by Ann Major
"Me?" His tone was offended. She was the one who'd abandoned him! If he hadn't come along, she and the boy might have been crushed under that bulldozer. His hand dug bruisingly into her arms.
"These things take subtlety, not Tarzan machismo coupled with one of your childish temper tantrums," she hissed. "I was trying to help you."
Her dainty chin was thrust out. Her offer to help was the most provocative remark she could have made.
"Damn your help! I don't want it! I'm not some poor, starving, diseased native. What on earth makes you so conceited that you think you can manage my affairs better than I can? You who know nothing of Australia?"
"I have lived all over the world. People are the same everywhere."
"These people are dangerous."
"Hello. Deirdre told me all about them. I've dealt with dangerous people before."
"Damn! And why did you run away without telling me?" All this was a muted roar. He did not tell her of the man who'd been watching her.
She smiled sweetly, having regained control of her temper. "I couldn't sleep, and you looked so tired I didn't want to disturb you. And, of course, being a woman, I always have so many things to do."
He didn't believe her. Not for a moment. But he let her go on.
"So I got up. When I got to the cottage, the boy was there. I dressed and followed him here because I think he knows what happened to Deirdre. I was on the verge of discovering something important, if only you hadn't decided to be Rambo."
"Deirdre." Tad ground out the name. "It's always Deirdre. She may be dead, but she haunts me. What the hell happened to her? I want to know, so I can move on."
“So do I.”
He pulled Jess close even though he knew he should have cast her aside and walked away. If he were smart, he would never see her again. But his eyes were drawn like magnets to the luminous pain he saw in her dark gaze.
He buried his face against her throat with the profound despair of one totally lost. "Dear God, I want to forget her." No matter what Jess had done, no matter what she would do to him in the future, he didn't want to lose her, too.
"But we can't, till we both know what happened to her."
"If she was murdered, don’t you see it's too dangerous for you to be here with me?" His mouth came down on Jess's, kissing her fiercely.
Her hand caressed the sandpaper roughness of his cheek. “Are you asking me to leave Lizzie? And you?”
"Damnation!" he growled. "You're the sexiest, stubbornest... You're driving me crazy. I can't live with you. I can't live without you."
"We can't shut out the world and pretend it doesn't exist, Jackson."
"Damn it, sometimes I don't care how she died anymore. I don't care if my station goes up in flames. I told my lawyers to draw up papers so I can sell out. I’m going to sign them and end this thing."
"What?"
"I don’t want anybody else hurt. Especially not you or Lizzie. Why can't you understand it's too dangerous for you to get involved?"
Ten
“I’m selling, so don't give me another one of your bossy lectures about why you have to stay and we have to see this through!" Tad yelled as he followed her inside the house, down the hall and into her bedroom.
For once she obeyed him and stopped talking until she was well inside her room and standing on the other side of her white-sheeted bed smiling at him.
She was so damn beautiful it hurt.
The thought of anything happening to her...
Tad's fear was a knife severing every vital organ in his gut. Why was she always so set against what he was for?
The rosy morning sunlight was like flame in her tousled hair. A pink stream of light sifted through the bedroom shutters behind her, revealing the outlines of her body.
Tad clenched his fists to keep from grabbing her and pulling her toward the bed. He could still taste her deep inside his mouth. The scent of her still lingered on his skin.
Why her, dear God? He hadn't wanted any woman in his life. Ever again. Why her?
He opened his eyes once more and began to perspire as he studied her. The glimmering backlight gave her the appearance of a voluptuous angel.
He was still furious, but more than that he was scared. In the jungle he had realized he was beginning to [JO15]care for her more deeply than he had ever intended or imagined possible.
Hell.
He was scared of caring, scared she would do to him what she had done before. Scared that she would stay with him only for a little while, just long enough to ensnarl every emotion in his heart. Then she would flit off and leave him to try to put together the shattered pieces of his life again. And he was scared if she did stay and proved true, some bastard would try to hurt her because she was his.
He should never have slept with her again. Sex with her always carried a huge emotional price tag. One taste of her, and he wanted her completely—not only for her body but for her stubborn mind and soul.
No doubt she knew it and would use it.
He kept staring at her. Inside the bedroom, it was as silent as a tomb. The only sound came from the breeze outside rustling in the rain forest.
Then Jess spoke. "You are the most stubborn man on earth. Why can't you understand that I came to Australia for the sole purpose of helping you and Lizzie? That's not such an awful thing."
The muscles in his throat tightened. At last he rasped, "I don't want your help! I’m selling out!"
"I don't care. I'm staying until I find out what happened to my sister and who’s trying to run you off."
"Deirdre was my wife. What happened to her is my problem."
"My sister, my twin sister, came to me for help. She told me something—"
"I'm trying to protect you…."
"I've managed very nicely all these years without you around to protect me.” Jess kicked her damp leather sandals off, arched her feet and wiggled her toes against the bare wood floor. "I think you’re picking on me because you want me around more than you'll admit."
"That’s a lie."
