A Man For All Seasons (14 page)

Finally the car slowed and turned into a driveway. When the vehicle came to a gentle halt she was hit by the silence. Without the soft hum of the car's engine and the soft background noise of the radio, the quiet seemed unnatural.

By contrast his voice seemed strangely alien. “Welcome to Dingo's Rest, Seraphim.”

And then it hit her. She was really here, in Australia, at the far end of the world. Tiredness fell away from her like a shed snakeskin and excitement and anticipation zinged through her blood. She felt truly alive, as if she'd always lived in a pleasant but slightly cloudy world that a brisk wind had whipped away. True, she felt a little insecure, a little fearful, but at the same time thrilled by her own daring. And of course, there was Chad.

She smiled up at him and leant forward to receive the kiss she had sensed was imminent. Torn between her desire to never let him go and her curiosity about her new environment she was saved from making a decision when he let her go and started out the car.

The slamming sound of the car doors felt almost rude in the hushed landscape. Little was visible in the dark. A big timber house, dimly lit by a single bare bulb, loomed before her. Everything else became a blur. But she sucked in her breath in delighted surprise when she glanced up to the inky sky.

“Oh my goodness, look at all those stars!” Above her, the sky seemed a vast cloudless eternity, hung with millions of tiny, twinkling lanterns of light. Somehow it all seemed closer; the stars brighter and the small sliver of moon more illuminant that any she'd ever experienced before. Wonder filled her, and suddenly she seemed very small beneath the universe.

“There's not enough stars in your sky,” Chad said.

And she knew exactly what he meant.

“Come on, let's get inside.” His voice was rough with tiredness.

A wave of guilt washed over her. How could she be so thoughtless? The man must be exhausted. She hurried around to get her baggage and followed him eagerly through the small timber gate and up a flight of steps to a wide sweep of covered verandah.

Without pausing he thrust the door open, flicked on a light and stepped inside. Still clutching her heavy bag to her chest, Seraphim looked around. It was unlike any house she'd ever been in before. Her first impression was of space and height. Indeed the ceilings where incredibly high. Timber was her second thought. Never before had she seen so much wood. The floors, walls and window frames were all timber. The floor a dull scrubbed brown, the walls painted a butter cream.

Beside her she felt Chad shift restlessly. She glanced at him and to her surprise found him observing her with an expression that could only be described as anxious. She could sense the tension in his body, a small tick flickered in his jaw, and lines fanned softly from his eyes, screwed up in unease.

He flicked his hand out and waved it vaguely in a half circle. “So, what do you think?”

Then she understood. Of course, he'd only known her back at home, amidst the luxurious trappings of her family home. “I think it's intriguing,” she replied honestly. “Show me the rest.”

Tension seeped out of him almost visibly. The familiar easy expression grew back in place, and his shoulders dropped into relaxed lines. He grinned. “She's a bit basic. Not what you're used to.”

A pulse throbbed hotly within her core, heat gathering, nerves tingling as she observed him. Her mouth became dry, and her nipples seemed to tingle and throb. A vision of his hands cupping each full breast filled her mind, and she envisioned herself arching up to meet him. Desire rooted her to the spot. What would he think if he could read her mind? Thank goodness he couldn't.

But although he certainly wasn't possessed of psychic powers, Chad must have picked up the gist of the matter without the need for words. His eyes suddenly locked with hers, the black pupils dilating as the iris darkened to the colour of a good malt whiskey. His mouth set in a determined line. Mesmerised, she watched as his hand closed gently around the top of her arm.

“How about I show you the bedroom first,” he said.

Tongue-tied, unable to string a comprehensible sentence together, she nodded. Hand-in-hand, she a shadow's breadth behind, they travelled across the kitchen floor, up a dark corridor and into a doorway on the left. For one moment doubt filled her. Perhaps this was the guest room. How did she know that his was an invitation at all? Maybe he would just bid her a polite goodnight and leave. If he did, she would die.

Panic rose as he walked away, a black blur, back toward the door. Disappointment flooded her, she felt lonely and bereft, foolish tears pricked her eyes. He was going.

Then she blinked furiously as light flooded the room. Immediately she knew her fears had been unfounded. It was undoubtedly a man's room. Jeans lay strewn in a corner, a pair of wicked looking spurs dangled off a hook, and several hats hung on a stand. Other than a brilliant red duvet cover, the room was utilitarian. No pictures, no cushions. Not even a mat on the dark timber floor. It was unreservedly the most beautiful room she had ever seen.

And here it was. The moment. He retraced his footsteps. She loved the way he moved, with the strength of an athlete, the sureness of a predator, and the sinuous grace of a dancer; centre of gravity low, hips fluid, back straight. She felt herself bubble with helpless excitement.

He pulled her close. She could feel his eagerness, a hard length of thigh and the soft caress of lips upon her neck. Her senses quivered as her nose buried into his neck, drinking in his aroma of soap, spicy aftershave and sun-kissed skin. And she ceased to think. She simply surrendered.

In one breathless moment she was in his arms, and then upon the bed. Doubts melted away like bursting bubbles. Time became a series of sensuous discoveries, each one more exquisite than the last. Gentleness gave way to violent need. They came together in a volcanic fury of flesh, hot and explosive. They peaked, encapsulated in mutual delight, and faded simultaneously, body's slick and glistening, to lay sated and replete.

For several moments she laid still, her mind dulled by a state of euphoria. A pulse beat loudly in her neck. It was enough to feel the delicious weight of his arm upon her belly, and to hear his steady breathing. It was enough to simply stare into the deep pools of his eyes, watching the flecks of topaz swirl, and to read in them a reflection of all she felt inside. It could not possibly be better. They must surely be perfectly matched. There would never be anybody else.

