She felt his hands close around her waist, the long fingers shifting to bring her close against him, holding her body against the warmth of his, hip to hip, thigh against thigh. Then his fingers moved, enticingly caressing the small of her back, tracing the nubbles of her lower spine, the soft swell of her buttocks.
A moan escaped her, a moan created by the sheer bliss of his touch, by the involuntary, inescapable reaction of her body to his. She felt the moist heat of him through the touching of their skins, the brush of his chest hair teasing her nipples into firmness through the bikini top. And lower, the hardness that told her she wasn’t the only one so aroused by the way they were linked in the water.
His fingers were creators of ecstasy, each of them brushing at the fineness of her skin like a artist’s brush, and her own fingers tangled in the wet hair at his nape, tugging to pull his head down, to force his lips to meet her own.
‘Wade ...’ It was a sigh, a plea, a cry of desperation so soft she wasn’t totally aware of having uttered it. His fingers pressed at her hips and her legs parted to let him closer to the core of her being.
Her lips were at his throat now, nibbling, exploring the strength she found there, the tautness of muscle, the slight rasp of beard as she moved her lips upward, seeking his mouth.
Around them, the water was like a warm bath, enveloping them, helping to heat the passion that flowed like a current when their mouths met. Holly felt herself being turned round, felt his fingers as they left her back to trace delicate lines across the tops of her breasts before gently freeing them from the restraint of the bikini top.
And then she was being lifted as if by a wave to give his lips access, lips that teased and thrilled, a tongue that touched like a hot iron at the tips of her nipples, then curled in expert agony to bring them to even more rigid attention.
And even as he lifted her, his hands continued in their riotous, delightful exploration, mirrored by the fluttering path of her own fingers down the drift of his chest, across the muscled flatness of his stomach.
She wanted him. All of him. And now, here, enveloped in the ageless rhythm of the sea, a rhythm that seemed somehow just right for their first complete, total lovemaking. And he wanted her; no longer any doubt about that. It seemed no longer significant what past mistakes, what past misunderstandings might have separated them. All that could matter now to Holly was ... now!
‘Oh, God ... Wade ... love me,’ she cried as his fingers played at the edges of her bikini, fingers that somehow put a delaying on the surge of passion that shook through her. ‘Now!’ she cried louder, but his reply, if there had been one, was lost in the flow of her hair across his mouth.
Lost—then truly lost in the far-off sound of a car door slamming, followed by the excited shrieks of children racing down the footpath to the beach.
‘Damn,’ Holly cried, and this time felt his echo even as his fingers changed from pleasure to practised efficiency as he helped her to readjust her swimsuit.
But when she finally met his eyes, it was as if some shutter had been drawn across them, hiding from her whatever he’d been feeling that moment before, that infinite lifetime ago. His eyes now were like mirrors, revealing all of her own emotions, but hiding all of his.
CHAPTER EIGHT
They lunched at Moby’s Kitchen, staring out across the brilliant green gardens to the sea beyond, each of them lost in thoughts apparently destined to remain unshared. They lunched on exquisitely prepared prawns and squid and delicately flavoured reef fish and it might have been hamburger for all Holly cared.
What had they almost done, out there in the warm, soft water of Honeymoon Cove? What had they somehow, through a slip of circumstance, missed? And would she ever, she now wondered, have the chance to regain that intimacy, that sense of having truly been loved, cherished, wanted?
If he’d said he was sorry, she’d have cried, although she’d desperately wanted him to say something, anything, to help restore her thoroughly shattered composure. Instead, he had taken her hand and steadied her as they moved to where Holly’s own rubbery legs could carry her beside him to the beach, where he’d actually smiled and waved at the intruding children, then walked beside her to the car, helped her to dry off and get into her beach coat.
Damn the man! Nobody should have such control. It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t even human.
