Hidden Fire (17 page)

With a quick glance over her shoulder to check Morgan wasn't coming, Gili stripped off her shorts and top and filled the bowl with water. Then she gave herself as good a wash as she could under the circumstances. An errant grin flickered across her lips. At least she didn't have to deal with muddy hair this time.

A huge yawn caught her unawares as she pulled on fresh panties and smoothed the baggy t-shirt down her body. Lord, she was tired. What with everything that had gone on, it'd been a long day.

Leaving the lantern on, she climbed into Charlie's bedroll and tugged the cover over her. Relaxing, she let the stresses of the day fade away, consciousness dimming as sleep gathered on the edges of her mind.

Feel the fire, Gili lubra
.

Rolling her head, she struggled to open her eyes. Sleep dragged at her, making it difficult. Imagination, that's all.

You are the fire, Gili Lubra
.

This time she knew she hadn't imagined it. She jerked her head up from the pillow and peered around. White smoke obscured her vision, making her cough and gasp. Too much smoke from one little carbide lantern.

A figure materialized out of the smoke, floating in front of her. A wispy white outline that solidified as the smoke spiralled into the center of the being. A young woman, naked but for a loincloth tied about her hips. She extended her hand and beckoned, a smile on her ethereal face.

Behind her stood a man, another phantom apparition. He slid one hand around the woman's torso and cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger tweaking at her nipple. The woman moaned and angled her head back so it rested on his chest. She closed her eyes a moment and then lifted her head and looked straight at Gili.

“Come,
Gili lubra
, it's your turn to follow the fire.” She held her hand out and smiled.

This time the words were vocal, not in her head. As heat washed over her, Gili's heart sped up. Her body trembled and it was all she could do to push herself to her feet.

Other spirits joined the couple, twisting and twirling in the smoke-shadowed light. They floated above her, around her, beside her. The eroticism of their cavorting drove fire through Gili, dampening her skin with desire and taunting her with a need to belong.

With a fatalistic whimper, Gili stepped out, intent on following where the spirits led. It would do no good to resist. Somehow, she knew that. It was as if she'd been leading up to this for years.

The pelican art on her shoulder buzzed the skin, like hundreds of ants crawling in a manic scrabble across her back. The area grew hot and her nerves jumped.

Gili groaned as emotions tumbled through her. A desperate hunger to be a part of the nocturnal dance blossomed inside her. Reefing the baggy t-shirt over her head, she tossed it to the ground. Her skin felt tight, as if she couldn't contain the sensations rippling through her.

The spectres led and Gili followed. Grabbing up Morgan's flashlight, she danced across the mine and down the side tunnel where she'd discovered the Aboriginal painting of the pelican—a match to the one fluttering on her shoulder.

The ghosts twisted about her and brushed at her bare flesh. She was hot. So hot. Inside and out. Unable to stand it any longer, she ran her hands up her body, cupping her breasts. Her nipples were hard. Throbbing. An invisible surge arced through her body and disappeared between her thighs. A new ache emerged there, pulsing in time to the throb of her breasts.

A low sound filled the air. The monotones of a didgeridoo, like the steady beat of a human heart. The sound slipped through the pores of Gili's skin, infecting her blood and firing her senses.

She stood in front of the Aboriginal painting of the pelican. Lights suddenly flashed in the darkened tunnel. Bright blue, emerald green, soft pink, opaque white, burnt orange, vibrant yellow, and overlaying it all was the flare of fire-engine red, bathing everything in a surreal glow.

The colors whirled around her. The drone of the didgeridoo matched her heartbeat. The flashlight no longer necessary, she tossed it away and raised her arms to worship at the feet of the spectres twirling over her. Heat beat at her senses, demanding she feed them.

“Morgan, where are you? I need you.”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck and rotated his shoulders to try to work out the kinks. Not that it would do much good. The way he felt had nothing to do with physical tiredness. This was more a case of emotional stress. The type that wasn't about to go away while Gili was in close proximity.

