Читать книгу In Bed With...Collection - Emma Darcy - Страница 76

MIRANDA had no trouble putting Bobby Hewson behind her the next day. She was literally transported to another world. From the safety of Nathan’s helicopter, she watched in awe at the incredible skill of the pilots in the two bubble helicopters, swooping from side to side as they flushed cattle out from under scrubby trees and drove them from watercourses, the clatter of the blades and the roar of the motors relentlessly pressing them into a mob and moving them towards a stock-camp.

On the ground, fences were cut in front of the gathering herd as it was funnelled from paddock to paddock and the numbers kept swelling. By lunch-time several hundred head of cattle had been mustered and driven halfway to the holding yards, where the weaned calves were to be branded and the stock for sale selected.

Nathan had informed her over breakfast that the station ran about thirty-six thousand head of cattle, and six thousand were trucked away each year. The breeding program he’d instigated more than made up these numbers. In different parts of the station were Brahman and English Shorthorn breeds, but these were Africanders, handsome red beasts who could thrive in the most arid areas.

Their movement and colour looked stunning on the backdrop of the vast, beige Mitchell grass plains. There was a wild element to the mustering that added the thrill of danger, a pitting of man against the challenge of the landscape and the unpredictability of cattle that were used to going where they willed, yet there was also a marvellous orchestration to it—the men and machines on the ground supporting the men and machines in the air, gradually dominating a long practiced strategy against the seemingly indomitable.

This was what Nathan’s life was about, Miranda realised, and the grand sweep of it deeply impressed her; the understanding of how it worked, the skill and experience at controlling what was controllable, the management of time and place, and at the heart of it, an environment that demanded an intimate knowledge of its unique natural harmony.

They had lunch by the river, close to where drums of fuel had been set up for the helicopters. Nathan was clearly at ease with his stockmen, welcomed into their company, Miranda accepted without any fuss. A fire had been lit and a billy of water put on to make tea. They sat under the shade of trees and ate damper and slabs of cold meat, the men chatting over the morning’s progress, Miranda content to simply immerse herself in the sights and sounds around her.

Here on the ground she could hear the thunder of hooves and the bellowing of the cattle. She could taste and smell the dust of the mob, and watch the tight intricate ballet of the mustering helicopters. Somehow it made life very vivid, real and earthy in a bigger sense than Miranda had ever experienced before. It was strangely intoxicating as though something heady had seeped into her bloodstream.

The heat of the day added a shimmering haze to the light and when Nathan stood up, marking the end of their lunch-break, an aura seemed to gleam from him, lending even more stature to the man. He turned his gaze to her and the blue magnets of his eyes drew on her soul as though he was willing her to be bonded with him and in more than a physical sense.

His outback empire was both harsh and beautiful and she had the strong feeling he was asking if she could be part of it, if she could accept it and live with it as he did…and she knew in that instant there was nowhere for them to go unless she could honestly say yes. Impossible to make a marriage on sexual attraction alone, if marriage really was on his mind. It was this land that had first claim on Nathan—always would—and if she couldn’t share it with him, she lost what truly made him what he was.

A subtle challenge rang through his voice as he said, “Time to move on,” and held out a hand to pull her up onto her feet.

He didn’t ask her if she was tired, if she’d prefer to stay at the camp by the river. Taking his hand symbolised her willingness to be where he was, see what he saw, learn the enduring pattern of his life firsthand and judge if she could fit into it. Miranda understood this intuitively, yet the feel of his hand enveloping hers was far more immediate, stimulating a strong awareness of the sexuality zinging through their physical togetherness.

He kept possession of her hand as they walked back to his helicopter and Miranda felt like dancing, her heart was so joyously lightened by the prolonged link. Nathan hadn’t exactly been distant towards her since last night but his manner had remained strictly on a friendly, matter-of-fact level, which she had found inhibiting.

It was almost as though he was denying they had ever shared any intimacy and she hadn’t been sure if this was to reassure her of no sexual pressure intended this weekend, or if he was reserving judgement on there being any possible future in their relationship.

There would be no false promises from Nathan King. Miranda had no doubts on that score. But his hand said he did want her and that hadn’t changed. She couldn’t resist moving her fingers slightly, savouring the touch of rough skin and warm strength, craving the solidity of all this man emitted.

He shot her a questing glance. “You were quiet over lunch.”

“I had nothing to contribute.”

“You could have asked questions.”

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“I don’t want you to feel like an intruder, Miranda.”

“I don’t. I just wanted to listen, to take everything in.”

“So what did you think?” His eyes were more intensely probing this time.

“I think that any woman who wanted to separate you from all this would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to realise you are this and inseparable from it.”

He gave her a funny little smile, something between wry acknowledgement and self-mocking resignation. “Do you find that off-putting?”

