Excerpts
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BLADE PUBLISHING.ORG www.bladepublishing.org
Chapter 1
Murder! Not in her wildest dreams had Megan Ducass thought that she’d be
caught up in a hunt for a killer while on holiday through Australia’s Outback.
~
On a sensuous breath, she drew in the hot, moist male scent of his broad bare chest.
“Love me,” she sighed, enticing him with the seductive pressure of her breasts. He captured her chin and tilted her face upward, teasing her parted lips with a kiss of soft fire. Her knees buckled and she slumped against him helplessly...
Meg heard herself moan. Her eyelids fluttered and flew open. In a state of drowsiness, she fought her way out of a net of dreams, trying to focus on where she was. Placing her palms on the Land Cruiser’s seat, she pushed herself up from the slumped position she’d slipped down to and stared out of the window. She swallowed hard. The tall, dark stranger with long raven hair, fiercely tied back at the nape of his neck, was still standing by the petrol pump refuelling his vehicle, an impressive, black, ST Nissan Patrol. Cold reality slid over her, clearing her foggy mind, and with it came the realisation that the heat and gentle pulsating, way below her belly, was sexual stimulation. It struck her like a slap in the face.
Horrified, she glanced up sheepishly at her travelling companions. Had they heard her mumbling? Perhaps not, they were both too busy arguing. Meg drew herself up—was she that confused that a total stranger could bewitch and arouse her in this cruel way?
They pulled out of the service station and snaked their way along the Stuart Highway again. Meg rested back and gazed out of the four-wheel-drive window, but without even being aware of it, she found herself avidly searching for the black Nissan Patrol. Was he behind them again? Her eyes strained to focus on the traffic lining up at the rear but the sleek black Nissan was nowhere to be seen. She stared ahead and focused on the passing scenery, trying to erase the persistent longing to get a glimpse of the man’s vehicle again. But shoving away the thoughts of him wasn’t easy, they remained large and immovable. Why was she looking for him?
Why did he seem so vital to her? What on earth made him so compelling? Someone she didn’t know even existed a few days ago seemed now to consume her. This was the big camping holiday by road around Australia. At first, Meg hadn’t been interested but Jessica and Nat were doing the trip and had asked her to come along.
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LURE OF THE EMERALD PEACOCK
By Romona Hilliger
Published by Champagne Books www.champagnebooks.com
Even bloodied, sweating, and bound in handcuffs, the magnificent Scotsman was a fearsome sight. His arms pulled above his head with a rope and pulley, he braced his riding boots on the floor to ease the sting of his raw and bleeding wrists.
The goonda chief grinned and prodded his prisoner. “Bow to the lady. She is Maharaja Asohk Kumar’s young sister,” he sneered with a grin, knowing that the Scotsman could barely move let alone bow. Discarding his prisoner, the chief rushed to welcome the young woman entering the room and grovelled before her, then, holding the door wide he waited for the Maharaja’s entry.
Through a haze of pain, the Scotsman observed the half-breed girl looking across at him. She hung back a moment, shock imprinted on her face at what she saw, then, took a few steps forward into the full light of the room. Her beauty was beyond anything he’d ever imagined, the delicate eggshell texture of her skin and midnight hair that fell in waves to her waist. And those lips, the colour and sweetness of a pink lady guava, demanding a man taste of them.
The beauty’s eyes travelled salaciously over the expanse of his bare chest along his ribcage to the waistband of his trousers, lingering at the area of his exposed navel and on down below that, where her gaze rested. The tip of her tongue circled her lips to moisten them, her thrusting breasts, breath-taking seduction, rose with the long breath she drew. Despite his pain, the Scotsman’s gut tensed and his blood flared in his veins
The goonda chief and his two burly brutes bowed with folded hands as the Maharaja came tearing in. “Sarkar despite all my efforts, he won’t talk—typical British. Too stubborn for his own good.”
“MacGavin Sahib,” Maharaja Ashok Kumar wailed, charging past the goondas, totally ignoring them. “Oh, sir, this is unpardonable.” He plunged on in obvious distress, “Dina, see what you can do.” Taking a First Aid box from a cringing, liveried servant and handing it to her, he returned to the astounded goondas, berating them.
What she could do? Dina quivered and her stomach clutched in the presence of such overpowering magnificence. Striking in height physique and features Duncan MacGavin also bore a strident reputation. Known to be ruthless in business and tough on those who would cross him, with a strength to be feared and respected. And as it was told in the palace, success, coupled with good looks, had raised the vain hopes of many a woman but to no avail. Duncan MacGavin seemed unconscious of the stir he caused in women. Dina’s heart fluttered. She could think of so many things she could do—wanted to do… she blinked hard, the colour rising to her cheeks at such wanton thoughts, especially…she compressed her lips in pity. Especially, when his handsome face was so wracked in agony.
