by Margaret Way
She blinked her damp lashes. "I didn't know I had."
"Well it's a time for high emotion after all." He was disgusted with the vaguely taunting way it had come out but unable to rein himself in. He wanted to cup her breasts; lean in to kiss her lovely mouth.
"Ross, what is it?" she had asked as though she could no longer cope with what was happening between them.
He hadn't answered. What could he say? I want to take you to bed. Now! Instead he began to dance her fast down the full length of the room, while the other guests laughed and clapped, standing back to give them a free path, thinking it all such glittering, good fun.
He remembered her lovely flush afterwards, her hand to her heart, and her carefully hidden agitation. She understood the strange ambivalence in him.
Blood was rushing through his entire body. He was conscious of his hard hurting erection. He couldn't continue to lie there thinking about her. He groaned and pushed up. He was tired of his own thoughts. Tired of being haunted by a woman with doe's eyes. Now he'd have to spend weeks with her.
Bronze brolgas struck a pose in an idyllic setting. In the luxuriant gardens that surrounded the hotel's swimming pool tropical plants abounded, gardenia, oleander, hibiscus, ginger, bougainvillea, beautiful orchids and bromeliads with their brilliantly coloured rosettes. Magnificent palms soared overhead shading an area that was perfect for swimming and light sunbathing. No one wanted to be exposed to the full force of the tropical sun even at this early hour. The turquoise pool looked wonderfully inviting, plenty big enough for a serious swimmer. Better yet, there was no one around. She would have it all to herself. She had plenty of time to do her usual laps before returning to her room to shower, shampoo her hair and get dressed.
Samantha dropped her hold-all on a teak recliner lavishly upholstered in broad bands of turquoise lime and aqua, then pulled her floaty caftan over her head. It matched her bikini, both in a vibrant botanical print. An expensive outfit considering the cover-up was see-through and didn't reach her knees and the bikini was so flimsy if it hadn't been guaranteed shrink proof she wouldn't have dared to expose it to water. Still if you had it you might as well flaunt it as her girlfriend, Em, always said at some point in their work-out at the gym. Samantha didn't take her slender figure for granted. She worked at keeping her body in excellent shape. The right food-not too much of it-except the occasional breakout, two nights a week at the gym, a run around the marina near her harbourside apartment every other day, surfing at the weekend at one of the beautiful beaches, Bondi, Tamarama, Bronte close by.
Oh that water looked good! She approached the deep end of the pool and dived in, not even surfacing until she had swum one hundred metres. There was a time at high school when the coach had tried to talk her into having a shot at the Australian Institute of Sport. She was good-she had even won a couple of Junior State titles-but she knew she didn't have the tremendous dedication that was needed to make it as an elite swimmer. Besides she had other goals. Mostly creative. It had come as a surprise to many of her friends when she had turned to writing and illustrating children's stories. They had thought she would try to make it into television but that wasn't her goal either. One day when she had enough maturity she would try her hand at adult fiction. One review of her last children's book suggested with her ability and "rich poetic voice" she would soon turn to something beyond her present scope.
Hopefully. That was all in the future.
She put a hand to her hair-she had woven it into a plait-ready to kick off again when she froze. Ross Sunderland was walking down the side of the pool dressed in shorts and an open casual shirt, with a towel over his shoulder. Just when she thought she would have the pool to herself! It was only a matter of time before he saw her. He was heading her way, his every movement filled with tantalising male grace. It was a daunting aura he exuded in her presence but she knew it was only a mask. She'd seen how sweet and gentle he was with his sister. David had really liked him thought him remarkable-and her brother was a good judge of men.
Samantha kicked off again, determined not to allow him to upset her. She thought nothing of doing fifty laps, but not today. Her arms sliced through the water, while her legs scissored beneath the turquoise waters not making a splash.
Finally she had to stop at the shallow end to do something about her hair. It had come out of its plait, floating around her like a mermaid.
"How long are you going to keep it up?" he asked her.
She glanced up but the sun was in her eyes. Nevertheless she could see his wide shouldered outline. He had gone down on his haunches beside the edge of the pool.
"This is only a little paddle, okay?" She pressed her hair back with her two hands.
"You'd have fooled me," he mocked. "I thought you were going for Olympic gold."
"Don't worry, I could have made it." She indulged in a bit of wishful thinking.
"Amazing!"
"Well I won a couple of Junior State titles." She turned her head out of the direct line of the sun. Now their glances clashed. Brown velvet and blue-green ice.
"I bet in record time." Those shimmering eyes were moving over her face and the line of her shoulders just above the water.
"As a matter of fact, yes." She grasped the coping and pulled herself out, anxious to get her towel. As always his gaze made her giddy.
"Oh, Miss Langdon: " He came to his impressive height, effectively blocking her way. "I'm sorry. Surely I haven't frightened you away?"
