Dance with the Devil (10 page)

As the sobs ceased, she became aware that Drew was holding her. His hands were warm on her shoulders, his chest damp with her tears. She looked up into his face, saw worry, saw caring. Saw ice-blue eyes that branded her deeper than any flame.

He kissed her face. Slow, gentle kisses meant to comfort, to heal. She moved her head, met his lips with hers. She tasted the salt of her own tears…and Drew. A fire ignited deep inside her.

She gave in to desire, to need. Opened her mouth, her soul, to him.

He hesitated, and she panicked that he might leave her. She caressed his tongue with hers, pulled the towel aside and pressed her naked body against him.

He groaned her name. She caught his lips with hers, his hair with her fingers. She took him with her to the bed, pulling him down to lay against her. She felt his erection through the thin fabric of his shorts and smiled into his mouth.

She wanted him.

No, she
needed
him.

Now.

She needed his warmth, his caring, to ease the loneliness in her life, her soul. And her need was greater than the emotional barriers she'd imposed on herself for years.

Taking his hand, she guided it to her breast. He tried to murmur a protest, but she pressed her hips into his and rubbed against the hard ridge of his erection. His hand curled on her breast, found the nipple, caressed and teased until she moaned with pleasure.

Drew searched for the control that had determined his life since he was nineteen - but he couldn't find it. Emma was a raging inferno in his blood, a driving, painful ache that tightened his body and made him tremble with need. He wanted her like he'd never wanted another woman.

He deepened their kiss, as hungry now as she. And when she slid her hand down his stomach, into his shorts, and stroked his engorged penis, she let loose all the pent-up desire and frustration they both felt.

Passion exploded, engulfed them. His shorts were a barrier quickly removed. She dragged her lips from his, bit lightly into his shoulder, ran her tongue over his skin. Tasted the salt of his sweat, the lingering scent of soap. She wanted to devour him. Take him inside her, fill her womb with his heat. He leaned over her, poised, and asked a question with eyes that blazed like blue flame.

Her reply was to reach down and guide him into her, arching up as she did so.

The relief was immediate.

Drew thrust deep, filled her, assuaged the ache.

For a moment.

She needed more.

Emma's hands roamed his body, feeling, savouring, pulling him into her with a fierce intensity.

On elbows and knees he cocooned her, rubbing his chest against her breasts, feeling all the contours of her body with his, her pebble-hard nipples, the velvet skin of her stomach, the soft curls cushioning the urgency of his thrusts.

Heat rushed through Emma's body. A little moan of urgency caught in her throat.

Shadows flickered across Drew's face, played in the hollows of his cheeks. Ruffled hair lent a wildness to his desire-filled features. Emma reached up, brought his head back to hers, kissed him hard, deep.

She loved the taste of him, couldn't get enough. Needed him deeper, harder. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him into her womb. A quivering started between her legs, built and built, devouring her until she screamed a soundless cry.

The orgasm shook through her body, rippled and rippled. Then Drew swelled within her, groaning as he spasmed, and set off an echoing reaction in her.

He collapsed across her. She tried to raise her hands to hold him close, but they refused to move. Her body was mush. And so was her mind.

She lay there, exhausted, pleasure rippling gently through her as Drew moved slightly. Sleep grabbed her. She tried to fight it, but her body won.

Emma came awake suddenly. Drew's weight pinned her to the bed. His eyes were closed in sleep, but one hand moved absently, caressing her face.

She wriggled. He was still inside her. Soft, but definitely there. Instinctively she tightened her muscles, felt the answering reaction. She wanted to move, stir him into wakefulness, tease and torment him into again giving her the greatest sexual and emotional pleasure she had known, but she ignored her body's craving. Ignored the ache in her heart which would have begged for his arms to enfold her; ignored her hunger for the love missing from her life.

Gently, she rolled Drew onto his side and slipped off the bed. The loss of his warmth was like a physical blow. She plunged her arms into her robe and wrapped the sash tightly.

'Emma?' The puzzlement in Drew's voice echoed in his eyes. He swung his legs off the bed and sat there, looking at her.