Her luscious mouth quirked in a seductive smile. "Is it?"
She stared at him and wiggled her naked feet. Then she lifted her fingers to her hair and shook it so that it fell in a heavy, silken mass over her shoulders. Slowly, sensuously she combed her fingers through it. It was gold and silver, alive, on fire.
His heart began to pound, and he could think of nothing but his desire to shove his hands into her hair and then pull her close. He stood stock-still, looking at her.
Her eyes were half-closed, her skin flushed. She pulled her hand from her hair and let it trail down her bare throat to the shadowy place between her breasts. She unbuttoned the first button of her blouse.
He wanted to rip the rest of the buttons apart. To shred her blouse. To clasp her to him. To feel her naked body beneath his again.
"What are you doing?" His voice was harsh. "We’re in the middle of a perfectly satisfactory argument.”
“As usual your opinion differs from mine. I thought we were going round and round in circles and needed to take a new tack.”
“Do you really think you can get around me with sex?"
That quirky smile again. "I don’t know. You’re a hot-blooded guy. What do you think will happen if I get naked?"
The sight of her intoxicated him, even though he could feel the danger, close, too close, swirling around them like a treacherous mist. Somehow the bastards had figured out that she mattered to him, and they would use her—to get to him.
He was on the verge of yelling, of smashing something, of doing anything to distract himself from the hot, sensual tension between them, but the narrow bed at the center of the room made him want to take her in his arms and press her body into the heat of his before lowering her to the mattress.
"Quiet," she whispered, touching a vertical fingertip to her lips and then blowing him a wanton kiss. "No more of your pompous shouting. You'll wake Lizzie."
Pompous! His eyes traveled up the
curved length of naked, honey-toned legs to the cuffs of her baggy shorts, and he forgot the insult.
He should never have followed her to her bedroom.
It was too late now.
She softly crept toward the bed and leaned back against a bedpost, watching him with her dark eyes as she began to unbutton the rest of the buttons of her blouse.
She arched her spine, stretched. Her breasts jutted towards him. White cotton peeled away to reveal the lush honey-gold fruit of her silken body. “I noticed a couple of condoms in the bathroom cabinet. Second shelf. Why don’t you get them…just in case…you change your mind?”
Condoms? She’d been so sure of him she’d come prepared?
When he returned with the condoms clenched in his fist, inch by inch, the poplin shirt was coming off. He watched cool ivory cloth slide slowly against fiery hot, womanly skin as she pushed the fabric down her shoulder. Carelessly she tossed it away into a pool of darkness. Her breasts were covered by wisps of beige silk and lace. He could see the outline of her nipples, delicate and dusky pink pushing against the silk cups.
An unwanted thrill coursed through him. He muttered a low, strangled curse.
"And you don't want to wake Lizzie, do you?" Jess murmured. "Not till after we..." The sensual promise of her unfinished sentence hung in the hushed room.
He made no further sound. Their eyes met. Hers were blazing, and they lit a fire in him. If she was trying to break him, she was succeeding.
With a lingering fingertip she slowly traced the swollen roundness of a breast. The movement was intended to arouse, to primitively provoke his male mating instinct.
And it did.
Normally she was so shy about her breasts. This about-face held the tantalizing allure of the forbidden.
“I think you should lock the door to the hall.” She bit her lip, licked her lips.
Bossy.
“We don’t want to be interrupted, do we?” she said.
He did as she asked.
"Touch me," she pleaded.
He didn’t care if she was bossy. His senses reeled with longing. He wanted to so badly he hurt. A muscle ticked savagely along his jawline as he struggled to withstand her. He balled his fingers into fists.[JO16] His chest swelled with a deep, hard breath. He let it out with a groan. His mouth felt as dry as dust. It was no use.
Her striptease had him mesmerized. His eyes were riveted to her long, graceful fingers unhooking the dainty catch of her bra between her breasts.
She stepped forward, her movements slow and seductive, just enough to make her breasts bounce lightly. She came out of the darkness, into a shower of rose light that touched her hair, splashed down the length of her golden arm, spilled over the voluptuous softness of her breasts.
Everything in the room blurred and dulled and darkened except her. She was at the center of a brilliant fire, and the heat of her was filling him, too.
He was full and hot, ready.
His gaze was drawn to her breasts, to her narrow waist, to the curve of hip and thigh. She was radiant, lovely, and his body was racked with pain from his desire.
She had him right where she wanted him.
Her fingers on the tiny clasp moved; her breasts jutted free of restraining lace. Slowly, tantalizingly she removed her bra all the way, letting the filmy object dangle from her hand for a long second before she tossed it aside.
She wore only her baggy shorts. It was the sexiest outfit he'd ever seen on any female.
He was caught in her spell; furious, yet totally aroused.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. She should go away, so she’d be safe. She wasn't playing by his rules. She was playing by her own, using the splendid beauty of her body to captivate him. He felt his will, his intractable, stubborn will, dissolving in the heated mist of his desire. It galled him that she could so easily provoke in him white-hot adolescent emotions and use them to control him.
