Her Galahad

by Melissa James

  "This really isn't making love to you anymore, is it, Tess?" His voice was thick with sadness. "This is thanks for telling you about Emily. This is about keeping your distance from me until you say goodbye."

  Stricken, she could only look, and breathe, wishing he didn't know her like he did.

  He closed his eyes, but not before she saw what the truth had done to him. "I thought I could handle this, but I can't," he said quietly. "Not like this. I can't just have sex with you after what we had, when you loved me." He withdrew from her body, but remained next to her, watching her face. "It feels all wrong in my heart, like I'm betraying the memories of how I loved you, how you loved me. Loving only your body, without giving from your heart, is an empty travesty of what we had."

  She turned her face, so he wouldn't see the burning tears building in her eyes. "I can't give you what I haven't got."

  "I'm not asking for your soul." His voice was tender, filled with a strength she craved to feel inside her own heart. "I'm not even asking forgiveness for what I'm doing to your family. I just want to make love, not to you, but with you. I want to see the joy in your eyes when I touch you, not just the passion."

  She turned to him, tears trickling down her cheek. "Don't you ever get tired of giving, ngaya jirrah?"

  He took a tear on his fingertip, tasting it on his tongue; and something inexpressibly painful, unspeakably beautiful exploded in her heart. "Not to you, mulgu. Never to you."

  "I can't give you anything," she whispered.

  "But you do." He cupped her damp, flushed cheek in his palm. "You give to me as naturally as breathing, Tess. You give so much I'm on overload with your sweetness." He kissed her mouth, with slow, loving seduction. "You took a chance with me at Lynch Hill, believing I was in league with them. You believed my crazy story. You stand by my side, knowing I'm taking your family down." He held her shaking body close, running his fingers through her hair. "Don't think I don't know how hard this is for you. I know what I've asked of you. I understand your grief, and I respect it, because your loyalty's torn. Most people would stand back and let me do it, so they wouldn't have to cope with the guilt and pain—but your courage and integrity won't let you hide in the shadows. You've been with me all the way. You made love to me last night, knowing it might be all we'll have."

  "That was pure selfishness," she whispered.

  "No." He kissed her. "Of course you wanted healing from your time with him—but you didn't let his sick memory overwhelm you. You loved me all the way. You gave yourself to me last night. You trusted me. You forgot him while you touched me. He never even entered your mind, did he?"

  Stunned, she lifted glazed eyes to his. "No…"

  "When I touched you, you couldn't think of anything but wanting me. So don't tell me it was just sex—we made love last night, all night, no matter how you deny it."

  Fear flooded her, the sheer terror that he could be right, that her slumbering heart was awakening against her will. "No!" His eyes grew cold. "Hide if you need to. But I won't make love with you until it's making love for you, too. I won't betray myself that way." He rolled off the bed. "I'll have a shower."

  Blind panic filled her. She bolted to him, throwing her arms around him from behind. "No! Jirrah, don't leave me," she whispered, shaking all over. "I need you!"

  He was stiff, unyielding in her arms, not budging an inch. "I can't stand seeing you this way—what you let them turn you into, what your fear and lack of trust in me is doing to you. I can't keep giving it all, when you hold back, living in fear, choosing to stay in the shadows of the past."

  "You don't understand!" she cried.

  "I think I do—more than you do right now." He turned in her arms, holding her shoulders to gain distance. He looked in her eyes, as if he could see all the festering fears seared into her heart. "I'm not him, Tessa. I don't want to own you. I don't want your soul, or force you to make love, or to give me your heart." When she shuddered in ugly memory, he touched her face. "But I won't settle for sex, either. I want to make love with the woman I could never put behind me. I want to mate with my lovely wild swan. If you can't be her, then I'll stick to the memories I treasure of us. I won't belittle the love I felt for you, or how much I care now, if you won't make love with me, I don't want anything from you but justice and our daughter."