She stepped closer and raised her eyes to meet his proud gaze. Pain and anger held under ferocious control, glowed in his sapphire-blue eyes. When she touched his powerful body, the impact was fiery and as intimate as a caress.
“I’ll clean up this blood…I won’t hurt you…” her words trembled in compassion, and still clouded in pain, his eyes seemed to lose their ferocity.
He gazed down on her wide eyes—soft cinnamon, fringed with dark lashes. Such tenderness, such kindness kindled in them. He managed a wan smile. Duncan, despite his ordeal, found himself overwhelmed.
“Release him,” the Maharaja snapped.
The goonda chief cowered. “I didn’t know he was your engineer Sahib—”
“The best in his field,” Ashok cut him dead. “A brilliant man. I sent for him all the way from Scotland and see what you’ve done. I should have you publicly flogged for
your impertinence and your treatment of him.” He made a quick advance toward the Scotsman, now being released. “My God, MacGavin Sahib I apologise. This oaf—” He got no further; Duncan, ripped his wrists from the gaping handcuffs. In a bound the goonda chief suffered Duncan’s riding boot to his stomach. The man hunched over vomiting, then found his throat clamped in Duncan’s great palms. The goonda chief gurgled and squirmed on the floor with Duncan’s knee digging into his chest.
“MacGavin Sahib, no,” the Maharaja pleaded, but to no avail. He signalled his commander and the two burly brutes. It took the three of them to wrench Duncan from his prey. He let go, shrugged them off, and stood up. His face resembled a thundercloud and Dina shivered. Such power, such hate unleashed in a single action; it made her head spin.
Duncan reached for his shirt. “So, what the hell is this about anyway?” he demanded.
The Maharaja’s eyes darted from the strapping Scotsman to the goonda and back. “A mistake, that’s all.”
“Not good enough,” Duncan snapped. “I want an explanation.”
With a sheepish smile, the Maharaja tried to placate the Scotsman. “Duncan MacGavin Sahib, meet my adopted sister, Dina Pearce. Allow her to tend your wounds. She is skilled in First Aid. When I heard of this outrage, I brought my own family member to assist you.”
A nod in Dina’s direction. ‘Miss Pearce,” Duncan acknowledged in polite reserve. Petite and beautiful, the tender young creature barely skimmed the height of his chest. And if he so chose, so easy to drag her beneath him and take her with passion. Do things to thrill the living daylights out of her. “She has already been most kind,” he recognised, instead. That gentle look in her eyes and the sweetness of her touch as she’d tended his wounds had sparked something special between them, but at this point, with the anger he bore the Maharaja, he barely felt civilised. He swung his attention back to the Maharaja. “Now. Your explanation sir,” he demanded. And lifting one panel of his shirt, he wiped the jagged run of a knife’s tip along his side. “Well?”
The Maharaja knew he had little choice. “It was meant to be someone else. An Anglo-Indian who worked for me. Stole a big quantity of money and jewellery.” A vicious look crossed the Maharaja’s face. “He had to be taught a lesson and—”
“And this great dolt thought I was him,” Duncan cut him off. “Right. I’ll be at the work site, Your Highness. Meet me there, we have much to discuss, like my further involvement in your project.” A courteous smile at Dina and he strode to the door.
“Who knows what else I can expect,” he threw over his shoulder and was gone.
“You see, you jackal, he’s so angry he’s going to abandon the project and I can’t have that. I need The Grand Entertainment Palace finished for the big durbar I’m giving in honour of the outgoing British Commissioner. Now look what you’ve done? Trust you to get the wrong man.”
“My money…” the goonda chief begged.
“You didn’t fulfil your contract. You get nothing.”
Dina stared astounded. She’d heard of the spate of kidnappings. Rich Muslims and unsuspecting Britishers known to be affluent. All held to ransom. “Well, Ashok,
when you asked me to come and help a friend of yours, I had no idea it would be something like this.”
“Don’t concern yourself, girl. It’s nothing for women to know about. Now go back to the palace.”
She slammed her way out of the small house on the outskirts of Khadampur. The chauffer held the door open. She stepped into the back seat of the Mercedes and while she was being driven back, she wondered if Ashok was also involved in these kidnappings? It wouldn’t surprise her if he were. But more than that, the Scotsman loomed in her mind and all her unpleasant thoughts disappeared. A tender smile brushed with desire, touched her lips. So, this was the Chief Construction Engineer. All the way from Scotland to take charge of what was known as the ruler’s ultimate dream—T he Entertainment Palace. Women swept off their feet at a glance, at a mere touch of his hand. She’d heard the royal young ladies at the palace parties giggle and swoon with hope.
