An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden

by Margaret Way

  “I suppose we shouldn’t explore too deeply,” Brock said, taking a quick look around. “Bound to be snakes. But they’ll do their utmost to keep out of our way. Is it too hot for you?” He turned to inspect her small face. Both of them were wearing akubras to shelter their heads from the blazing sun, wide brims at a tilt.

  “I’m used to it.”

  Masses of red-gold tendrils like licks of flame encircled her face, her skin the texture of a white camellia. It was flushed with heat and exertion, and little beads of perspiration gathered beneath her lustrous eyes and above her top lip. He found her so sexual. The ever-present desire hit him with such force it almost knocked him off balance.

  He wanted this woman and the want would never go away. As he looked into her eyes he was moved to believe he not only wanted but needed her. A thousand threads seemed to bind them, growing stronger by the day.

  Already caught in a maze of emotions, including betrayal, confusion, despair, and a grief that he had spent a lifetime keeping to himself, Brock realized he was within a hair’s breadth of taking her.

  Minutes dragged on as they stared at each other.

  “Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly, painfully aware of his brooding expression and the throbbing intimacy between them.

  “We should go back.” He came to a hard decision. Hurting this girl would tear the heart out of him.

  Something about the way he spoke, the glitter in his shining eyes, made her heart lurch. “I thought we were going to find a cave? At least we could take a look inside the largest of them. Just up there.”

  She pointed to a mesa-shaped dome with a single ghost gum growing at a peculiar angle guarding the cave’s entrance.

  “There could be some rock drawings. It might make you feel better. Just a few minutes before you go back to all your problems. Mine too.”

  “It could be dangerous,” he warned, not talking about the terrain at all.

  She gave a choked little laugh. “Did I hear right? Brock Tyson talking danger?” She grabbed his arm, using it as an anchor to bring her further up the slope. “Come on. I dare you.”

  As soon as she found firm footing she took off like a gazelle, as though a wonderful Aladdin’s cave was about to open up for her.

  “Stop, Shelley.” His tone was so inherently commanding she obeyed. “I’ll go first. I’ll decide whether we go in.”

  “Okay, boss.” She tipped her brim, trying to act cheerful when she was feeling a whole range of emotions: excitement, anguish for Brock, a kind of trepidation for herself.

  Apart from the lone ghost gum, with its chalk-white bole, there was little vegetation around the mouth of the cave except for a broad hanging cascade of some desert plant bearing innumerable tiny scarlet balls.

  Moving carefully, Shelley picked her way to the top, watching Brock’s tall, lean figure disappear into the semi-circular entrance. She stopped once to breathe deeply. It was eerie.

  Those little scarlet balls must be the plant’s flower-heads and they were releasing some aromatic odour like frankincense. The scent grew stronger the higher she climbed. It wasn’t any kind of grevillea or hakea, or any of the widely distributed desert plants she was familiar with and had drawn in detail. She hadn’t even seen it before, but the incense was drenching, invading her nostrils and making them flare.

  She paused at the entrance of the cave, leaning against the striated rock wall with its furrows of multicoloured ochres. She felt a little dizzy, as though the rich, alluring aroma was overcoming her.

  “Shelley!” Brock’s tall shadow fell over her. “What’s the matter?” He came right up close to her, focusing on her face. “Damn it, it’s the heat,” he rasped in a kind of self-disgust. “We shouldn’t have covered so much ground. I blame myself and my mood. I felt like walking off the edge of the world. Are you okay?”

  He caught the point of her chin, turning her face up to him. It was so delicate, her colouring so exquisite, she reminded him of some ethereal creature in a Old Master painting.

  “I’m fine!” She tried a smile to cover up her slight feeling of disorientation. “Have you ever seen that plant over there?” She pointed to the blazing red hanging clusters.

  He frowned, forcing himself to focus on the brilliant display. “I don’t think I have. The perfume is very strong. Rather like incense. You’d better come inside the cave for a few minutes,” he said in concern. “It’s amazingly cool in there.”

