Dance with the Devil Page 8

  Passion exploded, engulfed them. His shorts were a barrier quickly removed. She dragged her lips from his, bit lightly into his shoulder, ran her tongue over his skin. Tasted the salt of his sweat, the lingering scent of soap. She wanted to devour him. Take him inside her, fill her womb with his heat. He leaned over her, poised, and asked a question with eyes that blazed like blue flame.

  Her reply was to reach down and guide him into her, arching up as she did so.

  The relief was immediate.

  Drew thrust deep, filled her, assuaged the ache.

  For a moment.

  She needed more.

  Emma's hands roamed his body, feeling, savouring, pulling him into her with a fierce intensity.

  On elbows and knees he cocooned her, rubbing his chest against her breasts, feeling all the contours of her body with his, her pebble-hard nipples, the velvet skin of her stomach, the soft curls cushioning the urgency of his thrusts.

  Heat rushed through Emma's body. A little moan of urgency caught in her throat.

  Shadows flickered across Drew's face, played in the hollows of his cheeks. Ruffled hair lent a wildness to his desire-filled features. Emma reached up, brought his head back to hers, kissed him hard, deep.

  She loved the taste of him, couldn't get enough. Needed him deeper, harder. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him into her womb. A quivering started between her legs, built and built, devouring her until she screamed a soundless cry.

  The orgasm shook through her body, rippled and rippled. Then Drew swelled within her, groaning as he spasmed, and set off an echoing reaction in her.

  He collapsed across her. She tried to raise her hands to hold him close, but they refused to move. Her body was mush. And so was her mind.

  She lay there, exhausted, pleasure rippling gently through her as Drew moved slightly. Sleep grabbed her. She tried to fight it, but her body won.

  Emma came awake suddenly. Drew's weight pinned her to the bed. His eyes were closed in sleep, but one hand moved absently, caressing her face.

  She wriggled. He was still inside her. Soft, but definitely there. Instinctively she tightened her muscles, felt the answering reaction. She wanted to move, stir him into wakefulness, tease and torment him into again giving her the greatest sexual and emotional pleasure she had known, but she ignored her body's craving. Ignored the ache in her heart which would have begged for his arms to enfold her; ignored her hunger for the love missing from her life.

  Gently, she rolled Drew onto his side and slipped off the bed. The loss of his warmth was like a physical blow. She plunged her arms into her robe and wrapped the sash tightly.

  'Emma?' The puzzlement in Drew's voice echoed in his eyes. He swung his legs off the bed and sat there, looking at her.

  Her heart lurched. Sleep-tousled and perplexed, he looked strangely vulnerable. Perhaps even as vulnerable as she felt.

  She twisted the sash, pulling it tighter. 'I'm sorry. What I did was unforgivable.'

  Shock registered in his eyes at her words.

  'What?'

  She'd used him. Taken advantage of the desire she knew flowed between them. Taken the comfort and caring he'd offered when she knew she could offer him nothing in return.

  'I'm a doctor! What I did was incredibly stupid!'

  'I thought what we did was incredibly wonderful!'

  She couldn't let him think that what had happened was any more than a release of the tension caused by the terrible stresses they had both recently endured. And she knew nothing of his medical history, could only hope he normally practised safe sex.

  'But, Drew…we're like…like people who've been living in a war zone.'

  Drew kept silent. Impatience, and a dark anger, simmered in his eyes.

  'Their lives are at risk. For days, months, they live with the knowledge that any second they could be killed. It creates tension. Terrible tension. And loneliness.'

  She walked over to the lamp, turned up the wick, hoping the brighter light would dispel the attraction of Drew's naked body. Her very nerve-endings craved him, but she clung onto the remnants of her willpower, pushed the yearning aside.

  'Sometimes that tension and loneliness reaches a level where it needs a release. Well,' she gestured with open palms, 'you can see how that's happened between us. With what you've been through - and I've had a lot to deal with myself - well, you can see how it's happened.'

