The Bridesmaid's Wedding. Margaret Way
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some great wrath. “What the hell’s going on here?”
At the sound of his voice relief flooded into Ally’s face. She could diagnose her own delusion born of months of harassment. She turned to him, her heart still racing, grateful beyond words for how he filled the room with his commanding presence.
“Rafe!” It was little more than a gasp as she waited for the adrenalin in her blood to dissipate.
“For God’s sake! What did you think you saw?” he burst out, letting go of her, moving with a lithe, purposeful tread to the sliding-glass doors. Obviously she thought someone or something was out here. He saw only the night-time dazzle of the city lights and glittering towers, the graceful sweep of the Expressway spanning the broad deep river that meandered through the centre of the city in grand curves.
He turned back to her, shaking his head. “There’s nothing here. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“Good.” She gave a small delicate sigh.
Perturbed himself now, Rafe unlocked the doors, slid them open and walked out onto the terrace. Nothing disturbed the peace. There was a collection of potted plants, a white wrought-iron table with two chairs. Quietly alert he walked to the balcony. Looked over. Directly below him five floors down a young couple was entering the building. They were laughing, hand in hand, eyes only for one another.
Ally watched him come inside, feeling slightly ashamed now of her instinctive reaction. The moment of panic. “Just a trick of the lighting,” she offered by way of explanation. “I thought I saw something move.”
“Something or someone?” His arresting face framed by that burning gold hair was etched with hard concern. Obviously she wasn’t telling him the whole story but he intended to get it out of her. He could see she still looked scared when the Ally he knew was the least nervous of women. She had never jumped at shadows. It made him angry suddenly that life in the city should have made her so. He recognised what he felt was possessiveness. Possessiveness permeated with a sense of powerlessness. She wasn’t his Ally any more.
“It was nothing, Rafe.” Ally tried to shrug the moment off. “Stop looking like you want to pummel someone. I have an overactive imagination.” She turned quickly towards the galley kitchen. “I’m having coffee, would you prefer Scotch?”
“Coffee will be fine.” He began to roam around the open-plan entrance, living/dining room, furnished quietly but comfortably with one stunning piece of art dominating. “This must be like living in a birdcage,” he muttered, a big man in a small, confined space.
“Not everyone can afford grand houses,” Ally pointed out, “and vast open spaces. Actually this is quite an expensive piece of real estate.”
“I imagine it would be with that view.” He glanced back at the sparkling multicoloured lights reflected in the indigo river, then walked nearer the kitchen looking over the counter to where Ally was measuring coffee into a plunger. “Your hand is shaking.” How beautiful her fingers were, long and elegant, the nails gleaming with a polish that matched her gown. Ringless. He still had the engagement ring he had planned to give her.
“So it is,” she agreed wryly. She wanted to tell him everything. How awful it had been for her. But he might see it as a deliberate play for his sympathy.
“Why, exactly,” he persisted, his lean powerful body tensing as it might against a threat.
“It’s been that sort of a day.”
“Something is really bothering you.” He watched her closely, all his old protective feelings coming into play.
“Lord, Rafe, I’m just a little tired. And overexcited. Sit down and I’ll bring the coffee over.”
“It might make sense to tell me,” he remarked, his face reflecting his concern. “Do you mind if I have a quick look through the place?”
“Be my guest,” she answered a little weakly. Her heart was still quaking. “Two bedrooms, one used as a study, two bathrooms, a laundry.”
“My God!” He sounded amazed anyone could live like that. The cattle baron with his million wild acres.
Rafe walked down the narrow corridor checking each room in turn. He even looked inside the built-in wardrobes, accepting now some terror large or small was preying on her mind.
“Well?” She arched a brow. So hard to believe he was here. So wondrous. So real.
“Everything in order.” He crossed to one of the couches upholstered in some light green fabric and removed a few of the overabundant cushions. “I bet this is nothing like where you live in Sydney?” Ally had tremendous flair. They had spent a lot of time walking round the homestead on Opal planning what they would do to refurbish it after they were married. Opal Downs boasted a marvellous old homestead like Kimbara, but whereas Kimbara homestead had been constantly refurbished and updated, Opal had been caught in a time warp. Nothing much had been changed since his grandfather’s time. His mother had been contemplating a lot of changes in the months before she and his father along with six other passengers, had been killed when the light aircraft they had been travelling in crashed into a hillside in the New Guinea highlands.
He couldn’t bear to remember that terrible time. The shock and the grief. The last time he and Grant had seen their parents alive they had been laughing and full of life, waving from the charter plane that had taken them away from Opal. Forever.
“I’ve decorated my apartment. We all do our own things. You’ve gone very quiet.” Ally, as sensitive to him as he was to her, set the tray down on the coffee table.
“Memories. They come on you without warning.”
“Yes, they’re the very devil!” Ally agreed, remembering all the times she had to push her own back. “I’m glad we can have this quiet time together, Rafe.”
She was a siren seducing him into her arms. He could smell the perfume that clung to her, stirring his blood. He had lived almost like a monk for years. The odd go-nowhere affair. But there was a huge difference between having sex and making love to the woman who aroused his every longing. Ally belonged to the category of women one would have to call unforgettable. He was mad to touch her. But he didn’t move, instead saying quietly, “Your hand isn’t shaking any more.”
“You’re here,” she said, her eyes alive with emerald light. “Stay for a while.” Rafe always had been an intensely strong and reassuring presence.
“You feel the need to be protected?”
“Believe it.” She gave a brittle laugh.
Rafe took a quick gulp of the fragrant black coffee, hot and strong the way he liked it, then set the cup down. “I’m picking up a lot of bad vibes here, Ally. You’re not going to tell me you’re being harassed by some crank? I know it happens to people in the public eye.”
She was struck by his perception. She knew she flushed.
“You mean that sort of thing is happening?” he asked, almost incredulously.
“On and off.” She tried to appear unfazed.
“Keep talking,” he ordered, his strong handsome face turning grim.
She sank back into the sofa opposite him, the light glancing off her beautiful satin dress, making all the little crystals on the strapless bodice twinkle like stars. “I’ve had letters, phone calls. The calls must be made from public phones. The police can’t get a trace on them.”
“Someone speaks? A man?” He gave a dark, forbidding frown.
“I’m afraid so, though he seems to use a device to disguise his voice. It’s really rather scary.”
He stared at her, decidedly the object of any man’s desire. “Scary? I’d like to get my hands on him.” His voice rasped. “Does Brod know?”
Vigorously she shook her sable head. “You think I’d spoil his wedding?