Her Knight in the Outback (9 page)

Revived her.

God, she'd missed hot breath mingling with hers. Someone else's
saliva in her mouth, the chemical rush that came with that. Tangling tongues.
Sliding teeth. And not just any tongue, breath and teeth but ones that belonged
with all that hard flesh and ink and leather.

Marshall's.

‘You taste of wine, Weatherman,' she breathed.

His eyes fixated on her tongue as she savoured the extra
flavour on her lips. ‘Maybe it's your own?'

‘I had water.'

He lifted back slightly and squinted at her. ‘Trying to get me
drunk?'

‘Trying to fight the inevitable.'

His chuckle rumbled against her chest. ‘How's that working out
for you?'

Gentle and easy and undemanding and just fine with something as
casual as she needed. Wanted. All that she could offer.

And so she gave him access—tempting him with the touch of her
tongue—and the very act was a kind of psychological capitulation. Her decision
made. Even before she knew she was making it.

She trusted Marshall, even if she didn't know him all that
well. He'd been careful and understanding and honest, and her body was
thrumming
its interest in having more access to his. With very
little effort she could have his bare, hot skin against hers and her fingertips
buried in the sexy curve of all that muscle.

He was gorgeous. He was intriguing. He was male and he was
right here in front of her in living, breathing flesh and blood. And he was
offering her what she suspected would be a really, really good time.

Did the rest really matter?

One large, hot hand slid up under her T-shirt and curled around
her ribcage below her breast as they kissed, monitoring the heart rate that
communicated in living braille onto his palm. Letting her get used to him being
there. Doing to her exactly what she longed to do to him. Letting her stop him
if she wanted. But no matter how many ways he twisted against her, the two of
them couldn't get comfortable on the narrow little sofa. No wonder he'd
struggled to sleep on it last night. And all the while she had an expansive bed
littered with cloud-like pillows just metres away.

Eve levered herself off the sofa, not breaking contact with
Marshall's lips or talented hands as he also rose, and she stretched as he
straightened to his full height.

‘Bed,' she murmured against his teeth.

His escalating kisses seemed to concur. One large foot bumped
into hers and nudged it backwards, then another and the first one again. Like
some kind of clunky slow dance, they worked their way back through the little
kitchen, then through the
en suite
bathroom and
toward unchartered territory. Her darkened bedroom. All the time, Marshall
bonded them together either with his lips or his eyes or the hands speared into
her hair and curled around her bottom.

There was something delightfully complicit about the way he
used his body to steer her backwards into the bedroom while she practically
tugged him after her. It said they were equals in this. That they were both
accountable and that they both wanted it to happen.

Below her socked feet, the harder external floor of the
en suite bathroom
gave way to the plush carpet
of the bedroom. Marshall's hands slid up to frame her face, holding it steady
for the worship of his mouth. His tongue explored the welcome, warm place beyond
her teeth just as much as she wanted him to explore this unchartered place
beyond the doorway threshold.

A gentle fibrillation set up in the muscles of her legs,
begging her to sink backwards onto her bed. The idea of him following her down
onto it only weakened them further.

‘Eve...' he murmured, but she ignored him, pulling back just
slightly to keep the bedward momentum up. It took a moment for the cooler air of
the gap she created to register.

Her eyes drifted open. They dropped to his feet, which had
stopped, toes on the line between carpet and timber boards.

Hard on the line.

Confusion brought her gaze back up to his.

‘I don't expect this,' he whispered, easing the words with a
soft brush of his lips. And, when she just blinked at him, his eyes drifted
briefly to the bed in case she was too passion-dazzled to comprehend him.

She pulled again.

But those feet didn't shift from the line and so all she
achieved was more space between them. Such disappointing, chilly space. At least
the hot grasp of his hand still linked them.

‘Marshall...?'

‘I just wanted to kiss you.'

Ditto!
‘We can kiss in here. More comfortably.'

But the distance was official now and tugging any more reeked
of desperation so she grudgingly let his hand drop.

‘If I get on that bed with you we won't just be kissing,' he
explained, visibly moderating his breathing.

‘And that's a problem because...?'

‘This isn't some roadhouse.'

Confusion swelled up around her numb brain. ‘What?'

‘You don't strike me as the sex-on-the-first-date type.'

Really? There was a type for these things? ‘I don't believe in
types. Only circumstances.'

‘Are you saying you're just up for it because it's
convenient?'