  Drew stood up. 'That's not how it's happened, Emma, and you know it.' The anger was still there in his eyes, but an incredulous hurt lingered as well. Emma felt it pierce her heart. 'And I'm sorry I didn't use protection. I don't have any health problems, but what if you're pregnant?'

  Pregnant! The thought hadn't occurred to her. She'd been too busy trying to rationalise what had happened, trying to deny to herself the feelings Drew had aroused in her, to think of that aspect. Now she really did feel incredibly stupid.

  What if she were pregnant? By the time the river went down, it would be too late to drive into town and get the 'morning-after' pill. She half-turned away from him, and touched the travel photo frame on her dresser. Her fingers trembled.

  'Would you want me to have an abortion?'

  'No!' The sound was savage and raw as though it had been torn from his throat.

  Emma let out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding.

  'Would you…Would you want to?' The hesitancy in his voice made her turn towards him. He stood only a metre from her, sinews and muscles tense and outlined.

  She shook her head. 'No. All life is precious.'

  His sigh of relief touched a chord in her that she tried swiftly to quash, but it was too late. He had seen the joy in her eyes. He moved to take her in his arms, but she pressed her hands against his chest and held him at arms' length, ignoring the wonderful feel of his hard muscles beneath warm skin.

  'It was my doing, my fault. You don't have to feel in any way responsible.'

  If Emma thought she'd seen Drew angry before, the change in him now made her reassess that assumption. She'd never thought eyes could express ice-cold anger and white-hot fury at the same time, but the full force of Drew's feelings shocked her speechless.

  He grabbed her shoulders and bent down so his face almost touched hers.

  'Listen, lady. No-one makes love by themselves. As far as I was concerned, I was as much a willing participant as you.' His voice softened, but the edge of steel it contained stunned her as much as his anger. 'And please note I said, making love. Not releasing my tension by using your body.'

  His hands slid up to her neck and cupped her face. 'I happen to care very deeply about you, Emma Randall. And if you are pregnant I will fight you in the courts if I have to, to be involved in our child's life.'

  Then he kissed her with barely controlled ferocity. Her blood leapt, her body dissolved into a great heart-pounding yearning. Her mind simply ceased to function.

  Just before her hands began to move, to reach up and pull him into her embrace, he tore away from her and walked out as quickly as his injuries would allow him.

  Drew couldn't believe what Emma had said. What to him was one of the most astounding moments of his life had obviously not ranked as highly with her. Hell, it wasn't just sex - or if it was, it was the best damn sex he'd ever experienced.

  Oh, there was attraction there all right. She couldn't disguise that. But he'd thought, no, he'd hoped, there was a lot more. He knew he wasn't wrong about what had passed between them after the birth.

  What the hell had happened to her to make her want to pretend otherwise?

  His emotional frustration was almost as painful as the physical had been. From the beginning he had wanted her. Even in sleep, without knowing her, his body had reacted to hers on a basic, primitive level. He had recognised the attraction, the need, even before his emotions and intellect had confirmed it. And making love with her, fierce and intense though it had been, had affected him like nothing else ever had.

  He warmed up the food again, spoone
d it onto a plate, picked up a knife and fork and returned to Emma's bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, arms clasped around drawn up knees. She looked up as he approached, but didn't speak.

  Drew put the plate on the dresser, then picked up his shorts. His nakedness didn't bother him - it would be a charade to pretend otherwise after what had just occurred. He was about to say something to Emma, try to sort out why she had reacted the way she did, but he hesitated when he saw her exhaustion, the confusion in her eyes.

  He left the room.

  An hour later, Drew gave up trying to get to sleep. He'd eaten, made sure the doors were locked, the rifle handy, and gone to bed. He'd heard Emma take her plate back to the kitchen, then silence.

  He swung out of bed, ignored the pain in his leg and walked to the hallway. Light from the kero lamp illuminated the living room. As he walked closer, he saw Emma's leg dangling over the side of a lounge chair. A medical magazine lay on the floor, an inch from one limp hand. Her lips were slightly parted, her nightgown-clad body sprawled in sleep.