  His words humbled her, shamed her. He'd known—oh, yes, he knew, even if she hadn't: she'd turned him into Cameron. Not last night, not this morning, but when her contempt for Duncan became grief, she'd turned Jirrah into Cameron, waiting for the if in the deal, the twist—the guilt trip and betrayal sure to follow.

  But she was so wrong. She was Jirrah's first love, the mother of his child; he'd never cheapen that. He'd always care for her, respect her. Even if they couldn't be together after tonight—if he found the woman who'd fulfill the dreams she couldn't—he'd still care for her, still want to be there if she needed him.

  Her dark knight, whose armor shone from his absolute integrity, and his giving heart.

  A tear streaked down her face. She stood before him in surrender—not of her heart, but her trust, knowing he would accept nothing less. "Love me, Jirrah." She caressed his face. "Just love me one more time, before it all goes dark."

  He captured her hand, pulling it from his jaw, an erogenous zone for him. "Show me your heart, Tess, or I'm out of here."

  Her head fell. "You already know my heart. You know I lied, to myself and you." She sighed. "You said that I knew not all men are like him—but you were wrong. I only know one man isn't like him." Her eyes shimmered like golden lights on the night harbor as she faced him, trying to find words to unlock his trust, his tenderness. Her arms crept around his neck. "I can't help it. I can't hide it. You see everything I think, know everything I feel and you don't condemn me or hate me, because you understand. I know you'd never hurt me." She kept her gaze on him, pleading with her eyes for this to be enough because, dear God, she needed him tonight. One last time… "I am your wild swan, ngaya jirrah, and you still speak to my soul," she whispered.

  "Ah, Tess." A smile spread across his warm, strong face. "When you give, you do it with a vengeance, don't you?" He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down, kissing and touching her in tenderness—not as a conqueror, but a lover. He loved her body with such respect and reverence she couldn't remember Cameron's eager hunger, how he'd ravage her body without respect or permission, wanting what he could never have.

  Jirrah wasn't Cameron.

  Deep in her heart, she knew this was their last night together before this half—dream existence exploded in their faces. So she gave him loving with heart and soul, giving and receiving, taking and sharing. Sweetness, tender caring, a joining of body, heart and spirit she'd never forget.

  He kissed her tears away after. She wound herself around him and slept in his arms, happy and content … until, like a thin, cold mist, the insidious thought threaded into her mind, breaking her sleep, shattering her peace.

  He hadn't used protection when they made love. He'd never even asked her about it.

  Was it forgetting in the heat of the moment—or was part of him hoping to start on those other babies he wanted? Hoping for forever, to share houses and mortgages and nappies with her?

  She shivered, feeling a chill spread from her heart to her skin … and sudden pinpricks of quiet warning.

  Slowly, gently, she slid out of his arms.

  * * *

  Jirrah stirred in the hour of deep quiet before dawn to coldness in the bed, the sudden chill that told him he was alone. He pulled on his jeans without buttoning them and walked to the window, pulling aside the heavy curtains to check for the car.

  Tess was gone.

  He sighed harshly, leaning his forearm along the door frame, watching the flickering parade of headlights flying past, as a cold and dreaming world came to life. He watched for almost two hours with hopeless intensity, shivering, angry and sad, watching every car that passed, hoping one of t
hose sets of lights would belong to her, that she was coming back to him.

  He'd hoped—oh, damn it, he didn't know what he was hoping for any more. But when they made love tonight, it felt so damn right, so perfect … like it used to be. Like when she'd braved her whole world to be with him, giving him her whole heart and soul: the single-minded intense love she'd given him from the first look. The love he would once have died for.

  Is that what I want?

  He wished he knew his mind. He knew with crystal-cut clarity what he wanted with everything in his life—except with Tess.

  Wanted her? Oh, yeah, like an unending addiction. Needed her? Yes, and for more than just finding justice and Emily. Tess made him feel happy, strong, a complete man once more.

  She needed him, too—he knew she did. She did feel something for him beyond desire, he was sure of it. Damn it, if he could get her to admit that, he'd look at his own feelings, or know why he was so churned up at her leaving without a word.

  All he knew right now was that he felt bloody cheated.

