Ringer (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

RINGER

I was dreaming,
I had to be.

Miranda Henry, scantily clad, touching me
in the dead of night would never happen in a million years, she had said so
herself. Not even alcohol could be blamed. We had left the Commercial hours
before and even then she walked a straight line, drove the car with ease. And
yet there she was above me, looking like a blonde angel, an angel with the look
of the devil in her eyes.

Fuck.

I should send her away; she would thank me
in the morning, seeing as she hated me already. She was sure to despise me, and
herself more, if this was going where I think it was going. And if this
started, that would be it; if this were what she wanted, there would be no
going back for me.

I had to ask if she was sure—maybe it was
all that she needed to snap her out of this—but as my eyes dipped to her
exposed breast from her slipped shirt, I knew I was a fucking goner. If it
wasn’t then, it was most certainly when Miranda moved, pressing her hand on my
chest to lie back down, and then slowly straddled me.

Holy shit!

I could feel the heat of her even with the
blanket between us. A blanket that really had to go—even the thinness of the
barrier was too much—as I needed to feel her against me. She needed it too as
she sat back, shifting the blanket off me, exposing my bare top half and my
tented boxers. The way she bit her lip made me want to explode right there and
then, but, Jesus, I clamped the urge down. Her doe-like eyes lifted to mine as
if asking a silent question as her hands rested on my abdomen; when I didn’t
move she took that as a yes. That was the key to this. Don’t move; don’t let
her stop. I clearly would never know or understand what went through Miranda
Henry’s beautiful head, but all I knew was something drove her into my room,
into my bed, and if it meant not saying a goddamn thing to make her stay, then
I was completely and utterly at her mercy. She broke away from my eyes, running
her delicate tongue over her bottom lip that was only a moment before punctured
with teeth marks. She moved her hands to slide down my stomach, causing me to
inhale for the torture of it on my sensitive skin. I bit the side of my mouth
to force silence as I knew where she was headed and that is exactly where I
wanted her to go. Her finger hooked into the elastic of my boxers and peeled
them down, exposing me to her eyes, eyes that I almost didn’t recognise. I had
seen the fire in Miranda’s eyes before; hell, it was that deep-seeded burning
hatred she often looked at me with, but as her eyes met mine, it was a
different kind of fire: a burning, powerful need I knew mirrored my own. She
never tore away from my eyes, even when she took me in her hand and stroked me
up and down in a slow, maddening rhythm. I closed my eyes, reeling from the
sensation. She was turning me into a mad man, a man who wanted to beg and cave
and do whatever she wanted, but still I was silent in fear of snapping her out
of her femme-fatale state, and just as I repeated the vow of silence over and
over in my head that I was crushing back into my pillow, the silence was
obliterated as I felt her soft, hot mouth on me.

“Miranda,” I exhaled. I couldn’t help it.
My eyes flung open to see the top of Miranda’s blonde head moving over me, my
hands instinctively folded through the silken folds of her hair, my hands
gently guiding her pace. When she looked up into my eyes, I was lost,
completely and utterly lost to her, and she knew it too, as a wicked smiled
teased her lips as she withdrew from me. She felt the violent rise and fall of
my chest as she steadied herself by placing her palms on my chest, so as to
manoeuvre herself above me. I let her take control, my hands fisting in the
sheets by my side as she took me in her hand and guided me slowly into her
mouth again. I groaned, clenching my jaw as my hips lifted involuntarily to
guide her. Miranda’s breaths blew over my hot skin as she adjusted her pace,
and technique.

Holy shit!

I had to think about something else,
volcanoes erupting … no, trains travelling through tunnels … no, Demi More
making clay pottery … hell, no!

She took me deeper and I was lost in the
mad throws of torture and ecstasy combined.

“Miranda.” My voice was hoarse, my
breathing hard. “You better stop.”

Miranda looked up at me with her
half-hooded stare, then she moved, running her hot lips up my abs.

“Why?’” She smirked against my skin.

She bloody well knew why.

And I didn’t want to do that. There was
nothing romantic about this; whatever this was it wasn’t for romance or
feelings. Christ, I didn’t know what it was, other than an absolute surprise,
and don’t get me wrong, as far as surprises go this was at the top of my list,
and just when I thought it couldn’t get any better …

Miranda ran a slow trail of kisses and nips
up across my chest, the folds of her hair whispering across my skin. She worked
her way up to nip and kiss along my neck; my throat swallowing deep, she kissed
my Adam’s apple. She pressed her lips together as if savouring the taste. She
hovered above me, her hair curtaining us from the glow of the lamplight, but I
could see the depths of her green-blue eyes. She neared my mouth, tantalisingly
close, but not touching, our hot, shallow breaths the only connection. She
watched me, really watched me with such intensity until the corner of her mouth
lifted.

“Do you want to come in my mouth?”

Holy fucking hell.