  As he gazed down at her, Drew felt a surge of protectiveness. He'd once thought he knew what love was, but now he realised that what this woman did to him was beyond anything he had ever encountered.

  He turned the lamp off and waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then he bent down and picked Emma up. She murmured in sleep and settled against his chest. At her bedroom door, he hesitated. It would be the right thing to do - place her on her own bed and return to his.

  Damn! It might be right, but it wouldn't feel right. She was running from him, erecting emotional barriers, barriers he would have to break down. Any way he could.

  A saying his mother used to laughingly quote at him echoed in his mind. 'All's fair in love, war and strawberry shortcake.' Well, this wasn't war, at least not the kind of war Emma had mentioned, and it certainly wasn't strawberry shortcake, but it was beginning to feel suspiciously like love.

  With a silent prayer that his mother was right, he turned towards his bedroom, Emma's breath warm against his neck, her body pliant in his arms.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sound of the Land Cruiser driving off woke Drew. He reached across the bed. Emma was gone.

  It had felt so good, going to sleep last night with her in his arms. But now he wondered if his attempt to make her feel closer to him, to demonstrate he could care for her without expecting sexual gratification, might have had the opposite effect. He had intended to talk to her this morning, show her there was more to how he felt than just physical attraction, but now it was too late.

  A cool breeze fluttered the curtains. Drew hoped it was an indication that autumn was on its way, bringing some relief from the heat.

  He remembered Emma telling Tom she would return today to check on Mary and the baby. He thought of the flooded river, the crocodile, and he swore vehemently. He hoped Emma had enough sense not to drive across the bridge if it was still under water.

  By nature Drew was not a patient person, but circumstances had taught him this hard-earned attribute, and working as a lawyer had honed his ability to wait. To wait for the evidence to be revealed, to wait for the witness to make one tiny mistake.

  But waiting for Emma to return was proving to be beyond him. One o'clock came and went.

  He pulled on boots, pushed the Akubra down on his thick hair, picked up the rifle and walked to the stables. Emma had let the horses into the adjacent paddock. Drew whistled softly and the mare trotted over to the fence. He remembered Emma had called her Quest, and he rubbed her forehead and spoke her name softly.

  It didn't take him long to get her into the stable and saddled up. It had been a year since he'd been on a horse, but the pull of solid muscle under his thighs felt good, and as he eased the horse into a gentle canter he felt the familiar pleasure of being one with such a powerful animal.

  Tom placed a tray on the veranda table and sat down opposite Emma. She watched him pick up a sandwich and chew resolutely. He was methodical, dependable, twenty-seven years old to her thirty-one. Sometimes she envied him his conviction, his resolution of purpose. And sometimes she envied Mary her surety that her man would go to his grave still loving her.

  Tom was Mary's anchor, her rock in a stormy sea, Emma mused. Then she thought of Drew. There was solidness and dependability in him, but for her he was the storm - wild and turbulent, buffeting her emotions, forcing her to flee from the needs she had long-ago buried.

  Was it only twenty-four hours since she had sat in this very chair sharing coffee and sandwiches with him? So much had happened in such a short time.

  Her world had been thrown into chaos by the events of the previous day. The crocodile attack had been the catalyst, she acknowledged. The realisation of how close she had come to being killed had been the final straw in a long year of tension and heartbreak.

  Emma had tried to convince herself that it was the explosion of emotion that was to blame for the mind-shattering intensity of her reaction to Drew's lovemaking. But she knew it wasn't true.

  She'd tried to deny the attraction between them. Tried to ignore her hunger for the warmth and tenderness Drew had shown to her. But his caring had finally broken down her barriers, allowing her to seize what she so desperately needed.

  Waking in his arms this morning was pure delight. So much so that she had left his room as quickly as possible so she wouldn't give in to the compulsion to rouse him to her desire. Damn the man! He was becoming extremely difficult to resist. The sooner she could get him out of her life the better.