A shiver of carnal pleasures coursed through her. With flaming cheeks she thrust them aside, wondering why such thoughts were invading her mind, and for a stranger too. But Dina sensed in her heart, it was more than sex or pity for the brutality he’d endured. No. Something special had been switched on between them. She saw it in his eyes and instantly knew he’d seen the same reflected in hers. Pity she’d never met him before, but as kismet always decreed. Only at the appointed time.
So, unaware of the stir he caused in women, she pondered, or maybe he hadn’t looked upon the right one yet. Those secret erotic things that tortured a woman’s fantasies… the kind of heat and passion she hungered to taste. Apart from the lack of opportunity afforded young women at the palace, none of the men she’d met so far had measured up for such encounters. But now, as if kismet knew her secret desires and was extending a personal invitation to the perfect opportunity, with the only man capable. Duncan MacGavin.
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THE SOLDIER'S GIRL
Romona Hilliger
Published by Champagne Books www.champagnebooks.com
“All those years ago, Frank became restless after you left. That’s why he joined the army. Did he ever tell you? He wanted to serve his country. Do something worthwhile. Like you. You two always stuck up for each other—” she broke off, and the piteous way she’d strung all those sentences together, brought Bryce close to breaking his resolve to let her go from his life.
“You were precious to us too. Five years younger, we always looked out for you.”
Precious? A moment of hope soared in her heart then it came crashing down again, like a dying man in a desert who thinks he’s seen water. No. It wasn’t the ‘precious’ she yearned for. “How could I forget?” she said, brushing aside her disappointment. “The way you sailed into that big Buckley boy who tried to grab me at the high school party…”
Bryce’s arms ached at his sides, he was hardly able to restrain his desire to drag her into his embrace, press her to his heart and hold her there. Her gaze fused with his and he was on a collision of guilt and desire. “I couldn’t stand anyone else even touching you,” he said, his voice unusually rough.
“Those were good days,” Kate smiled, pretending she didn’t care. “Along with the other kids we’d all go swimming and fishing together and those football games we’d cheer you and Frank on until we were hoarse.”
His presence was elating her and she felt the stir of stimulation, a gentle pulse within the sensitive part below her belly, so heady and warm. She cast her eyes down. She had to refrain from the bittersweet pleasure of brushing against him, as he stood not two feet away. “Bryce, I loved you even then. Didn’t you know?” she said, her eyes slowly lifting to meet his, and in their bleakness, she saw his bared soul. It made her want to cry.
Bryce bit on his bottom lip. Lying to her would solve nothing. He might just as well tell her the truth.
“I loved you Kate, I still do.”
Kate snapped her glance away. “Got a funny way of showing it,” she said, brusquely. She knew if she didn’t, her voice would tremble and he’d know how she was hurting. She didn’t want that. She kept working, harder than she needed to, her fingers flying and finally, the last few inches of gold cord were set in place and knotted.
“Take it and go. Frank's plane will be landing soon,” she said, thrusting the banner rudely at him as though she couldn’t wait for him to be gone. But oh, God, she ached for him to hold her, even just to touch her—but the mere brush of his fingers against hers, as he took the banner, made her shiver, and that would have to suffice.
“Kate,” he pleaded. “Try to be happy.”
A frown marred her smooth forehead and she snapped. “Happy? Did I hear you say ‘happy’?”
He set the banner aside and reached out. With a firm grip of her shoulders he pulled her forward and lifted her chin up to his face. He had no desire to inflict more wounds on her. Breaking up something that hadn’t even had a chance to begin—it was already tearing them both apart. “Katie, I’ve told you my darling, how things are…”
She twisted and jerked, trying to break away from those steel-like fingers. “How dare you call me Katie, as if you still cared, and don’t call me darling either, you don’t love me. You never did. That’s why you went away the first time, ten years go and barely kept in touch.”
“I came back during holidays.”
“Not always.”
“We had some good times…”
“Good times? Yes, until you went to America, and then… then just silence… I never heard from you Bryce…” she sobbed. “I waited for you for so long…”
“You know why I couldn’t keep contact.”
Kate used the heel of her palm to swipe the hot tears that stung her eyes. “Too much to do, you had to study too hard, what else?” Her jealous rage blazed her to fury. “Another girl?” Her eyes flared as the words ripped from her soul. “A sweet American chick?”
She was beautiful in her rage and it made his gut tighten, his pulse quicken, destroying the very fibre of his resolve. “For God’s sake, you know better than that.”
“Then why didn’t you ever tell me, ask me to wait, anything to show you cared? “
“Kate! We’ve been through all that, last night.”