Up for it.
Well, that sucked a little of the romance
out of things. Then again, romance was not why she'd put her tongue in his mouth
just minutes ago. What she wanted from Marshall was what he'd been unconsciously
promising her from the moment they'd met.

No strings.

No rules.

No consequences.

‘I'm tired of being alone, Marshall. I'm tired of not feeling
anything but sadness. I need to feel something good.' A guarded wariness stole
over his flushed face and she realised she needed to give him more than that. ‘I
have no illusions that it's going to go anywhere; in fact, I need it to be
short. I don't want the distraction.'

He still didn't look convinced.

‘I haven't so much as touched another human being in months,
Marshall.'

‘Any port in a storm, then?'

God knew it would be stormy between them. As wild and
tempestuous as any sea squall. And just as brief.

‘We've covered a lot of ground in our few days together and I
trust you. I'm attracted to you. I need
you
, Marshall.'

All kinds of shapes seemed to flicker across the back of his
intense gaze.

‘But I'm not about to beg. Either you want me or you don't.
I'll sleep comfortably tonight either way.'
Such lies!
‘Can you say the
same?'

Of course he wanted her. It was written in the heave of his
chest and the tightness of his muscles and the very careful way he wasn't making
a single unplanned move. He wanted what she was offering, too, but there was
something about it that he didn't want. Just...something.

And something was enough.

Eve went to push past him, back to the movie, making the
disappointing decision for both of them.

But, as she did, his body blocked her path and his left foot
crossed onto carpet. Then his right, backing her towards the bed. And then he
closed the door on the sword fights of Middle Earth and plunged them into
darkness, leaving only the smells and sounds and tastes of passion between
them.

CHAPTER SEVEN

E
VERY
MUSCLE
IN
Eve's body twinged when she tried to move. Not that she could move particularly far with the heavy heat of Marshall's arm weighing her down. But in case she somehow managed to forget how the two of them had passed the long night, her body was there to remind her. In graphic detail.

Languid smugness glugged through her whole system.

She gave up trying to softly wiggle out of captivity and just accepted her fate. After all, there were much worse ways to go. And to wake up. Right now, her brain was still offering spontaneous flashbacks to specific moments of greatness between them last night, and every memory came with a sensation echo.

Beside her, Marshall slept on in all his insensible glory. Buried face first in her pillows, relaxed, untroubled. It was very tempting just to lie here until lunchtime committing Sleeping Beauty to memory.

Although there was her bladder...

Ugh.

She took more decisive action and slid Marshall's arm off her chest, which roused him sufficiently to croak as she sprang to her feet. ‘Morning.'

When was the last time she'd
sprung
anywhere? Usually she just hauled herself out of bed and gritted her teeth as she got on with the business of living.

‘Morning yourself. Just give me a sec.'

Easing her bladder just a couple of metres and a very thin en suite bathroom wall away from Marshall was an unexpectedly awkward moment. It seemed ridiculous after everything they'd shared in the past twelve hours to have to concentrate her way through a sudden case of bashful bladder. As soon as she was done and washed, she scampered back into the toasty warm and semi-occupied bed.

‘You're better than an electric blanket,' she sighed, letting the heat soak into her cold feet.

‘Feel free to snuggle in.'

Don't mind if I do
. She was going to milk this one-night stand for every moment she could.

Marshall hauled her closer with the same strong arm that had held her captive earlier, her back to his chest in a pretty respectable spoon.

His voice rumbled down her spine. ‘How are you feeling?'

Wow. Not an easy question to answer, and not one she'd expected him to ask. That was a very
not
one-night stand kind of question. Thank goodness she wasn't facing him.

‘I'm...' What was she? Elated? Reborn? She couldn't say that aloud. ‘I have no regrets. Last night was absolutely what I expected and needed. And more. It was amazing, Marshall.'

It was only then that she realised how taut the body behind her had become. Awkwardness saturated his words when they eventually came.

‘Actually, I meant because of today.'

She blinked. ‘What's today?'

‘One year?'

A bucket of icy Southern Ocean couldn't have been more effective. The frigid wash chased all the warmth of Marshall's hold away and left her aching and numb. And barely breathing.

Travis.
Her poor, lost brother. Twelve months without a boy she'd loved her whole life and she'd let herself be distracted by a man she'd known mere moments by comparison.

She struggled for liberty and Marshall let her tumble out of bed to her feet.

