Her Galahad. Melissa James
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“We have to go soon, and you said we need to talk about how we’ll find Emily.”
He rolled to a sitting position, knowing she must be aware, from their intimate position, just how hot and hard he was. “I was dreaming.” About you, he added silently, cursing his continued weakness when it came to her.
She chewed her thumbnail in silence. If she thought the subject too dangerous to dwell on, she was dead right. “I made you coffee and toast,” she offered.
“Thanks.”
“I’d better get dressed.” She bolted to the bedroom. His bedroom. Right now, she was probably sliding her ridiculous, old-fashioned, damn sexy nightgown up and over her lithe golden body…
He grabbed the toast, forcing himself to chew and swallow to clear his head of the thick fog of lust filling it, so aware of her he couldn’t think. Wanting her with every breath he took.
Some things never changed.
He’d spent six years trying to put her memory behind him. He’d almost convinced himself he had, when he lived with Belinda—when she carried his child. But Belinda always knew part of him was always somewhere else—with someone else.
One look at Tess showed him he’d been kidding himself, blinding himself to the truth. He wanted to forget her; oh, dear God, how he wanted to put her behind him; but he knew he never would. She’d haunt him until his last breath.
He wouldn’t fool himself again. Deeper waters than their shared daughter connected them; threads bound them in a tangled maze beyond their control. He wanted her, wanted her so bad he couldn’t even think of her without getting so damn hard it hurt; but he wasn’t a gullible kid any more, believing their love could leap all obstacles, survive any test. They could never make it together. There were too many strikes against them.
So keep the walls of ice in place. Keep your heart safe.
His body was another matter. If she wanted him, they could be lovers—for a day, a week, maybe even longer. If he was right in his belief that Beller had abused her sexually—even he had heard rumors of the barrister’s strange sexual appetites—she might need to make love even more than he did. But he had to guard his heart, because once he’d found justice—once he’d thrown her father and brother into the dark purgatory he’d suffered for years—she’d walk away without a backward glance.
She no longer loved him; that much was crystal clear. So why did she still love those heartless sons of bitches after what they’d done to her, and to their daughter?
Tess returned to the living room in jeans and a V-necked T-shirt. He tried to concentrate on her words; but she was exotic, stunningly sexual in a simple pair of jeans, her hair encased in a thong clip. “—you said Cameron wanted you to go quietly away and forget me. Why didn’t he offer to drop all charges if you’d divorce me? I’m sure he’d have made it worth your while.”
“Yeah. He tried.” His shoulders jerked; he heard his voice, flat and hard-edged with the strain of covering his carnal cravings. Envisioning her shimmying those jeans down long, silken thighs… “That was the original deal once he knew we were married. He’d drop the charges if I left Sydney and let you get on with life without me. But trusting him to keep his word’s as stupid as leaving a dingo to guard a sheep’s carcass.” He shrugged. “Next he offered to drop the assault charge he’d added to the robbery.”
Tessa’s head fell. She felt sick. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“He left me alone for a while after I moved in with Belinda.”
He had a woman. He’d made love to her. That woman had kissed him, touched him, loved his body. And though some part of her had realized he wouldn’t wait for her forever, knowing the other woman’s name made the pain worse. Belinda. Jirrah’s lover.
After a moment she asked with near-perfect control, “Will our being together—um, looking for Emily, I mean—cause trouble for you with Belinda?”
“Not now.” He ran a hand through his hair, making a mess of his banded ponytail. “She died in a car accident last year, about three months after she gave birth to our son.”
Tessa stared at him in horror, then bit her thumb down hard, looking around the house. No bright colors adorned the walls—there were no finger marks, no spilled food, no animal mobiles, Sesame Street posters or rainbow paintings anywhere. This house held none of the sunshine and warmth of a child’s love. It was more like a prison of yesterday’s anger. “Is your son alive?” she whispered, almost too terrified to ask, but she had to know.
He nodded. “Living with Leslie and her family.”
She stared again, this time in disbelief. “Why leave him with your sister? Didn’t you want to keep him?” If he’d been her son—
Jirrah looked at her, bleak and hard. “Of course I do. He’s my son. I see him every weekend—but I can’t offer him any sort of life. I can’t even enroll him in preschool till my name’s cleared and I’m declared alive again.” He shrugged. “You know the system with Kooris,” he said, using the term his people used for Aboriginals of his area. “Aunts and uncles have the same status as parents to us. Mikey knows who I am. Leslie knows she won’t keep him forever. He’s with her until I can take proper care of him. When I’m sure he’s safe from Beller and your brother.”
She turned from him. “Look, Jirrah, I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask them to persecute you. I didn’t know you were alive!”
“No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “In their minds, I asked for it by having the gall to touch you in the first place.”
She turned back to him, but there was nothing she could say.
After a few moments’ silence, he went on. “Life was peaceful here until last Wednesday, when our storekeeper said a private eye was looking for a woman who fitted your description, and offered payment for info…he seemed to know you were in the area.” He made a wry face. “My conscience gave me hell. I couldn’t eat or sleep until I knew you were safe.” He grinned then, seeming to finally find something to smile at. “I should’ve come by bus. Beller wouldn’t have dared blow that up.”
Tessa couldn’t smile. “What can I say?” Her hands spread in a helpless gesture. “That I’m sorry? I am sorry. I can’t understand his obsession with me, ruining your life to have a marriage that made us both miserable. Cameron could do so much better than me—most other women adore him. Yet he still follows me around.”
The flat look in his fathomless eyes hurt her. “You don’t have to say it. You didn’t do it. I know that now.”
“But you think I’m weak. You think I gave in without a fight.” She passed a hand over her eyes. “I wasn’t even twenty-one when I was told you’d died—and eight months later Emily died—and I died.” She looked up, hoping against hope he’d see the truth behind her indefensible acts. “Everything I loved vanished from my life—you, my baby, my friends, my work, my car…and they gave me him. Throwing big parties, giving me things…always watching me. Touching me. He wanted me to be a socialite wife, a leader of Sydney’s elite…to love being his wife…to fall in love with him. More, always wanting more. He couldn’t see how I hated his life. I just wanted to hide. The blackness and emptiness of my heart and soul—I can’t describe it. So I blocked everything out.”
A long silence, in which they could only hear the ticking of a clock, and the wailing screech of a lone cockatoo outside. “Everything but the hate. You hang on to that because, in the end, it’s all you’ve got left.”
“You know,” she said in wonder, almost sagging with relief because, for the first time, his eyes, his face, were soft with something besides pity. “You do understand.”
He shrugged. “My cage was bricks and steel. Yours was golden.”
“It was even uglier for that,” she burst out. “An ugly sham. The money, house, cars, clothes—the