She was like no girl in Onslow, and I am
pretty certain there was no one like her in Ballan. The way her eyes challenged
me, her wry taunting smile, she had completely taken me over, dominating from
the first touch until I was a quivering mess who would do anything she wanted.
This was foreign territory for me. I was usually the persuader, the one in
charge, whispering the questions into the skin of a quivering girl, not the
other way around. And although this would seem like every man’s dream scenario,
something stirred within me, and in an instant, the smile formed on my lips. In
one swift movement I rolled, flipping Miranda onto her back and wedging myself
comfortably against her; her eyes were wide and her breathing shallow at the
unexpected turn of power. I pulled apart her shirt sending a spray of pearl
buttons onto the floor; a yelp of shock only made me harder as her wide eyes
looked up at me. There she lay, naked and quivering under me; I ran my own
tongue and lips over her, this time making a trail up to the crook of her neck,
and whispered,

“Ladies first.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Miranda

My world was
spinning.

Completely thrown off its axis the moment
Ringer flipped me onto my back, the motion had snapped me out of control and it
suddenly dawned on me. I had come here for release, but I had also come here to
assert some kind of control. I had never felt more beautiful or desired the way
Ringer reacted to my touch, to my mouth. He looked up at me like I was a
Goddess, and although I knew it was all fuelled by the traitorous parts of his
body, it was still what I needed beyond anything. To feel wanted, and, oh, how
he wanted me. I could see it even now as he looked down on my naked body pinned
under him, his hardness wedged against me, causing my breath to hitch. And yet,
this was not how it was supposed to be, this took away my control, my power. I
didn’t just want to be fucked, that could happen at any time; I could have
gotten that from Tom Hilton in the back seat of a car. No, I had wanted it to
be different, and I had wanted it to be with no one other than Ringer.

I was seriously fucked up.

My body quivered, not out of desire but out
of a new sensation. Stone-cold reality. I had wanted to sleep with Ringer if he
begged me, but not to be just one of his emotionless conquests. I was an idiot
to think anything else. Bedding women was probably an extra-curricular activity
for him, and here I was trying to be some kind of seductress when I hadn’t
slept with anyone since my cheating ex-boyfriend. I was way out of my league,
clearly. And as the reality slammed into me with such an overwhelming force, I
pushed at Ringer’s chest with all of my strength.

“Get off me,” I managed through the tears
that wanted to flow.

“Miranda?” Ringer’s brows lowered as he
eventually moved at my insistent push. “Are you okay?”

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my
button-less shirt together to find some dignity.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here,” I
said quietly, and standing on my jelly-like legs, I made a direct line to the
door, moving to open it. I only managed to pull it back a little before I felt
the press of Ringer’s body behind me; wrapping his arm around me he pushed the
door closed, wedging me against it. His lips were on my temple as his hot
breaths blew rapidly against my skin.

“Don’t go, not like this,” he whispered,
his voice pleading. His hand splayed against my bare stomach, his skin on mine
burning into me. I closed my eyes, turned on mostly by his rapid breathing and
his mouth that rested on my shoulder. We stayed there frozen for the longest
moment; I made no effort to move. Wrapped in Ringer’s hold, pressed against the
door, an excitement twisted in the pit of my stomach. An excitement that spiked
as I felt Ringer trace lazy circles with his thumb into my skin. I bit my lip,
finding my traitorous body lean back into him. His hand slid slowly down my
abdomen, farther and farther until he found the very place he knew would
unravel me. He slid his clever, taunting fingers inside me. First one, and then
another. A noise I didn’t quite recognise as my own escaped me, my head falling
back as Ringer kissed my neck.

“Shhh … just go with it,” he whispered.

Go with it? There was no way in hell I was
not going to go with it, my control was lost to him, but I couldn’t have cared
less. Above all the psychological bullshit in my own mind, this was what I
needed. This was what had me staring up at the ceiling in my darkened room,
trying to solve the mysteries of the universe. Well, I had found them within
Ringer’s touch, the light teeth grazes against my shoulder and the dirty words
he whispered into my ear as he brought me towards the cliff I would willingly
tumble over. My hands splayed against the wood panel of the door, clawing as I
arched back against Ringer, unable to contain my silence I readied myself to
fall, to fall with the fierce intense pleasure he had driven me to, and just as
I was about to ...

Ringer took away his hand.

WHAT?

He turned me around, crushing his mouth
against mine, slamming my back into the door. The kiss was deep, claiming,
hungry. And just as a thrill spiked through me at what was to come next, he
pulled away, pressing his forehead against mine, wincing as if in pain,
breathless.

“Go.”

“W-what?”

“Go, before I fuck you against this door.”

Sounded like a plan.

I blinked in confusion, the pent-up
frustration of being so close to the bone-melting pleasure I had so desperately
wanted.

“Are you serious?” An incredulous anger was
rising in my chest.

Ringer looked down at me, his expression
grave. “You don’t want this.”

It was like he had lit a fuse inside me as
my eyes darkened. I pushed him. “Who are you to tell me what I want?”

“Miranda.” He sighed.

“Save it!” I said, wrapping my top fiercely
around me. “You’re right, I don’t want this; if anything, you have saved me
from insanity.”