“No. It makes me want to know it all, Nathan,” she answered with absolute sincerity.

Another sharp glance, then a long expulsion of breath. When he spoke, his voice was dry and flat. “Well, when your curiosity turns to boredom, I guess I’ll know. I’ve had plenty of practice at recognising the signs.”

She had no answer to the deeply rooted scepticism seeded by previous women in his life. Only time could lend truth to whatever she felt about him…now or years from now. Yet in her heart, Miranda was certain she would never be bored with Nathan King. There was something so special in the essence of the man, she couldn’t imagine its ever losing its hold on her.

And this outback world had its hold, too. At the end of the day, a thousand head of wild cattle from three huge paddocks had been mustered into stockyards and the helicopters headed for home, their flying insect-like shapes silhouetted against the red flares of the sunset. They flew over what seemed like kilometres of nothing in the gathering darkness, yet Miranda was aware this was deceptive, that life was more spaced out here than anywhere else and it moved to a beat of its own.

Then in the distant landscape there appeared pinpricks of light, a cluster of them, and Miranda’s heart lifted with a sense of homecoming as she realised they were the lights of the station buildings being switched on. It was strange…feeling they were welcoming her, like a friendly beacon drawing her in to a safe harbour. Lights had never had that effect before. Somehow, be-tween yesterday and today, it seemed more shifts had taken place in her life.

Or perhaps it simply represented the kind of home she yearned for, a place of belonging, light after dark, a long, solid reality that lasted, regardless of good times and bad, a core history of humanity that had stayed, survived, prospered, and was now embodied in Nathan who had brought her into it with such protective caring. Safety, comfort, love…

Could he love her?

The question remained almost feverishly in her mind as they returned to the homestead, then parted to wash and change into fresh clothes for dinner. Showering made her intensely conscious of her body, how it had fitted to Nathan’s, how it had felt, and it was difficult to push those memories aside and concentrate on what Nathan would want from her in the long term. Sex was not enough. Yet even sternly telling herself this did nothing to lessen her state of arousal.

The need for him continued to course through her. She put on a soft wraparound dress—a little black dress that was meant to be worn braless—knowing it would make her look accessible, wanting him to know she was accessible to anything he offered her. That was the raw, bottomline truth and she wasn’t going to flinch from it any more or let any fear of consequences get in the way.

When they met in the lounge room for pre-dinner drinks, she could barely stop herself from eating him up with her eyes, the sheer maleness of his magnificent physique hitting her anew. Her pulse was galloping as he handed her a glass but his fingers didn’t touch hers and he took a seat away from her, signalling his intent to control whatever he felt.

Miranda wished she could. Reason finally came to the fore, prompting her to ply him with questions about how the station worked, the various responsibilities of the people he employed, the schedule everyone followed to accomplish what had to be accomplished. The mental challenge of taking in his replies and fitting them all together was stimulating, too.

Not once did the conversation lag over dinner. Miranda was frightened to let it because she knew any silence would fill with sexual tension and he might think this was all there was between them. She was hungry for much, much more. All of him, not just the body that called so strongly to hers.

As it was, her interest in his world acted as an aphrodisiac, because his answers filled out the kind of man he was and to Miranda he was everything a man should be, very hands-on in taking care of every part of his business, treating his people with integrity and respect, aiming for the best that could be done within the parameters of what he worked with.

After dinner he took her to his office, pressed into showing her the map of King’s Eden, pointing out the location of the different breeds of cattle and how they would be mustered over the coming month, giving her a visual picture of the whole operation and a better understanding of the scale of it. To her captivated heart and mind, it was a kingdom, and it could be an Eden…with Nathan.

He was explaining more to her but she lost the thread of what he was saying, her gaze fastening on his pointing hand, running up his tautly muscled arm, over his broad shoulder to the strong brown neck laid bare by the opened collar of his shirt. She didn’t hear his voice trail into silence. Her ears were filled with the drum of her own heart as she saw the pulse at the base of his throat move to the beat of his.

Slowly his chest turned towards her and the hand that had been pointing drew back and curled over her shoulder, pulling her around to face him squarely. Realising she had been caught being inattentive, Miranda lifted pleading eyes to his, a flush of guilt scorching her cheeks as she cried, “I’m not bored. I…”

Her mouth dried up under the searing look of hunger that burned with all the urgent heat of her own. He lifted his other hand and with featherlight fingertips stroked a few wayward strands of hair from her brow, then the soft skin at the corner of her eye, her cheek, her lips, a fine tingling tracery that stirred every nerve-ending into exquisite anticipation and caught the breath in her throat.

But he didn’t kiss her. His eyes didn’t move from hers. Only his hands moved, a sensual caress of her neck, shoulders, softly hooking the supporting straps of her dress with his thumbs and slowly pulling them down her arms, the cross-over pattern of the bodice parting, opening wide, sliding down the slopes of her breasts, caught briefly on peaks that had hardened with tremulous excitement before dropping to her waist, baring her breasts.