  “Any rock paintings?” she asked, only too aware he was deeply disturbed. This complicated man.

  “Wait and see.”

  It took a few moments for her to adjust to the dim light after the blaze of the sun.

  “Well?” He watched the quick play of emotions across her expressive face.

  “Oh, Brock!” The interior of the cave began to take form and Shelley looked around her in amazed delight. The space contained strange, secret things! A gallery.

  They might have been inside some prehistoric temple. The dome of the cave was high, its depth shallow. The floor of the cave, perfectly flat, with a tracery of lizard imprints, was ochred sand.

  She threw off her akubra, feeling the cool air on her over-heated scalp. Her fingers speared into the red-gold silk of her hair, loosening it within its ponytail. Then, with something approaching wonderment, she lifted her head to study the painted ceiling.

  It had to be a strange creature from another world. One skeletal white hand was lifted in a gesture that seemed to her more like a farewell than a greeting. The yellow head was as round as the sun, with red rays drawn all around it, and something like wings, but not wings, more like primitive flying devices, protruded from the shoulders. The feet were like the claws of a wedge-tailed eagle.

  “A visitor from another world,” Brock remarked quietly. “I just hope we haven’t disturbed him.”

  “Oh, goodness me, no!” Shelley shivered as much from the mesmeric power of the cave drawing as the sudden drop in temperature. “It’s really quite eerie. And who are all these people?”

  She shifted her gaze to the scores of little stick figures who appeared to be dancing to some irresistible ceremonial music.

  “I feel privileged to see this, don’t you? Do you suppose he’s a god? He looks like he’s come from another world, like the famous Wondjina paintings in the Kimberleys. Non-human beings.”

  “It’s hard to get interpretations,” Brock said, moving closer to the rock wall to examine the little figures so simply drawn yet so brilliantly conveying movement. “That fellow up there on the ceiling looks like a sky traveller, or a mythical being who settled down in this particular cave. There must be tens of thousands of cave paintings all across the Centre and the North. Ours survive because they’re right off the tourist map. Are you feeling any better?” He risked glancing over his shoulder to where she was standing.

  “I’m loving this,” she said. “Aren’t you glad I made you come up here?”

  To temptation that had never been surpassed? Brock thought.

  “What a day!” he said with fierce intensity, his face all taut planes and angles.

  “Yes, what a day!” she echoed, herself filled with torrents of emotion. “It all seems too much to contain. I’m so sorry, Brock, for the way you’re being treated. When I think how your grandfather—”

  “Deceived me?” he cut in, starting to prowl restlessly around the cave. Movements that put her irresistibly in mind of a caged big cat.

  “I was going to say made you a p-promise.” Her voice wavered at some expression in his eyes.

  “We should go, Shelley.” He was determined to resist his feelings and made severe by the effort.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. You didn’t want to come up here anyway.”

  She bent her head, a flower on a stalk, apparently not even daring to look at him for too long. The tension was tremendous. Like an actual grinding force. Everything would be all right as long as he didn’t touch her.

  She stooped to pick up her hat and then, stra
ightened in one graceful motion that was unconsciously sensuous. Brock was unbearably aware he wanted her to keep going.

  She was almost at the entrance when directly outside the cave a bird whistled so loudly, so shrilly, it was like an actual alarm. Already unnerved, she started violently. The involuntary cry that emitted from her throat was a shade hysterical even to her own ears.

  “Oh, damn!” She knew she wasn’t handling this terribly fraught situation well. She was too inexperienced. Brock had lived in her imagination for too long. She wanted him to reach out and hold her, not stare at her in that sombre fashion. How could a man with shimmering eyes look so brooding? There was strong emotion she knew he wanted to keep under control. Anything could send it crashing.

  She moved urgently then, her pride coming to the rescue. Inadvertently she brushed his body as she passed. He wasn’t blocking her path, but somehow she almost walked into him.