  But why the hell did he? She'd given him everything he'd asked for when they made love last night, and more—much more. She'd worshiped his body like a pagan priestess at her temple. She'd loved him with a sweet fervor he knew she'd never given Beller. She'd cried aloud his name in her release. But all he could think about as they lay twined together in the afterglow of their intense loving was that, in the past, the cries of rapture had always come with words of love. I love you, ngaya jirrah … I'll love you till I die.

  I don't want your soul, Tess. I don't warn to own you.

  Show me your heart…

  His words tonight came back to taunt him. Yeah, she'd shown him her heart, all right. She'd given him everything he'd said he wanted, and it tasted like dust and ashes in his mouth. He wished to God he knew what it was she was hiding—and that, if she ever told him, he'd know how to deal with it.

  He was losing her.

  The one thing he knew with all his heart and soul he couldn't stand. Losing her last time had all but destroyed him. And since meeting her again, he hadn't guarded his heart well enough—not against the potent magic that was Tess. Having her in his life again, even for five short days, showed him the stunning truth. He'd never put her behind him. He'd never forgotten her. He'd never stopped loving her.

  And she was slipping away from him.

  Slowly, from a pocket in his jeans, he retrieved his most treasured possessions. He'd always kept them with him, even who he'd hated her most. Symbols of love and union, of peace and trust, of anger and defiance and vengeance. He fingered the cool entwining of rose and white gold, feeling them warm beneath his hand. Then he slipped the chain over his neck, letting it fall over his heart with a sense of rightness, of belonging.

  He and Tess couldn't be doomed forever. His love for her had to have a purpose beyond loss and pain…

  Yeah, he thought bitterly. Eternal worship of a humble knight for his queen. The wild, majestic swan, always soaring high above me, always flying away.

  He finally saw the perfection in their beautiful totem names—and the irony. Dolphins mated for life, grieved eternally for a lost mate. Swans, too, were monogamous, but they always flew away—and no matter how hard he tried, he was bound to earth. He could never catch her. Their totems said it all. Wild, loving, eternally faithful—absolutely incompatible, unless she chose to stay. If she returned to him, it had to be by her own choice.

  "Tess, my wild swan, come back to me. Love me again," he whispered.

  The phone rang. He snatched it up. "Tess? Where are you? What's happened? Are you all right?"

  "Yes. I'm at the Sydney City Police Station. I left the hotel, but he followed me. I know I shouldn't have left the room, but he'd already found us. And then I had to do something before he killed you. And I did—but I think I've been arrested." A little pause. "Could you come? Now?"

  He reacted without pause. "I'm on my way. Hang on, mulgu. I'll be there soon."

  "Bring everything we have, Jirrah," she whispered. "We're going to need it. Cameron's here, saying I'm nuts—and he still has power of attorney over me."

  "Don't worry, Tess, I'm on my way." He slammed down the phone and called a cab, offering to pay double if someone came fast. He pulled on a shirt and his boots; then he grabbed all their precious evidence—proofs they'd need for a hardened city cop to believe their crazy story.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  She'd been a fool to leave the safety of the hotel room. Desperate to escape from Jirrah—or the overwhelming intensity of her emotions as they made love—she'd bolted, only to find the trap snapping shut behind her.

  The lights of a car across the road came on as soon as she left the hotel car park. It started up, U-turning to come behind her. The sleek lines of a gorgeous red convertible flashed up under the highway's streetlights. It was Cameron's Jaguar; and like a voodoo doll in the hands of a cult crazed by hate, the pinpricks came thick and fast all over her body, sharp needle points of slithering revulsion.

  She was alone … and on city streets, Cameron's turf, his Jaguar, a turbo convertible which replaced the Range Rover in the city, had the advantage even against the four-wheel-drive.

  It was 4:00 a.m. He could ram her car and kidnap her in seconds.

  Oh, dear God, what can I do?

  And, like an answer to her hopeless prayer, came the inspiration she needed. Don't spin the car out with accelerating and braking, mulgu. Hold the wheel steady!