“So, we’ll go though it again.”
“Oh, Kate, I did tell you. I told you, long ago. I loved you, but my career would not take the stress of a marriage.” The silence was electric as she heard again, the words she’d hoped would wear thin over time and he’d realise that it was her who mattered more than his career. But she was wrong. His voice grew low and gentle. “Once I left here, Kate, I left everything behind.”
He heard the little choke in her throat and it tore him apart. He stood motionless, until the hollow sensation he felt in his chest made him draw a deep breath. “Kate…” he sighed, his gaze deep and penetrating but she swung away
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DANGEROUS DESIRE
By Romona Hilliger
Published by Champagne Books http://www.champagnebooks.com
The sight of Jamie was having a devastating effect on her and she knew it was all wrong. She was married, she’d told herself that, hundreds of times trying to make herself believe it, but she knew deep in her heart the marriage was all but over, save in name only. And Jamie was her teacher. He had his girlfriend and even if those things didn’t exist, she was seven years older than he was and she couldn’t let this go on. The tough knocks she’d had since she was fifteen should have taught her a lesson. Her stern father. The young man of seventeen whose hungry eyes followed her everywhere. She’d thought it meant love but it had meant pain and betrayal just as she was discovering with Keith. Learn from it, Amy. Don’t let it all happen again.
“It was my fault, so just forget it,” she said, more harshly than she’d intended to. “I shouldn’t have persisted. Anyway, it’s not important,” she said, and tossed her head. Putting on a show of being blasé and sophisticated about it. “You needn’t have come here to my office. The classroom would have done just as well and it’s only a couple of hours away until then,” she went on, glad she’d managed to sound terse enough to be believable. She saw it in his eyes and God help her, it tore her apart.
Jamie stood and in one action, pushed the chair back. The problem now was what he was going to do about his feelings for Amy. If he was smart, he’d just accept her rejection and to hell with the whole damn business. He knew better than to keep swimming in his emotions. Since he’d lost his family and his first love, he’d never let anyone come near him. Pushed people away. He didn’t need anyone and while the times he’d spent with Mannie were, for the most part, pretty good, even affectionate, they were hardly anything that could be construed as love. And now in these few short months, here he was, allowing himself to be trapped, his heart taken hostage and led into the one thing he’d been avoiding. Love! Yes. He’d be smart.
Tall and overpowering, Jamie was a commanding figure and there was nothing that Amy could do to still the crazy fluttering in her heart or quell the wanton, erotic desires he always seemed to awaken in her. With just the expanse of her desk between them, she could have reached out and touched him, but right now, he captured her gaze and hard, dark and cold eyes locked on her. His voice was calm, dangerously calm.
“Right. Sorry I bothered you. I’ll know for next time, though I doubt there ever will be one,” he said, his words ripping through her like a sword, wounding her to the quick. “I’ll see you in class,” he finished, brusquely.
She watched him turn his back on her and stalk out of the office and she knew, even the heat of the sun would never be enough to save her from his chill.
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Complimentary first chapter per kind favour of the publisher. ROMANCE AT HEART PUBLICATIONS http://www.rahpubs.com/
A SHADOW FROM HIS PAST.
Romona Hilliger
‘Don’t even think about it!’
Jodie Marshall whirled at the sound of the strong clear voice and faced a man astride a great chestnut stallion. He rode out from the surrounding bush, his dog keeping pace at his side. A hermit-like eccentric, the woman at the shop had said of the naturalist who operated the only animal shelter in the area. Rarely seen in town, he would cause quite a sensation whenever he appeared and set tongues wagging. But nothing she’d heard had prepared her for this. Her breath locked in her throat as she watched the rider approach.
His features were striking and strong. He wore nothing but shorts, was even barefooted, and had a heavy fall of long raven hair that reached well below his shoulders. A film of perspiration shimmered on his bronzed powerful limbs and broad bare chest, all hard muscle beneath a light shadowing of hair.
‘Pushing open a strange man’s back door can be dangerous. Don’t you know what I could do to you?’ he said, assessing the intruder. Her snugly fitting shorts, tapering legs, and explicit lines of her breasts thrusting against the soft material of a T-shirt brought a sweet, subtle surge of stimulation.
Dumb-founded, Jodie stood glued to the ground. Her first day in Australia's Northern Territory and, by sheer instinct, she knew it was one she wasn’t going to forget.
‘It was already ajar, I called out—there was no answer...’ she faltered, as shock slowly slipped into fear.
Dismounting, he stood by the horse, his eyes riveted on hers. He reached to touch the dog’s head. ‘Stay, Gus,’ he commanded, bringing the animal to instant obedience.