‘I'm fine,' she said tightly. ‘Just another day.'

He pushed onto his side, giving her a ringside seat for the giant raptor on his chest. She'd so badly wanted to see it last night but the room was too dark. And now she was too gutted to enjoy it.

‘Okay...'

Mortification soaked in. What was wrong with her? How much worse to know that, for those first precious moments of consciousness, she hadn't even remembered she
had
a brother. She'd been all about Marshall.

What kind of a sister was she, anyway?

You wanted to forget
, that little voice inside reminded her cruelly.
Just for one night. Wasn't that the point?

Yes. But not like this. Not entirely.

She hadn't meant to
erase
Travis.

‘It's a number,' she lied, rummaging in a drawer before dragging on panties and then leggings.

‘A significant one,' Marshall corrected quietly.

She pulled a comfortable sweater on over the leggings. ‘It's not like it took me by surprise. I've been anticipating it.'

Marshall sat up against the bed head and tucked the covers up around his waist ultra-carefully. ‘I know.'

‘So why are you making it into an issue?'

Ugh... Listen to herself...

Storm-grey eyes regarded her steadily. ‘I just wanted to see how you were feeling this morning. Forget I mentioned it. You seem...great.'

The lie was as ridiculous as it was obvious.

‘Okay.'

What was wrong with her? It wasn't Marshall's fault that she'd sought to use him for a bit of escapism. He'd fulfilled his purpose well.

Maybe too well.

‘So, should we get going right after breakfast?' she asked brightly from the
en suite bathroom
as she brushed her hair. Hard to know whether all that heat in her cheeks was residual passion from last night, anger at herself for forgetting today or embarrassment at behaving like a neurotic teen.

Or all of the above.

A long pause from the bed followed and she slowed the drag of the bristles through her hair until it stilled in her hand.

‘I've got to get back on the road,' she added, for something to fill the silence.

She should never have left it, really. She replaced the brush and then turned to stand in the bathroom doorway. Trying to be grown up about this. ‘We both have jobs to do.'

What was going on behind that careful masculine expression? It was impossible to know. He even seemed to blink in slow motion. But his head eventually inclined—just.

‘I'll convoy as far as the South Coast Highway,' he started. ‘Then I'll head back to Kal. The road should be open by now.'

Right.

Was that disappointment washing through her midsection? Did she imagine that last night would have changed anything? She
wanted
them to go their separate ways. She'd practically shouted at him that this was a one-off thing. Yet bitterness still managed to fight its way through all her self-pity about Travis.

‘Yeah. Okay.'

That was probably for the best. Definitely.

‘Do you want me to take some posters for the Norseman to Kalgoorlie stretch? That'll save you doubling back down the track.'

It physically hurt that he could still be considerate when she was being a jerk. A twinge bit deep in her chest and she had to push words through it. Her shoulder met the doorframe.

‘You're a nice man, Marshall Sullivan.'

His blankness didn't alter. And neither did he move. ‘So I've been told.'

Then nothing. For ages. They just stared at each other warily.

Eventually he went to fling back the covers and Eve spun on the spot before having to face the visual temptation of everything she'd explored with her fingers and lips last night, and made the first excuse she could think of.

‘I'll get some toast happening.'

* * *

Nice.

Just what every man wanted to hear from a woman he'd spent the night with. Not ‘fantastic' or ‘unforgettable'. Not ‘awe-inspiring' or ‘magnificent'.

Nice.

He'd heard that before, from the Sydney kids who had clambered over him in their quest to get closer to Rick and his chemical smorgasbord. From friends and girls and the occasional tragic teacher.

He'd always been the
nicer
brother.

But not the one everyone wanted access to.

Sticks and stones...

Problem was, Eve's lips might have been issuing polite compliments but the rest of her was screaming eviction orders and, though he'd only known her a couple of days, it was long enough for him to recognise the difference. He'd had enough one-off encounters with women to know
get out of my room
when he saw it. Despite all the brave talk last night, she was
not
comfortable with the aftermath of their exhausting night together.

And he was all too familiar with eyes that said something different from words. He'd had them all his life.

He'd been right in assuming Eve wasn't a woman who did this a lot; she was most definitely under-rehearsed in the fine art of the morning-after kiss-off. If he'd realised there'd be no lingering kisses this morning he would have taken greater care to kiss her again last night just before they fell into an exhausted slumber twisted up in each other.