Slowly he rolled toward her, propped himself onto one elbow, the other hand brushing softly along the flat line of her belly. She quivered in delight, and closed her eyes in ecstasy as his head bent and suckled on one taut nipple. Her breath gasped from her as he slowly pulled away. She opened her eyes and found him grinning down.

She reached out and pulled his head roughly to her, a hand caught in his hair, demanding and impatient. She kissed him, questing with tongue and lips. He rolled onto his back, pulling her over to lie stretched out upon his muscled body.

With infinite tenderness he pushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “Is it just me, or was that pretty bloody amazing?”

She grinned back, entranced with the novelty of her view. “I'd have to agree. But, to be on the safe side, I think we'd better have a rerun.”

A second invitation wasn't necessary.

In the aftermath of their loving, Seraphim sat up and looked down upon her lover's form.
Her lover.
She swirled the words around her head, silently forming them with her lips. He lay still, eyes closed, one hand resting softly on the silky skin of her thigh. As she traced his nakedness she realised that the dark hair that lay on his chest seemed very dark. It wouldn't have been an exaggeration to say it was black. Not dark brown, but pure, deep, coal black. The hair on his head had been streaked with sun, giving a range of colours from dark brown, through to chestnut.

Then she sat up straight and stared. A small smile of amusement spread across her face. With deliberation she scanned across the gorgeous planes of his body once more. She must be mistaken. But a minute of intense scrutiny satisfied her. Nowhere could she detect the suggestion of paler skin. Her smile grew into a wide grin. How deliciously wicked, he'd been sun baking naked!

“You've been sun baking in the nude,” she said.

But after several seconds she received no reply. It took a second or two longer before she realised that he had fallen asleep. Tentatively she reached out and brushed her fingers softly along his neck. His jaw line had darkened with new beard growth, and his black lashes lay softly upon one scaffold of cheekbone. “Goodnight Chad,” she whispered.

Silently she slipped off the bed and switched out the light. For a while she lay in the dark and concentrated on the sleeping form beside her. It seemed almost too wonderful to believe. As she slipped into an exhausted slumber she envisioned the days and weeks to come. It was going to be wonderful.

When she awoke light poured in through the unencumbered windows. For a moment she wondered where the hell she was. But as memory filed back into her consciousness the tension seeped out of her body and she flopped back upon her pillow. Stretching sinuously she ran her hands down her body. What a night!

Beside her the bed was empty. The clock on the wall told her it was just past seven. Without further thought she bounced out of bed, suddenly filled with longing to see him. She threw on the first things that came to hand from her bulging suitcase, jeans and an old T-shirt.

In the corridor the house seemed still; instinctively she knew she was alone. A short exploration led her to a bathroom, clean but basic in white. After a quick wash and tidy up, Seraphim set off down the hallway. Several windows housed air conditioning units, their soft humming the only sound.

She retraced her steps down to the kitchen and pushed open the front door. Out on the wide verandah a blast of heat enveloped her. Shock pinioned her to the spot and it took several moments to come to grasps with the sudden onslaught, feeling a sudden empathy for lobsters.

A harsh sound pulled her out of her revere and she looked skyward where several huge white birds shrieked across a vivid blue sky. They disappeared behind her and her sights lowered. Incredulously, she looked around, north, south and west. “Oh my goodness,” she mumbled.

The landscape stretched away as far as the eye could see, just a vast shimmering vista of red earth, broken only by the black skeletal remains of trees. It seemed like a scene from a sci-fi movie or some alien, distant planet.

“Seraphim!”

From the depths of a huge timber shed Chad appeared. Even from the distance she could read the welcome in his smile and the eagerness in his gait. But words failed her. She stood, struck dumb, as he ran easily across the baked earth toward her.

“How are you?”

By way of reply Seraphim sat down, dropped her head into her lap and began to cry.

Sixteen

Helplessly Chad looked down at the bowed head and quaking shoulders of the person he loved most. Guilt and fear gripped like forceps. The former in response to nagging doubts he had harboured all the way home, the latter simply a belief that she would soon be gone.

He crouched down silently beside her and forced out the words he'd hoped never to say. “I can organise a plane, if you want. You could be back in Brisbane in a day or two.”

Horror gripped him as a fresh outpouring of sobs assaulted his ears. Her head lifted to reveal a woebegone face awash with tears, black eyes glittering like wet jet. “I don't want to g…go to bloody Brisbane.”

For a moment he remained quiet, desperately trying to get a grip on this sudden crisis. She was upset, no doubt about that bit. Actually, very upset. Crying even. But she didn't want to go to Brisbane. What did that mean? If she didn't want to go to Brisbane, what did she want?

A tear trickled down her chin and plopped silently onto the dusty stair. His heart contracted with sympathy. Poor little chick. Slowly he moved closer and put an arm around her. “What do you want?”

She literally collapsed against his chest. “I just have to cry.” And so she did. Without restraint she broke down again, tears spouting in fountains, sobs rising and falling in mournful scales. A damp spot darkened the front of his faded blue shirt. Lost for words he patted her back awkwardly waiting, somewhat anxiously, for the storm to abate.

Sitting there on the deck with the weeping woman in his arms, Chad felt a strange surge of mixed emotions. Love, of course, but other things too. It was part relief, with an element of protectiveness and an odd sense of belonging. Patiently he waited, absorbing the moment; acutely aware of the small eddies of dust whirling across the plains, the distant lowing of a cow, and the garrulous arguing of the gospel birds.

Slowly the outpouring subsided, until only a soft hiccupping remained in evidence of her distress. Then Chad had a brainwave. Tea. That was the answer. In England a cup of tea had been a panacea and cure-all for everything. Indeed, at times he'd felt practically awash in the stuff. He put his theory to the test. “Would you like a cup of tea?”