‘I w-want you so much,’ he stammered, his strong hands trembling with emotion. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. I overreacted. I—’
‘Hush!’ She pulled his head down to her, pressing her mouth against his as though there had been enough words. Desire was rocketing through him, made all the more powerful because he felt the matching desire in her. His body was so heated it was as if he was about to burst into flames. He manoeuvred his arms beneath her with the greatest care, lifting them both clear of the sofa while she clung to him, yielding so magically he moaned with the pleasure.
There were no words beyond that. Just breathtaking intensity, ecstasy to come.
Whatever the future held, they would face it together.
CHAPTER NINE
VIOLETTE DENBY drove into town, her driving fast and confident, matching her personality—or so she thought. Violette, in actual fact, drove as if no one else was on the road, or indeed had any right to be. Hairy for those coming the other way and finding Violette’s car holding centre line.
Violette Danby had never been known to give ground or acknowledge that courtesy from anyone else. Violette Denby was incredibly smug. She was angry, too, and feeling betrayed. Lilli, who had followed her in all things since they were bits of kids, had gone back to Sydney with a parting shot.
‘You’ve always been your own worst enemy, Vi! You know what I’m saying? You’re a loser. I don’t want to be one.’
She had been stunned by her sister’s insubordination. It had struck her as bitterly cruel. Today she had a lunch appointment with the most sycophantic of her circle, Pammy Moreton. She needed soothing, and Pammy was the one to do it. It didn’t strike her as odd that she had chosen Aldo’s Bistro for the lunch venue. Quite simply, it offered the best food in the town. It was a Friday, so she knew the Outsider wouldn’t be there. She had taken over the management of Guy’s restaurant while the resident chef was in Hong Kong. Violette had shut her ears to all the good things she was hearing about the new chef. Okay, the Outsider knew her way around a restaurant kitchen. She could cook. She could manage staff. So what if she hadn’t even found her way into a kitchen yet? Cooking was not in her repertoire.
She was early for the appointment. For one thing she had a few errands to run. Things she usually got Lilli to do. The town was abuzz with people. Friday was a busy day. She acknowledged those worth saying hello to and walked determinedly past the rest.
Those stuck-up Denbys. Just about everyone hoped one day Violette Denby, the worst offender, would trip over something on the pavement and fall flat on her face.
Violette, blissfully unaware and uncaring anyway of the general disgust, was coming out of the local pharmacy when her attention was arrested by the sight of a stranger in town—a very glamorous blonde in her early thirties. Maybe she was a little bit too curvy—Violette was totally against too much curve—but she watched with interest as the blonde stepped away from a swish coupé, bleeping it locked over her shoulder.
Ah, one of us!
Violette licked her top lip. The big question was, who was she? What was she doing here? Most tourists spent their time in the Hunter Valley. Those whose big interest was good food and wine found their way farther on to Wangaree. Guy’s restaurant had received extravagant praise from the food critics. Even she couldn’t fail to notice what had been said about the current chef in the newspapers. She had brooded a whole day over that. What was so good about tori shisomaki—whatever that was? She’d sooner a duck mousse any day.
The blond woman—as a natural blonde herself, Violette unerringly spotted a great dye job—walked to the pavement, looking around her rather hesitantly. Am I really going to go up to her? Violette thought. Yes, I am. It wasn’t the sort of thing she did with strangers, but something told her this woman was in town for a purpose. That thought stirred up memories. Hadn’t Ben Mastermann, Linc’s father and a prominent wool producer like her own father, remarried a few years ago? It was all coming back to her now. She was sure she had seen a photograph somewhere of the latest Mrs Mastermann—a great deal younger than her husband, and an eye-catching platinum blonde.
