Australia: In Bed with a King. Emma Darcy
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you need one.
And with Susan Butler finally out of your life, you might look for more than a convenient mistress.
Elizabeth King hid these thoughts as she assessed the depth of her eldest son’s annoyance at the decision she’d made. The irritable note in his voice and the V creased between his brows, plus the tense impatience of his actions since he’d entered the sitting-room, did not promise an encouraging start between Nathan and Miranda Wade, whom he was about to meet.
Running the resort was part of Tommy’s business. Running the cattle station was his, and he drew a firm line between the two enterprises. For the most part, Nathan kept his world to himself, but to Elizabeth’s mind, that had to change.
He was thirty-five years old. Time for him to get married. Time for him to have children. Passing that particular buck to his younger brothers wouldn’t wash. It was Nathan who had inherited the major share of Lachlan’s genes and Elizabeth didn’t want to see them wasted.
“I chose the person with the best qualifications to manage the resort,” she answered, raising a quizzical eyebrow at the man who was so very much his father’s son. “I wasn’t aware you held any prejudice against women taking on responsible positions, Nathan.”
He threw her a mocking look from the leather armchair he’d made his, since it was the only one big enough to accommodate his length and breadth comfortably. “Not even you could stick it out here all year around.”
That old argument wouldn’t wash, either. “I had other interests to look after, as you very well know.”
His eyes remained sceptical. “The point is, we all agreed a married couple was the best choice.”
“Fine, if the marriage is stable,” Elizabeth retorted, a pointed reminder that the last manager had left under threat of divorce by his wife. “And who is to judge how good a relationship is, on an interview where everyone puts their best foot forward? We’ve been down that track.”
“Then I would have thought a single man would cope with the location better than a single woman,” he argued.
Elizabeth shrugged. “I wasn’t impressed with the men who applied. A bit too soft for my liking.”
“So what have we got? A woman of steel?” His mouth thinned. “She’d better be, because I will not be at her beck and call to clean up any mess she makes of it. If she needs someone to hold her hand, Tommy can do it.”
“I’m sure you can make that clear to her, Nathan.” Elizabeth could not repress a satisfied little smile as she added, “If you wish to.”
Nathan’s black eyebrows beetled down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I doubt Miranda Wade would be inclined to cling to any man’s hand.” And that, my son, may well set a sexual challenge you’ll find hard to resist.
“Just what we need—a raging feminist to play charming hostess to the resort guests who expect to be pampered,” he commented derisively.
“Oh, I think someone who’s been in the hospitality trade for twelve years knows how to manage guests,” Elizabeth drawled. “But judge for yourself, Nathan. That sounds like Tommy’s vehicle arriving now. I trust you’ll make an effort to be welcoming.”
He rolled his eyes and muttered, “I’m sure Tommy will be in good form. He’ll undoubtedly cover any lapse on my part.”
True, Elizabeth thought. Her highly extroverted middle son was probably flirting his head off with Miranda Wade right now. It was second nature to Tommy to spark a response in women. He liked to be liked. But the cool blonde she’d interviewed would let his charm wash over her like water off a duck’s back. Those green eyes of hers had burned with a need to prove something to herself. They were focused inwardly, not outwardly.
It would be interesting to see if Nathan drew a flicker of awareness from her, Nathan who was what he was and you could like him or not as you pleased. He was a challenge, too. A challenge most women gave up on. Elizabeth didn’t think Miranda Wade was the giving up type. Even so, the equation still needed the right chemistry, and no one could make that happen.
Such a capricious element—sexual chemistry—but vital. She could only hope…
Miranda had seen it from the air this morning—the area comprising the resort and the layout of the cattle station. She hadn’t realised the buildings relating to each business would be entirely separate, the “homestead” at the resort having no connection whatsoever to the family homestead. The former was of very modern design and construction. The latter, as it was approached at ground level, gathered an allure that touched an empty place in her life.
Deep roots had been put down here, the kind of roots she had never known. Nothing had been fixed or solid in her mother’s life and Miranda had been glad to get out of it, knowing she was an unwelcome reminder of her mother’s mistake, a reminder of her age, too, as well as a resented distraction to the men who’d kept her.
As soon as she was sixteen, she’d left and had been in live-in hotel positions ever since, not really letting her surroundings touch her. They were simply places that put a roof over her head. She had no sense of home, no sense of family tradition, no sense of belonging to anything except herself.
It felt strange, coming face-to-face with something so different to her own experience. No modern landscaping here. The trees that had been planted for both shade and ornament were old, the girth of their trunks and the breadth of their branches proclaiming the growth of more years than any one person’s lifetime. The intense entanglement of the multicoloured bougainvillea hedge surrounding the house indicated longevity, as well.
Like all the buildings on the cattle station, the home-stead was white, set off by an expanse of green lawns. However, it sat alone, on a rise above the river, and the verandahs with their ornamentation of cast-iron balustrading and frieze panels, topped by the symmetrical peaks of its roof gave it the appearance of a shining crown on top of all the land it overlooked.
As Tommy King drove his Jeep up to the front steps, she was prompted by the sheer scale of the house to ask, “When was this built?”
“Oh, coming up ninety years ago,” he answered with one of his sparkling grins. “One of the first King brothers here—Gerald it was—saw some government official’s home in Queensland and was so impressed with it, he copied the design and had all the materials shipped to Wyndham.”
Cost no object, Miranda thought, recalling from the book she’d read that the first pioneering King brothers had mined a fortune in gold at Kalgoorlie before taking up this land.
“It’s very impressive,” she murmured, thinking houses simply weren’t built to such huge proportions any more. Certainly not in suburbia, she amended, smiling ruefully at her limited knowledge.
“It used to serve many purposes in the old days,” Tommy cheerfully explained. “Everyone lived in and travellers passing through stopped by for days to rest up. Hospitality has always been big in the outback.”
“I guess it broke the sense of isolation,” Miranda remarked.
“Well, taking to the air fixes that now,” he answered, his handsome face beaming pleasure in the accessibility he provided.
She’d learnt he owned and ran an airline company from Kununurra, small plane and helicopter charters making up the bulk of his business, much of which was connected to the resort. Tommy King was a gogetter entrepreneur, with the confidence, likeable personality and gift of the gab that could sell anything. Most of all himself.
Miranda wasn’t about to buy. The charm came too easily, and while he might be a shrewd businessman and definitely no lightweight for a man only in his early thirties, he had playboy looks; a riot of black curly hair that bobbed endearingly over his forehead, dark dancing eyes inviting flirtatious fun, a face as handsome as sin, and a lean, athletic body exuding charismatic en-ergy and sex appeal.
She’d