"No, I've got better things to do, that's all," she responded tartly. She had never been so conscious of her own body though he wasn't looking at her in any offensive way, rather with cool male appreciation. A connoisseur of women, which doubtless he was.
"Wouldn't it be an idea to race me?" he surprised her by suggesting.
"Good swimmer that I am-I'm sure you thought the best I could do was splutter and drown-I just know I wouldn't stand a chance," she replied.
"Why not give it a go just for the hell of it? You're very good. Very fast. I'm not nearly so efficient on the turns. Yours are quite professional."
"They ought to be. I spent enough time practising them." She moved her slim, shapely legs towards the recliner vowing there and then not to get into any competition.
"So is it a race or are you going to chicken out?" he called, feeling that edgy desire slice through him. It never went away. She had the most beautiful skin all over. The cream in the sun deepening to honey. Or as all over as he could see which happened to be a lot. "Who knows if you impress me I might just want to change my mind about the trip."
In the act of towelling herself down Samantha broke off. "I think you're hooked already." She might never be able to bring this man to his knees which she'd absolutely love but she knew enough to gauge he was powerfully attracted. It was something he also found unacceptable.
"What is that supposed to mean?" He came towards her so purposefully for a mad moment she thought he was going to pull her to him.
"Sad you're so aggressive." She had to make a real effort to steady her voice.
"I'm not usually." A faint smile touched the chiselled lips. "You've managed to tap into that vein."
"Why I wonder? Do I remind you of someone? A romance gone wrong?"
He measured her with those cool sparkling eyes. "Don't feel guilty on that account. I don't go in for failed relationships."
"But you are seeing someone aren't you?" she asked with growing provocation. "I couldn't help noticing the little brunette in the red dress last night. Not that she noticed me."
"Oh, she noticed you all right!" There was amusement in his expression. "But Julie is just a friend."
"Hoping for a whole lot more." Who could blame her for all she'd have to put up with?
"As is your Matt," he slotted in neatly.
That rattled her. "I though we'd settled that. Matt and I are not romantically involved."
"That's good, because I'd have grave misgivings about that."
"You're jo
king." She tossed back her hair. It was already drying in the heat.
"I'm not." He shrugged. "I don't believe in mixing business with pleasure." He half turned. "So are we going to race or not?"
Would it go better for her if she did? "On one condition."
He started to peel off his shirt, then the shorts, quite unselfconsciously, incredibly fit, incredibly lean. "I'm sorry, I'm not going to give you a start."
Damn if he didn't have the most marvellous body. She couldn't miss the perfectly honed musculature, the straight, strong legs. He was every inch a man. She had to swallow and glance away. "I don't think I need one. What I was going say was, if I win, you'll take me along on the trip?"
"And if you lose?" He looked at her with such intensity her heart leapt in her breast.
"I'll still be a good sport. And I'll still want to come."
His mouth compressed. "Oh, well, while we're at it, why don't you make a list of what you want me to do?"
"Well, you could be a little more, um, friendly?" she suggested sweetly.
"I might find that too exhausting. Are you ready?"
She slicked her hair back from her face. "I will be when you take your eyes off my legs."
Again he flashed that elusive white smile. "You can't wear a bikini like that and expect a man not to get excited. One hundred metres, two hundred, your call?"
Two hundred involved more turns. Valuable time could be lost at the turns even with top swimmers.
"Two hundred," she said loftily, securing her plait with a band she fetched from her bag.
"Do you mind if we shake hands?"
"Of course not." Surprised she offered her hand, then saw his eyes. Eyes that sparkled and glittered with sardonic amusement.
She tried to withdraw her hand, only he caught her fingers with his own. A charge like dynamite rocked through her. She drew in her breath and jerked away. "Right, this has gone far enough."
"We were only holding hands."
"Yes, well..."
"Freestyle, I take it?" He helped her out.
"I can do the lot," she clipped off. "Freestyle, backstroke, butterfly, breaststroke. Take your pick."
"Why don't we stick to freestyle. That's my best stroke. On the count of three."
They hit the water together, sending up jets of spray. Samantha stayed underwater as long as she could before breaking into her stroke. Out of the side of her eye she could see him churning away, but she let him, keeping to her plan for a strong finish. It was true. She was better than him at the turns. At the one fifty she was matching him stroke for stroke. They went down the pool together, slick as dolphins. She started to pick up speed, putting all her competitive spirit into it. Still she was racing an incredibly fit man, a good swimmer with a far superior reach. For an instant she thought he was dropping back, maybe letting her win. That made her angry. Then less than fifteen metres to go he shot past her like a torpedo, pulling his lean powerful body out of the water just as she touched the wall.
End of story.
He stretched out a hand. "Congratulations, Miss Langdon. I had to work hard to shake you. You're pretty good."
Her blood was pounding. Her heart was racing. She had to accept his hand. "That would have been my personal best," she admitted coming up out of the water in one graceful flowing movement.