At the last count, two and two still made four! Now, this could be really juicy. Violette almost sprinted towards her. She might even invite Mrs Mastermann—she had a powerful perception that was who she was—to join her and Pammy for lunch. She couldn’t stand Pammy’s gushing all the time anyway. She had a little bet with herself that the glamorous Mrs Mastermann was here to pay her drop-dead sexy stepson a visit. Linc Mastermann would make any woman’s sense of decency and caution twirl in the air before taking a nosedive.
Violette fixed a brilliant smile to her face. She elbowed a fellow pedestrian rudely out of the way and moved towards the other woman.
‘Hello, there! You look lost.’
The woman looked back at Violette, saw a tall, equally glamorous young woman and smiled back. ‘Don’t I know it! I’m looking for a property called Briar’s Ridge. Do you happen to know it?’
‘I certainly do!’
Double whammy!
Daniela thought about leaving her mail until the following day. There was probably nothing important. It had been a long night. She’d had to break in a new assistant who was lacking confidence and she was tired. She knew it was because she was going all out to make an impression. She greatly admired Guy’s resident chef, but she had her own ideas about everything. The glowing review in the papers hadn’t hurt. The food writers had made big mention of her ‘brilliant application of both French and Japanese cuisine’. As Carl had predicted, this stand-in time was proving her showcase.
No one was around. She parked her car on the drive and made a dash for the rows of letterboxes, key in hand. She unlocked hers quickly, then withdrew half a dozen letters and a postcard from California. That would be from an old friend who had scored a great job there.
Back in her car, she used the remote to open the huge security gates, then drove in to the basement car park. It wasn’t until she was inside her apartment that she bothered to check the other mail. Two bills, one letter from Gerald—she knew his handwriting—plus another minus a postage stamp, with her name and address printed, one might have thought, by a child’s hand. Wasn’t that standard for an anonymous letter?
Her mind sprang to something bad. Her premonitions always had been very sharp. Should she open it? Would it matter if she tore it up? Gerald’s letter bore a stamp. Then there was his fine handwriting. Not a follow-up from Gerald, then? Not Gerald’s style. It saddened her that with so much going for him Gerald Templeton was only handsome and presentable on the outside. She ran a fingernail beneath the flap. There was a photograph tucked inside a sheet of notepaper—very ordinary notepaper that one could buy at any supermarket. The photograph fell to the floor. She bent to pick it up, standing motionless while she studied it.
She had never seen the woman before, and she would remember her. Once seen, it was unlikely anyone would forget this women and her showgirl beauty. She was an eye-catching platinum blonde, quite shapely, expensively and very glamorously dressed. She was standing beside a car, a Mercedes. Daniela had no difficulty recognising the main street of the town.
This was no joke, and she couldn’t pretend it was. The photograph had been sent with only one purpose in mind. To upset her. Daniela released a jagged sigh. The anonymity of it all was appalling, gutless. She hated it. People who couldn’t put their name to something were always up to no good. It appeared she attracted such people.
She opened out the sheet of notepaper, stomach muscles clenching.
Don’t you think your boyfriend should have told you about Stepmama? From what I hear they are way too close for comfort.
Daniela’s skin tingled with shock. She was riveted by the horribleness of it all. The truly sickening thing was some part of her had been waiting for something like this. Her hand crunched up the sheet of paper in disgust before she tossed it from her. Reluctantly she took another look at the photograph, feeling as if her
whole world was imploding.
She had a pretty good idea who had sent it. Violette Denby was one combative character and she emerged the clear favourite—though Daniela knew she could never prove it. The subject of the photograph just had to be Carl’s stepmother.
Lover?
No way! Daniela took a deep breath, regaining her composure.
From all that had passed between them Daniela was totally convinced Carl was a moral man. What could the sender of the photograph know to back up this sick claim? It wasn’t as though Carl had been deceptive about the situation. He hadn’t lied. It was more he hadn’t told her the truth. Was it remotely possible this woman had been involved with both father and son?
No! Her whole being screamed rejection. The man she realised she had come to love had far too much integrity. She firmly believed that.
Or did being deeply in love with someone automatically ensure trust and a fierce loyalty?