  Sheer yearning! It had to be the incense from the desert plant. She was almost drunk on it, reeling slightly on her feet, her heart going madly. Her hand came up to half-cover her face.

  It was then Brock lost it. With a bitter pang he realized there was no stopping him now. Her innocence and beauty disarmed him, and he was an emotional mess. He wanted her as badly as he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  He reached for her on a sharp intake of breath, with a swift movement sliding his arms down over her, pulling her to him, enfolding her slender body. It was no use trying to fight this. He had left behind reason.

  His mouth closed almost brutally on hers and her lips gave way instantly under the hard consuming pressure, as though his passion for her beat down all resistance. The sheer delicacy of her tongue! She was so small when measured against him, yet she seemed to fit his body perfectly, as if she were made for his pleasure.

  She was wearing a white ruffled blouse with little buttons down the front. Buttons his questing hand found, undoing them with an expertise he wasn’t proud of, flipping the soft fabric back so he could take the weight of her small silky-soft breast in his hand, thumb and forefinger caressing the already erect nipple. A berry on cream.

  He could feel the tremor that ran through her, hear all the fluttery sighs that rose and fell as he gave attention to her other breast, bending her backwards and lowering his head so he could take that sweet berry into his mouth, barely grazing it with his teeth.

  It was better than his fantasy. A groan came from low in his throat. With every minute his desire was growing fiercer, fully-fledged.

  Let her go. Let her go. Free her! A voice in his head made some attempt to stop him, urging restraint. Only she was clinging to him, her responses inflaming him further.

  It was wonderful. It was terrible. Both in equal measure. His will was gone. The only thing that mattered was having her in his arms, his hands caressing her magical flesh, his mouth taking hers, over and over. Even in the driving heat of his passion he knew he was receiving as well as taking. They were kissing each other with such ardour and abandon anything seemed worth it.

  He lifted her off the ground, pressing her body against him so she could feel his powerful arousal. Her sweetness flooded him, making him realize what his life had been like before he’d met her again. Shelley the woman—not the enchanting schoolgirl of his memory.

  She was yielding her whole body to him, her face burrowed into his neck, the glorious tangle of her hair all around them.

  “You should stop me.” His voice was urgent as he tried desperately to collect himself, a light sweat gathering over his body.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I don’t want to.” She couldn’t get enough of what he was doing to her.

  “Even when you know what’s going to happen?” His hand moved to her lower back, pressing her ever closer to him.

  “I told you, I don’t care.” She laced her arms around his neck. “What has my life amounted to up to now? Nothing. I’ve had no soaring joy. Don’t ask me to forego it, Brock. I can’t. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open.”

  “But you’re a virgin?” he asked with intensity.

  “There’s no point in denying it.”

  “Shelley, Shelley,” he moaned, “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Make love to me.” Her impassioned voice resonated in the cave. “Don’t worry about it. You can’t bring me to this pitch then stop. It’s a safe time for me.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” he said harshly.

  “Look into my eyes.” She held his face with both hands, staring back at him. “On my honour. I would never trap you, Brock Tyson.”

  “Trap me? My God!” That struck him as absurd. He could feel her whole body quivering in his arms, her naked breasts positioned against his chest like white roses. “You must tell me if I hurt you.”

  “You won’t hurt me,” she murmured, already feeling a series of piercing aches start up between her legs. They were painful and exquisite, as if minute splinters of glass were causing tiny hot slashes within her womb. It was an unnameable rapture that demanded fulfilment.

  Gently, Brock urged himself, though he was feeling anything but gentle. He felt as though he had an endless capacity to ravish her. But he had to go slowly. He imposed control on himself. This would be her first time. An experience that would stay forever in her memory. It had to be blissful, not full of regret.

  He laid her out on the sand, her lovely limbs extended, smoothing her clothes away from her until her naked body was fully exposed to his sight.

