Australia: In Bed with a King. Emma Darcy
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see. You’re warning me off.”
“No. It’s your choice. I don’t believe in interfering with people’s choices. I’d be sorry to see Sam hurt, though. It’s one thing knowing Tommy drifts in and out of affairs, quite another watching one at close quarters.”
“I take your point,” she conceded, knowing she wasn’t interested in getting involved with Tommy King anyway.
Nathan nodded, then suddenly grinned at her, his blue eyes dancing with more than appreciation. “Besides, I’d much prefer you to relieve your boredom with me.”
“What?” Her mouth fell open and stayed open in surprise at the abrupt switch from do-gooding friend of Sam to man making a move on her.
Miranda barely had time to register his words, let alone his intent as he stepped closer, cupped her cheek, tilted her chin, and with his eyes blazing into hers, wickedly inviting, teasing, wanting, he murmured, “Let’s try it, shall we?”
Then he was kissing her, soft, seductive pressures that kept her shocked in stillness. She hadn’t been expecting it, wasn’t prepared for it, and his very gentleness was both confusing and tantalising. It was a take, but there was nothing really offensive about…about the way his mouth was loving hers. Yet he really had no right to just do it like this. She should stop it. Where would it lead? Where could it lead?
She lifted her hands. They clamped onto his chest, but instead of pushing, they found a magnetic attraction to the heat and muscle behind his shirt, and somehow they couldn’t stop sliding up to the big, broad shoulders that were on a higher level than hers, which was a new experience…reaching up to a man…and it sparked a swarm of previously thwarted female feelings…a man whose physique more than complemented her own too generous body length.
The temptation to feel what it was like with such a man as Nathan King—just this once—dissolved all the reasons why she shouldn’t. It was only a kiss, which he was delicately deepening, inviting her active participation, promising a pleasurable exploration that would satisfy her curiosity. No force involved. No danger attached to it. She could back out any time she liked, dismissing the impulse to taste as inconsequential.
He knew how to kiss. He was very good at it. So distractingly good she was barely aware of his hands sliding around her waist, though her whole body was instantly and acutely conscious of his when he hauled her against him. But by then that was what she wanted, to feel more of him, revelling in the dominant maleness he emitted and incredibly excited by it.
Hungry, urgent kisses, a gathering passion for them, and her hands climbing, clutching his head, pulling him down to her, her body arching into his, pinned there by his hands, engulfed by a sweet storm of sensation, riding with it until the growing hardness of his wanting sparked some shred of sanity in her mind, and the shock of her susceptibility to Nathan King’s attraction took hold.
She grabbed his ears and forced his head up. He stared at her, his eyes hot and glazed, steaming with rampant desire. She stared back, panic clutching her stomach where he was pressed so explicitly against her, panic screeching through her mind at having let this…this foolish experiment…go so far.
“You’re right,” he muttered gruffly. “Not the time or place.”
Before she had wits to make any reply, he collected himself and moved, scooping her off her feet and lifting her onto the passenger seat of the helicopter as effortlessly as though she were some lightweight doll.
“Throw your hat and bag on the back seat,” he instructed, and closed the door, sealing her into position.
Miranda was a trembling mess, her mind stuck in a maze of incredulity…unanswerable questions about herself and her totally inappropriate and shamingly intimate response to a man she barely knew and didn’t want to know. Even now, her body was in revolt at having been deprived of what it had wanted from him.
Chemistry!
How did one switch it off?
One solution zipped through her squirming confusion. Get out of the helicopter! She didn’t have to go with him or even be with him. She found the handle to open the door. Then a surge of pride insisted running away was not the most effective move to deal with this.
She had a choice to make here and she had to make Nathan King respect her choice. Her contract at King’s Eden ran two years and there was no way of avoiding him for two years. A stand had to be taken. Words said. He had to be convinced there was never going to be a right time or place for what he wanted from her. No way was she going to fall into the Bobby Hewson trap again.
She’d barely remembered to toss her hat and bag onto the back seat before Nathan King hauled himself into the space beside her, triggering an awful sense of vulnerability. She fastened her seat-belt and did her utmost to ignore his impact on her senses as he settled himself.
“Have to get moving if we’re to catch the sunrise,” he said, handing her a set of headphones and linking up the electronics.
Thankfully he switched on the ignition and busied himself with getting them off the ground. Miranda donned the headphones, which drowned out the noise and allowed her to speak to him but decided any talking was best done later. After she had calmed down. When she could choose her words carefully, not in heat. And when being in the wretchedly small space of this helicopter didn’t make her feel so crowded by him.
Determined on shutting him out for the duration of the flight, Miranda resolved to keep her gaze trained strictly on the view. Which was what she was here for…firsthand knowledge of tourist territory…and which she proceeded to do, once they were in the air.
All the same, even as she watched a seemingly endless vista of beige grass dotted by the grey-green foliage of the universally small outback trees, her nerves were strung taut, waiting for Nathan to say something. As time dragged by, she began to hate the thought he was simply sitting tight, congratulating himself on having sparked a positive response from her, and anticipating more of the same.
“You’ll miss the approach if you keep looking out of the side window, Miranda.”
The advice boomed into her ears, jolting her out of her dark brooding.
“That’s the start of the Bungle Bungle Range straight ahead of us.”
Relief poured through her at his matter-of-fact tone, and the moment she looked where he directed, his domination of her thoughts faded, her mind filling with the wonder of what lay before her.
She had seen photographs of Ayer’s Rock, a huge monolith rising with stunning effect from a vista of flat land as far as the eye could see. The Bungle Bungle Range gave the same weird sense of not belonging to the general landscape, but it was much more than a monumental rock. It looked like some ancient remnant of a lost civilisation, embodying mysteries that no one knew the answers to any more.
The photographs in the pamphlet hadn’t captured what she was seeing, couldn’t capture the size and fascination of it. It seemed to rise out of nowhere, unconnected to anything else, a huge amalgamation of massive beehive structures, horizontally striped in orange and black. The rising sun vividly illuminated the orange sections and made the black more stark.
Miranda knew there were geological explanations for the colours—layers of silica and lichen—and the shapes. She’d read them in the pamphlet. Yet the stripes seemed so evenly spaced, as though to some deliberate, artistic plan, and the striations in the rock of some of the massive domes on the outskirts of the range gave her the impression of buildings built of bricks, like pyramids with the sharp edges having crumbled away over thousands and thousands of years.
She knew it was fanciful to ignore expert knowledge—this was all solid sandstone, and the formation was actually dated back three hundred and fifty million years—but she couldn’t help envisaging ancient rulers being buried inside those time-worn domes.
“Had enough or do you want to see more?” Nathan asked evenly, not pushing either way.
“More, please,” she answered,