Читать книгу The Australian - Diana Palmer - Страница 8

Chapter Three

Adam Johnson glanced curiously at his daughter over the dinner table. It wasn’t like Priscilla to pick at her food.

“Aren’t you hungry, darling?” he asked.

She lifted her face with a plaintive smile. “I’m just homesick already,” she confessed.

“Homesick? Don’t be silly, Hawaii’s not that far away,” he chuckled. “You can come home on holidays and vacation.”

She pushed her fork into her potatoes and stared at them. “I suppose so.”

Adam turned his head toward Renée, who was shaking her head.

“It’s just...well, do you suppose John really will miss me?” she asked her father, all eyes.

He laughed, misreading the situation. “Now, darling, I doubt that,” he chuckled as he concentrated on his food. “You do wear him out, you know.”

Priss got up from the table in tears and ran for her room. Her mother glared at her father.

“You animal,” she accused. “How could you do that to her? Don’t you realize she’s horribly infatuated with John?”

His eyebrows arched. “With John? But, my God, he’s ten years older than she is. And she’s just a child!”

“She’s eighteen,” she reminded him. “Not a child at all.”

“Well, John’s too experienced for her by far,” he said firmly. “Don’t get me wrong—I think the world of him. But she needs boys her own age. And you know how relentlessly she chases the poor man, Renée. I wonder that he tolerates it. You can see he isn’t interested in kids like Priss.”

“Yes, I know. But she’s so young, darling,” Renée said softly. “Don’t you remember how we felt at her age?”

His dark eyes softened. “Yes,” he said reluctantly, and sighed. “With everybody around telling us how young we were...poor Priss.”

“She’ll get over him,” Renée promised. “Once she’s with boys her own age, she’ll get over him.”

Priss, standing frozen in the hall, heard every word. It all came rushing at her like a tidal wave. Had she hounded John? Did he realize how desperately infatuated she was?

Her face flamed. She leaned back against the cool wall, almost shaking. Of course he did. Ten years, her father had said. John wouldn’t want a child like herself. She closed her eyes. It was far worse than she’d realized. And the worst thing of all was that she hadn’t realized how very noticeable her infatuation was. But it didn’t feel like infatuation. She loved John!

She turned and went back into her room, closing the door quietly. She felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Poor John. Poor her. Her father had said John was too experienced to want a teenager, and he was surely right. If John had felt anything for her, he wouldn’t have been able to hide it. She would have known. People always said you knew when love happened.

She tumbled onto her bed and slowly pulled out the crumpled photo of him that she kept in her wallet. She stared at it for a long time, at the rugged face, the bushy blond and brown eyebrows and hair, at the sensuous mouth and dimpled chin, at the pastel blue eyes. No, he wouldn’t miss her, she thought miserably.

“Well, you don’t know what you’re losing, John Sterling,” she told the photograph. “I’m going to be a force to behold in a few years, and you’ll be sorry you didn’t want me. I’ll show you!” She put the photograph in her trash can in a temper and flounced over to the window, glaring out at the big gum tree casting its shade over the ground. She leaned her face on her hands and sighed. “I’ll come back as finished as a princess,” she told the gum tree. “I’ll be wearing an elegant gown, with my hairdo impeccable, and I’ll be poised and ever so serene. And every man will want to dance with me, and John will be wild to, and I’ll just brush past him and ignore him completely.”

She smiled as she pictured it. What a proper revenge it would be! But then she realized how impossible it was going to be, living through those years without him. And where would she get the money for an elegant gown and hairdo? And what if John got married in her absence?

She felt sick. With a scowl, she fished his photo out of the trash can and put it carefully back into her wallet. She had too much time to think, that was her trouble. So she went to the kitchen and began clearing the table for her mother, trying to ignore the curious looks her parents were giving her.

“Could we all go into Providence Saturday and have lunch together?” she asked with a forced smile. “I have to leave for Hawaii Monday, you know.”

Her father gave a relieved sigh. “Yes, of course we can. That’s a date.”

“I’ll enjoy it, too, dear.” Her mother smiled. “Now, suppose I help you with the dishes and then we’ll go sit on the porch.”

“Fine,” Priss said brightly. Perhaps the pretense of being happy would lighten her spirits, she thought. Perhaps it would dull her hurt. Why, oh, why did she have to pick a man like John Sterling to fall in love with, and at such a youthful age? He was going to be a ghost, hanging over every relationship she tried to have with other men. She knew that no one would be able to match or top him in her loving eyes.