‘People come looking for me for only one reason, and they phone first, so why have you intruded on me? Didn’t you see the notice at the gate?’ he demanded, not tremendously impressed with what he was sure was an attempted subterfuge.
Jodie had seen a notice and now wished she’d read it more thoroughly. But expecting a friendlier welcome than this, she’d just come bicycling in. She eyed the man stalking toward her, slowly closing the distance between them. Six-foot-four undoubtedly, a commanding figure, and at least ten years her senior, he had lines of experience on that handsome face confirming his maturity.
She looked up, way up. Steel-grey eyes under dark eyebrows were coldly magnetic. And, though the coldness she saw there chilled her, she met his gaze steadily. He looked stern and forbidding. Despite the injured bird in her bicycle basket, Jodie decided she wouldn't hang about to find out what sort of ‘eccentric’ this man was likely to be. Edging back a step on the verge of panicked flight, she stammered, ‘Well... I’ll... I’ll be off—’ but in a lunge he snared her wrist and pulled her to him.
‘Not so fast!’ he cut in.
Outraged at her ignominious and powerless position, Jodie exploded in fury. She tore at his steel-like fingers. ‘How dare you —!’
‘Oh, but I do,’ he hissed. ‘I’ve had trouble with a bunch of young holiday campers who broke in and terrorized the wildlife so unless you can convince me otherwise, I’ll assume that you’re one of them. Why are you snooping around?’
Realizing he was making no move to release her, Jodie’s fear edged forward to dread. ‘I am not one of your campers!’ she lashed out. ‘I'm trying to find the man who runs an animal shelter, for God’s sake!’
His eyes searched hers. There was a ring of truth in her voice and the clean, fresh fragrance of that mop of wild auburn curls sailing by his nostrils was hardly synonymous with the little troublemakers he envisaged. He released his grip and she swung away to face him, rebuke poised on her lips, but he got there first.
‘I’m the one you’re looking for and I take it pretty personally when it comes to harassing wildlife,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I apologize.’
‘And so you damn well should!’
The naturalist eyed her with a touch of amusement. Barely out of her teens, if anything, and so full of cheek.
She cocked her head to one side and unleashed her outrage. ‘Is this what visiting young women can expect from men in these parts? Get your kicks this way?’
He'd seen blue eyes before, but none quite as lovely as these. A deep corn-flower and blazing in anger, they made his pulse quicken and his gut tighten. But that refined accent and cultured manner smacked of only one thing. Class. Breeding. He knew the sort. He'd tangled with her kind once before and the consequences still haunted him. Softly alluring though she was, he certainly had no intention of conceding to her whims. He snorted with derision.
‘I don’t know about other men, but as far as I’m concerned I wouldn’t flatter myself if I were you.’ His bearing grew stiff, distant, and hostile. 'Look lady, I've apologized for my lapse in manners, and I think I’ve humored you enough, so, if you have an injured animal let me have it or please leave.’ Hands on his hips, he waited for her to comply.
‘Bird!’ she corrected, with a withering look. ‘Tell me, are you just naturally rude? Or do you work at it?’
A sardonic smile touched his hard mouth. ‘Your directness is admirable, but think what you like. I'm not concerned about your opinion of me,’ he said, and, leaving Jodie barely a moment to bristle at his terse remark, he walked the few paces to a clothesline and un-pegged a shirt. Shucking into the sleeves of the garment, but leaving it hanging casually out of his shorts and unbuttoned, he proceeded to roll the sleeves, fold over fold, until they came to rest on the edge of his biceps. Retracing his steps, he asked in a more civil tone, ‘Now, where is the injured bird?’
Jodie jerked with the sudden familiar stab of pain in her knee. With a quick massage of thumb and forefinger, she stepped lightly, favoring her good leg to protect the old injury. She made her way to the far end of the house where she'd parked the hired bicycle from Blue Springs. She stopped and indicated the basket on the handlebars. ‘In here.
Looks like a stork of some sort—black and white plumage and brilliant scarlet legs.’ She pushed aside the rumpled hand towel in the basket to reveal its contents. The stork with
its long legs tucked under it struggled to get out. She held it still with one hand, while clasping her knee with the other. That rough bush track had played havoc with it, she realized, gently massaging the affected area.
The naturalist came up behind her and peered into the basket. ‘Come on, little fella, let’s have a look at you,’ he said, in a tone that amazed Jodie. He seemed hardly capable of such tenderness.
‘This is a Black-neck stork, or Jabiru. Australia’s native stork...’ he said absently, and picked up the basket. ‘We'll get him comfortable at the shelter and find out what's wrong.’
‘Fella? Him? How do you know it’s a boy?’