  With Jirrah's warm, furry voice came other memories—visions of a time of innocence, and knowledge of the inner city that Cameron, contemptuous of the back streets, didn't have.

  She drove instinctively for the Harbour Bridge, knowing he wouldn't try anything with toll collectors as witnesses. She wove in and out of lanes on the southbound expressway to throw Cameron off overtaking her. She reached the Bridge only meters in front, and hit one of the small gutters on the Bridge that kept the eastbound lanes separate from the city lanes. She gasped and righted the car, heading for the City South/Kent Street exit.

  She threw her toll in the automatic collector and screeched through, hoping to attract attention; but luck, or envy, was on Cameron's side. She saw through the rearview minor that all the collectors on night shift gazed only at his beautiful car.

  Kent Street was darker than the other main streets of Sydney at night, having more old-fashioned buildings without light blazing from plate-glass windows. But it also had fewer traffic lights and a maze of back streets leading to half-lost suburbs and a labyrinth of old flats. She drove like a maniac down the darkened street and screeched right, then left into a tiny alley.

  A squeal of tires behind her, accompanied by smoke, told her Cameron was unprepared for her knowledge of Sydney's back streets. Adrenaline hit her in a rush; a slow smile covered her face. "You want me back, do you? You want gullible little Theresa. Then come and get me, if you've got the guts!"

  She sped through red lights, wove in and out of lanes without indication or warning, making him screech to turn. She flew across the Glebe Island Bridge flashing her lights at other drivers, honking her horn. She circled cars at intersections, waving at furious drivers. "Come on, somebody, this is the age of angst! Let's get some road rage going here!"

  She checked the mirror, laughing at Cameron's blank look of shock at her escape tactics. "That's right, mate, innocent, naive Theresa's all grown up. So catch Tessa, if you dare!"

  Then Cameron flew up, bumping her rear—and, like a flash, she knew what to do. She sped through the next set of lights and rammed the four-wheel-drive into the little car in front of her, buckling in its back end with the thick bull bar.

  The man who jumped out of the sedan wore a black leather biker's jacket and long, unkempt hair, and was built like a brick wall. He had a cut over one eye from the impact of the smash, and looked ready to throttle her. "What the hell are you up to, woman? You rammed me on purpose!" he bellowed. "I'm
calling the cops, you psycho!" He started punching numbers into his mobile.

  She climbed out of the car, sighing in relief. "Thank you."

  But the Jaguar stopped, too. Cameron approached the man, his handsome face smooth and smiling. "This lady is my wife, and she's—not well. I'm happy to pay for any damage she's caused—in cash—with, say, an extra thousand in compensation?"

  Tessa went white. "Please, I need your help. Call the police. This man's stalking me. He's the reason I hit you. He'll kill me if you leave. Call the police—please."

  The man looked at Tessa's face, her pleading eyes, and kept punching in the emergency number. "Stay where you are, mate," he growled. "We'll let the cops sort this out."

  Cameron's hands twitched. "Theresa, come to me," he purred, in that soft, hypnotizing voice he was so famous for in court.

  She lifted her chin. "Go to hell," she suggested pleasantly. "Sweetheart, you need me. I'm your husband. We're together for life."

  "You're not my husband, and I have proof of your crimes."

  "You don't know what you're saying, darling. Of course I'm your husband. We married before God and your family, remember? You vowed to love me forever. And I vowed to keep you in sickness and health forever. I'll take care of you now while you're sick."

  So he was playing mind games again. Just like when she lived with him. Hiding her things and making them reappear. Taking her money before she went out, putting it back at home. Changing dates of outings without telling her, making her think she'd got it mixed up. So loving before people, taking her body with such indignity when they were alone. Mind games, designed to drive her mad: to make her so confused she'd depend on him, weak enough to need him, too afraid to ever leave him. The kind of warped, miserable, love-hate relationship he'd had with his father—the only kind of love he knew or understood: total control of another human being. "It's not working, Cameron. My real husband's alive. I'm never coming back to you."