Outback Bachelor (11 page)

Jack drove her up to the house at seven sharp. She had anticipated being asked to dinner at least once so she had packed a pair of black evening trousers worn with a simple black top with a sapphire-blue satin trim. She clipped on silver earrings and a rather lovely silver cuff. Black high heels and she was ready to present herself for McGovern inspection. She had learned Jemma’s parents had arrived with her. The father, Farleigh Templeton, had been piloting his Beech Baron.

Keefe was waiting for her in the hallway. Immediately she felt that manic upsurge in her blood. It was hell to be so passionately in love with him. She should stay away from him entirely.

You can’t do that. He’s in your blood
.

And there it was again. The question of
blood.

“You look beautiful, very
chic
!” His brilliant gaze flared over her, taking in every last detail.

The pride in his voice made her heart ache. How had she found the strength to deny him when he had wanted her? Yet she had. There was such a cloud hanging over them.

“You know the Templetons are here?” He took her arm, his long fingers a caress.

“Dad told me. Maybe they want to put a bit of pressure on Scott?” she suggested.

“I wonder if that would be wise.” Keefe’s expression went wry. “Right now I can’t think Scott would make a good husband. He has a bit of maturing to do.”

“How would you rate yourself as a potential husband?” She gave him a sideways glance.

“What a question!”

“Maybe you can’t or won’t bring the same singularity of purpose you apply to everything else to settling on the right woman.”

“Stop it, Skye,” he warned, catching her hand and pressing his thumb into the palm. “God, I wish you weren’t going back tomorrow.”

“I must.” Just his thumb working her palm, yet the movement radiated sexuality. Her entire body was aquiver. “There’s bound to be something pressing to claim me. By the way, you’d best tell me now. Has Rob given the family the tip-off about our unpremeditated kiss?”

“To my knowledge Rob hasn’t said a word,” Keefe said. “And really, Skye-Eyes, that had to be one of the best kisses of all time.”

“Agreed.” She couldn’t help but smile. “But you took a risk. The news has flown around. Dad spoke to me about it. I would say he’s concerned.”

“About what, exactly?” Keefe asked coolly. “You’ve learned nothing from him about your mother?”

“My mother was Dad’s mystery woman, Keefe.”

“Was there
nothing
he asked her?”

“Seems not.” She shrugged wryly. “Dad deemed it a miracle when my mother said she would marry him.”

“Not much of a courtship,” he said bluntly.

Skye came to a halt, her eyes a blue flame. “Dad’s love for my mother was
real
.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Keefe spoke with a mixture of frustration and impatience. “I’ll pick my moment carefully to speak to Gran. I suppose an interrogation is what it amounts to. Even if we
are
related in some way—it seems we’re both enmeshed in that one—it can’t be all that close.”

“Yet we’ve always had feelings for one another, haven’t we? Strong feelings. A strong bond.”

His lean fingers tightened around her arm. “So what does that prove?” He offered it like a challenge.

“It proves there’s a strong possibility cracks in our relationship might open up.”

They were all assembled in the very English-looking drawing room, the huge area divided by a splendid triple arch and lit by two magnificent matching Waterford crystal chandeliers. Insolent Scott and a smiling Farleigh Templeton stood in front of the white marble fireplace, filled for most of the year with a variety of lush indoor plants and blossoming branches. Over the mantel hung an enormous rectangular, very important-looking Georgian mirror, reflecting the backs of the heads of the two tall men.

There was no shortage of serious antiques in the Big House, Skye thought wryly. Yet they mingled happily with more exotic items from India and the Orient. Lady McGovern herself had until fairly recent times been a great collector of just about everything: paintings—one would have thought they had enough—porcelain; beautiful pieces of furniture; exquisite rugs. And books. Lady McGovern loved books. They were stacked on just about every table. Skye, a book lover herself, had absolutely no argument with that. She only wished she could grab a few. She spotted Margot Fonteyn’s biography side by side with Robert Helpmann’s on the library table in the entrance hall as they had come in.

Rachelle had cornered Rob, who was looking more than a little rattled. A youthful-looking Meredith Templeton, far better endowed than her daughter in the looks department, was in the midst of an animated conversation with Lady McGovern, with Jemma looking quietly on. They all broke off to stare at Skye as she entered the room with the Master of Djinjara.

