Australia: Wicked Mistresses. Robyn Grady
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and bright her eyes were. Her body was strong, yet wholly feminine. Sensual. She was all woman.
As she looked up from her glass and back towards the crackling fire—her drying hair splayed over her shoulder—more than physical attraction spoke to him. Even as he instinctively hardened in anticipation of enjoying another kiss or three, an added influence whispered in his ear.
He wanted to put a name to it, but the only word that came to mind hardly fitted. Trust was earned over a lifetime. Something he didn’t ask for and rarely gave away.
Still, whatever it was that stirred him up about Nina, it felt good. Even if straight-out lust was way less complicated.
He prised his gaze from her lips and found his feet. “More wine?”
She made a purring sound in her throat, and her heavy-lidded gaze met his. She stretched her good leg straight along the mattress and replied, “Half a glass. Any more after that bath and I might go to sleep.”
Relieving her of her glass, he skirted the bed and found the bottle. He poured her half, filled his up, then found a handtowel to mop up the few drops spilled on the cedar table.
“There’s a creek out the back of here, filled with fish and some platypus. Or is that platypi?” He rounded the bed and, keeping an eye on his over-full glass, sat carefully down. “I was thinking this afternoon when I first saw you that this place reminds me of a spot my aunt took me on vacation once when I was a kid …”
His words trailed off.
Her arm was stretched out over the quilt, one cheek lying on that inside elbow. Her lips were slightly parted. If he spoke loudly enough she would rouse, but her breathing said she was already on her way to dream-time. An experience like the one she’d endured today would knock it out of anyone. Couple that with a relaxing soak and glass of good wine …
Still, he was disappointed sleep had taken her so quickly.
His gaze slid down her tranquil form and he gnawed his lower lip. What should he do about those legs? The wolf inside wanted to leave them exposed, but the reluctant gentleman said she might catch a chill.
Setting down the glasses, he eased the quilt over her body, covering her legs and those peach-tipped toes. Then, so as not to disturb her, he placed the chair before the fire, which had grown to a vigorous state. Stretching the cranky muscles in his legs, he threaded fingers behind his head and clicked his thoughts over to its usual fare. To work. To that crucial venture.
To this island.
After investing so much in this project, his efforts to set this place back well on its feet couldn’t fail. Anything that didn’t work towards the reestablishment of a healthy profit margin would be culled. Nothing that worked against success would be tolerated. His involvement here must have one outcome and one outcome only.
Absolute success.
He filed figures through his mind—advertising budgets, staff payrolls. Where to cut, where to spend …
But his gaze kept wandering to his slumbering kitten, to the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath that chequered shirt. He had to let her sleep, and yet with every passing moment—with every whisper at his ear—that new tug inside of him kept willing her awake.
CHAPTER FIVE
NINA dreamed of a tidal wave, a colossal giant that made this afternoon’s rollers look like dwarfs.
The wave in her dream curled up, throwing its enormous shadow over her, before crashing an inch behind her running heels. Having thought she was clear of danger, she cried out when its cold fingers coiled around her ankles and dragged her back. She screamed, but she knew no matter what she did, however hard she tried, this time she was a goner.
As the wave overcame her she was drawn down into the churning, bubbling wash. The motion jerked and pushed her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the surface. Then something gripped her shoulder, trying to lift her out. Needing precious air, she groped above her head, reaching for the wavering reflections dancing on the water’s surface and the shadow waiting beyond that.
Nina’s eyes popped open at the same time as she sucked down a desperate gulp of oxygen.
She felt pressure on her shoulder, took in her shadowy surrounds, then heard her name murmured in a gravelled voice. The floating pieces of the jigsaw clicked together and, heart thumping, she rolled over.
In the dying firelight, Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed, one knee angled over the sheet, concern lining his handsome face. As his gaze roamed her brow, her cheek, she remembered her scream from the dream and knew she must have cried out.
Emptying her bursting lungs, she touched her forehead and patted the damp away. “I dreamt I was drowning and you saved me.”
A sultry grin sparkled in his eyes. “That wasn’t a dream. Here—push up.” He helped her to straighten higher on the bed, eased the sheet up, then pulled the quilt around her neck. “You’re safe now. Go back to sleep.”
In her mind Nina relieved the moment he’d dragged her out of the wash and laid her upon that sandy knoll. Thank God he’d been there.
She hugged the quilt tight.
Thank God he was here now. For the first time in weeks she did feel safe and certain.
Lighter rain pattered on the roof. She rubbed one eye, then glanced out of the window. Still dark, but no morning bird calls echoed through the bush outside. How long had she slept?
Gabriel had moved to the fireplace to stir the embers. The room smelled of firewood warmth—the kind electric blankets and heaters couldn’t compete with.
Over one broad shoulder, his gaze hooked hers. “You’re wide awake now, aren’t you?”
She nodded and shifted higher.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, replacing the poker. “Thirsty?”
She wasn’t hungry in the least, but … “I’d love a glass of water.”
He brought a large glass over, and she drank it down without stopping.
“Better?” he asked when she handed the empty glass back.
“Much. Thank you.”
She wiggled and got more comfortable. She felt positively toasty. A little sore from her struggles earlier, but also beautifully rested. This unpretentious atmosphere certainly helped.
“Why did you rent this place?” she asked as he slid the glass onto the side table.
She’d already surmised that he must like to rough it, and she was aware of this cabin’s charm, but what deeper reason did he have for preferring bare essentials to the luxury available down the way? Had he played Davy Crockett as a boy? Perhaps he longed to be a social hermit, like Howard Hughes? But then why come to this island at all? Australia’s isolated Outback might be a better choice.
He shrugged, and in a trick of the fading firelight his chest seemed to grow before her eyes.
“I had the wedding to come to here, and some business to attend to, but in between I wanted to take the opportunity to really get away. I haven’t done that since I was a kid.” He nodded at the bed. “Mind if I sit down?” He rubbed his butt. “That chair’s not meant for catching zeds.”
Without a second thought she moved over, and the mattress dipped as he joined her. He stretched one denim-clad leg down over the quilt; the other foot he rested on the floorboards.
“What kind of kid were you?” she asked, snuggling back down into the pillows, hands clasped under her cheek.
“Typical, I guess. Sometimes lonely. What about you?”
Definitely not lonely. She’d had plenty of friends. Plenty to keep her occupied. Singing and dancing lessons. An interest in art. “You could’ve probably summed me up as confident.” She