He groaned. What the hell was he going to do about Gili? He'd begun to suspect that Charlie was right. Gili may well be the key to finding the sacred opal. There was no doubt the mine called to something in her. She connected with the spirits in a way he'd never seen before, and certainly not in someone who didn't carry one drop of Aboriginal blood.

The problem was, if she
did
find the
Dreamtime Fire
, she'd want to remove it. Take it and give it to bloody Jeremy Grissom.

“Rotten little toad,” he mumbled as he approached the mine. “I'd like to take him and—”

Frowning, he broke off and shook his head. Everyone seemed to hate Jeremy Grissom's guts. What was it about the damned man that allowed him to coerce people into doing this type of work for him? Even Gili.

Suddenly, he paused, one hand braced on the sandstone opening of the mine.
Even Gili…

Hmm, now there's something for you to think about
. If Gili hated Jeremy as much as she implied, why was she working for him? Simply to help her father? Knowing the kind of man Jeremy Grissom was, was there a possibility she was doing this under duress?

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Jeremy said
she
was responsible for setting up the sting in Iran. Maybe I was wrong all this time. What if—”

Enough speculating. Go ask the woman outright.

Ducking into the tunnel, he glanced around, his mouth quirking into a smile when he saw the bedroll spread out on the opposite side of the lantern to his. Probably Charlie's by the look of it. Gili's way of avoiding sleeping with him.

The blankets were scrunched up and tossed back, as if Gili had gone to bed and then gotten up again. He stared around the cavern. No Gili. He shrugged. She'd probably gone to the latrine.

She wouldn't be long. While he waited, he stripped down to his briefs and flicked back the top of his sleeping bag. If he had his way, Gili would share it with him tonight. His body clamored to have her near, his lower regions stiffening at the thought.

Heat rode him, making him groan with the force of his need. He wanted nothing more than to throw Gili down on his sleeping bag, rip her clothes off and submerge his aching body in her slick warmth. Pound away at her until her muscles clenched around him and she milked him dry. Then he wanted to start all over again until she screamed out her climax.

He blew out a deep breath and struggled to hang on to his customary control. Not that he'd had much of that since Gili had turned up.

Sleeping with Gili wasn't a good idea. He needed to keep his distance or he'd be back where he'd been six years ago. Hungering for Gili with every part of him and devastated when she walked away. “Not going to happen,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Where the hell was she? She should have been back by now. Stupid woman probably got turned around in the dark and now couldn't find her way back to the mine.

With a muttered oath, he rummaged around in his backpack looking for the flashlight. When he couldn't find it, he jammed the hard hat on his head and flicked on the attached light. Then he dropped down onto the sleeping bag and grabbed his boots again.

Before he could stuff his foot into the first boot, he heard a moan coming from deeper in the mine. Tossing his footwear, he jumped up and took off down the tunnel, unmindful of the occasional sharp stone under his bare feet.

The steady throb of a mournful didgeridoo had now joined the moaning. The sound was hypnotic. Arousing. It wreathed about his head and sank into his brain. Rode through his blood and strengthened his erection to the point of pain.

Lights flashed in the darkness, a combination of all the colors of the opals that were hidden within the sandstone walls. The miners' hat no longer necessary, he turned it off and dropped the hat onto the dirt floor. With only the magic colors to guide him, he rounded the curve of the tunnel where Gili had found the painting of the pelican.

The chanting of Aboriginal voices rose in a crescendo. The strobe-like effect of the opal lights sped up, until the beams of light became solid, reaching into every dark recess and crevice of the tunnel. Each color overlaid with another of the brilliant hues of the rainbow, sweeping the area with a living canvas of illumination.

Gili stood there, bathed in the dancing colors, naked but for a skimpy pair of bikini panties. Her breasts bobbing in time to her movements, she swayed to the throb of the native wind instrument.

The spirits of his long distant ancestors writhed in abandon in the air above her, fading away as she stepped into their midst. The chanting died down to a whisper and Morgan could have sworn he saw one of the spectral beings separate from Gili's body. The flash of the opal colors dimmed a little, but still Gili danced on, her hands caressing her body in sexual fervor.