Even looking across the table at Wade, she could feel her tummy flutter with the coals of her passion, carefully banked but never to be allowed to die. And she knew beyond caring that she loved him, she wanted him, and — perhaps — would never have him. Not even just as a lover. Not now. Somehow, he’d changed since that forever-ago moment in the water, and now he seemed more removed from her than ever.
She drank the wine he’d bought, ate the lightly battered delicacies of the sea — his sea — and cursed herself for a fool, for having been such a fool as to let herself be drawn into that horrid, never-to-be-forgotten airport conversation, and could have wept for the way she knew she’d feel tomorrow, and perhaps all the tomorrows after that. It was all so futile, so exhaustingly, bitterly frustrating.
And Wade’s actions and attitude didn’t make things any easier. He was polite, courteous, even entertaining during the drive home that afternoon. They stopped at the Whim Creek pub for a cooling drink, and there he was even amusing, relating a variety of anecdotes about the isolated pub. ‘
He bought her a stubby cooler, a plastic cup filled with insulating material, designed to keep beer bottles from warming too quickly in the hot, dry climate. On the outside of it was a cartoon drawing in which one typical Pilbara local complained to another about how the country was filling up with people and development. Taken in the context of Whim Creek’s isolation — it was the only building, practically, for miles in any direction — the point would have been amusing if Holly had been in the mood to be amused.
But to her it represented only a tangible reminder of her visit, notwithstanding the fact that her own memory and that of her body would be tangible enough. Could she ever forget Honeymoon Cove? Certainly, she realised, it would be easier to forget than Wade Bannister, whose touch seemed branded into her skin, whose voice was imprinted into her consciousness.
They had barely got into the house that evening when the telephone started ringing, obviating any thought Holly might have entertained about trying to talk to Wade, trying to see if he mightn’t vocalise his vivid mood swing, her own feelings.
The first call was obviously work. Holly couldn’t even understand half the technical jargon involved, and paid little attention overall. The second call seemed similar, in that Wade promised to be there first thing in the morning and refused to estimate how long he’d require to be there.
However important that problem might have been, it just disappeared from her mind a moment later, when the telephone rang again and Wade, after answering, immediately motioned Holly closer.
‘It’s Perth — finally,’ he muttered, then stared at her in silence, the strain revealed in every line of his face, until finally the party trying to contact him came on the line.
Wade spoke seldom during the exchange that followed, and Holly’s impatience grew increasingly obvious as she struggled to comprehend the one-sided conversation. It seemed an hour before he finally offered his thanks and hung up the phone.
‘Well thank God for that,’ he began, only to have her interrupt with a strident demand for detailed, specific information.
‘Patience,’ he said calmingly, ‘is a virtue.’ And his expression seemed to indicate that Holly could be more virtuous in other areas, as well. Or was that her conscience speaking? Either way, it served only to heighten her anger.
‘Yes! Well we know that I don’t have much of that, don’t we?’ she countered, and immediately repeated her original demand. ‘What’s happening with Jessica, damn it?’
‘My, my ... aren’t we touchy?’ he replied scathingly. ‘Now really, Holly, I think you should drop this martyred act. It’s
distinctly bad for your disposition, not to mention the peace and harmony of this household.’
‘Martyr? You wouldn’t know a martyr if it jumped up and bit you in the ...’ Holly squealed. ‘Oh, never mind. I’m past caring what you think of me. All I want to know is the truth about Jessica’s condition. Or is that too much to ask?’
‘Of course not, although where I come from, ladies say please,’ he replied, voice maddeningly calm and an unholy gleam of almost malicious pleasure in his eyes at the torment he was causing her. It was obvious Jessica wasn’t in any great danger, but damn him, that was no excuse for teasing.
‘All right. Please, Please, please, please.’ Holly’s voice was resigned, heavy with exasperation. But to her great surprise he accepted the surrender and immediately launched into a detailed account.
‘So it isn’t nearly as bad as it might have been, though she’s to have no visitors until Monday,’ he said. ‘Which means I’ll have to try and get back Sunday night so we can go together, although if I don’t make it, you must go by yourself, of course.’
