Princes of the Outback Bundle

by Bronwyn Jameson

  “No. I…” She paused and he heard her draw a breath. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “This?”

  “Us. This relationship. You should have stuck with Nikki.”

  Rafe went very still. “Nikki?”

  “Your first choice. Her name’s Nikki, isn’t it? You were flying out to see her, to ask her to have your baby, the day the storm forced you down.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  No, it didn’t. She was right. What mattered was the fact that she was five hundred miles away. That for some reason—maybe it was Nikki, maybe it was more—she’d decided to run away from their deal. “We have an agreement, Catriona. The night you married me in Vegas I told you to be very sure. I said there would be no going back.”

  “You also said you chose me. Only me.”

  “I didn’t mislead you, Catriona. I decided on you the day after we met. Nothing has happened since to change my mind and I can’t think of anything I’ve done that should have changed yours.”

  “It’s not any one thing—”

  “Good,” he cut in, not giving her a chance. This wasn’t something he would debate over the telephone. “Because the contract is drawn and ready for signing. I promised you a draft, and I honor my promises. I’ll e-mail the document tonight.”

  “I won’t sign anything until I’m sure I’m doing the right thing.”

  “If you want to keep Corroboree, you don’t have a choice. My lawyer has spoken to Samuels. That part of our deal is already in motion. All you have to do is sign the agreement, Catriona. You have forty-eight hours to request any changes. Otherwise, I’ll see you Friday morning.”

  “You’re coming down here?” Her voice rose on a note of anxiety, and Rafe smiled with a perverse sense of satisfaction. She had cause to worry. If he had to chase halfway across the country to make her uphold her end of the deal, then he intended making the trip very worthwhile.

  “I’ll see you Friday, Mrs. Carlisle,” he said, and hung up.

  Cat returned the amended draft of their contract because she didn’t have any choice. It was up to him now, whether he accepted her changes or not. She didn’t expect he would. She did expect another heated phone call, and spent many agitated hours pacing around her office on Wednesday and Thursday nights, waiting for the instrument to ring.

  It didn’t, and his silence caused her even more misgivings.

  She did receive two e-mails. The first reported that he’d installed a message bank on her phone service. The second was a scanned invitation for the Friday-night event Milla had mentioned. The “Wentworth show,” apparently, was a fashion fund-raiser for a children’s hospital, and the Carlisle Hotel Group was a major sponsor.

  Cat stared at the invitation with intense trepidation—she would rather wrestle a pit full of tiger snakes than a room full of fashionistas all eager to size her up—but that quickly morphed into consternation. What did this mean? He’d said he was coming here on Friday—had he changed his mind? He hadn’t included any note of explanation. Did he expect her to hurry back to Sydney on the strength of this invitation?

  No way. And no way would she give him the satisfaction of calling to find out. Maybe that was stupid and stubborn of her, but she wanted to imagine she could hang on to her pride since he’d taken a grip on too much of her life.

  Coming home had not been all she’d imagined while sitting on his plush sofa back in Sydney: she hadn’t slept worth a bean; she’d gained little comfort from the hollow emptiness of her home. Only her dogs made it worthwhile with their enthusiastic adoration.

  By Friday morning she was completely frazzled and out of sorts. But she got on with her work and she worried about whether he would turn up as she watched the sky for any sign of his plane.

  “Not that I know what kind of plane to watch out for,” she told Bach. Her worried eyes scanned the eastern horizon yet again.

  I should have called. I should have told him to use Gordon’s strip. I don’t want to hear an engine overhead and go through another rough landing…or worse.

  What would her pride be worth then?

  “I’ll call,” she decided. “As soon as we get these cattle yarded, I will call.”

  With a new sense of urgency she gunned her trail bike around the heifers she was bringing in for drenching. Bach skirted the flanks of the mob, hurrying the stragglers.

  They were within a stone’s throw of the yards when she saw the plume of dust on her driveway. Her heart skittered.

  “Silly,” she muttered, although her gaze remained glued on that approaching speck of a vehicle. Her heart continued to skip and skate. “He wouldn’t drive.”

  Even from the airport?

  Even from another strip?

  A recalcitrant heifer attempted to break, and she forced herself to concentrate on her job, keeping the mob intact as she herded them toward the holding yard. When she looked back toward the road again the vehicle had disappeared. Her lungs felt constricted, tight with anticipation as she waited for its reappearance from behind the homestead.

  Ridiculous, but she knew in her bones that it was him. Knew before the white Landcruiser came back into view, heading now for the yards. The air wheezed in her lungs as she sucked in a deep breath and attempted to steady the frantic beat of her heart.

  Gordon Samuels’s vehicle. Just one figure in the cabin. The silhouette too tall, too refined, too familiar to that wildly beating heart to be anyone but Rafe.

  She kicked down the stand on her bike and swung her leg over the seat. Walk to the yards, Catriona. Shut the gate, secure the chain. Don’t forget to breathe. Simple everyday things she was having trouble remembering.

