The Rouseabout Girl
Page 20
‘He’ll be all right now.’ He was hurrying towards her. ‘Lanie—’ Suddenly she was trembling, avoiding his gaze for fear he might glimpse the emotion that showed in her eyes. He was at her side, taking her small tanned hand in his, pressing her fingers to his lips. ‘I should have known—’
A shiver of delight went through her. He knew all about her and Sandy and at last he understood! Then common sense returned with a rush and she heard herself saying in a low tone, ‘Paula? You didn’t bring her back with you from the party?’
His encircling arm drew her close and his deep chuckle reached her through a tide of happiness that was engulfing her senses. ‘Don’t worry about Paula! Believe me, it suited her very well to have no transport back here tonight ... all part of the project!’
‘Project? A wild hope was surging through her.
‘Sure!’ His encircling arm was drawing her closer. ‘Paula’s a great girl for the men, but somehow or other she always seems to get herself involved with the type of guy she can lead around by the nose. That is, until she fell in love with her own farm manager, and with Mike she met her match! He’s not the sort of man she could twist around her finger. They used to fight like mad, then six months ago they finished up with a blazing row and he took off the next day. She put another manager in his place, a married man with a family, but I guess the old magic still holds, and that’s why Paula spends so much of her time around here when she could be tripping around the world attending different horse shows. Both she and Mike are as proud as hell and neither will ever make the first move to get together again, but Mike’s parents and brothers live not far from here and I guess Paula’s always been hoping that she might run into Mike one of these days and put things right between them without losing face!’
'So that was why—’ The words escaped Lanie’s lips before she could stop them and swiftly she clapped a hand to her mouth.
It was too late. ‘Good grief!’ His tone was incredulous. ‘You didn’t get the idea she was hanging around here on my account?’
She threw him an expressive glance from laughing green eyes. ‘Well—’
He drew her into his arms. ‘Shall I show you how I feel about the only girl in the world I’m interested in?’ He bent his head and as his seeking lips found hers she was aware of nothing else in the passionate excitement of his kiss.
A long time later he flicked a finger over her small blunt nose. ‘Looks like it’s time we got to know each other, sorted things out. Things,’ his voice was very soft, ‘like my being jealous as hell about you and Sandy. And you,’ he grinned, ‘getting all het up about nothing at all—Lanie, my little love,’ all at once his voice was husky with emotion and his lips on hers sent fire coursing through her veins, ‘I’ve wanted you so. I love you. I can’t get along without you. Say you’ll stay here with me for ever ’
‘I love you too,’ she whispered over the joy that was surging through her.
‘And you’ll marry me?’ he urged against her lips.
She threw pretence to the winds. ‘Just as soon as you like!’
Then once again his seeking lips found hers, sending her world spinning out of orbit, and she was aware only of his voice, low and infinitely tender. ‘I love you, my darling ... love you...’
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A WORD ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gloria Bevan has been writing stories ever since she can remember. Painting is her second love, and when writing she sees the scenes of a story in a series of “mind pictures.”
Although she was born in a small gold-mining town in Australia, she regards herself as a New Zealander, having come to New Zealand as a small child. She lives in a suburb of Auckland, and through the window of the room in which she writes she can see a vista of sea and the shadowy blue of distant hills.
The mother of three grown daughters, she and her husband, a building inspector, enjoy exploring different areas of the country. Sometimes a story is born in these new surroundings. What else sparks off an idea? “Almost anything can do the trick,” Gloria Bevan explains. “It could be a scrap of conversation overheard on a bus that starts the imagination working.”