‘What? And leave the house unattended?’ The words were out, venomous in their sarcasm, almost before Holly realised it, and the flash of anger in his eyes showed how close to the nerve she’d struck.
Then he merely sighed deeply, the sigh of a patient parent. Holly thought. ‘I’ll worry about that,’ he said. ‘And I promise you’ll be on that plane even if it means I have to stay back myself to keep an eye on the bloody house. Okay?’
‘Now who’s being a martyr?’ Holly retorted, smiling widely to show she was trying to make amends for her own earlier testiness. ‘Look, I’m sorry to be so edgy. It’s just that ...’
‘It’s just that you’re as worried about Jessica as I am, and yes, of course I realise it,’ he interrupted. Then paused before continuing. ‘But she is in the very best possible hands; the operation was as successful as could be expected, and we’re both tired and we’re both cranky. So let’s just leave it there. If I’m not back in time, you hop on that plane without a second thought. And no arguments, either, not that I expect any,’
‘Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir,’ Holly agreed with a warm smile that she hoped might ease his tense anger.
‘And don’t be cheeky. Just do as you’re told,’ he snapped, although she sensed his anger wasn’t entirely with her. He then spent nearly an hour sorting out their flight arrangements and writing a list of directions for Holly so she could find her way if he didn’t get back in time to accompany her.
Then, while Holly put together a light supper, Wade went off to organise himself for his business journey the next day. It was an activity that seemed to do nothing whatsoever for his temperament, she thought when the meal was over and neither of them had eaten enough to justify the effort involved.
Several times that evening she felt he was on the verge of saying something, but each time he seemingly backed away from that precipice, leaving Holly increasingly angry and frustrated. He’s probably trying to work up the right words to tell me just to stay in Perth, or even pack up Jessica and take her back to England with me. Holly thought sadly.
Under the circumstances, she could hardly burst forth with a revelation of her own, especially not the admission that she was in love with Wade, in love with the Pilbara, and would never, by choice, leave either of them. Such an admission, however, might not only be foolhardy and fruitless, but self-demeaning to a degree she just couldn’t accept. It was one thing, she decided, to swallow one’s pride, but quite another to have it rammed down one’s throat.
Her sleep that night was troubled, a kaleidoscope of nightmares that trampled on the replays of her erotic incident at Honeymoon Cove, then trampled even more firmly on whatever dreams of the future she might dare to entertain. She was up well before dawn, and had coffee going and breakfast ready to cook when Wade arrived with the first rays of sunlight.
‘You couldn’t sleep either, I take it,’ he commented, not waiting for a reply before adding, ‘I had a helluva night.’ But it was what followed that surprised Holly beyond belief.
‘I expect it was guilt that kept me awake,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Holly, for taking advantage of you yesterday.’
She could hardly believe her ears. How on earth could he imagine he’d been taking advantage? It wasn’t, after all, as if she’d been attempting to repulse his advances. Anything but!
She found herself tempted to reply that she was only sorry he hadn’t taken more advantage, but she bit off that comment just in time by making one equally dangerous. ‘I certainly wouldn’t have expected you to lose any sleep over it,’ she quipped, and immediately could have kicked herself.
‘Well, I did. And although I’m pleased you don’t seem to be holding a grudge, I should have realised how unfair it was to play silly games when you were just as worried as I was. It was boorish and quite rude of me not to have just told you straightaway about Jessica’s situation, and I apologise for not doing so.’
Holly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Oh!’ It was the only thing she could say, and immediately she wished she’d held back that expression of surprise. How stupid!
Here she’d assumed he was apologising for having almost seduced her, and all he was concerned with was having mildly tormented her. Probably, she thought, he’d laugh himself sick at the idea of her thinking he’d apologise for his lovemaking. He’d probably, in all honesty, be more likely to apologise for having stopped when he did.