Yet still his gaze held hers, the naked hunger simmering into a lustful challenge that demanded her consent to the charged desire driving his fingertips to savour every tactile sensation, the silky texture of her skin, the curve of her spine, swirling patterns of touch all over her back, her arms, arousing erogenous zones she never knew she had, the side swells of her breasts, the hollow below her rib-cage, then upwards, circling her aureoles, outwards and inwards, building a delicate web of sensual intensity that was utterly captivating.

Then his palms, softly rotating nipples that were begging for attention, and a flare of exultant pleasure in his eyes as he saw the sweetly relieving pleasure of it in hers. No rush to passion tonight. The wanting had been mounting all day, and the desire to satisfy every bit of it was a consensual current neither of them could deny now.

She undid the tie at her waist and the soft fabric of her dress slithered to the floor. The stretch lace briefs she wore provided the smallest barrier to complete nakedness yet she felt no self-consciousness about her body. Nathan wasn’t even looking at it. He was touching her mind, wordlessly telling her he had craved feeling her like this, revelling in the full sensation of her femininity, determined on missing nothing, wanting her to feel him wanting all of her.

The need to reach out to him in like manner drove her hands to feel for the lowest button on his shirt. A wild glitter leapt into his eyes, then was forcibly tamed. “Later if you want,” he said gruffly, “but this I must have first.”

Miranda found herself swept off her feet before she could begin to read his intention. In a few breathless seconds he carried her from the office by way of a connecting door to a bedroom she had to assume was his. The bed he laid her on was wide and long, king-size, the head of it piled with thick pillows, the rest of it covered with a softly padded quilt. The only light was from the opened doorway so there was no seeing any detail even if she’d been interested in looking. At this heart-pounding moment anything beyond Nathan was irrelevant.

He removed her briefs and sandals, his hands caressing her legs, her feet, sensitising every area he touched, leaving her flesh humming with excitement. Then he stood back and undressed himself, but not once did his gaze leave her, his clothes being discarded with methodical purpose while he spoke in a low, thrumming voice that wound around her and held her tied to him.

“Countless times have I envisaged this…you lying here on my bed, waiting for me, wanting me, nothing between us but the time it takes to come together. I don’t know why it’s so. It just is. Like a compelling need I cannot put aside.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her throat tightening at the sight of his nakedness emerging, what it meant to her, what it could mean if he shared what she felt. Need…yes…but did it go beyond what he’d known with any other woman?

Please let it be so, she fiercely prayed.

He spoke again, seeming to answer her prayer. “That first evening, when you walked into my life…it was like…this woman was made for me…no sense to it…sheer instinct beating it out. And every time I see you, the same message clamours through me, regardless…”

Regardless of what? she wanted to ask, but he leaned over and claimed her mouth in a long ravishing kiss that splintered any coherent thought. She felt him stretch out beside her, one tautly muscled thigh insert-ing itself between hers, a hand cupping her breast, gently kneading it as his mouth devoured hers with more and more erotic passion.

“Made for me,” he breathed against her lips, a husky claim, reinforced by his hand gliding down over her stomach, fingers weaving through the silky curls at the apex of her thighs, stroking intimately, making her gasp as he aroused an explosion of exquisite yearning.

“Do you know how much I want to make you mine?” he murmured, trailing hot kisses down her throat. “To taste you, to take you inside me, to be inside you…”

How could she think…answer…the questions were being swamped by feeling.

His mouth closed over her breast, drawing it into a wild rhythmic threshing that was suddenly echoed by a more invasive stroking, a circling of her vagina, an internal caress, a teasing tantalising slide and glide that had her arching for more.

He moved his mouth to her other breast, sucking harder, tugging in a crescendo of possession given and taken as she writhed to the intense pleasure of his knowing touch, mindless to anything but the fantastic sensations arcing through her. She cried out an anguished protest when he withdrew from her, heaving himself down to the foot of the bed, but almost instantly he forged an even more intimate connection, kissing her as deeply there as he had her mouth, his lips covering other pleasure-swollen lips, his tongue seeking a sweeter cavern.

A fiercer pleasure screamed through her, driving her frantic as she felt the tension of it build towards the flood of climax. “No…no…I want you…you…” she sobbed, hands grabbing his hair, pulling hard.

He rose like a dark force of shimmering energy and surged into her, filling the need and rocketing her into the first convulsive wave of ecstatic satisfaction. Her legs whipped around him, holding him deep within, exulting in the sweet tidal flow he had set in motion.

But he didn’t drive it on as she expected. He maintained the full union with her, letting the awareness of it throb acutely through both of them as he propped his body over hers, his chest brushing the extended peaks of her breasts, his eyes blazing into hers with a furnace of feeling.