She avoided him during the next few days. For once she didn’t phone him to ask unnecessary questions at night. She didn’t walk along the paddock fence hoping for a glance of him. She didn’t find an excuse to ride her bicycle over the distance that separated her father’s land from John’s, or invite herself to lunch with his mother, Diane. She kept to herself, and her parents seemed delighted by the sudden maturity in their daughter.

They couldn’t know that it was killing her not to see John, to think of being thousands of miles away from him. But she was deliberately trying to put him out of her life, so that the parting wouldn’t be so rough.

The hours and days dragged, but at last Monday came, and she packed for the long drive to Brisbane, where she’d catch her flight to Hawaii. It was the most miserable morning of her entire life.

“Aren’t you even going to tell John Sterling good-bye?” Renée asked, her face concerned and full of love.

Priss’s back stiffened a little, but her face was smiling when she glanced at her mother. “I thought it might be better not to,” she said.

“Why?”

Priss shrugged. Her eyes went to her folded blouses. She fit them carefully into her carry-on bag. “I don’t think I could stand having him shout for joy,” she said with a nervous laugh.

Renée went close and put her arms around her daughter. “Not John. John wouldn’t do that to you. He’s fond of you, Priss; you know that.”

“Yes, but fond isn’t enough,” Priss ground out, fighting tears. She lifted a tortured face to her mother. “I love him,” she whispered.

Renée hugged her. “Yes, I know. I’m so sorry, darling,” she murmured, rocking Priss as she had years ago, when her daughter was little and hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

Priss hugged her mother again and smiled wanly. “You’re a terrific mother, did I ever tell you?” she asked. She wiped away the tears. “I’m okay now.”

“You’re a terrific daughter,” Renée said with a smile. “I’ll leave you to pack. Your father and I are going into Providence for a little while. He’s got to get something or other done to the car.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“We will.” Renée kissed her daughter on the forehead. “It gets better, if that helps,” she added gently. And then she was gone, and Priss stared helplessly at the suitcase, hating it for its very purpose.

She finished putting in the blouses and went into the kitchen to check the dryer for spare articles. She found a lacy slip and was just pulling it out when she heard a car pull up. Surely it wasn’t her parents, she puzzled; they’d hardly been gone ten minutes.

She went to the back door, opened it, and looked out. Her heart shot up into her throat at the sight of John Sterling climbing out of his Land Rover.

He was wearing khaki trousers with a short-sleeve tan bush shirt, and under the wide brim of his hat, he looked even more formidable than usual. Priss, with her hair loose around her shoulders, in her pretty blue shirtwaist dress and white pumps, felt suddenly vulnerable.

He looked up as he reached the steps and stopped there, just gazing at her.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said without preamble.

She twisted the slip absently in her fingers and studied the soft pattern in the lace. “Yes.” She glanced up with a forced grin. “Aren’t you relieved? I’ll be gone by afternoon.”

He hesitated for an instant before he came up the steps. “Got something cool to drink?” he asked, sweeping off his hat. “It’s damned hot.”

“I think there’s some iced tea in the fridge,” she said. She tossed the slip onto the dryer and filled a glass for him.

He took it from her, standing much too close. He was scowling, as if his mind was working on some problem. He took a sip of the tea, and her eyes were drawn to his brawny hair-roughened forearms. He was so sexy, and some lucky woman was going to grab him up before she was old enough to.

She felt more miserable than ever. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to cry, even if he did manage to get over to say good-bye. But now it was the eleventh hour, and he’d be rushing off any minute. He was probably here to see her father, anyway.

“Did you want to see Dad?” she asked, turning the knife in her own heart.

“I wanted to see you,” he corrected curtly. “To say good-bye. Weren’t you even going to bother?”

She shrugged, staring down at his dusty boots. “I...I don’t like good-byes,” she managed in a voice that was already starting to break. The thought of not seeing him for months was killing her, and this was making it worse. She didn’t know how she was going to live in a world without him.

“What’s this?” he asked softly. His big hands, cool from holding the tea glass, caught her arms and turned her, forcing her to look at him.

