguely aware of travelling up the freeway to the mountains since then. Whether they had reached the top of the range or not she had no idea.
They approached a fork in the road. A signpost to Leura pointed to the right. ‘Keep left,’ Natalie said automatically.
Damien frowned at her. ‘You remember being here before?’
‘Not really. I don’t understand it but I feel sure this road leads somewhere I want to go.’
It was a long road. They passed signs to two vacation resorts, one longstanding, one new. Damien gave her a run-down on their facilities. Neither of them had any instinctive pull on Natalie. They passed golf links. Then she saw the row of pines, thickly clustered to close out the rest of the world.
‘That’s it!’ she cried excitedly.
‘What?’
‘There’s a gateway between the pines. It has an arch. You’ll miss it if you go quickly, Damien.’
He slowed down. He turned the car into the driveway and brought the car to a halt. On the arch was printed the name of the property, ‘MERLINMIST‘.
It had to be a magical place to be called that, Natalie thought, feeling certain it had the special quality she had been seeking.
‘What does Merlinmist mean to you, Natalie?’ Damien asked, his eyes fastened intensely on hers, almost accusing. The tension emanating from him bewildered her.
‘Does it mean something to you?’ she countered.
He made a visible effort to relax. ‘I’ve never stayed here.’
‘But you know of it.’
He nodded. ‘It’s listed as a boutique guesthouse. Haute cuisine. Four guest suites, each one uniquely decorated. Very exquisite. Very exclusive. Very expensive. Very, very expensive. The gardens and trees were planted forty or fifty years ago by Hildegard, a famous landscape artist. I believe the outlook over the Jamieson Valley is quite spectacular, something any artist would want to paint.’
‘You must have been here before to know all that,’ Natalie said, disappointed he had already shared it with someone else.
‘No, I haven’t,’ he repeated. ‘I’ve heard about it. Many times.’
Her heart lightened. ‘Is it too expensive for us?’ she asked warily.
‘Not for you.’
‘I’d like to stay.’
‘Natalie...’ he seemed to struggle with some inner conflict ‘...you said you wanted a fresh start together.’
‘This is the place, Damien,’ she assured him. She must have seen it before, gone past it perhaps, and been so drawn to it that the wish to stay had lingered in her subconscious memory, a special place for a special occasion. ‘Every instinct I have tells me it’s right,’ she added with conviction.
‘Instinct...’ A look of savage irony flitted over his face.
‘What’s wrong, Damien?’ she asked anxiously, aware that her choice did not meet his wholehearted approval.
‘You’re the only one who can make the decision. If you say it’s right, it’s right,’ he said decisively, shrugging aside whatever doubts he’d had. He gave her a rueful smile as he reached across and took her hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers. ‘We’re together. Nothing else is more important to me.’
Natalie was intensely relieved at his surrender to the compulsion that had selected this place above all others. Yet she could not easily dismiss the tension flowing from him. His fingers gripped hers tightly, impressing his need for her. She wanted to say nothing else was important to her, either, but it wasn’t true. For some inexplicable reason, she needed Damien to share Merlinmist with her.
He withdrew his hand, and with an air of determination drove into the parking area for guests. The house was large, solidly built in red brick, two-storeyed, many-chimneyed, and with an impressive pillared portico protecting its entrance. It gave the sense of having stood the test of time, built to last against adversity. It had an instant and deep appeal to Natalie, as though it represented all she had lost, or all she was looking for in her new life.
Damien nodded to the three other parked cars as he helped Natalie alight from his. ‘We could be disappointed,’ he warned. ‘They might be fully booked.’
‘Fate wouldn�
��t be so unkind,’ she declared, her eyes alight with confidence as she curled her arm around his.
He smiled at her but he was still tense. She wished he would relax and enjoy the moment. The air was crisp and cool and invigorating. She felt brilliantly alive. Nothing could possibly go wrong. They were going to have a wonderful time together.
A honeymoon, she thought.
Merlinmist was the perfect place for a perfect honeymoon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY were lucky. There had been a late cancellation. One suite was available until the weekend. Three days and nights in this marvellous place, Natalie thought triumphantly. It was more than enough.