‘Like I said, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,’ she finally managed to reply, trying desperately to hold back her tears and keep her voice as expressionless as possible. Then she turned away and began preparing their breakfast, unwilling to acknowledge the narrow, speculative glance he shot at her in response.
They ate in a prickly silence that wasn’t improved by Holly’s own feelings of false domesticity at the scene. How wonderful it would be, she thought, to always be in the position of sharing breakfast with this man. Then she thrust the idea from her mind. It was ludicrous to torture herself; Wade Bannister couldn’t and wouldn’t ever have the type of feelings for Holly that she had for him, especially not with Ramona Mason at his beck and call.
Only, why did he insist on pinning her with that curious, speculative glance whenever she chanced to look up? Damn him, why couldn’t he just finish up and go?
But no. First he had to have another cup of coffee, and then another cigarette. And all the time, those compelling green eyes followed her like a shadow. If he didn’t leave soon, she’d do something, or say something quite drastic, Holly thought.
‘Are you going to miss me?’
The question arrived without warning, without even the slightest indicated preliminaries. Holly was so surprised it took her a moment to comprehend what he’d asked, and, having comprehended, to supply a safe answer.
‘Only if we have a cyclone,’ she finally shrugged, then hurried on, her mouth running away with her in a desperate bid to protect her fragile ego. ‘I’m still not totally confident about my ability to cope, but then I don’t suppose there’s much risk of a cyclone in the next few days anyway. Is there?’
Wade didn’t answer at once. He sat regarding her with a curious expression in his eyes, and when he did speak, there was something in his voice that might almost have been defensive.
‘That wasn’t exactly what I meant,’ he said slowly, then rose without warning in a gesture that seemed to dismiss the subject entirely. ‘This isn’t the time, any more than — well, I think we can leave the rest of this discussion until I get back,’ he said then. ‘You take care, little Hollyhock.’
His lips brushed across hers in a gesture that could have meant anything, and he was out the door before she could even think to reply. By the time Holly recovered sufficiently to follow, he was already backing his truck from the garage.
‘Now don’t forget. If I’m not back before that plane goes on Monday morning, I want you on it,’ he ordered, and drove off before she c
ould reply. It was almost, Holly decided, as if he was insisting on always having the last word. Decidedly frustrating, almost as frustrating as having to remain here in Port Hedland while Jessica, who needed her, was in Perth and Wade, who apparently didn’t need her at all, was somewhere else. Where?
‘The least he might have done was tell me where he was going,’ she muttered over a third cup of coffee she didn’t really want and subsequently almost spilled when the jangling telephone startled her from her black thoughts.
‘Oh, it’s ... uhm ... Holly, is it?’ asked a brittle, vaguely familiar voice when she answered the phone. ‘I suppose Wade’s already left then?’
Ramona Mason hardly waited for a reply, and seemed almost put out at Holly’s immediate attempt at an explanation. ‘No, there’s no need to leave a message,’ she said somewhat petulantly. Til be seeing him soon enough that it would hardly make any sense. But tell me, dear, what have you heard about your aunt?’ Is everything all right now?’
The tones were so condescending, so smarmily patronising, that Holly had to bite her tongue. So this damned blonde was being kept informed about Jessica’s circumstances, while she had to drag every report out of Wade as if she were pulling teeth. The nerve! But she forced herself to be polite, and gave Ramona the barest details in a voice she hardly recognised as her own. The reply was unexpected, to say the least.
‘Monday? Oh, how perfect,’ Ramona said. ‘I’ll have to be sure and take her in some flowers. And I’m sure Wade ... and you, too, of course, must be pleased. I do hope the news causes some improvement in his temperament; the last few times I’ve seen him, he’s been, oh — but of course you’d know that, wouldn’t you? At any rate, I’ll find out for myself when I see him today.’
Ramona rang off with a hasty farewell, and it wasn’t until she’d put the telephone down that Holly realised the call had been preceded by the bleeps that indicated a long-distance call, dialled direct.
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