Her heart lurched. Sleep-tousled and perplexed, he looked strangely vulnerable. Perhaps even as vulnerable as she felt.

She twisted the sash, pulling it tighter. 'I'm sorry. What I did was unforgivable.'

Shock registered in his eyes at her words.

'
What
?'

She'd used him. Taken advantage of the desire she knew flowed between them. Taken the comfort and caring he'd offered when she knew she could offer him nothing in return.

'I'm a doctor! What I did was incredibly stupid!'

'I thought what
we
did was incredibly
wonderful
!'

She couldn't let him think that what had happened was any more than a release of the tension caused by the terrible stresses they had both recently endured. And she knew nothing of his medical history, could only hope he normally practised safe sex.

'But, Drew…we're like…like people who've been living in a war zone.'

Drew kept silent. Impatience, and a dark anger, simmered in his eyes.

'Their lives are at risk. For days, months, they live with the knowledge that any second they could be killed. It creates tension. Terrible tension. And loneliness.'

She walked over to the lamp, turned up the wick, hoping the brighter light would dispel the attraction of Drew's naked body. Her very nerve-endings craved him, but she clung onto the remnants of her willpower, pushed the yearning aside.

'Sometimes that tension and loneliness reaches a level where it needs a release. Well,' she gestured with open palms, 'you can see how that's happened between us. With what you've been through - and I've had a lot to deal with myself - well, you can see how it's happened.'

Drew stood up. 'That's not how it's happened, Emma, and you know it.' The anger was still there in his eyes, but an incredulous hurt lingered as well. Emma felt it pierce her heart. 'And I'm sorry I didn't use protection. I don't have any health problems, but what if you're pregnant?'

Pregnant
! The thought hadn't occurred to her. She'd been too busy trying to rationalise what had happened, trying to deny to herself the feelings Drew had aroused in her, to think of that aspect. Now she really did feel incredibly stupid.

What if she
were
pregnant? By the time the river went down, it would be too late to drive into town and get the 'morning-after' pill. She half-turned away from him, and touched the travel photo frame on her dresser. Her fingers trembled.

'Would you want me to have an abortion?'

'No!' The sound was savage and raw as though it had been torn from his throat.

Emma let out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding.

'Would you…Would you want to?' The hesitancy in his voice made her turn towards him. He stood only a metre from her, sinews and muscles tense and outlined.

She shook her head. 'No. All life is precious.'

His sigh of relief touched a chord in her that she tried swiftly to quash, but it was too late. He had seen the joy in her eyes. He moved to take her in his arms, but she pressed her hands against his chest and held him at arms' length, ignoring the wonderful feel of his hard muscles beneath warm skin.

'It was my doing, my fault. You don't have to feel in any way responsible.'

If Emma thought she'd seen Drew angry before, the change in him now made her reassess that assumption. She'd never thought eyes could express ice-cold anger and white-hot fury at the same time, but the full force of Drew's feelings shocked her speechless.

He grabbed her shoulders and bent down so his face almost touched hers.

'Listen, lady. No-one makes love by themselves. As far as I was concerned, I was as much a willing participant as you.' His voice softened, but the edge of steel it contained stunned her as much as his anger. 'And please note I said,
making love
. Not releasing my tension by using your body.'

His hands slid up to her neck and cupped her face. 'I happen to care very deeply about you, Emma Randall. And if you
are
pregnant I will fight you in the courts if I have to, to be involved in our child's life.'

Then he kissed her with barely controlled ferocity. Her blood leapt, her body dissolved into a great heart-pounding yearning. Her mind simply ceased to function.

Just before her hands began to move, to reach up and pull him into her embrace, he tore away from her and walked out as quickly as his injuries would allow him.

Drew couldn't believe what Emma had said. What to him was one of the most astounding moments of his life had obviously not ranked as highly with her. Hell, it wasn't just sex - or if it was, it was the best damn sex he'd ever experienced.

Oh, there was attraction there all right. She couldn't disguise that. But he'd thought, no, he'd hoped, there was a lot more. He knew he wasn't wrong about what had passed between them after the birth.