She loved the smell of beautifully polished furniture, loved the glorious floral arrangement in the foyer, loved the grand mahogany staircase that led upstairs, loved the dignified and gracious atmosphere that came with tall ceilings and panelled walls and richly patterned rugs and carpets.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she was ushered into the bedroom she would share with Damien. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the magnificent half-tester bed that dominated the décor. Its yellow drapes looked stunning against a padded bedhead upholstered in a striped floral pattern. The detailed designer fabric was repeated in the valance below a white quilt on which were piled a liberal adornment of yellow and white cushions.
The night-stands on either side of the bed were matching Victorian sewing tables on graceful three-legged pedestals. They held tall brass lamps with yellow shades. Natalie swung around to see what balanced this splendid grouping of furniture. Facing the bed was a majestic chest of drawers with a large mirror, reflecting it all, giving double the visual pleasure.
She turned to look at Damien, hoping he was favourably impressed. She saw only the back view of him as he followed their hostess past the green velvet armchairs flanking a wide hearth. At the end of the sitting area, a log fire was set behind a glass-fronted fireplace. Damien adopted a listening pose as he was told how it worked, then crouched down to open the door and set the logs aflame.
Natalie’s attention wandered to the far wall where an elegant chaise-longue was placed in front of the windows. It provided casual relaxation for the viewing of winding valleys and spectacular red and yellow ochre cliff-faces that stretched as far as the eye could see.
A shiver ran down Natalie’s spine. The sheer stone cliffs looked so stark above the blueness of the eucalypts massed below them, stark and... unforgiving. She frowned over that fanciful last word. It was silly to attach any emotion to a geographical phenomenon.
She quickly responded to their hostess’s invitation to inspect the en-suite bathroom. Damien stayed behind to watch the progress of the licking flames, apparently intent on ensuring that the fire, which was rendered unnecessary by the air-conditioning system, made adequate progress.
Natalie had the feeling that Damien did not know what to do with himself, but any activity, no matter how intrinsically useless, was preferable to doing nothing.
The bathroom was as splendid as everything else. Walls of gleaming white tiles were topped by a blue and green ceramic frieze, making a highlighting feature of the blue and green and yellow towels. The floor inside the shower stall repeated the colours in foliage tiles to match the frieze. A spacious spa bath added the ultimate touch of luxury.
Natalie made appropriate comments to their hostess who nodded her satisfaction and waved Natalie back to the sitting-room. A porter brought up their bags. A maid carried in a tray holding a crystal bowl of sultana grapes and strawberries, a bottle of champagne in a silver ice-bucket, and two fine flute glasses. She placed it on the table near the armchairs. Their hostess informed them lunch began at one o’clock should they wish to use the dining-room. The business of getting settled was finally completed, and Natalie and Damien were left alone in their suite.
Damien stood with his back to the fire, as though he needed warmth. There was a strained look about his face, a watchful reserve in his eyes. He made an effort to smile. ‘A fine room,’ he said.
He seemed to be waiting for her to take the first step. It was her choice of setting, her insistence that had brought them to here and now. Natalie wondered if she had made a mistake in taking the initiative away from Damien. Did he feel she had her priorities wrong? Was he keeping himself aloof in expectation of another rejection?
She recalled him saying as he acceded to her wish to stay at Merlinmist that the decision was up to her. This was decision time, too. He had told her what he wanted with her. He could not have spelled it out more clearly. Only she was important. The surroundings meant nothing.
‘Thank you for indulging me, Damien,’ she said softly, dismissing the attractions of this unique guest house as she walked across the room to him, her eyes locking with his in compassionate understanding of the dilemma he faced...whether or not to take what he most wanted while she was willing to give herself to him. The temptation must be tearing him apart, aware as he was she might hate him for taking advantage of the present situation.
‘I want you to be happy with me,’ he said with heart-tugging simplicity.
‘How could I not be when you give me so much?’
There was anguish in his eyes.