The voice in her head required a response. What had happened to Carl to drive him away from his own home and family? He had told her since his father’s latest marriage he and his brother had been virtually running the family property, one of the finest and most productive sheep stations in the country. Why would he turn his back on such family heritage and go in search of a new life? She had gathered his father had been very angry with him, seeing his moving away as a betrayal. She had tried to question him about his stepmother but he had cut her off, as though his stepmother had absolutely nothing to do with anything. She had seen the pent-up exasperation on his face at the very mention of her.
Which brought her to the question of seduction. Some women boasted with good reason of their powers to seduce. A man might find it difficult to hold out against a campaign of temptation. Could Cheryl Mastermann have constituted such a threat? And Carl had seen getting as far away from home as possible as the only way out?
Hadn’t she done the same thing?
Yet here was Cheryl Mastermann, surfacing in a big way.
It didn’t matter who you were, Daniela thought bleakly, or of what station in life. It was possible to be victimised. All one had to do was cross the path of one wrong person. Such people operated on an entirely different moral plane. The normal restraints most people abided by simply weren’t there. The idea made her sick to her stomach.
Determined not to freak out, she ripped open Gerald’s letter. If there were any more little scares in store for her, she might as well confront them. She couldn’t turn away from all this. She had to get it out in the open.
It seemed there were no further threats from Gerald. Only spleen. Whatever Carl had threatened Gerald with it must have been bad, she thought wryly. A psychiatrist really should see this. It was Gerald at his very worst—or, then again, his best. Impossible as it was to believe, Gerald had convinced himself his behaviour all along had been entirely honourable. She was the one who should look for forgiveness. He cited a long list of her sins that went on like a criminal history. Daniela winced at the viciousness of it all. To her, it was testimony to Gerald’s instability.
I hope that Aussie fool you’ve got yourself involved with gives you as much hell as you’ve given me.
For some reason that made her laugh. If Gerald didn’t like the tough Australian male he should get out of this country as soon as possible.
Weekends didn’t really mean a thing for the man on the land. There was always work to be done. Linc had spent the morning at the extreme end of the property, repairing a fence with Buddy. It was actually Buddy who had knocked it down when Linc had given him a go on the tractor, ploughing a fire break. Thank God that job was over. He and George had worked day and night getting the job done. Not that it was ever really done. Constant maintenance had to be carried out in case of cave-ins.
Spring had swung into summer, and it was getting hotter by the day—still no rain, but lots of dry storms, with spectacular cloud build-up raising hopes that were soon dashed. He had rid the property of any areas of tall grass and dried brush that could act as tinder. The homestead and all the outbuildings were well cleared. But the constant worry was that there could be someone driving through the valley who thought nothing of pitching a cigarette butt out of the window. Even in the heat the paddocks were embroidered with daisies and wildflowers and now he and Buddy rode companionably back towards the homestead, where he planned to give the shearing sheds extra attention. Buddy had the afternoon off to play cricket. From all accounts Buddy was developing into a top spinner. The Australian Cricket team was an inspiration to him, and millions of other Australian youngsters. Linc was pleased with Buddy. He was a good worker, ready to take on anything, and he was great with the horses—shoeing no problem. George Rankin had proved a fine mentor, too. Best of all, George had had a lot of experience classing superfine wool. Years before, he had topped his own wool-classing course. Linc was very comfortable in the knowledge that he and George could handle their own clip without bringing in another experienced wool-classer.
The creek, a natural fuel brake, glittered metallic in the hot sun. He parted company with Buddy and rode on. Nearing the homestead, he saw a sleek car turn into the gravelled drive. At first his mind sprang to one of the Denby sisters, but as he drew closer, familiar with luxury cars, he recognised the late-model coupé. He thought the driver was a woman. If that were the case, there was no question who it was. It had to be Cheryl, in her new toy.