Because Eve had just made it very clear that there would be no more kissing between them.

Ever.

He'd worked his butt off last night giving her the kind of night she clearly needed from him. Making sure it was memorable. And, if he was honest, giving Eve something to think about. To regret. Maybe that was why it stung even more to see her giving it exactly zero thought this chilly morning.

Wham-bam, thank you, Marshall
.

Somewhere, the universe chuckled to itself as the cosmic balance evened up. That was what he got for usually hotfooting it out the next morning the way Eve just had.

Only generally to fire up his motorcycle, not the toaster.

What did he expect? Days wrapped up in each other's arms here in this ridiculous little bus while his remaining weeks on the project ticked ever closer to an end and her bank balance slowly drained away? Neither of them had the luxury of indefinite leisure. He wasn't stupid.

Or maybe he was...because Evelyn Read was definitely not a one-off kind of woman and some deep part of him had definitely hoped for more than the single night they'd both agreed on between kisses. Which meant it was probably just as well that was all he was getting. Eve had no room for another man in her single-track life.

And he was done being a means to an end.

He pulled yesterday's T-shirt back on and rather enjoyed the rumples and creases. They were like little trophies. A reminder of how the shirt had been thoroughly trampled underfoot in their haste to get each other naked. A souvenir of the disturbingly good time he'd had with her beyond her bedroom door.

‘Don't burn it,' he murmured, passing into the tiny kitchenette intentionally close to her, just to get one more feel of her soft skin. His body brushed the back of hers.

Her feet just about left the floor, she jumped that fast and high. Then a sweet heat coloured along her jawline and her lips parted and he had to curl his fingers to stop himself from taking her by the hand and dragging her back to that big, warm bed and reminding her what lips were made for.

It felt good to torture Eve, just a little bit. It sure felt good to surprise her into showing her hand like that. To shake the ambivalence loose. To watch the unsteadiness of her step. She might call a halt to this thing just getting going between them but he wasn't going to go easily.

He kept on moving past her, ignoring the sweet little catch in her breath, and he stopped at the back doors, flung them open and then stretched his hands high to hook them on the top of the bus, stretching out the kinks of the night, knowing how his back muscles would be flexing. Knowing how the ink there would flash from beneath his T-shirt. Knowing how that ink fascinated her.

If she was going to drive off into the horizon this morning, she sure wasn't going to do it with a steady brake foot.

Yup. He was a jerk.

He leapt down from the bus and turned to his KTM, and murmured to the bitter cold morning.

‘
Nice
, my ass.'

* * *

The bus's brake lights lit up on the approach to the junction between the Coolgardie and South Coast Highways and Marshall realised he hadn't really thought this through. It was a big intersection but not built for pulling over and undertaking lingering farewells. It was built for turning off in any of the four points of the compass. His road went north, Eve's went further west.

But the uncertain blink of her brake lights meant she, too, was hesitating on the pedal.

She didn't know what to do either.

Marshall gave the KTM some juice and pulled up in the turn lane beside her instead, reassuring himself in the mirror that there was no one on the remote highway behind them. Eve dropped her window as he flipped his helmet visor.

‘Good luck with the rest of your trip,' he called over the top of his thrumming engine and her rattling one.

‘Thank you.' It was more mouthed than spoken.

God, this was a horrible way of doing this. ‘I hope you get some news of your brother soon.'

Eve just nodded.

Then there was nothing much more to say. What could he say? So he just gave her a small salute and went to lower his visor. But, at the last moment, he found inspiration. ‘Thank you for coming with me yesterday. I know you would have rather been back on the road.'

Which was code for
Thanks for last night, Eve
. If only he were the slightest bit emotionally mature.

She nodded again. ‘I'm glad I did it.'

Middle Island
, he told himself. Yesterday. That was all.

And then a car appeared on the highway in his mirror, way back in the distance, and he knew they were done.

He saluted again, slid his tinted visor with the obligatory squished bugs down between them and gave the bike some juice. It took only seconds to open up two hundred metres of highway between them and he kept Eve in his mirrors until the Bedford crossed the highway intersection and was gone from view, heading west.

Not the worst morning-after he'd ever participated in, but definitely not the best.

He was easily the flattest he could remember being.

He hadn't left his number. Or asked for hers. Neither of them had volunteered it and that was telling. And, without a contact, they'd never find each other again, even if they wanted to.