Her full lips wobbled no matter how she tried to control their trembling, and her big emerald eyes were misty with tears. Silvery blonde hair curled around her oval face, and her cheeks were flushed with emotion. The picture she made held his attention for a long minute. His eyes wandered down to the top buttons of the blue shirtwaist dress, and he studied her body as if he’d only just realized she had one.

His hands smoothed up and down her arms, slowly, making wild tremors of pleasure shoot through her.

“Homesick already?” he asked quietly.

She drew in a sharp breath and tried to smile at him, but he blurred in her vision.

He was a blur of brown hair with blond streaks through it, sky blue eyes staring curiously at her from that weathered face that she loved so dearly. It was a long way to look up, even though she was wearing high heels. He towered over her like a sunburned giant.

“You’re so big,” she whispered.

“To a runt like you, I probably seem that way,” he agreed pleasantly, but his eyes weren’t laughing. They were dark and quiet and oddly watchful.

She fidgeted under the arousing touch of his hands. “I should finish packing,” she mumbled.

His thumbs pressed hard into her arms. He moved his callused hands up to enclose her face, and the look in his eyes made her knees weak.

“Don’t look so tragic, darling,” he murmured, bending his head. “I’ll wait for you.”

That hurt most of all. He was teasing her, playing with her, because he knew how she felt and was indulging her. Her eyes closed. “John...” she tried to protest.

He brushed his lips across her forehead, and she wanted to wail. He was trying not to hurt her....

“Do you want my mouth, little sheila?” he whispered suddenly, unexpectedly, and her heart shot up like a balloon.

Her eyes opened, full of dreams and hurt pride and aching hunger, and his nostrils flared.

“Yes, you do, don’t you?” he asked under his breath, and his face was solemn, intent, making her feel years older. He bent his head, letting her feel his warm breath on her parted lips.

Her body tautened, demanding to feel his against it; her mouth lifted. All her dreams were coming true at once, and the look in his eyes made her heart run wild. Her body pressed against his tentatively, shyly. She loved his warm strength, the powerful muscles tensing where her breasts were flattened slightly against him. He smelled of the outdoors, and cologne and tobacco, and her senses reeled.

“I’ve only been kissed once,” she whispered nervously, her eyes wide. “Playing...playing spin the bottle. And his mouth was wet and I didn’t like it.”

His fingers traced soft patterns on her flushed cheek, and they seemed to be the only two people in the world. “Stop dithering, little one,” he said quietly. “I don’t mind kissing you good-bye, if you want it.”

“If,” she whispered shakily. Tears were stinging her eyes. “Don’t you know that I’d walk across blazing coals to get to you...?”

His eyes flashed. “You don’t even know what it’s all about,” he said sharply. “One kiss, from a clumsy boy...”

“But you aren’t a boy,” she reminded him, her voice trembling.

“No,” he said, “I’m not.” He bent slowly, holding her eyes. “Such a taut little body,” he breathed, his hard lips parting on a faint smile as they brushed deliciously over hers. “Why don’t you let it relax against mine?”

She tried, but she was trembling with excitement and new discoveries. “I can’t,” she moaned against the soft persistent brushing of his mouth.

His fingers splayed over her throat, tilting her head against his shoulder. “I’m hungry, too,” he whispered roughly. There was a glitter in his eyes as they searched hers. “Don’t let me frighten you. Trust me.”

“I want to kiss you so much,” she managed in a broken tone, so desperate for him that she was beyond pride.

“Yes,” he said, parting his lips. “Yes, I can feel how much. Priss, you go to my head...” His voice trailed off into a deep slow moan as he kissed her for the first time, tenderly, coaxingly, letting her feel the very texture of his lips before he showed her that he needed more than this.

His breath seemed shaky as his mouth bit at hers. She kept her eyes tightly closed, hoping that if it was a dream, she could die before she woke. The silence around them was deafening, and she felt afire with awakening emotions.

Her hands suddenly clawed into the thick muscles of his upper arms, and she stiffened even more as his mouth began to invade hers. She hoped he wasn’t going to waste her last few minutes with him by being gentle.

His head lifted then and his mouth waited, poised over hers. His breath sighed out against her moist lips. “I can make you hungrier than this,” he said huskily. “I can burn you up.”

His eyes frightened her a little, but she was too consumed by longing to care. She pressed closer against his tight hard body and stood on tiptoe.

“Oh, John, kiss me hard!” she pleaded, clinging. “Kiss me hard and slow and pretend you want me!”