  And when she turned around he was getting out of the vehicle. Long legs in dark trousers. Dark shirt. Dark designer shades. A shiver of heat chased through her veins as his head came up and his shaded gaze fixed on her. He’d never looked more out of place, standing there in the red dust kicked up by a hundred milling cattle, and before Cat could start crossing that space between them she had to remind herself to breathe again.

  A dozen emotions pounded Rafe as he watched her approach, all of them expected, most of them tight and tumultuous, none of them evident on his face. He kept his expression schooled, the same as his posture and the lazy cadence of his voice as he asked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  A spark of irritation lit her eyes as she lifted her chin and met his gaze from under the broad brim of her stockman’s hat. “I’m working. As some of us do. Is that a problem?”

  “I told you I was coming today.”

  “And here you are. Should I have been waiting at the homestead?”

  Rafe ignored the sweet sarcasm in that question and allowed a smile to curve his mouth. “That would have made things easier. But that’s never on your priority list, is it?”

  The sting registered in her eyes, in the tightening of her lips. Good. She needed to know he’d had enough of her contrary behavior and stalling tactics.

  “This—” he lifted his chin to indicate the cattle at her back “—looks like a job in progress.”

  “I’m about to start drenching.”

  “I assume this won’t take long?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Why would you assume that?”

  “Because we have business to conclude.” Straightening, Rafe tapped a hand against the roof of the Landcruiser. “I gather you recognize this vehicle?”

  The dog crouched at her feet growled. Her voice held a similar edge when she said, “Of course I do. I assume you wisely chose to use his airstrip.”

  “That was convenient. Seeing as I also hand delivered a cheque.”

  A flinch of emotion crossed her face but her gaze remained fixed and narrow on his. “You paid off my debt with Samuels? But I haven’t signed the contract.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “Did you make the alterations?”

  “Would you sign if I hadn’t?”
/>   She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

  Rafe smiled. “I figured as much. That’s why I let you have your changes.”

  “All of them?”

  “I expected you’d want to halve every payment or allowance I wanted to give you. That’s why I doubled them in the first place.”

  Shock widened her eyes and widened Rafe’s satisfaction as he watched her take that aboard. “What about the clause I crossed out?” she asked, recovering. “The one about spending a week a month in Sydney?”

  “I hated approving that one, but I did.”

  “Why?” Obviously nonplussed she spread her arms, palms up. “Why would you do that? And why would you pay off Samuels without my signature?”

  “I was always going to do that, Catriona.”

  She stared back at him, still and quiet, for a long moment. “And what if I don’t sign now?”

  “That’s your prerogative.”

  “What if I’ve decided that this whole marriage is a complete sham and I can’t do it anymore? I mean, that’s possible isn’t it? People annul those quickie Vegas marriages all the time. No one need even know.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

  Knowledge flared in her eyes. Knowledge of wedding-night heat, of all they’d shared, of what they may have created.

  “Even if you’re not pregnant, Catriona—” he let his gaze drift down to where one of her hands hovered near her belly, and he felt a deep and rich stirring in his “—there are others who know we got married.”

  “Your brother. And your neighbor.”

  “Your neighbor, too.”

  “You told Samuels? Did you have to?”

  Renewed irritation burned in Rafe’s belly at her indignant tone. “Why is that such a problem? Would you prefer he spread the word that you’d slept with me in return for that cheque?”

  “Isn’t that what I did?”

  “No, Catriona. You married me.” And this time he didn’t attempt to hide his irritation or his impatience. “I have a contract in the vehicle that you asked for, with amendments you requested. Sign it or not, that’s your choice. What matters to me is the deal we made in Vegas, the vows we exchanged in that chapel and in your bed.”

  A pulse fluttered in her throat, heat rose in her cheeks. But her voice, when she finally spoke, was clear and even. “And after I sign?”

  “I would like you to come back to Sydney with me. For the weekend.”

  “Because of this charity thing tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  She moistened her lips. “You wouldn’t want to take me to something like that. I’d hate it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know, okay?”

  But beyond the obstinate answer he saw a glimmer of appeal in her eyes that he couldn’t refuse. And, hell, if he could just get her to sign the contract after that panicky talk about annulment he’d be happy.

  And afterward…well, afterward he intended to make them both very happy.

  “So—” he looked beyond her at the cattle “—how long should it take us to knock this lot over?”

  “Us?”

  Rafe’s gaze rolled back to lock on hers. “I’m going to help you, Catriona. And in return you’re going to tell me the whole story about what happened on Tuesday to send you running home.”

  Cat didn’t bother objecting to his help—she could see he meant business—and that help more than halved the time taken. There was no opportunity to talk about her flight from his apartment. With one of them feeding the draft and the other on the drenching gun, they weren’t ever working side by side, so their conversation was restricted to shouted instructions and the odd passing remark about the job they were doing.

  They returned to the homestead separately and met up again over a cold drink of water in her kitchen. She thanked him for his help, and he grinned and thanked her for letting him help. “I haven’t done any cattle work in years. I enjoyed myself.”

  “Really?”

  He told her how all three brothers learned the ropes at an early age on Kameruka Downs, going out on stock camps during their July and October school holidays.

