by Valerie Parv
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
About the Author
Books by Valerie Parv
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Copyright
“So you think I’m overrated as a lover?”
Bryan read the answer in her defiant gaze.
“I was letting off steam when I wrote that. How should I know what sort of lover you are?”
The trap yawned widely, but not until Jill had fallen headlong into it. He released one wrist and his hand wandered to the side of her face, his fingers caressing. “There’s one way to find out.”
Valerie Parv was a successful journalist and nonfiction writer until she began writing for Mills & Boon in 1982. Born in Shropshire, England, she grew up in Australia and now lives with her cartoonist husband and their cat—the office manager— in Sydney, New South Wales. She is a keen futurist, a “Star Trek” enthusiast, and her interests include traveling, restoring dollhouses and entertaining friends. Writing romance novels affirms her belief in love and happy endings.
Books by Valerie Parv
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Outback Temptation
Valerie Parv
CHAPTER ONE
JILL RICHTER smoothed a hand over the tawny head of the orphaned calf as it drank greedily from a baby’s bottle. She had to hold the bottle tightly to prevent it from being tugged out of her hand with each intake of milk.
‘This one can’t have eaten for a week,’ she told Denise, who watched, arms folded across the bulge of her advanced pregnancy.
Her sister-in-law grinned back. ‘More like since this morning. He’s a con artist, that one. Don’t give him more than his fair share.’
‘Easier said than done.’ The calf had already drained one of the banana-shaped bottles. Jill hadn’t the heart to deny him a second helping, although Denise was probably right. As she concentrated, Jill’s dark hair cascaded past her shoulders, curtaining her classical features. Under the deep brow, her teal-blue eyes shone with enjoyment.
‘Gets to you, doesn’t it?’ Denise observed.
Not entirely truthfully, Jill shook her head. ‘Not a chance. Sorry, little one, you’ve had your lot.’
She took the bottle away from the lowing calf who craned his satiny neck to follow it, only giving up when Jill retreated outside the paddock.
Denise gave her a knowing look. ‘So you still say motherhood isn’t for you?’
Jill nodded in the direction of Denise’s bulge. ‘Given the state of my love-life, it seems unlikely. I’ll have to settle for aunthood, won’t I?’
Denise sighed. ‘Pity. It would have been fun to have someone share the experience with me.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting one small detail?’
‘You mean the fact that you don’t have a husband? I don’t see why it matters when they contribute about three minutes to the whole nine-month performance.’
Wiping her hands on the sides of her figurehugging jeans, Jill laughed. ‘You’d better not let Nick hear you dismiss his contribution so lightly. This baby is already the apple of his eye.’
Her sister-in-law’s eyes clouded. ‘I know. It means so much to both of us. What if it turns out like the last time?’
The hand which gripped Jill’s arm was deathly tight, and Jill patted it reassuringly. ‘You know the doctor thinks it’s unlikely. Provided you don’t overdo things, he’s sure you’ll carry this baby full term.’ She grinned at Denise. ‘That means no stress, or worrying over what may never happen, right?’
Denise smiled shakily. ‘You’re right. I’m glad you could come for a visit, Jill. It’s great to have another woman around the place.’
A twinge of guilt gripped Jill. If it hadn’t been for her own need to get away from Perth, where she was a columnist for a national women’s magazine, she wouldn’t have come. Her brother and sister-in-law didn’t know about her recent illness and the disaster it had caused.
Caught up with the hectic demands of their outback tourist property, Wildhaven, they had little time to read magazines, so they were unaware of what had happened. Denise thought Jill had simply decided to spend a few days with them in response to numerous invitations.
‘I’m glad I came, too,’ she said, aware of how much she meant it. Getting away from it all took on a whole new meaning in this rugged, barely inhabited corner of far north Western Australia. The nearest town was Wiluna, an arduous drive away over old mining roads where you could still see the corduroyed crossings of mulga logs which the early drovers had constructed in the mud to enable their cattle to cross.
Although called a desert, the area was far from being an endless sea of sand. It was dotted with ancient rocky outcrops, glassy white salt lakes, undulating gravel plains and shallow rock pools shaded by tall eucalyptus trees.
When Nick had told Jill he intended to buy the old pastoral lease and turn it into a sanctuary for injured wild animals, Jill had thought he was crazy. Now she wasn’t so sure. Word of mouth was already putting Wildhaven on the tourist map. When the cabins were ready for overnight visitors, it might even be profitable. For now, occasional visitors were accommodated at the mud brick homestead, and considered themselves privileged. In deference to Denise’s pregnancy, Jill was the only overnight guest at the moment.
‘When does Tom get back?’ she asked Denise. The young aboriginal stockman was Nick’s righthand man. An urgent family matter had taken him south, and Jill had taken over as many of his chores as she could manage. Feeding the calves was one of them.
