“No, thank you. I've drunk enough tea over the last couple of hours to last me a lifetime. A glass of whisky, now that would be different.” He gave a sudden grin.
“Where will you sleep?” she asked.
“Out here on the verandah.”
“Goodnight.” She turned towards the house.
“Good night, Tommy.” His hands shot out and grasped her shoulders and he swung her around to face him. He relaxed his stance, lowered his head and his mouth closed over hers in a gentle, tentative caress, light as thistledown. When her trembling lips parted, he increased the pressure and excitement, like captured butterflies, fluttered around in the pit of her stomach.
Her arms wound themselves around his neck, her fingers somehow becoming entangled in the springy hair at his nape. She felt his tongue darting inside her mouth, exploring, plundering and it felt so good she never wanted it to end. Pressed tightly to him, her breasts were crushed against his hard chest wall and she could feel the thumping of his heart as it raced out of control. The musky scent of his skin became so overpowering it drove all coherent thought out of her mind.
She moved her arms, locked them around his waist and let her head fall back to give him deeper access to her mouth. Emboldened by his passion she started exploring his mouth with her tongue, and a shudder shook all the way through him.
Their tongues danced together, twisting and gyrating in a maddened frenzy. Seeking, finding, taking, but still wanting more. A whooshing, roaring sound filled her ears. Excited spasms gripped the deepest most secret parts of her body.
He pushed her away. “Go to bed,” he ordered, “while I still have the strength to let you go.”
She fled inside, taking deep gulps of air to get her emotions under control once more. After checking on Mary and the baby, who both slept, she took an eiderdown and laid it on the floor in the bedroom, removed her gown and settled down to sleep. How could she have let Adam kiss her with so much passion, worse still, return his caresses in such a wanton manner?
Because she loved him. How, when, why? She didn’t know, but somehow it had happened. She had been waiting for something like this, the grand passion, all consuming, overwhelming, and she had found it. With the wrong man. Adam felt lust for her, nothing else. He was hell-bent on marrying Sophia who had thousands of acres of land as a dowry.
****
Adam paced the verandah with his hands sunk deep into his pockets. Thank God circumstances prevented him from formally asking for Sophia's hand. She was quite attractive. This had appealed to him, combined with her being sole heir to her father's twenty-thousand-acre cattle station. The extra land would have been useful.
Had the Lindsays not taken over old Henry’s place, he would have married her. Now his plans had changed. He always assumed women were fond of children, and Sophia would be no different. It surprised and disappointed him to realize she had no nurturing instincts whatsoever.
Her treatment of Jamie annoyed him. Such a fine little fellow should have appealed to any woman. It was quite obvious to him now that she would never be the kind of mother he envisaged for his sons. He could live without love, had done so for most of his life, but he wanted more for his children.
His own lonely childhood, once his mother died, stood out in his memory. He would never forget her gentleness and affection. After his birth she had been unable to carry a child full term. One miscarriage followed another. He gave a shuddering sigh. If only his father had given her time to regain her strength things might have been different, but he made her with child again almost straight away. That damned obsession of his. Having more than one son, to replace the father and two brothers, who perished trying to tame this savage frontier.
Around the time of his seventh birthday, his gentle, delicate mother died in childbirth. A string of nursemaids and governesses brought him up. His father always chose hardened old maids, devoid of any maternal instinct. He thrashed any tenderness out of Adam, and brought him up to be tough, uncompromising. To take what he wanted, and hold on to it, once he got it.
Tommy Lindsay annoyed him, more than that, she drove him crazy; but he liked her gutsy, fighting spirit. She was one of only a handful of people who had the courage to defy him. No other woman would have dared wear men's clothing and ride in that race. She won it; and she escaped and rescued the aboriginal girl from those feral mountain people. Watching those big blue eyes gazing with such tenderness at the Cavendish baby clinched it. She would be the mother of his sons.
Yes, brave, resourceful, Tommy with her bright hair, luminous eyes and creamy English skin, appealed to his masculinity. She excited him as no other woman he had ever met before. Just thinking about the taste of those sweet, tremulous lips, caused heat to invade his loins and his manhood started to harden. He ruthlessly clamped down on his desire.
Two complete opposites, his darkness and her exceptional fairness would be a perfect foil for each other. She came from well-bred English stock. She would be a suitable wife. In a harsh frontier like Australia, a man needed a strong woman at his side.
At thirty-five he had indulged in a few affairs over the years, now he wanted to settle down. If she did not satisfy him, he would discretely take a mistress. Hell, that wouldn’t happen, not if he showed gentleness and patience. Fire simmered in Tommy Lindsay. Passion, not yet awakened, lay dormant, waiting for a flame to ignite it. I’ll be the one to light the fire, and I’ll make damn sure the flame burns for years to come.
He dragged his saddle up on to the verandah and stretched out, feeling well pleased with his decision. No need for her to ever know how she affected him. How she made his blood flow like molten lava through his veins. She was too refined to do more than tolerate a frontier man like him, but as long as she proved responsive in his bed, it would be enough. He would call on David Lindsay as soon as possible to ask for Tommy's hand. Not that he expected any opposition. Being the most eligible bachelor in the district did have some advantages.