‘Black eyes; the female has yellow eyes.’
‘Well, you seem to know your stuff,’ she conceded, grudgingly.
A smile creased the corner of his mouth. ‘I should hope so,’ he replied, with a trace of sarcasm. ‘I also have a license to care for injured wildlife and release them into the wild, in case you’re concerned.’
‘Well, even if you didn’t, I have nowhere else to leave the poor thing,’ Jodie shrugged.
The dark brows drew together as he regarded her closely. ‘Next time, please phone first. That way if I’m not here, the call can be transferred to someone else who can take care of the animal or bird,’ he said, his tone implying a reprimand.
Jodie felt chastened. ‘Well, I’ll remember that,’ she returned, fully aware that a repeat of anything like this would be highly unlikely. ‘Regarding the... the jabiru, if you need to contact me, I'm Jodie Marshall. I'm staying at The Summer House and I have a holiday job with John Steele. The man who owns the fishing and sightseeing tours.’
The Summer House. Well he hadn't been wrong about her. It was the fancy new place especially constructed for the rising number of affluent visitors seeking a taste of bush-life—in opulent style, of course. But what was she doing working for John? He pushed his hair from his face and held it back in his fist. From his pocket, he drew out a length of a fine leather thong. In a flash, he’d bound the unruly mass at the nape of his neck bringing the clear lines of his face into view.
Jodie recovered from the shock of the sudden revelation taking place before her eyes, only to be followed by another.
‘I’m Brad Steele, John's older brother,’ he announced.
John's brother! She almost choked. In staggering contrast to the mild, blond John, Brad's darkly sensual good looks were the stuff of a woman’s ultimate fantasy. Brad took the basket off the handlebars.
‘I’d like to come with you—get some idea of the stork’s injury,’ she said.
He eyed her briefly, debating the idea. ‘Well, through there to the shelter, if you want to follow me,’ he said, nodding in the direction of another fence a few meters away.
‘Leave your bike here,’ he added, and kept walking, wondering why she was using a bicycle at all; the track was rutted and rough. Besides, John had said The Summer House provided complimentary use of 4-wheel-drive vehicles for its guests.
A short, piercing whistle had Jodie shooting out of her skin. Brad had summoned his
horse. She watched as Flame trotted up from where he’d moved off to graze. Taking hold of the reins, Brad gave the great animal a few strokes along the neck while it nuzzled him. He put down the basket, removed the saddle from the horse's back, and tossed it over a fence-rail.
‘Go on Flame, you beat it to the paddock, mate,’ he urged, with the smack of a cupped hand on its rump, the cracking sound magnified in the quiet of the bush. The horse needed nothing more to send it galloping into the fenced-off area across the dirt road. ‘Good boy,’ he called, watching until the animal had cantered away to the grassy, lightly wooded slopes, quite obviously in high spirits. He shut the security gate and started back.
Jodie picked up the basket and casually scanned her surrounds. The long low brick house wasn't too different from the usual tropical style of the north timber houses elevated on piers. This had the same sheet metal roof, but built at ground level. French windows, encompassing the house, opened to capture every drift of breeze. Sprays of bougainvillea in rust and white edging the wrought-iron arches rivaled the blatant colors of other tropical flora, so unlike the gentle blooms she’d been used to in England.
Everything was neatly maintained, the lawn and gravel pathways, even a small vegetable patch. Self-sufficient, no doubt.
‘That’s a fine chestnut stallion you have,’ she commented, as he walked up.
‘He is. Unfortunately, Flame had a previous owner who neglected him, so I bought
him for two hundred dollars and a bottle of whiskey. I got the blue-heeler thrown in for free.’
‘Well, he seems happy now,’ she said, taking in the dog lying stretched out comfortably on the veranda.
Jodie followed Brad to the fence where he unlatched the gate and let her through.
They were in the paddock he’d reserved for the shelter. A short expanse of eucalyptus trees and small palms with scorched blackened trunks lay before them, and recuperating kangaroos roamed freely beneath. She made her way slowly, ahead of Brad, still favoring her bad knee. But now it wasn’t just her knee, but her head. It throbbed like a trip-hammer.
The intense heat wasn’t something she was used to. She’d been feeling under par ever since her arrival. They threaded their way along the dirt track, their footfalls
leaving imprints in the damp soil. ‘I’d love to ride Flame sometime,’ she said. ‘When I was a small child, my father owned a stud farm just out of Sydney. I loved the racehorses he bred and trained, but I loved riding the mare he’d given me more.’
Brad had drawn level with her by now and threw her a sidelong glance. ‘You lived in Australia?’ he asked, somewhat surprised.