“Pretend!” he bit off. His mouth swooped down. He could feel the hunger building in her young body, feel the first faint stirring of response in the tender lips accepting his. Ravenously he opened his mouth and bit at hers, not wanting to frighten her, but needing more than the trembling uncertainty of her closed mouth. After a minute, she seemed to like the tender probing of his tongue. Involuntarily her lips relaxed and began to part shyly.

“Yes,” he prodded roughly. “Yes, that’s what I want. Open your mouth slowly; let me taste it with my tongue...”

It was wildly erotic. Priss had seen men and women kiss that way in movies, with their mouths open, their bodies crushed together, but she’d never known how wildly arousing it was. She moaned against John’s demanding mouth, because the sensations he was making her feel were new and overwhelming.

“Frightened?” he whispered.

Her eyes drifted open, wide and drowsy and dazed. “No,” she moaned. “Oh, no, not of you; not ever of you,” she whispered shakily. “No matter what you do to me!”

“You don’t know what I could do to you,” he warned gruffly. He studied her face for a long moment. His hands smoothed down her back, bringing her closer to his shuddering chest. One of them edged between their bodies and traced a line between her waist and the soft underside of one breast. She trembled again, her fingers digging into him.

“Steady on,” he breathed gently, watching her face as his fingers began to trace her breast, watching her eyes widen with pleasure.

She made a wild sweet sound and buried her face against his chest, clinging to him.

“I need this,” he said, sounding shaken. “God help me, I have to!”

She felt his mouth searching for hers, and she turned her head a fraction of an inch to meet it.

“Keep your eyes open,” he breathed as he took it, ardently, roughly, and his eyes stared into hers. His hand moved at the same time, and he saw her pupils dilate until her eyes were black as he cupped her soft breast in his big hand and felt the nipple go hard in his palm.

She moaned, feeling her body move helplessly against his, feeling her body provoke him, beg for his touch.

He lifted his mouth. “It’s passion,” he whispered. “Don’t be ashamed of it. I need you as much as you need me. I won’t compromise you—not in any way.”

As he spoke, he bent, lifting her clear off the floor, his eyes glazed with emotion. “Where are your parents?” he asked softly as he carried her into her bedroom.

“In...in town, to have...to have the car...fixed,” she told him. Her voice was so shaky, it was hard to talk. “John,” she moaned.

“Shhh,” he whispered. His lips brushed her eyelids closed. “It’s going to be exquisitely tender. I just want a taste of you.”

“I’ve never...” she began.

“I know.”

He laid her down beside the open suitcase on the bed and slid alongside her. His mouth touched her face softly, lovingly, brushing every flushed inch of it, teasing her mouth. She felt his knuckles on her soft flesh as they slid beneath the bodice of her dress, and her eyes opened, because what he was teaching her was so beautiful, she wanted to remember him like this all her life. Even if it was only pity he felt for her, she’d live on these few minutes until she died.

“I’m only going to touch you,” he said gently. “Here,” he whispered, tracing the slope of her breast where it was covered by the lacy wisp of her bra. “And here.” They moved under the lace, to the hard pulsing tip that screamed her helpless reaction to him.

“Oh,” she moaned, shocked, arching to his hand.

“New sensations?” he responded, savoring the feel of her, bursting with the triumphant knowledge that no other man had touched her. “I feel new sensations, too, Priss. You’re a virgin, and all your first times are happening with me. I feel humble knowing that.”

She stared into his eyes. “I wanted you...so much,” she confessed brokenly.

His eyes smiled. “Did you? And now that you have me?”

Her lips parted. “I don’t know what to do,” she said simply.

“Do you want me to teach you?” His voice was all dark velvet, seducing her, and he smiled as his big hands found the buttons of her dress and lazily eased them open down the front.

“Yes,” she entreated. “But...” Her courage failed as the last button came undone, and the full force of what she was letting him do washed over her in waves.

He shook his head, pressing a gentle finger against her protesting lips. “No,” he said. “I don’t want this to happen with some college boy, out of curiosity. Let me be the first.”

Her body trembled. But she loved him almost beyond bearing, and she wanted his eyes on her. Only his. No other man’s, ever.

