Princes of the Outback. Bronwyn Jameson
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his narrowed blue ones, felt the resistance in his stiff lips and the jolt of reaction—in him, in herself—as her mouth opened softly. Then he wrenched her hands away, turning his face so her lips grazed the corner of his mouth and across his whiskery cheek.
She was left kissing nothing but the morning air, left staring into eyes that blazed with blue fire. “You can’t stand even a kiss?” she asked.
He thumbed the hat back up his forehead, aggravation etched all over his face. “Dammit, Angie, why are you forcing this? If you’re willing to help, then why not my way?”
Because this was her chance—probably her only chance—to have him, and if she could have him and love him and give him the family he needed, then maybe she could also heal his wounded heart. She didn’t know if that was possible, but she had to take a chance. One thing she did know for sure and certain—if she told him how she felt, she wouldn’t see his Wrangler-wrapped backside for swirling black bulldust.
So she rocked back on her heels, folded her arms across her chest, and shrugged. “If I’m going to sacrifice myself to have this baby, I’m not going to be dudded out of all the fun.”
For maybe half a second he went completely still—as if she’d really shocked him—and then he shoved his hat low on his forehead and took a slow step backward. Then another. “This is business, Angie, not fun.”
“And business can’t be fun?”
“Not anymore,” he said tightly. And he turned and strode away.
“Nice work, Ange,” Rafe drawled from behind her.
She didn’t turn around, she was too focused on Tomas’s retreat. His broad shoulders were bunched with tension, his long legs moving as if he couldn’t get far enough away from her quickly enough.
Nice work?
“Only if my job description was ‘lose a good friend,’” she said softly.
Rafe’s hand squeezed her shoulder, but the gesture of support and reassurance didn’t do much to ease the thickness in her chest and throat. “You gave him plenty to think about for the next week, don’t you think?”
She frowned back over her shoulder. “What about next week?”
“We’re meeting in Sydney.”
“We?”
“Alex, myself, Tomas. We’re meeting with Konrads again. About the will.”
Angie’s gaze slid, helplessly, back to the man who now sat still and watchful on his horse. Making sure she did leave? “Are you suggesting he might change his mind?”
“With a little help.”
“What kind of help?” she asked suspiciously.
“Last night I mentioned asking you to help me out. My little brother objected rather strenuously.”
“I object rather strenuously!”
Rafe winked. “Yeah, but he doesn’t need to know that.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“A little competition wouldn’t harm your cause, babe.”
Yes, the Carlisles hated to be outdone, especially by each other. Hadn’t Tomas’s first words this morning been about her offering herself to the wider Carlisle cause? Angie’s gaze shifted back to the motionless rider and her heart skipped a half-beat.
“Between that and what you’ve given him to think about…”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Close your eyes, lie back, and think of Kameruka.” Rafe grinned and shook his head. “Nice work, Ange.”
“Have either of you considered other methods?” Tomas felt the impact of his brothers’ undivided attention before he looked up from his plate and found them both staring at him, obviously baffled by his out-of-the-blue question.
Around them the late-lunch activity continued in the restaurant of the Sydney Carlisle Grande Hotel. Patrons ate. Waiters waited. Tomas didn’t notice.
He didn’t recall eating his meal. Didn’t recall what they’d discussed while they ate. His attention had been fixed solely on the outcome of their prelunch meeting with Jack Konrads, a week to the day after they’d last met in the Kameruka Downs library.
Long story short: they could fight their father’s will. But then they would have to live with the knowledge that they’d disrespected his last wish.
They had to do this. They had to try.
“Other methods—” Rafe rocked back in his chair “—of eating? Meeting?”
“The baby,” Tomas elucidated. “Artificial conception. I’m thinking of going to a—” Center? Service? Frowning, he searched for the right term. “What do you call those places?”
“A breeding farm?” Rafe suggested.
“A clinic.” Alex put his cutlery down and fixed Tomas with a steely look. The kind he used often in the boardroom to show he meant business. “You don’t have to do this—either of you. That message I got before…”
Vaguely Tomas recalled Alex’s phone blipping just as their meals arrived.
“Susannah has agreed to marry me.”
There was a moment of shocked silence, broken when a waiter arrived to remove their plates. Rafe recovered first and gestured toward the phone. “Are you saying Susannah agreed to marry you by text message?”
“She knows we’re on a short timeline. I told her I wanted to know as soon as she reached a decision.”
Rafe shook his head sadly. “And they say romance is dead.”
For once Tomas was in complete agreement with Rafe. Sure, his eldest brother kept a brutal work schedule. Susannah, too, ran her own business. But, still…
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” Alex asked.
“Only if you can manage to look slightly happy about it,” Rafe replied at the same time as Tomas said, “You’re only marrying because of the will.”
And in his opinion, that just sucked cane toads. A marriage wasn’t a business transaction. It was about love and partnership and commitment.
Till death us do part.
“Ah, hell.” He didn’t realize he’d been screwing up his napkin until he threw the tightly wadded missile onto the table and rolled the crystal salt shaker. “You don’t have to marry her, Alex.”
“Yes. I do.” Alex folded his napkin in half and half again. Placed it neatly on the table. “That’s the only way I’ll do this.”
“When’s the wedding?” Rafe asked.
“There’s the mandatory thirty-day wait, but as soon as possible. We haven’t decided where.”
“Not at home?” Rafe asked “Mau will want to be there.” By home he meant Kameruka Downs, where they’d all grown up and where Tomas still lived. Their mother, too, in her own place built after his marriage. She rarely left her remote outback home these days. Since intense media scrutiny had led to a breakdown after she’d lost her fourth child to SIDS, she despised the city, crowds, photographers.
“We’re negotiating,” Alex said. “Susannah has family interstate.”
“Not wanting to get personal,” Rafe said carefully. “But does Susannah know she’s expected to, um, produce an heir right off the bat?”
“She knows.” Alex checked his watch, frowned. “I have a meeting to get to, but I wanted you both to know I’ve got this covered.”
Rafe