Sophia. There had been no formal announcement of a betrothal, but her expectations would have been built up. He would have to go over there, do the honorable thing. He had a feeling in his gut that it wouldn’t be pleasant.
****
The baby's crying woke Tommy in the early hours of the morning. Groping around in the darkness, she fumbled for the lamp. Mary woke up too. Tommy changed the infant, who once she felt the comfort of her mother's breast, soon drifted back to sleep.
“I might as well get you some tea.” She smiled at the most beautiful sight in the world—a mother suckling her child. “I won't be able to go back to sleep now.”
“Thank you. I'll never be able to repay you for what you did last night.”
The first faint flush of dawn streaked the gray sky with pink. Tommy washed her body as best she could, given the primitive conditions, and got dressed. She went to the kitchen to stoke up the smoldering fire in the stove.
Her waist-length hair, left unpinned from last night, cascaded over her shoulders and back. She touched a finger to her lips and they still felt tender from Adam’s fierce kisses. It would be foolhardy to think he had been driven by anything but pure lust. The yearning to be something special to him left a yawning black hole in her heart.
Once she got the kettle boiling, she would put her stockings on and pin her hair up. Breakfast would have to be eggs on toast, as there didn’t appear to be much food in the cupboard.
She picked up a bucket and humming softly went out the back door and headed towards the well. Only a small homestead, not much more than a hut, yet it had both a front and back entrance.
A few geraniums struggled for life in the shade of the verandah, otherwise the area looked barren, almost desolate.
“Good morning, Tommy.”
She jumped at Adam's greeting, so deep in thought she hadn’t even noticed his approach. He walked soft-footed as a cat. Embarrassed heat burned her cheeks as she glanced down at her bare toes, which peeped out from under the hem of her gown.
“Don't run off.”
“My, my hair.” She backed away. “I have to pin it up.”
“It's beautiful.” He moved closer. “I want to touch it.” He stretched out his hand. His fingers threading themselves through the fine strands allowed him to tilt her face upwards. Before she realized his intention, his mouth closed over hers, and his arms crushed her against his hard masculine body.
She tried to turn her face away, but his fingers tightened in her hair. Each time she moved he exerted a little more pressure. Kicking at his legs with bare feet proved useless against this immovable, man mountain. She dared not let him know how his bone melting touch affected her. How it caused her blood to catch fire as it scorched along her veins, rendering her powerless against his lethal magnetism. Pride was the only weapon she had to use against him and she would wield it with all her might.
“I'm not going to ravish you.” He released her and stepped back a pace.
“You—you despicable cad. How dare you. You had no right.”
He ignored her frustrated outrage “You didn't object last night.”
Hot color surged into her cheeks. Object last night? She had fed his passion, wantonly participated in it.
In front of her shocked eyes, he pulled off his shirt. Drawing up a bucket of water from the well, he splashed some of it over his face and chest before emptying the rest over his head.
“Cold.” He shook himself like a dog, causing the water to drip from his head, run down his strong, tanned throat until it hung like crystal droplets on the dark whorls of hair on his chest. “All I need is a shave.” He ran one hand across the stubble on his chin.
Tommy just stood there staring at the savage splendor of him. To save her life she could not have moved away.
“Have I shocked you, little English rose?” He gave a taunting grin.
“You're disgusting.”
“Here, give me your bucket.”
With averted eyes she handed him her bucket, before turning to flee.
“Wait a minute.” He lunged for her arm, but she avoided him. Before she could take more than a couple of steps, he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her back against his bare chest so he could kiss her again. Her lips trembled under the onslaught of his hard mouth. He eased the pressure, teasing her lips apart so his tongue could slide inside.
His body shuddered against hers and then she felt his hand cupping her breast. His lips moved to scorch a trail along her jaw, until he could nuzzle into the soft, exposed flesh of her throat.
When he let her go, Tommy trembled. She took several deep gulps of air. “You, you, despicable cad. My brother will kill you for this insult.”
“I like it when you get angry, little English rose. Your eyes spit blue fire. I always did like spirited women. I enjoyed the taste of your mouth too; I enjoyed it very much.”
She turned and fled. Another minute in his presence would have had her attacking him, tearing his face to shreds with her nails, or worse still, returning his kisses. His taunting laughter followed her into the house.
She boiled some eggs, before making toast for Mary. On taking it into the bedroom, she found her friend wide-awake. “How do you feel?”
“Wonderful. She's beautiful isn't she? Jim will be pleased, he wanted a daughter.”
Tommy followed Mary's eyes to the basket where the baby slept, a picture of perfect innocence. “Yes, she is beautiful.” A lump constricted Tommy’s throat, and she envied her friend. Would she ever know such joy? Could she one day find a man who would love her like Jim did Mary? Love Jamie the way he deserved to be loved?
“Come along, eat your breakfast while it's hot.” She arranged the pillows behind Mary's shoulders, straightened the sheet then rested the wooden tray across her knees.