His hands moved again, unfastening the bra. There was a second when she almost jerked away from him, but he controlled the instinctive withdrawal, pulling her face into his throat, making her close her eyes while he eased the garments down to her waist. She felt the cool air on her skin and his warm rough hands against her bare back, and her heart went crazy in her body.

“Now,” he breathed, with his open mouth against her forehead. “Now let me look at you. Lie down, Priscilla, and let me see what you’ve shown no other man.”

With breathless tenderness, he eased her back onto the coverlet and slowly his eyes feasted on her soft pink breasts with their hardened, uptilted tips. She flushed.

But after the first few agonizing seconds of embarrassment, she began to relax, to take pleasure from the appreciation she read in his intent gaze. Her body seemed to like it even more. It began to move in jerky sensuous motions on the mattress and lifted toward him without her consent.

“Do you want my hands?” he asked, lifting his eyes to hers.

She tingled all over, her breath catching in her throat at the deep, fervent note in his voice. His sophistication made her innocence more obvious than ever.

He sat up and one big hand smoothed across her flat stomach, across the bulge of the clothing at her waist. Lightly, slowly, holding her eyes, he touched the hard peaks of her breasts and watched her shudder.

“Your breasts are like honey,” he said. “You’re like honey. So sweet, you make me drunk.” He bent, with his eyes on her bareness. “I want to take you in my mouth,” he breathed. “Are you going to let me?”

She groaned helplessly, and her body arched again, inviting him.

“Priss,” he whispered, sliding his hands slowly under her back. “Priss, come here.”

He lifted her to his parted lips. She stiffened and cried out with the shock of pleasure as his mouth took her, and the excited little cry aroused him instantly. He took the hardness into his mouth and eased closer, feeling her reactions, glorying in her headlong response. Her hands tangled in his hair, frantic. Those wild little cries were pushing him right over the edge, making him shudder with a kind of desire he’d never experienced.

“Oh, God,” he whispered with reverence, because she was so deliciously innocent, so trusting. She was giving him free license to do what he liked to her smooth young body, and he was going crazy with the freedom.

His mouth moved down her body, to her waist, her hips, the flatness of her stomach, as he eased the dress farther down to bare her body to his greedy lips. She tasted of delicate soap and powder, and he wanted to taste all of her....

“Do you want me now?” he whispered roughly. His mouth ran back up her body, over her creamy breasts to her face, and he cupped her breast as his lips made nonsense of any protest she might have made. “Do you want to lie with me and touch me the way I’m touching you with nothing between us except air?”

“I...ache,” she said through parched lips, clinging, trembling.

“So do I,” he said unsteadily. “You’ve taken my mind from me. Lie still, darling. Let me touch you, let me have you.”

His face moved, touching, brushing. His mouth loved her, cherished her. She was shuddering under its tenderness, and he knew she’d make no further protest if he undressed her completely and took her. But even as he was drowning in the anguished pleasure of the knowledge, he began to think about consequences. She was a virgin. The first time for her was probably not going to be as good as it would be for him. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life—too aroused to take his time, to give her patience. And worst of all, she’d be unprotected. He could make her pregnant. It was that thought that brought him suddenly to his senses. She was hardly more than a child herself.

He dragged his mouth from her soft belly and managed to pull his tormented body into a sitting position, breathing roughly, running his hands through his damp hair. She was breathing roughly herself, and her body was trembling wildly.

With a harsh mutter, he brought her up into his arms and rocked her damp body against his. “Hold me hard, darling,” he whispered into her ear, feeling the heat of her breasts through the cotton of his shirt. Her back under his hands was like silk. “Hold me. It will stop. Hold me hard.”

She clung to him, vaguely embarrassed at the intensity of her response, wildly frustrated, wanting something he hadn’t given her but not realizing exactly what.

“Oh, gosh,” she whispered, awed.

“Now you know,” he said gently.

Her nails bit into his shoulders, and she nuzzled her head into his neck, shuddering a little as her heartbeat calmed and her breath steadied. “You...weren’t going to stop...at first. Why...did you?” It was a statement, not a question.

His big hand smoothed her hair slowly. “I could have made you pregnant.”

Thrills of pleasure wafted through her. She might have liked that, being pregnant with his child. It wasn’t at all frightening. But it would be a poor way of getting him, a mean trick. She sighed.

“I’d have let you,” she answered.

He laughed softly. “Yes, I know. Delicious, delightful little virgin.” He bit her shoulder, quite hard, and she shuddered with unexpected pleasure and laughed.