  She was exquisite, more beautiful than he’d imagined. He bent over her reverently, placing his hands on her breasts, curved pink and white. His tongue teased the nipples while his hands moved freely along the length of her silky flesh, smoothing, caressing, down over her hips, her thighs, her waist, her taut quivering stomach, until he reached the tiny lick of flame that guarded her sex. He opened his mouth and entered her very gently with his tongue.

  “Brock!” Her whole torso arched up in galvanic shock, almost lifting off the ground.

  “I won’t hurt you.” He half lay across her, watching her face. Her expression revealed pleasure out of control, terror. For moments the two were fused as she struggled with revelation.

  Never, never had anyone touched her there. Now Brock was, in the most intimate way a man could touch a woman. The excitement was so violent she felt unable to prevent herself from opening to him.

  He lifted her light slender legs, as weak as a kitten’s, and slid them over his shoulders, pausing for a moment to gauge her reaction. Her responses were more important to him than his own ever-intensifying hunger.

  Now her eyes were tightly shut, but he murmured to her as he explored her body, whispering beautiful endearments like a ritual for her alone.

  She felt him rise above her to take her mouth deeply. Felt his dark shadow. The scent of herself was on his tongue. Her small breasts thrust against his hands. There was so much heat inside her. It was like being slowly consumed.

  He drew out the stimulation, teasing, taunting, adoring, himself lost in erotic pleasure, until she was losing all breath, her head lolling back, her arms and legs spread wide. It was then he slid down over her, his body slick with sweat, no longer able to contain himself or the urgent passion he felt for her.

  This was the moment. Their moment. His shaft was rock-hard and then he was inside her, on his way to ecstasy. A starburst of pleasure he had never experienced before.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS HER senses began to return Shelley opened her eyes to Brock’s face. He was leaning over her as she lay naked on the sand. She was sighing voluptuously without knowing it, filled with the strange feeling that her body wasn’t her own any more but his.

  “Shelley!” He stroked the wild tangle of damp curls away from her face. “Are you all right? I was a little worried.”

  She didn’t answer, but continued to stare into his eyes, jewels in a dark copper mask. Her initiation into the rites of love seemed to be the only real thing that
had happened to her in her entire life. Even the terrible trauma associated with the drowning of her beloved twin was steeped in mystery, almost like a ghost story.

  “You wanted me as much as I wanted you.” He spoke with tenderness. This from a man who had so recently shown the full range of wild passion.

  “I think you must love me a little,” she said dazedly, huge eyes lustrous, her breath still unsteady.

  She was trying to take in all that had happened. The tiny aches and hurts in her body told her it was no fantasy. They really were one flesh. She knew this man, body and soul, but never in her most erotic dream could she have conjured up such an extraordinary sexual encounter. A great storm of emotion when her every want her every need had been fulfilled. How long had it lasted? She didn’t know. She might even have lost consciousness so great was the stimulus.

  He remained above her, gazing into her eyes. “Perhaps I do.” His answer was barely audible as he bent to kiss her. “How do you feel? I tried hard to be gentle but I must have hurt you.”

  “At the beginning,” she answered gently. “But then I was—possessed. I wanted everything you did to me. You’re the most wonderful lover. You’ve taught me what making love is all about.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Lovemaking only becomes special when a man and a woman truly care about each other. Then it’s a communion of bodies and a communion of souls.”

  “Yes,” she agreed dreamily. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this. The downside is, I don’t think I can get up. I don’t think I want to. I want to stay here in this cave with you for ever. I’ll always think of it as our cave.” Tears filled her eyes.

  “Please don’t cry, Shelley,” he begged, his tongue gathering up a single tear, only to swallow it.

  “Don’t you know women cry when they’re happy?”

  “That’s all right, then.” He slowly leaned forward to kiss her waiting mouth, his lean body superbly naked, totally unselfconscious with it. “I want you again,” he confessed. “You’ve seduced me.”