The two of them seen together were stunning. Perfect foils for each other, Lady McGovern thought. Keefe so dark of hair and bronzed of complexion; Skye the blue-eyed, golden-honey blonde. Skye, being Skye, was giving no thought to the impact of her own beauty, unaware she was catching all the light. Of course they had all heard versions of that burning kiss. She, for one, heard
everything
that went on at the vast station. Some things she wouldn’t tell. Things that were secreted in her heart. Not that she had one hundred per cent proof. Just the awful nagging anxiety that had never left her. The bond between Skye and her beloved grandson forged in childhood had reached the dangerous stage.

Such a shame, a shame, a terrible shame…Both would be badly wounded. That’s if it was the truth. Lady McGovern took turns at belief and disbelief. Too fearful of going further. Lives could be destroyed. But knowing her grandson as she did, she knew he wouldn’t rest until he had the truth by the throat. Her unwillingness to speak of the past—the secrets she had buried—she accepted now would have to be revealed with all their wider implications. Not only Keefe and Skye would be devastated. What about Jack? Sometimes nothing was as it appeared to be. Sometimes the truth destroyed.

Dinner was over. Skye walked with Keefe through the home gardens, under palm fronds and low-arching branches freighted with summer blossom. Above them a glorious starred sky: Orion, the mighty hunter, Alpha, Centauri, Sirius, watchdog of the night sky, the sparkling river of diamonds, Lilah Lilya, the Milky Way, and burning bright over the sandhills the five points of Jirranjoonga, the Southern Cross. Around them a wonderfully scented desert landscape. They might have been inside a bush cathedral. Silently, as though locked in their own thoughts, they reached one of the pavilions that had been built at various points around the extensive grounds. This one, hexagonal in structure, featured white trelliswork that supported a prolifically flowering king jasmine. After the intense heat of the day, the desert quickly cooled off, so the air was sublimely fresh.

Without a word, Keefe put his strong hands to her slender hips, trapping her against him. “Alone at last!” His striking face bore an expression that held both hunger and pain.

She sighed deeply as an answering emotion engulfed her. Sensually she leaned into him. So thrilling! “Did you see their faces?”

“Okay.” He drew back, a faint edge to his voice, knowing his family had heard about the kiss. “I saw their faces. But I thought dinner went well. The Templetons are very pleasant people.”

“They are. Even so, it was easy to gauge everyone’s surprise. Correction—make that shock.”

“Who would care?” he said impatiently. “There couldn’t be a woman on earth who makes me feel like you do. Come closer to me, Skye. I can’t seem to get you close enough.’

Unable to help herself, she fitted herself against him. They were a perfect physical match. “This is what it comes to in the end, isn’t it?” she asked poignantly. “We need to make love.”

“Evidently I want it more than you do,” he told her with a twisted smile.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” She turned her head this way and that so he could nuzzle her neck. Impossible to
think
when her whole body was transformed into a column of sensation.

“What bothered me more was the way Scott kept directing looks your way.” He lifted his head abruptly to search her face.

So Scott had. Looks that had made her feel she needed to protect herself. But she couldn’t tell Keefe that. Thwarted desire only too often turned to hate. “People don’t change,” she said very quietly.

“He won’t bother you.” His vibrant voice held a distinct rasp.

“He can scarcely do that as I’m going home.”

“So you keep saying.” He pressed his mouth to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. Not content, he slipped off her earring and put it in his pocket. Then he returned to teasing and gently nipping the lobe. “I thought Djinjara was your home?” he muttered. “I detest these separations.”

She gave a little discordant laugh. “Just think, if we were anywhere else—in the city instead of on Djinjara—I suppose I could be your mistress?” There was just a glimmer of goading in her voice. “Your sister finds it
unthinkable
you could fall in love with me. Your grandmother too looked very watchful. She’s fond of me but I definitely don’t figure in her plans.”

He broke off his ministrations, stepping out of the role of lover. “Much as I love Gran, I make my own plans,” he said firmly. “You ought to know that.”

“Then what are we
doing
, Keefe?” She sought an answer.