He half threw her back on the pillows and sat looking down at her seminudity with possessive, glittering blue eyes. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much,” he said huskily. “I was on fire for you. I still am.”

It was plain speaking, and a little embarrassing—like her wanton behavior. He seemed to sense those uncertainties, because he smiled tenderly when she sat up and began to tug her dress back in place.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said gently. “Only the two of us will ever know what happened here today.” He touched her mouth with a long finger. “And I won’t tell if you won’t.”

That was the John she loved so much, teasing, mischievous. She couldn’t help smiling at him. He smiled back and bent, kissing her softly, amorously, as his hands drew the bodice down again. “I’ll never see anything else so beautiful as long as I live,” he ground out, staring at her pink skin where his mouth had pressed and pulled and tasted it, with something like reverence on his hard face.

She flushed wildly and blushed even there, and he bent and kissed the shyness from her eyes, her mouth.

His fingers moved the damp hair away from her face, and he looked at her as if she were a sunrise he was committing to memory. “You belong to me now,” he said quietly. “Keep your body for me, and no other man. I’ll wait for you.”

“It belonged to you long before now,” she said in a choked tone, her eyes searching his. “John, I...!”

He put his fingers over her lips. “Don’t say it.” His mouth replaced his fingers, and he kissed her with an expertise that left her moaning, in tears, when he lifted his head. “You’re very young,” he said, as if it bothered him. “There’s plenty of time.”

“Plenty?” she queried. “When I’m leaving today?”

“Darling,” he breathed, staring down at her, “if you weren’t leaving today, you might damned well find yourself in my bed by nightfall.”

He got to his feet, stretching lazily and indulgently watched her efforts to rearrange her dress. There was possession in his eyes, and quiet pride, but she wasn’t looking.

“See what happens when you avoid me?” he asked as she got to her feet, smoothing back her disheveled hair. “Frustration can push a man to the very limits.”

She smiled shakily. “Was that what it was?”

He caught her waist and pulled her to him. “What do you think it was?” he asked.

She stared at his shirt, curious about how he looked without it. She’d only seen him that way from a distance, when he was working on fences with the men or digging a new bore.

“It’s too late now,” he said deeply, his voice amused. “If you wanted to go on safari, you should have indulged yourself while we were lying together on the bed.”

She flushed, and he laughed.

“The months will pass,” he said lightly, giving her a last careless kiss. “Write to me.”

“Could I?” she asked, breathless.

“Of course.”

“Will you write back?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m not much good at letters, honey,” he confessed. “I’ll get Mother to write for me.”

His words hurt her. They wouldn’t be love letters—he was saying as much. Perhaps he’d meant what they had just shared as a going-away present, a fond farewell. Something to make up for the times when he’d ignored her, crumbs from his table.

She felt sick all over, but she was too proud to let it show. How could she have forgotten what her father had said, about John being glad to let her go, about his being too old to be interested in her?

“I’ll see you at the Easter holidays,” he said. “You’ll be home then?”

“Of course,” she said woodenly. “’Bye, John.”

He traced her cheek lightly with his finger, and his eyes met hers in a long hot exchange, but he didn’t touch her again. “’Bye, Priss. Keep well.”

“You, too.”

And he was gone, leaving her with the memory of a few wild minutes in his arms. It might have been kinder, she thought, if he’d spared her that. Coming from heaven back to earth was painful. She went to the window and watched him drive away. He waved from the end of the driveway, and she knew that he was aware of her watchful eyes. He knew how she felt. It had all been a pacifier, a consolation prize. Give the girl a few kisses to thrill her.

She went back to her suitcase and stared at it, denying her eyes the tears they wanted to shed. Well, she didn’t need John’s crumbs, thank you, she told herself. She’d go away and forget him. She’d forget him completely.

Sure, she would. She sat down on the bed and wailed. The coverlet still smelled of the spicy cologne he wore. Her lips touched it with aching passion, and it was a long time before she could force herself to get up and finish packing.

Hours later she said good-bye to her parents in Brisbane and climbed aboard a plane bound for the Hawaiian Islands. Despite the fact that she had promised herself she wouldn’t, her helpless eyes scanned the airport terminal for a glimpse of John. But he wasn’t there. Why should he be? He’d said his good-byes. She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. It was going to be a long day.