‘I was born here. But when I was just five years old my father, an Englishman,
decided to sell up and return to England.
‘Anyway,’ she said cheerily, ‘I’ve fulfilled a cherished dream—a yearning to visit the
land of my birth.’
‘That makes you an Aussie. True Blue.’
She smiled in his direction. ‘Dinki Di,’ she added, catching a softening of his hard features at her use of the colloquial expression. ‘Or, at least, I should be, but Dad officially changed the rest of us to British.’
He smiled at that, and it spurred her on to loosen up. ‘Would you mind if I rode Flame?’ she ventured, once more.
‘Sorry. He’s suspicious of strangers, so nobody rides him but me.’
What did he mean by ‘nobody’? He seemed to be alone—there wasn’t anybody else here that she could see and, now that he seemed less confrontational since discovering she wasn’t one of the miscreants he’d spoken of, Jodie let herself relax further. ‘Does someone else live here?’ she asked, wondering if there was a woman who went with this wilderness lifestyle. There was that washing on the clothesline. Bed linen and towels, all crisp and clean, hinted to the presence of one.
‘No, just me, but my brother comes sometimes when he wants to have a beer and a discussion of some sort,’ he said, with undisguised affection. ‘Tony, the general help at the shelter, comes daily, and then there's the veterinarian who drives out from Blue Springs once a week and gives his time free of charge.’
‘So, apart from them, does everyone else have to phone? Even visitors?’
‘I don't have visitors. I prefer my own company. People in these parts know I value my privacy.’
‘And along comes me,’ she said, flippantly. ‘Mr. Steele, I don’t usually go around opening people’s doors, so I apologize.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Accepted, Miss Marshall. Perhaps you've heard in town, some folk even refer to me as reclusive and eccentric.’
‘Well, that’s your business,’ she said, recalling the lady at the shop and the gossip she was hell-bent on passing on to newcomers. She’d even told Jodie that the remote, vast Outback of the Northern Territory was a haven for eccentrics and fugitives from all over the southern states. Men fleeing from one thing or another: law, debts, a nagging wife, or even a love affair gone wrong.
Jodie tried to figure out the tall, impressive, and barefooted stranger now striding a step ahead of her and wondered what category he fit into. And value his privacy? Well, for one thing, if he could ride his horse practically naked, he certainly would.
A large building came quite unexpectedly into view as they approached, its brick walls colored a leaf-green, blending it in with the bush. ‘How do you know it was campers who broke in?’ she asked.
‘Tony was here, he just caught sight of them piling into a car and driving away at top speed.’
‘They didn't hurt the animals, did they?’
Touched by her concern, Brad turned toward her and caught the gentleness in her face. ‘No. Or I would have gone to the police. They just let them out from their holding pens. It’s school holiday time, and some kids are just looking for fun.’
‘But all the way out here?’ Jodie’s tone rose, ‘why, unless you come right up, you can’t see the place from the bush track, let alone the main road. I mean, had I not been told to look for a beer can hanging on a branch to mark the track where you live, I’d have
had trouble finding the place.’
‘Well, obviously, somebody did,’ he said.
Something else the woman at the shop had divulged crept into Jodie’s mind. When the naturalist had arrived some twelve years before and bought five square kilometers of rough bush-land, and paid cash, there had been much speculation. It was known that,
before he arrived, he’d amassed quite a little fortune, but nobody knew how and probably never would. Brad Steele remained an enigma for the little town of Blue Springs.
They arrived at the building and Brad paced ahead. He sprinted up the steps to unlock the door, but Jodie fell behind. She stood frozen, not from the knife-like jab stressing her knee or the thrumming in her head, but the scathing message scrawled across a bulletin board that hung by the door.
YOU DESERVE WHAT YOU GET
Left by the pranksters? It probably had been, but Brad stood there right by the board and seemed totally indifferent to the vicious words. Maybe he preferred not to offer any explanation. Well, he owed her none. He turned, unlocked the door, and entered the building. After leaving the basket inside, he stepped out again. ‘This way, Miss Marshall,’ he said, expecting her to come straight up.
Jodie flicked another glance at the board. Perhaps the whole thing was a kind of ‘getting even’ for his terse and aloof attitude, but why would anyone bother if they already knew what he was like?
Deftly, she stepped over a large muddy puddle left by the previous night’s rain, but got no further. She swayed as giddiness swept through her. Was it the heavy pace of
travel that was catching up? She crumpled, pawing the air for support.
‘My knee, Oh... Oooh! God, my head it...’ her sentence trailed, and embarrassment swept through her last conscious moment before blackness took over, throwing her down straight into the puddle.
Brad made a dash down the steps to grab her. Knee? Head? Which was it? What on earth was wrong with the girl?