"Truth is I used to swim for the team at University."
Her brown eyes flashed. "Dammit, don't you feel guilty not saying something about that at the beginning?"
"No." He smiled, the pool water still streaming over his darkly tanned, gleaming skin.
"You won because you're a man. A big man. I could have beaten a little guy," she pointed out.
"You could have beaten a guy not so little," he said wryly, wanting to pull her to him. Demand she forfeit a kiss.
"So are you going to let me come?" She looked appealingly into his eyes.
"You lost, remember?"
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Appeal turned to disgust. "I promise I'll keep a safe distance."
"Like now?" His eyes pinned her, held her in place.
"What do you mean?" She felt an instant's panic like some creature of the wilds caught in a high beam.
"Let's face it." His eyes moved lightly over her. "You've practically got no clothes on."
She shook her hair out of its plait. "Isn't that normal when one goes swimming?"
"Hey I'm not complaining." A smile touched his lips. "You're absolutely beautiful as I'm certain you've been told at least a thousand times. I'm only saying the kind of trip we're planning is no place to show off your sexual allure."
She recovered fast. "I'll be happy to wear dungarees," she said tartly.
"Not so great in the hot humid weather."
Samantha let out a long breath, preparing to move off. "I need to shower and wash the chlorine out of my hair before breakfast."
How he'd love to help her out!
And to think women had never been his problem! He watched her stalk off on those long golden legs, her colourful caftan doing nothing to hide the curves of her body. He began to ask himself yet again if he were mad.
Probably a bit.
While Ross and Samantha were trying to outdo each other in the pool David Langdon was renewing his acquaintance with the city of Darwin which he'd only visited in transit for some years. Long gone was the old Darwin of pioneering cattle kings, pearl trawlers, buffalo shooters, crocodile hunters and all kinds of adventurers, but the exotic feel to the place remained. Indeed it was difficult to compare the Territory's capital with any other city of Australia. It had the feel and smell of Asia. Asia was close enough, across the Timor and Arafura Seas. Darwin's full-on tropical climate and the city's rich racial mix-the Chinese remained the largest nonEuropean population as well as the dominance of exotic Asian food made it unique. Loping teenagers passed him, drinking milk from coconuts. A police car cruised by. The constable in the passenger seat waved casually. He waved back. He'd decided on making for the forty hectare Botanical Gardens. He knew it housed a range of tropical plants unequalled anywhere on earth. It certainly looked splendid, a luxuriant belt of green giving on to the turquoise waters of the huge harbour.
All around him were the signs of prosperity. The old isolated outpost, the centre for the gold rush of the 1870s, had grown enormously into a thriving capital. Tourism was now second only to the giant mining industry. The city had a very clean modern appearance due to the fact it had been rebuilt after Darwin had been destroyed in the 1974 Cyclone Tracy disaster. A new beginning had to be made virtually from scratch. Few buildings had survived consequently the present buildings had been built in contemporary style and designed to resist future cyclones. He sincerely hoped they would because another major cyclone would surely come again.
He realised he was impatient for their safari to begin. Champing at the bit really. He had photographed ancient ruins in the jungles of South East Asia, the beautiful stone temples of Angkor Wat and elsewhere, Thai kings palaces, the wonderful temple ruins of Borobudur in Indonesia, built by the Buddhist rulers the Sailendras in the 700s. He had photographed the great hardwood forests of Borneo and Java, teak and ebony, but he had never ventured into his own country's greatest wilderness area, Kakadu, the jewel in the Top-End crown and the giant among Australia's great national parks. The park was jointly controlled by the traditional Aboriginal owners and Parks, Australia. He also knew controversy had long raged between the conservationists and those wishing to exploit the incredibly rich reserves of uranium and other valuable minerals in the area. Ranger Uranium Mine and Jabiru, one of four major mining settlements in the Territory lay within the boundaries of World Heritage listed Kakadu. He'd like to gain access to both Jabiru and Ranger. He was relying on Sunderland to get permission from the mines' management. He knew they had to go through the traditional owners to visit certain parts of Kakadu and its sacred sites. No doubt about it. He felt inspired. To some extent he knew the expanding euphoria had to do with meetin
g a certain woman. He had allowed himself to yield to it. Yet she was a mystery woman who had become the subject of cruel gossip. A sexually exciting woman who could play on a man's deepest emotions. Sympathy for her came all too easily for him but he had to concede he had no real knowledge of her to rely on.
Jump in and you mightfind the water's too deep.
He was about to cross the broad esplanade that ran parallel to Bicentennial Park when he saw another group of teenagers, with spiked black hairdressed in T-shirts and colourful board shorts cutting off the progress of a young woman he recognised even from a distance as Isabelle. She would be impossible to miss in a crowd.
Immediately his protective instinct went into overdrive. This wasn't just any woman although he would have made it his business to see what was going on. This was a woman he had related to on the deepest level. A kind of primal thing.