She laughed softly, touching his chest with hot, feather-light fingertips that traced a ridge of muscle until she made him groan.
"You've got a lot to learn about women," she whispered. "It's time for you to abandon all your outdated notions." Her hand explored the athletic hardness of his muscled shoulder. Her gentle voice went on. "Love is more than sex, more than words."
"Who said anything about love?"
"You did, when we had sex the first time. And me…now. Love has to do with two people sharing, trusting, working together to accomplish common goals. It's commitment."
So expert were those hot feminine fingertips, he could hardly think, much less talk.
"Damn. Why are you so determined to complicate everything? I don't believe in love.”
“That’s not what you said earlier.”
“All I want to do is protect you."
"Right." Jess lifted her long-lashed eyes mockingly to his. Her fingernails lightly raked the length of his spine. The hunger that filled him was a fierce stirring in his vitals.
Her creamy skin glowed rose from his look.
She was so beautiful, he hurt all over.
Tad closed his eyes to shut out the hot, dazzling vision of her.
But that was his mistake.
He smelled the beguiling sweetness of orange blossoms. He felt her fingernails dig into him lightly with that faint promise of passion to come. Then she kissed him. He felt her tongue move across his chest; her mouth sucked his nipple. A bolt of electric excitement coursed through every nerve ending.
He felt her fingertips again, gliding over his taut stomach and narrow hips. Then she pressed herself into him. She was molten satin against him. There was no escape.
He lowered his lips to hers. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tasted her, and she began to tremble.
His hands were in her hair, combing through the silken tresses. Loose pins rained onto the floor and waves of sweet-smelling gold flowed through his fingers.
He kissed her mouth, ate it with his lips and tongue; kissed her face, her ears, her throat. He bent low and softly kissed one shell-pink nipple. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Then he pushed her down on cool cotton sheets and covered her body with his.
Her cheeks were rose-colored like the dawn. Tousled gold curls lay in a riot of glimmering waves on the pillow. Her gaze was deep, dark, and intense.
A vast silence seemed to envelop them.
Possessively she circled him with her hand and guided him toward her.
Then it began—the throbbing urgency that blocked rational thought. The hot, insistent craving that possessed every nerve in his body.
There was only one woman. Only this woman. Only his fierce, raging need. It no longer mattered that she’d planned to sleep with him from the get-go or that she refused to behave the way he thought she should. He wanted her exactly as she was.
His hands were eager, trembling. He kissed her, roughly, softly, with a keen, seeking urgency, fusing their two naked bodies together.
He moved over her.
“I think you’d better put on that condom, cowboy.”
“Bossy. Bossy. Is this how it’s going to be for the rest of our lives—you tellin’ me what to do every step of the way?”
Ignoring his comment, she smiled as he slid the condom on. “Good. I want you inside me…this time when you climax.”
When he straddled her, her hands came together in an urgent knot at the base of his spine. Then she opened her body endlessly to his.
And he felt the world slip away.
She touched him everywhere.
The room whitened and exploded in a sudden and all-consuming, soul-filling lava fire.
And two wary, stubborn spirits were molded into one—if only for that brief, blinding instant.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Relief washed him. She loved him? That she could admit it so freely when he found it more difficult, stunned him.
He swallowed hard. Where the hell did they go from here?
*
A d
amp sheen of perspiration covered them both.
Tad wanted to own her, but even though she’d said she loved him, he knew he’d never own her. No man would.
He clasped her tightly, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the smell of her, the scent and feel of clean, silken hair and sweet, voluptuous woman flesh, the exquisite sensation of her sated body against his.
She began to laugh softly, a bit too conceitedly he thought. "That was really something," she purred. "I..."
"Yes. You're quite something. I know you just did that and said that to throw me off balance."
"You were screaming and ranting the whole way back from the jungle. You refused to listen to my very logical reasons for why you need my help. I had to get your attention. So I used sex…and the love word."
"You damn sure got it."
"You wouldn't listen to reason."
"Neither would you," he whispered against her ear.
"I wanted to show you that maybe if we stopped fighting, we could be partners. Not just bedmates. You see, I want us to be equals."
"A woman can never be equal to a man."
"Nor a man to a woman—literally, but I want to help you raise Lizzie. I will always have my career, my work outside our relationship that is as important to me as yours is to you. But first, I want to help you find out what's going on at the station, what happened to Deirdre..."
He sat bolt upright, his body tense. "Why can't you understand that this is my battle? This is Australia."
"The male chauvinist's last domain," she murmured with gentle sarcasm. "But don't you see, Australia's no different than any other place. It's you and I who matter. If we love each other, your battle is my battle. And vice versa. I love you, and that means there is nothing, nothing I wouldn't do for you."
She kept saying she loved him, and strangely he liked her saying it. He felt he’d lived in a cold, loveless place far too long. She said this sweetly with her warm eyes caressing him. But he knew that honeyed tone and that velvet gaze were like the sugar she used to coat her bitter medicines. Beneath the sweetness, she meant business.