“Could you forget me?” he countered with intensity.

“Sometimes I wish I could,” she burst out emotionally. “Sometimes—

“Sometimes, sometimes…do you how much I ache for you?” Keefe lowered his head, covered her mouth so effectively it cut off her breath.

He kissed her until she was whimpering, desperate to fall into his bed.

“This is torture,” he muttered. He was speaking for both of them. His tongue parted her lips again, making urgent contact with the slickness within. It was an intense encounter. No time for tenderness. Only raw passion, made more ravenous by the prospect of being parted. He was holding her so powerfully, her juddering back was arched against the vine covered trellis. It was
insane
—someone might come—but she was letting herself simply melt. His hand, imperceptibly trembling, had pushed down into her low-necked top, his fingers finding her already swollen nipple, working it and her into an erotic frenzy. She could feel his hard arousal. Her own core had long since gone liquid in response.

One of his long legs drove hers apart. They strained ever closer with the primitive desire to be naked. However lightly she was dressed, Skye felt her clothing to be as restrictive as a spacesuit. There was only one end to this kind of love-making. Where they were and who they were was all but obliterated by a consuming passion. Such was the level of intensity she wanted to tear at his clothes, press her mouth against his naked chest. Her hand moved to the buttons of his shirt. She wanted skin, not fabric.

“Someone is coming,” he muttered in her ear. Even then he had to say it twice.

“Oh!” She strained to hear. Then the sound of a too-familiar voice, “They must be around here somewhere.”

Skye forced herself to move. She was having difficulty trying to regulate her breathing. Only Keefe, in a gesture that wasn’t at all hurried, clasped her arm. “Sometimes I love my sister. Other times I loathe her. Let’s get out of here before she moves in on us.”

A few minutes later Rachelle, hot on the trail, followed by a reluctant and embarrassed Jemma and a silent Scott, found them strolling companionably along the wooden bridge that spanned the lily pool. There was nothing in their demeanour to suggest this wasn’t simply a friendly after-dinner stroll yet when Keefe turned to answer a question from Jemma—something to do with the water-lilies—Scott seized the opportunity to move too close to Skye’s side.

In the darkness his hand trailed insolently down over her back. He took the insult a step further, pressing his fingers into the sides of her breasts. “I bet you two have had it off,” he whispered in her ear, taking advantage of the cover afforded by Rachelle’s over-loud voice. “Didn’t want
me,
though, did you?” he muttered. “Only Keefe would do. But that’s
all
you are to him, sweetheart, a groundsheet.”

It was an outpouring of jealousy and venom. On the verge of slapping his face with all her might, Skye brought herself under control. “I pity poor Jemma,” she muttered with the utmost contempt, spinning to face him. “You’re a pig!”

It was an insult but from the smile on Scott’s face he appeared to enjoy it.

Indeed, Scott was thinking there was no reason why he shouldn’t give Skye hell. His strong attraction to her had never wavered. It leapt to a consistent high every time he laid eyes on her. It seemed entirely reasonable to him that if a man wasn’t allowed to love a woman, he might as well do an about-face and hate her. After all love and hate were but two sides of the same coin. Her beauty alone charged his anger. How in hell was he supposed to marry poor old Jemma? She was as prim as a convent-trained schoolgirl. No excitement there. No extravagant desire. Just a dreary safe match. He wouldn’t even consider it only Jemma would bring with her a handsome dowry. What had he to lose really? Jemma would love him no matter what he did. And he fully intended to do as he pleased. She was a fool to trust him. But, then, she was the sort of woman who could blind herself to the foibles of the man she loved.

At this point, Scott’s complex feelings towards his brother turned savage. He was shot through with envy. Why should
Keefe
get everything he wanted? Why should Keefe get Skye? There was something in the McCorys’ background that needed to be investigated. Some kind of crisis involving Skye’s mother. He had always assumed Jack McCory had got her pregnant, thereby forcing a marriage. Why else would she have married him? She had been a lady from all accounts. What the hell was Jack McCory? A stockman on the lowest rung of the ladder. How had Gran allowed it? He had never heard his grandmother mention let alone discuss Catherine McCory in his entire life. Yet Catherine McCory had been buried in the McGovern graveyard.