Morgan moved closer. Close enough to smell the musk of Gili's sex. “Gili, what are you doing?”

She smiled at him. “
The Dreamtime Fire
. It's here, close by. I can feel it. It's calling to me.” She spun about and pointed to the painting of the pelican.

Morgan's eyes widened as he stared at Gili's bare back. The tattoo riding her shoulder seemed to have moved. It was higher up now, the tip of one wing resting on the point of her shoulder. And surely the wings in the original version weren't unfurled like that?

He shook his head and stared again. The skin over the tattoo rippled. The bird lifted its wing and trailed the tip down Gili's cheek like a caress. Then it curved over the top of her shoulder and the flesh smoothed out, the pelican resting flat against her body.

What the hell
?

If anyone had asked him, he would have bet his last dollar that damn tattoo had moved. My God, it was impossible. It was nothing but ink etched into the top layers of skin. Wasn't it?

“Hot. So hot.” Gili beckoned to him, a secretive smile sliding across her lips. “Come put out the fire, Morgan.”

“Do you know what you're doing, Gili?”

Forgetting the tattoo for the moment, he moved closer and slid his hands over her shoulders. The tip of the bird's wing fluttered under his palm before settling back down. Morgan shuddered at the sensation, but didn't remove his hands.

Gili immediately took advantage and rested her chest against his. Her very
naked
chest.

Morgan gulped. Desire punched him in the gut as her hard nipples brushed his skin. Hell, she
was
hot, her body temperature hiked well above normal. Perspiration beaded her upper lip and he'd never seen her look so exotic or enticing.

“Oh, I know perfectly well what I'm doing. Or about to do.”

She grinned and moved her body so her breasts rubbed from side to side. “I'm going to ravage you. I'm going to do all those things I talked about earlier today. You up for it, cowboy?”

Oh, yeah, he was up for it alright. The front of his briefs bulged with the biggest, hardest erection he'd had in a long while. Without his brain even giving the command, he jerked his hips forwards, aligning their bodies so he nudged at the juncture of her thighs.

“Silly question by the feel of that.” She reached up and trailed the tip of her tongue along the line of his jaw before flicking at his mouth, nibbling at his lips and driving him crazy.

He groaned. “It's this mine. The paranormal aspects of it all. I've never experienced it before this trip.”

He tilted his head back as she dragged her lips down his throat, nipping and caressing all at the same time. “Think about it, Gili. It's the mine doing this. Not you. You'll kick my ass in the morning if I let this happen.”

Hell, being the good guy and doing the right thing was bloody hard. He'd never felt more turned on in his life.

She laughed, the sound rising and drowning out the softened drone of the didgeridoo. “Why are men so thick at times? I wanted you before I walked into this mine. For crying out loud, before I even got on that plane to fly to Australia. I have done nothing but dream about you for six years.”

She angled her mouth down, lapping at his neck. Then further still, trailing the tip of her tongue across his chest and flicking at his nipple. Morgan buried his hands in her hair, his body shaking with the force of the staggering emotions flowing through his veins.

When she sucked his nipple into the warmth of her mouth, he groaned. It felt as if someone had connected him to an electrical current when she drew on the little bud, teasing him with the rasp of her tongue and the scrape of her teeth. He struggled to find his voice amid the tumult that assaulted him.

“Just be sure, Gili,” he muttered.

“Oh, I've never been more certain of anything in my life.”

She dragged her mouth down his body, and dropping to her knees, ripped his briefs down to his ankles. Then she nipped the skin on his lower stomach. Morgan yelped in reaction and she grinned up at him.

“Just so we have the ground rules right…” She soothed the bite mark with her tongue, causing a shiver to run through his body. “No strings attached. I won't ask anything of you, but you don't get to treat me as if I'm some pariah tomorrow, right? We go into this as equals.”

He nodded, cleared his throat, and struggled to find the words. “I agree. And I'm sorry for being such a prick today.” He grimaced. “I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I was jealous. Of John, one of my best mates.”

“No need. He doesn't do anything for me. Not like this. There's no way I'd want to do this to him.”