Denise arched her back and gripped it with both hands, grimacing. ‘Tomorrow, fortunately. I hate to see you doing so much, but—’
‘Nonsense, I’m enjoying myself. It’s just the change I needed.’ No stress, no deadlines—and no accusing phone calls from a certain party who swore she had libelled him in her column, she thought ruefully.
‘A change from what?’ Denise prompted. ‘I know something’s the matter, Jill. I wish you’d confide in us. Maybe Nick and I could help.’
‘Thanks for offering, but there’s nothing, really,’ Jill insisted. The last thing Denise needed was to share her worries, when she had enough of her own. She had already lost a child to a miscarriage, and was terrified of it happening again.
‘Well, if you change your mind…’ Denise let her voice trail away, then added briskly, ‘How about some lunch? It seems as if we’ve fed everything around here except us.’
‘Good idea, but I’ll make it,’ Jill said.
Denise shook her head. ‘I volunteered Nick for the job of barbecue chef. The steaks are marinating and the salads are almost ready. All you have to do is round up the cook.’
Masculine voices told them there was no need to look far. Nick had been mending fences near the main entrance and was returning with another man in tow. Jill knew who he was the moment her eyes rested on his tall, broad figure, which all but blotted . out the sun’s glare.
As he approached, she took a quick inventory, matching the reality to his profile in her computer back at the office. In the flesh, he was mu
ch more prepossessing.
Flesh was the right word, she thought. His file listed him as six feet one inch tall, without revealing how much muscle and sinew could be packed into such a frame. It was positively daunting.
He wasn’t handsome, she continued her inventory. Model looks would have been out of place on such a rugged individual. As he came closer, she decided that his nose was too long and his eyes were too black under ridiculously long lashes. His thick sable hair was cut a fraction too long with heavy locks sweeping across a high forehead. It added up to a disturbingly masculine package.
‘Oh, no, not you,’ she said in a furious undertone. How had he tracked her to Wildhaven?
Denise looked impressed. ‘You know that hunk? And I don’t mean my husband.’
Nick was a big, good-looking man, but his companion managed to make her brother look as if he should be thrown back in favour of bigger game.
‘I know of him,’ Jill said, gathering her wits with an effort. ‘His name is Bryan McKinley.’
‘The millionaire who owns half the north-west?’ Denise sounded awed. ‘I knew he lived out this way, but we don’t move in such illustrious circles, I’m afraid.’
‘Neither do I,’ Jill conceded. ‘I mean, we haven’t actually met, but I—I wrote something about him in a recent column, and he wasn’t too happy about it.’
Which was the understatement of the year. She had been compiling her annual Richter scale column of Australia’s ten most eligible bachelors, based on reader polls. Bryan McKinley had topped every list.
But not her personal list, she thought angrily, remembering his arrogant response when she had called to secure an interview. Through a lackey he had said he didn’t welcome such frivolous attention.
Frivolous! The thought still made her blood boil. Nevertheless, she had kept trying to contact him, only to receive a curt note threatening legal action if she didn’t desist.
At least he had signed the note, she thought mutinously, only then recalling the tiny hand-written ‘per’ in front of the signature. Who did he think he was anyway?
What had followed would have been comical if it hadn’t been so disastrous. Incensed by his arrogance, Jill had written a blistering five hundred words about the man, entirely from her own imagination. It wasn’t meant to see the light of day and she had fully intended to wipe it from her computer after using it to let off steam.
What she hadn’t anticipated was coming down with a particularly vicious virus which had laid her low the day the article was completed. Her doctor had prescribed some long overdue leave and her editor had concurred, offering to run a ‘best of the Richter scale’ series in her absence, after the bachelor story had appeared.
Therein lay the rub. While Jill had recuperated, a magazine staffer had edited Jill’s copy on the eligible bachelors, inadvertently including the story on Bryan McKinley, which had duly appeared in print.
He didn’t look like a man who was after her blood, she thought as he approached, chatting amiably to Nick. He could be paying a neighbourly call—neighbours being anyone within a thousand-mile radius out here.
But as soon as those dark eyes settled on her, she knew there was nothing neighbourly about the visit. A fire smouldered in his gaze, burning into her until she felt like a rabbit in a spotlight. There was no mistaking who was the hunter and whom the prey.
Every nerve-ending screamed a denial, even though logic insisted she was safe with her family. But was anywhere safe when Bryan McKinley was on the war-path?
It took every bit of courage she possessed to meet his gaze unwaveringly. For long, tension-studded minutes, he regarded her in silence, but when he spoke it was to voice an incongruous pleasantry.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, touching a longfingered hand to the wide brim of his Akubra hat. A darting glance silently excluded her from the appellation.
‘This is Bryan McKinley from Bowana,’ Nick introduced him. ‘This is my wife, Denise, and my sister, Jill.’
Maybe the after-effects of the virus had heightened her imagination, Jill thought. Maybe Bryan didn’t know who she was. His next words, husky with the dust of the outback, dispelled any such hope.
‘Pleased to meet you both. I believe I already know Ms Richter by reputation.’