  “I never pictured you as a cowboy,” she said.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he countered.

  A frisson of unease skittered through her bones, not because of all she didn’t know about him but because of all she did. She suspected the negligent playboy charmer thing was just a clever disguise. When it came down to it, he could do purposeful as well as anyone she’d ever met. And he had such a way of twisting things around to get what he’d wanted all along.

  Is this what he’d wanted?

  The two of them together in her house, her day’s work finished with an afternoon stretching long and lazy before them?

  She looked up and found him watching her in a way that chased all thought from her mind and all breath from her lungs. It was the look of a hunter eyeing its prey. A look of intensity and purpose and soul-searing heat.

  Cat’s heart thundered. She put down her glass, carefully, afraid it might slip through her trembling fingers. Despite the water she’d just finished, her mouth felt thick and dry. “I’d like to take a look at that contract now.”

  “If you like.” He lifted a shoulder, casual, negligent, while his eyes told another story entirely. “I’d like to take a shower…if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. I’ll just make sure there’s a towel.”

  Inside the guest bathroom, she slumped against the wall a moment to catch her breath and think. Except, all she could think about was the last time Rafe had used this bathroom…and that he’d soon be naked here again. All she could picture was the look in his eyes across her kitchen, and when she opened her eyes he was there, in the door of the bathroom.

  Not yet naked but working on it.

  Twelve

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The squeaky rise in her voice and the flush of heat in her cheeks gave Rafe no end of satisfaction. He’d followed her into the bathroom to catch her off guard while she found him a towel, and while her guard was down he intended finding out what had gone wrong in Sydney. Here they wouldn’t be working at opposite ends of a cattle draft. Here she would be naked and unable to escape.

  He dropped his shirt on the bathroom floor and met the nervous flicker of her eyes as they rose from his bare chest to his face. “I told you I was taking a shower,” he said.

  “And I said I was making sure you had a—”

  Rafe peeled off trousers and underwear in one efficient pass and straightened. “A…towel?”

  Her gaze whipped back up to his. “You could have waited until I’d finished in here.”

  “I could have. But then I remembered how you liked efficiency.” Eyes still linked with hers, he reached into the shower enclosure and turned on the taps. “I thought we’d save time by getting two things out of the way at once.”

  “Two things?”

  Her voice was barely audible above the hiss of the shower as he leaned into the water to test the temperature. When he straightened and raked his dripping hair back from his face, she licked a nervous tongue across her lips. Anticipation surged in his body, a solid rush of heat beneath the cool patina of wet skin.

  “Two things…or possibly three.” Slowly he closed the space between them, smiling as he backed her up against the vanity. “If you ask nicely.”

  Her eyes flashed, cross, indignant, but the effect was spoiled by her quick intake of breath when he rested his hands on the vanity on either side of her hips. Trapping her inches from the jut of his aroused body.

  “What are the first two?” she asked.

  “Getting clean.” His gaze swept over her dusty face and braided hair. “And having that conversation I mentioned earlier.”

  Her mouth opened but all that came out was a wheezy gasp as he straightened, wrapped his arms around her and started backing toward the shower. “What ar
e you doing?”

  “Let’s start with getting clean.”

  Her eyes widened with shock as he walked them both under the water. He hadn’t planned this part, but it seemed to be working out well. He’d definitely caught her off guard. Her hands flapped uselessly, trapped at her side. “My clothes,” she spluttered. “They’re getting soaked.”

  “We’d best get them off you, then.”

  But before he let her down, Rafe turned them a half circle until she was cornered in the small enclosure. Barricading her there with his body, he started unbuttoning her shirt. Of course she protested. Naturally she batted at him with her hands, but he used his elbows to block her arms, and when she tried to duck out of reach he took advantage of her widened stance to press a naked thigh between her jeans-clad ones.

  She sucked in a shuddery breath, but her wide eyes snarled in a satisfying way. “You said you’d never imposed yourself on a woman.”

  “I’m not imposing.”

  “You’re just taking?”

  That gave him pause.

  His gaze rose swiftly to meet hers, but Cat found it hard to focus on their sea-green complexity. The heels of his hands rested on her breasts, distracting her with their rough-edged heat even through the soaked fabric of her shirt. She attempted to focus instead on the tiny pulse that beat at the corner of his jaw.

  “I think you have the wrong idea, wife.” Very deliberate, very slow, he leaned closer and she felt the increased pressure of every point of contact. Shock waves of heat pulsed through her breasts and tightened in her nipples. She didn’t realize his purpose until he’d rolled back, the bottle of shower wash in his hand. “I’m only washing you. And your clothes, too. Efficient, aren’t I?”

  He pumped a glob of the creamy wash into the palm of each hand, then smoothed it over her chest, tracing her collarbone and the swell of her breasts above her bra. Then while she was still savoring that delicious touch of sensory pleasure, he efficiently peeled off her shirt and slung it over the glass partition.

  “Turn around.”

  Cat obeyed. She felt his hands at her back, unhooking her bra, sliding the straps down her arms until it, too, was gone.