What the hell had happened to her to make her want to pretend otherwise?

His emotional frustration was almost as painful as the physical had been. From the beginning he had wanted her. Even in sleep, without knowing her, his body had reacted to hers on a basic, primitive level. He had recognised the attraction, the need, even before his emotions and intellect had confirmed it. And making love with her, fierce and intense though it had been, had affected him like nothing else ever had.

He warmed up the food again, spooned it onto a plate, picked up a knife and fork and returned to Emma's bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, arms clasped around drawn up knees. She looked up as he approached, but didn't speak.

Drew put the plate on the dresser, then picked up his shorts. His nakedness didn't bother him - it would be a charade to pretend otherwise after what had just occurred. He was about to say something to Emma, try to sort out why she had reacted the way she did, but he hesitated when he saw her exhaustion, the confusion in her eyes.

He left the room.

An hour later, Drew gave up trying to get to sleep. He'd eaten, made sure the doors were locked, the rifle handy, and gone to bed. He'd heard Emma take her plate back to the kitchen, then silence.

He swung out of bed, ignored the pain in his leg and walked to the hallway. Light from the kero lamp illuminated the living room. As he walked closer, he saw Emma's leg dangling over the side of a lounge chair. A medical magazine lay on the floor, an inch from one limp hand. Her lips were slightly parted, her nightgown-clad body sprawled in sleep.

As he gazed down at her, Drew felt a surge of protectiveness. He'd once thought he knew what love was, but now he realised that what this woman did to him was beyond anything he had ever encountered.

He turned the lamp off and waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then he bent down and picked Emma up. She murmured in sleep and settled against his chest. At her bedroom door, he hesitated. It would be the right thing to do - place her on her own bed and return to his.

Damn! It might
be
right, but it wouldn't
feel
right. She was running from him, erecting emotional barriers, barriers he would have to break down. Any way he could.

A saying his mother used to laughingly quote at him echoed in his mind. 'All's fair in love, war and strawberry shortcake.' Well, this wasn't war, at least not the kind of war Emma had mentioned, and it certainly wasn't strawberry shortcake, but it was beginning to feel suspiciously like love.

With a silent prayer that his mother was right, he turned towards his bedroom, Emma's breath warm against his neck, her body pliant in his arms.

The sound of the Land Cruiser driving off woke Drew. He reached across the bed. Emma was gone.

It had felt so good, going to sleep last night with her in his arms. But now he wondered if his attempt to make her feel closer to him, to demonstrate he could care for her without expecting sexual gratification, might have had the opposite effect. He had intended to talk to her this morning, show her there was more to how he felt than just physical attraction, but now it was too late.

A cool breeze fluttered the curtains. Drew hoped it was an indication that autumn was on its way, bringing some relief from the heat.

He remembered Emma telling Tom she would return today to check on Mary and the baby. He thought of the flooded river, the crocodile, and he swore vehemently. He hoped Emma had enough sense not to drive across the bridge if it was still under water.

By nature Drew was not a patient person, but circumstances had taught him this hard-earned attribute, and working as a lawyer had honed his ability to wait. To wait for the evidence to be revealed, to wait for the witness to make one tiny mistake.

But waiting for Emma to return was proving to be beyond him. One o'clock came and went.

He pulled on boots, pushed the Akubra down on his thick hair, picked up the rifle and walked to the stables. Emma had let the horses into the adjacent paddock. Drew whistled softly and the mare trotted over to the fence. He remembered Emma had called her Quest, and he rubbed her forehead and spoke her name softly.

It didn't take him long to get her into the stable and saddled up. It had been a year since he'd been on a horse, but the pull of solid muscle under his thighs felt good, and as he eased the horse into a gentle canter he felt the familiar pleasure of being one with such a powerful animal.

Tom placed a tray on the veranda table and sat down opposite Emma. She watched him pick up a sandwich and chew resolutely. He was methodical, dependable, twenty-seven years old to her thirty-one. Sometimes she envied him his conviction, his resolution of purpose. And sometimes she envied Mary her surety that her man would go to his grave still loving her.