  Drew reached the river at the same time the Land Cruiser started its slow journey back across the bridge. The floodwaters had retreated to just below the crossboards.

  He reined in the mare, conscious of the knot of worry in his gut twisting a notch tighter. Now he knew Emma was safe, he was apprehensive as to what her reaction to him would be. He had a horrible suspicion his actions of the night before could have destroyed any hope of her listening to his viewpoint, or her explaining why she had acted as she did.

  The Land Cruiser came to a halt. Emma stormed out of the cabin. 'Just what the hell do you think you're doing?'

  'I was worried about you. I thought you'd be back before lunch if you'd managed to cross the river.' Drew's tone was deceptively soft.

  'I'm talking about riding Quest! She's a thoroughbred. Breeding stock. Worth too much to have some amateur riding her.'

  'I might not be jockey material, Emma, but I do have enough sense not to ride a horse like this unless I can handle her. And now that we've established you're perfectly safe and your temper has survived the night intact, I'll take Quest home.'

  Drew wheeled the horse in a tight turn and dug his heels into her flanks. She surged forward, hoofs digging into the soft earth, powerful muscles responding to his command.

  Blood rushed through Drew's veins as Quest galloped up the rise, and he let her have her head along the winding road.

  By the time he reached the homestead he was caught up in the exhilaration of the ride. It had been a long time since he'd ridden a horse like that, and it brought back memories. Memories that were now good ones.

  Emma stoked up her anger by imagining all the things that could go wrong with Quest on Drew's impassioned ride. Anger was easier for her to deal with than the fierce ache of desire that had kindled inside her at the sight of him sitting astride the magnificent horse.

  She'd tried to pigeonhole him as a stuffy city lawyer, money-orientated and self-interested. It was easier to think of him that way than have to admit the reality of the man who'd turned her world upside down. He was as hard and tough as the rugged country he rode through, but his tenderness had caught her off balance, pierced her heart.

  She drove into the shed, pocketed the keys and padlocked the shed door. As she turned the key, it struck her forcefully that the need to do so no longer existed. Her father was beyond the vague impulses of his damaged mind now. Grief washed over her, negating her self-imposed anger. Then she reme
mbered that a would-be killer might be lurking somewhere in the area. She checked the padlock.

  Drew was wiping Quest down as she walked into the stables. As he did so he talked softly to the horse, and Emma noticed the smile that lightened his features, making him look younger. She leaned against the wall, shoving her hands in her jeans pockets.

  'Where did you learn to ride?'

  'It's a long story.'

  'I'm a good listener.'

  Drew shrugged. She might as well know. Better sooner than later.

  'When I was a teenager I got into bad company. I had a chip on my shoulder that nobody could dislodge.' He waited for Emma's reaction, but she simply nodded. 'I wanted to be accepted by my peers and I thought I could gain that acceptance by joining in their, shall we say, less than legal activities.'

  Now her eyebrow raised.

  'I left home, lived on the streets. Fortunately for me my heart wasn't really in it, and I never did anything to warrant a conviction, but I had a pretty low opinion of myself and was too ashamed to go home. I'd heard about this part-Aboriginal bloke who ran a cattle property on the western slopes of the Great Dividing Range. Apparently he'd had a tough upbringing so he tried to help troubled youngsters by teaching them all about working with horses and cattle and building their self-esteem.'

  He led Quest into her stall, made sure she had feed and water. She nuzzled his chest and he stroked her long, proud neck.

  'You're a beauty, girl,' he murmured. 'It would have saved me a lot of boot leather if I'd had you to ride over the range.'

  'You walked? From Cairns?'

  'I needed what little money I had to buy food. You can walk with sore feet, but not if your stomach's empty.'

  Emma shook her head. No wonder he'd learned to ignore pain.

  'So this man took you in?'

  Drew nodded. 'During the year I was there, the number of teenagers he and his wife looked after fluctuated from six to ten. Black, white, country kids, city street kids. There was even a young girl from Sydney…'