‘Miss Marshall, wake up!’ He slapped lightly at her cheeks in an attempt to revive her.
‘Wake up! Miss Marshall, open your eyes...’
Jodie’s eyelashes fluttered. She heard herself moan, and, when she was finally able to focus her gaze, it seemed like she’d been passed out for ages. A fuzziness lurked at the corners of her eyes, but a gentle strength supported her. She was in Brad’s arms.
‘Uh... ’ a moan rose from her throat and, lost in a daze, she slowly forced her way back to reality. She looked up, straight into Brad Steele’s eyes.
‘Wha...?’
‘It’s okay,’ he cut in. ‘Your legs just gave way. And your knee, does it hurt?’ His husky tone, almost caressing, diminished her fear, but darkness slid over her again. Once more, after what seemed like ages, she returned to consciousness to find Brad’s concerned face hovering over hers.
‘I’ll get you back to my place,’ he said, sweeping her up into his arms.
‘I’ll walk,’ she muttered, and he laughed.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I’m strong enough,’ he countered with a hint of attempted levity at the strange turn of events.
The next thing Jodie knew, she was being carried through a lounge room and into a bedroom. He laid her across a bed and she sighed at its comfort.
‘I’ll get a bandage or cold compress for your knee.’
Feeling a fool at all the fuss she was causing, she tried to explain. ‘It’s just an old...
bicycling injury. …pain never lasts long; it’s on the mend. I think I’m just all washed out with traveling and very little sleep,’ she added, effecting nonchalance, but she didn’t fool Brad.
There was a dazed look in her eyes, and it worried him. He placed his palm across her forehead. ‘Seems to me it’s a bit more than that,’ he said, noting the exhaustion and stress showing on her stricken face. ‘I think you have a touch of the sun. Just hold on a minute,’ he added, and left the room. Minutes later, he returned with a First Aid box and a glass of water. Wordlessly, he set them down on the table beside her. He opened the
box and took out some tablets.
Jodie lifted her hand to check the reason for her forehead’s smarting.
‘...Scraped. Probably when you fell,’ he muttered, and took her hand, resting it palm up
in his.
‘I’ll take care of it,’ he added, still holding her hand. She closed her eyes and might have allowed herself to indulge in the exciting feeling of that warm and strong hand, but a wad of cotton, dabbed with alcohol, touched the graze.
‘Ouch!’ Her eyelids flew open at the stinging and met steel-grey eyes focused on measuring the extent of her reaction.
He blew on the wound to cool it. ‘There, that should fix it.’ He handed her some tablets and the glass of water. ‘Are you okay with analgesics?’
She nodded, rose shakily to her elbow, but flopped helplessly back to the pillow.
Brad sat on the edge of the bed and eased in behind her. With his arm draped over her
shoulders, he helped her to a sitting position and brought her head to rest against his chest. He picked up the glass of iced water and raised it to her lips.
Jodie reached for the glass, but he kept holding it and she took a sip. She marveled at the sensitivity with which he tended her; it was so at odds with his earlier brusque
attitude. Still cradled in his arms, she could feel and hear him breathe and it was impossible not to be stirred by the sensuousness of the moist male scent of his chest. She trembled against him, held like a captive in the smoldering embrace of a lover, but fever
and weakness allowed little room for sensations other than sheer fatigue.
‘The tablets will make you feel better,’ he said, helping her lie back again. He returned the glass to the table and watched until her light breathing told him she was asleep.
* * * *
Pink streaks of daybreak tinted the sky, nudging away the purple remnants of the night before. It took a moment for Jodie to wake up fully and adjust to her whereabouts.
Clearing the cobweb of dreams from her mind, she drew a breath that brought a faint male scent—it was from the pillow. She rose on one elbow, then sat bolt upright.
Realization slowly emerged. ‘Oh, hell’s fury...’ Jodie made the throaty imprecation in horror. She was lying in a king-size bed, and it wasn’t hers. She took in the expensive
dark green and maroon candlewick bedspread neatly draped over the foot of the bed and observed a shirt lying across a chair. She scrambled to get up, but sank back to the pillows just as fast. Though she seemed rid of the headache and fever, she still felt weak
and the best thing to do was to lie there for a little while longer. She relaxed and let her eyes roam the room appraising it. Mud-spattered boots lay by the far French window. At least, a size eleven. Extraordinary! Something compelled her eyes to the clothesline, and she drew a sharp breath through half-parted lips. Gone were the sheets and towels, and, there, fluttering in the cool morning air, were her clothes—right down to her lacy bikini underwear, all washed and hung out to dry. And she? Tearing at the sheet she shot a glance under it—naked! Clad only in one of his shirts.
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