Denise glowed with sisterly pride. ‘Jill has readers all over Australia.’
The dark gaze rested full on her, mocking laughter flashing in their depths. A muscle twitched in the granite jaw, as if he restrained himself with an effort. The man was laughing at her, Jill thought as murderous rage welled up inside her. He was enjoying every minute of this, playing her like a fish on a line. The problem was, what would happen when it was time to reel her in?
She decided to find out. ‘I doubt whether Mr McKinley is a fan. There was a misunderstanding at the magazine, and something was printed by mistake which he isn’t very happy about. I gather that’s why you’re here, Mr McKinley?’
‘You flatter yourself. I came to talk to Nick and Denise about their work at Wildhaven.’
So much for her ego. Jill let out a heavy breath, until she realised he was still playing with her. If he thought he could attack her through her family, he was in for a surprise. ‘Could I have a word with you in private?’ she said, taking his arm so he had little choice but to move aside with her.
‘Call me Bryan, please.’ It was a little like trying to move a mountain, she thought, as he exerted just enough resistance to make it clear that he moved only because he wanted to.
When they were safely out of earshot she spat, ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’
‘Visiting the neighbours. I’m interested in your brother’s work.’
‘I’ll bet you are,’ she threw at him in blatant disbelief. ‘You’re here because of my column, aren’t you?’
The look he turned on her was stripped of all pretence of civility. ‘Are you surprised?’
Masking her nervousness, she retorted, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t send a lackey like the last couple of times. How did you find me anyway?’
‘Your magazine was remarkably helpful once I identified myself. Your column has made your editor somewhat nervous. She was most anxious to assist me.’
Jill’s editor had been away when the column appeared, but had telephoned Jill as soon as she returned. Confessing the mistake, Jill had voiced the opinion that the article, while unflattering, was so obviously tongue-in-cheek that no harm should come of it. Now Bryan’s call had jeopardised everything. ‘Did you tell her you mean to sue?’ she asked shakily.
‘I reserved the possibility.’
‘But you can’t. My column is written as personal opinion and, as such, I’m surely entitled to it?’
His eyebrows tilted ominously. ‘There are limits to what is acceptable as opinion, as you’re well aware. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to you that I have better things to do than participate in your farcical poll.’
A red mist floated across her eyes. ‘You may call it farcical, but my readers take it very seriously.’
‘Furthermore,’ he continued as if she hadn’t interjected, ‘I felt it was inappropriate to send an assistant to collect the apology which you owe me.’
Her hair spun in a glossy curtain as she shook her head wildly. His arrogance took her breath away. In other circumstances, she might have apologised, but his blatant assumption that the fault was all on her side drove her on to the defensive. ‘You treated me appallingly. Why should I be the one to apologise?’
‘There are ways I could convince you.’
She shot an anxious glance at Denise, who was leaning against a sliprail, chatting to Nick. A chill settled over Jill. ‘Isn’t suing the magazine enough?’
‘I didn’t say I was going to sue—yet. I have several possible alternatives.’
The colour drained from her face as he followed the direction of her glance to Nick and Denise. Her hands twisted together in unconscious supplication. ‘Look, I don’t know what you have in
mind, but you’d better leave my family out of it. For the baby’s sake, Denise has to avoid stress at all costs.’
‘Then you’ll have to make sure she does, won’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m sure an intelligent woman like you can figure it out.’
The hairs rose on the back of her neck. ‘You can’t expect me to act as if your visit is welcome.’
He nodded, strands of sable hair falling across his eyes. He brushed them aside, the gesture oddly appealing, as if there was at least one thing about him which wasn’t under iron control. ‘I can and I do. I gather you haven’t told them what happened?’
‘I didn’t want Denise worrying about me.’ Or about you, she thought. She wished he would state what he wanted from her and go.
Her own reactions were part of the problem, she realised. It was probably a result of the virus, but he made her feel extraordinarily vulnerable. Butterflies danced in her stomach and it was an effort to keep her mind on what he was saying.
‘Nick asked me to stay for lunch,’ he informed her levelly.
Horror winged its way across her face. ‘You haven’t accepted?’
‘They’d think it strange if I didn’t. I’d advise you to compose yourself and start acting as if you’re delighted to see me, before they suspect that something is wrong between us.’
‘I can’t do it alone,’ she retorted, knowing exactly how a cornered animal felt.
‘I hardly expect you to. Don’t you trust me to behave like a gentleman, in deference to your sisterin-law’s condition? Or are you afraid I’ll behave like a “tinpot tycoon with delusions of sainthood”?’
She flinched as he threw the quote from the column at her, but managed not to show it, shrugging with apparent nonchalance instead. ‘If the cap fits—’
‘An assessment you are hardly qualified to make,’ he cut in coldly.
Her temper flared, although all the signs warned her to beware. ‘And whose fault is that? I tried for an interview, but you didn’t even have the guts to turn me down personally.’