Natalie lifted her hands to his chest. She could feel his heart thumping madly under her palm. She tried to impart reassurance, confidence. ‘I trust what I am now, Damien, not what you tell me I might become. If I’m going to change, I want you to feel fulfilled with me now. Let this be my gift of love to you. Forget all that’s gone on in the past. Feel only this.’
She slid her hands up to draw his head to hers and she pressed her lips fervently to his, wanting to give flesh-and-blood reality to her words. His arms came around her, crushing her to him as his mouth began to move over hers in a yearning kiss that ignited a flood of desire.
She felt the tense urgency in his body, the need that strained against the soft pliancy of her stomach, stirring an ache deep in her womb. She opened her mouth, inviting the passionate force she had tasted yesterday, exulting in the wild mutuality of their hunger for each other.
Kissing wasn’t enough. Holding wasn’t enough. She rubbed her breasts against the hard muscles of his chest, wishing it were flesh to flesh. Damien’s hands slid to her buttocks, squeezing them possessively as he thrust her closer to the pulsing surge of his need.
His mouth left hers. His chest heaved for breath. She opened her eyes, hot liquid amber, burning with the fiery mission to complete what had been started. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a sense that it had started a long time ago, started but been kept rigidly hidden behind doors she had locked. Whatever had simmered so long between them was loosed now, free to find the satisfaction it craved, and she fiercely wanted what Damien promised her, the ultimate height and depth and breadth of intimacy that was possible for a man and a woman...this special man and herself...together.
She saw the leap of recognition in his eyes, a wild glitter of elation at her uninhibited desire for him. He released his physical hold on her. It wasn’t needed. There was another stronger bond pulsing between them, an elemental certainty. There would be no turning away from this final revelation of all they were to each other.
Damien tugged her shirt free of her jeans and began unbuttoning it.
‘Take yours off first so I can touch you,’ she said huskily.
He did so with a happy chuckle. It was the first sound of happiness she had heard from Damien. It swelled her heart and made it pump faster. She grazed her fingertips down the cords of his throat, across his broad shoulders and down his strongly muscled arms. He was beautifully made. Her man, her mate, she thought with such primitive satisfaction that it made her acutely aware of the basic drive that brought men and women together.
Damien peeled off her shirt, removed her bra. His hands cupped her breasts and he gazed down at them as though enthralled by their womanliness. Was he thinking they were made to give succour and comfort, to pleasure him in the ways men found pleasure
in their shape and softness? She felt her nipples harden. Damien inhaled deeply and lifted his eyes. Natalie’s breath caught at the look of tenderness in them.
‘You touch my needs more deeply than anyone I’ve ever known,’ he said softly, then bent to take her breasts in his mouth, sucking them in turn, sending deep shafts of pleasure through her body, tapping a well of love so strong she found herself cradling his head, stroking his hair, wanting to hold him to her forever.
But he slipped away from her, kissing her stomach as he knelt to remove the rest of her clothes. That gave her a different pleasure, both shivery and molten, the soft, warm brush of his tongue stroking her naked flesh, the sensual caress of his hands on her thighs, behind her knees, her feet.
She reached for him as he rose upright, her hands feverishly ready to strip his manhood bare, to make him feel valued and cared for and cherished. His skin quivered under her touch as she freed him from constriction. His fingers twisted convulsively through her hair as she trailed her lips over the swollen life force of his flesh, cupped and gently squeezed the potent pouch that held his seed...for fathering a child.
He moaned her name in an ecstasy of longing and she rejoiced in his need for her, his pleasure in what she was doing. She drew rippling patterns over the powerful muscles of his thighs, feeling them tighten to rock-hardness as she cleared them of the clinging fabric.
Then he was helping her, freeing himself so he could scoop her up and hug her body to his, his mouth invading hers with urgent passion as he carried her with him to the bed. He hurled the quilt aside and laid her on the cool sheets. He loomed over her, then pulled himself back, arching in anguish as he realised what had been forgotten.
‘Natalie...’
‘Throw caution to the wind, Damien,’ she urged, wanting him to embrace their union in all its totality, flesh to flesh, pulsing life to pulsing life.