He was stunned at her audacity. Unless she had his dad with her? He began to pray that was the case. Only his dad never let a woman do the driving for him, even his ‘angel’! Some angel. He could ride away in the opposite direction, only he knew whenever he returned she would be sitting waiting for him. Cheryl didn’t have angels’ wings. They were more like a bird of prey’s.
From her vantage point in the cool of the wide verandah, Cheryl watched for Linc to round the side of the homestead. Freshly painted, with a thick border of agapanthus lining either side of the short flight of front steps, the homestead was amazingly attractive, she thought. She could even live here. If only she had met Linc before she’d met his father! There was no justice in life. Thank God husbands could be pushed aside.
Cheryl had no idea that trying to push Ben Mastermann aside would be like trying to sidestep a charging rhino.
And here was Linc! She was hungry for the sight of him, and not ashamed to admit it. If the person who had first said ‘out of sight out of mind’ had met Linc Mastermann they might have changed their idea—especially if that person had been a woman. A broad-brimmed akubra covered his glossy crow-black head. It was tilted at a rakish angle. He wore a blue and white checked shirt, tight-fitting jeans, dusty boots on his feet. Inside the neck of his shirt he had wound a red bandanna, to protect his nape from the burning sun. Even his walk was so sexy she had to catch her breath.
She stood up at his approach, smoothing her tight skirt. She knew this was going to be awkward, but she thought she could handle it. She knew she looked gorgeous. One guy had once told her there were just no words to describe how gorgeous she was. Her looks, even more embellished since Linc had last seen her, always gave her a huge boost in confidence. She could coax her dear husband out of his blackest moods.
Linc spoke first. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Cheryl?’ he asked flatly. It was all he could do not to tell her to clear off the property and not come back. ‘Where’s Dad?’
At the daunting expression on her stepson’s striking face Cheryl’s heart began driving like a piston. His polished bronze skin was sheened with sweat. His muscular arms were grained with fine dust. God, it made her hot! She had never wanted a man so badly in her life.
‘Is that any way to greet me?’ she cooed, making her voice as sweetly innocent as she could. No mean feat, considering she was an experienced woman of the world. ‘I got lonely. Your dad is in China, of all places,’ she jeered.
‘China is Australia’s major trading partner, Cheryl,’ he told her shortly, coming up the steps with that amazing easy gr
ace. ‘They’re the biggest buyers of our wool and one of their most prominent new buildings is being constructed from Australian steel from the Pilbara. It might pay you to bone up.’
Cheryl dipped her platinum head. She had had her hair recoloured before she came, so she was certain of pristine roots. ‘I always thought it was damaging to a woman to be too smart,’ she quipped, fixing her big blue orbs on him. ‘Look, I know you have every right to be angry at me, Linc,’ she started quietly, just as she had rehearsed. ‘My behaviour was inexcusable. I just misunderstood—’
‘You certainly did.’ He cut her off before she could finish her rehearsed spiel. ‘Are you such a fool you could think Dad would tolerate your looking sideways at another man, let alone infidelity? You know all about his temper. He mightn’t have unleashed it on you yet, but ask anyone who knows him. I’d hate to think of a bloke getting shot over you, Cheryl. You’ve taken a big risk even coming here. Does Chuck know?’
Again she looked at him with feigned innocence. ‘No, he doesn’t. I told Chuck I was spending the weekend on the Gold Coast, looking up old friends.’
‘Old customers?’ he asked contemptuously, pulling off the akubra and shaking his head.
Sweat had made his hair curl in tight clusters. He still wore it long on the nape. He had great hair. Something told her not to stare at him too much. Difficult when she was presented with the splendour of him. He smelt hot and spicy, but clean.
‘Girlfriends,’ she corrected, pursing her full lips. She had a luscious mouth. No worries there. And she’d had all her front teeth capped. Not that there’d been anything wrong with them before, but now they were perfect. ‘Could we go in? I’d love a cup of coffee.’
Bride at Briar's Ridge Page 14