Back in the kitchen, Adam gave her a sardonic grin as he lounged against the table. Heat rushed into her cheeks. She still hadn’t pinned her hair up. His intent, assessing scrutiny made her nervous. Could he see inside her head, know her turmoil?
They ate their breakfast in silence. From lowered lashes she watched him eat. No slovenly oaf this man. His table manners were as impeccable as hers. When he finished eating, he pushed his chair away and stood. Such economy of movement, such feline grace it ensnared her.
“Can you cope here until Mrs. Cavendish's mother arrives?”
His question brought her out of her trance. “Yes, I suppose so. What about the milking and—”
“I'll milk here,” he interrupted. “On my way home I'll see to things at your place. Jamie can stay with me until tomorrow. I need to see your brother, so I’ll bring him back with me.”
He went outside, giving her a chance to put on her stockings and shoes and attend to her hair. As she fastened her hair in its usual chignon, her thoughts strayed to Jamie. How would he be faring at Adam's house? There would be a housekeeper; numerous other servants too, so he would be well cared for.
The sound of wood being chopped broke into her musings. She cleared the dishes away and tidied up the kitchen. Adam strode in with an armful of neatly cut logs.
“I'll see to the cow now.” He dropped his load into the box before disappearing outside again.
Within fifteen minutes he returned with a half-full bucket of milk. He banged it on the table so hard, some of the contents spilled. “They’ve only got one cow that could be going dry, ridiculous with a baby in the house. Typical, incompetent sod busters.”
“They're not incompetent. They just don't have the money for more stock. Not everyone is rich like you. Mary intends nursing the baby herself.”
“Well, she'll want to, otherwise the poor little devil will be in for a hard time.”
“You always have to sneer at people.” She faced him, hands on her hips, head thrown back. “If greedy squatters like you didn't grab up all the best land, small farmers would have more chance of being successful.”
“You seem to think I got the land handed to me on a silver platter. My forebears worked hard for it, fought for it. My grandfather and uncles died for it.” His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Why should I let immigrants, ex-convicts and the like select on it? I've slaved for over twenty years, and no stupid government law will make me relinquish one more acre of it. My father passed it on to me; I shall do likewise to my sons.” He stormed out of the house.
Tommy sat there until the drumming of hoof beats faded into the distance. She had not thought of things from the point of view of squatters like him. Some of the things he said sounded plausible, but forty thousand acres seemed a lot of land for one man to own.
Just after lunch, Mary's mother arrived, driving herself in a dilapidated old buggy. She seemed a likeable woman, and within a few minutes took charge with quiet efficiency. Tommy was glad to be relieved of the burden of responsibility, and within an hour of the other woman's arrival left.
By the time she arrived home the sun was setting. She checked the fire—stone cold in the grate. Screwing up some paper into tight balls, she laid the kindling wood on top and lit it.
Strange that she should feel lonely in the homestead. Of course the last twenty-four hours had been traumatic. On hearing the sounds of wagon wheels on the rock-hard dirt of the front yard, she dashed outside to greet David and tell him of the happenings at the Cavendish place.
“Did you get any feed?” she asked, skidding to a halt a few feet from the wagon.
“No.” He sounded tired and dispirited. “It’s all been taken by the squatters. I wasted my time even going down. Munro tried to warn me, he'd know of course. At three places I called at, his men had visited the previous week and bought up the lot.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I made a mistake accepti
ng those mares. I can't sell them or even give them away now, might have to shoot the poor devils to put them out of their misery.”
They shared a somber meal. Later on, she helped him water the horses and by the time they saw to the poultry and finished milking it was dark. They sat together on the verandah for a time without speaking.
“Just out of interest, if you had found hay, how would you have paid for it?”
“I would have offered to work it off; or if that failed, I’d have taken a mortgage out on the farm.”
Despair settled on them like a funeral shroud. The last time she felt so wretched she was in the clutches of those horrible mountain people.
Chapter Ten
Mid-morning the next day, Adam turned up with a happy, excited Jamie riding beside him. Touser bounded about under the horses' hooves, somehow managing not to get trampled. Adam rode a large bay gelding twice the size of Jamie's brown pony.
“Tommy.” Jamie dismounted and raced across to her. She hugged him tight, lifting him up into the air and swinging him around a couple of times.
“Did you have a nice time?”
“We did lots of good things.” He covered her face with wet sloppy kisses.
“Jamie,” Adam said.
“Yes?”
“What did I tell you?”
He wriggled free of Tommy's arms. “A good stockman always sees to the comfort of his horse and dog, before doing anything else.” The child recited the instructions in a piping voice.
“All right, do it.”
He scampered back to his pony.
“Good boy, I'll make a stockman out of you yet.”
“Will I look after your horse, too?”
“No. I want to speak with your brother then I'll be going. Good morning, Tommy.” Adam touched his hat, as if just remembering her existence.
“Good morning, Mr. Munro.”
His lips tightened at the coldness of her greeting. “I wish to speak with your brother.”
“He's in the shed.”
Adam tethered his horse and followed Jamie towards the back yard. Tommy returned to the kitchen and started making scones. In the middle of rolling out the dough, she heard the men's voices.
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