“Does this feel special to you, Miranda? More special than anything you’ve ever known?”

The question seized her mind, focused it, forced a deeply primitive retaliation. “Is it to you?”

“Would I ask if it wasn’t? I want to know if what I feel is echoed in you and I need the truth.”

In a sudden flash, she realised it was Bobby disturbing Nathan’s trust in her response to him, Bobby who had stirred too many bad feelings for either of them to dismiss easily. Yet he didn’t belong in this precious moment. He might have been the catalyst that had driven them to this acknowledgement of each other, but the truth was…Bobby Hewson was nothing and Nathan was everything.

Her eyes met the fire in his with all the open honesty he was now giving her, the answers she’d craved…and the rightness of it poured a blissful conviction into her voice as she answered him.

“It’s been the same for me…all you said…from when I first saw you.” She lifted her hands to his face, cupping it, pressing her need for possession of him as she added, “I don’t care if it makes sense or not. If I could have a man made for me, it would be you.”

“No ifs, Miranda. I’m here with you, in you now. Am I the man for you?”

“Yes.” The answer came unequivocally. “All that you are, Nathan.”

“Then show me.”

His arms burrowed under her and he rolled, turning onto his back and carrying her so she straddled him, still with the hard fullness of him inside her, waiting for her to go beyond passive acceptance, to be as positive in action as her words had been. He was giving her the freedom to express her desire, her need for him, and the surprise spurred by his challenge of mutuality swiftly zoomed into elation.

It wasn’t a matter of showing him anything. She wanted to touch him, to caress and excite and tantalise and arouse him to the same incredible pitch of pleasure that would rip all control apart and plunge them both into the same beautiful sea of ecstatic release.

She tasted, licked, kissed, stroked, wherever desire took her, all the time consciously keeping him inside her, voluptuously rolling around him, sliding forward and backwards, feeling every inch of him enveloped and squeezed, released and teased. It was a glorious, glorious feeling…Nathan, all hers.

She exulted when she heard him catch his breath, when she felt the flesh under his skin quiver, when a husky growl escaped from his throat. Her own pleasure continued to come in delicious waves with the move-ment she manipulated herself, but the best of it came when he could stand no more of being taken.

He erupted into action, heaving her back onto the pillows, gathering her to him, plunging himself hard and fast as though his survival depended upon it, a violent, primitive mating, his energy pouring into her in bursts of need—compelling need—no other woman made for him—not like her—none like her—and she was drawing this from him, climbing with him until they both reached a peak of fierce jubilation in their ultimate togetherness.

They hugged each other tightly, wanting the oneness to go on and on…the reality of it, the sense of it, the flow of feeling…and for a long, long time they shared the blissful harmony. Miranda was drifting into drowsiness when Nathan spoke, his voice humming softly in her ear.

“Is it too soon to hope you will be my mistress, Miranda?”

Her heart instantly contracted at his use of a word that had so many painful memories attached to it. She could barely bring herself to speak, but reason insisted he had to be thinking in more than sexual terms. Or was her own need for more than a sexual relationship colouring reason?

“What do you mean?” she asked flatly, trying to keep her emotions in check.

He wound a long tress of her hair around his hand, then let the silky strands of it slide through his fingers. “Is this ephemeral, or something we can keep?” His chest rose and fell as he expelled a long sigh. “I’m asking if there’s any chance you want to be the mistress of my heart, the mistress of my bed and home, the mistress of King’s Eden…for all the years ahead of us.”

Relief and joy erased the tension of wretched doubt.

“I’m not asking for a decision,” he went on. “I know it’s too soon. But I think you understand how it is, that this land is another kind of mistress and you’d have to tolerate its call on me. If you don’t see any possibility of sharing what I’d need you to share…”

“I’d share anything with you,” she cut in fervently. “Anything!” She felt him hold his breath and into her mind slipped the words Elizabeth King had spoken of her husband, Lachan, words that held the truth of her feeling for the man holding her in his arms. She hitched herself up, sliding her arms around his neck, speaking directly to the eyes questioning hers. “You are where I want to be. Whatever that entails, Nathan.”

His sigh whispered out through a smile that warmed her entire being. “So we have a beginning,” he said, a husky contentment in his voice.

“And no end in sight,” Miranda answered exultantly.

He laughed and rolled her onto her back, looming over her in a pose of wonderfully dominant maleness. “I gave you a choice,” he said teasingly.

“There was no choice,” she retorted. “Only you.”

“No one but you,” he answered softly.

And there was respect for the truths they had spoken this night in the love-making that followed. It was a good beginning, an open and honest communication of where they stood with each other, and Miranda ardently hoped that all the tomorrows would prove they were right in feeling what they did.