Ringer’s expression darkened. “You already
hate me enough, by morning you would hate me and yourself even more if we
continued.” He looked … pained.
What?

I paused in the door I had violently yanked
open, looking back with eyes that I prayed would not well up just yet.

“Then why did you stop me?”

And when he had no answer, other than just
a poignant stare, I walked through the door and slammed it behind me as hard as
I could.

He was right. I did hate him. But more
importantly, I hated myself.

Chapter Twenty-Three

RINGER

What had begun
as a dream had ended in a nightmare.

With no sleep and a raging hard on that not
even a cold shower could fix, I was set for the longest, most torturous day of
my life: a five a.m. start for the official handover with a bright and breezy
Steve for the day.

“So how did you go last night?”

I spat out a mouthful of O.J at the
breakfast table, heading into a raging coughing fit that earned me a quizzical
brow lift from Penny Henry. It was a pretty simple question. Still, barroom
brawling, and an-almost blow job from your daughter didn’t make for friendly
light-hearted chit-chat.

“Yeah, it was pretty uneventful,” I rasped.

“Ah, I see, so did you get the courtesy bus
then?” Steve leant his elbows on the table, eagerly awaiting my answer.

No we stole your best mate’s Land
Cruiser and drove home under the influence.

Yeah, I was definitely trustworthy enough
to be left alone with your livelihood, possessions and daughter. I shifted in
my seat thinking about how I would be, stranded there with her for two long
weeks.

“Yep, got back just fine.” I suddenly found
the remnants of the bottom of my O.J glass fascinating.

Penny Henry pushed out her chair from the
table, gathering the empty breakfast plates. “I better start packing if you
insist we leave tonight,” she said, offering a weak smile, as if she wasn’t
looking forward to the task ahead.

I took the moment of man time to ask Steve
an important question; lowering my voice I leant forward.

“Hey, Steve, about Miranda’s car.”

Steve winced, his head snapping around to
where his wife disappeared down the hall. He motioned for me to be quiet and
mimed towards the kitchen door. As I had suspected, Penny knew nothing about
the car sabotage. I followed a nervous-looking Steve out onto the porch, the
door slamming shut behind him.

“Just don’t go mentioning that around here,
okay?”

“Sorry, I just think that maybe you should
fix it before you head. I know you want her to stay but maybe it should be
because she wants to,” I tried to reason.

Steve looked as if he was a million miles
away. “I know I can’t make her stay, and she won’t, and I have accepted that. I
know it seems selfish to expect her to be here, especially when we’re
essentially the ones abandoning her. I guess I just had a bit of a manic moment
seeing her here again after so long. It’s brought a lot of things back that I
haven’t had to think about in a long while.”

I wanted to ask what things, but my silence
seemed to encourage him to continue.

“You probably wonder why a farmer’s
daughter is driving around in a busted-up old car anyway.”

It had crossed my mind.

“She used to have a nice car, a sporty
little red Lancer when she turned eighteen. It was her birthday present from
us.” Steve smiled at the memory. “Thinking back I think it was probably not the
greatest decision. Ya see, when you have a wife and kids, you want to make them
happy, you want to give them the things you never had, and living in a
household full of girls who can twist you around their finger,” he snorted, “what
bloody chance does a man have?”

I smiled past the cigarette I had placed in
between my lips. “Not a chance.”

“Exactly. And besides wanting to give them
all you can, you also want to protect them.” He broke off, his eyes darkening
and going to another place, a haunted place by the look of his lined face.
“Four years ago, when Miranda was home and going through that delinquent phase
teenagers go through—where everything is boring and parents are the enemy—we
tried to lay off a bit on the discipline, thinking that all our rules were
actually pushing her away. On the one night we decided to loosen the reigns, it
was the one night all our lives would be turned upside down.”

The accident.

I had known no more than just the very
mention of what Jenny at the pub was about to tell me, but when Steve started
speaking through the last night of Miranda leaving the Commercial with her friend,
Mel, and driving home drunk and flipping the car, it made my blood run cold.

I hadn’t even questioned why she was
driving Bluey’s car last night, or why she parked it on the outskirts and
walked into Moira Station instead of driving it. I was such an idiot. I didn’t
think to believe that Miranda would be sneaking around in her twenties keeping
secrets from her parents, but now I could tell the wounds were still pretty
raw.

I had wondered about the tension between
her and her parents, about what drove her to the shearers’ hut in the first
place. It was because even after all this time, all these years, her parents
obviously had an inability to let go. Who could blame them?

“You’re a good man, Steve, and I know I
have only been here for five minutes, but I know you’re a great father.”

“What kind of father sabotages his
daughter’s car?”

“One that cares. Besides, I don’t think too
much sabotaging needed to happen to that bucket of rust,” I said.

“You never stop worrying about them,
Ringer, no matter how old they get. Her mother and I just can’t see where she’s
going, ya know? She seems so lost; I mean, what is she going to do now she’s
back in Oz?”

I butted out my smoke in an ashtray on the
outside table. “Let her figure it out, mate, and she will. But in order to
discover her destination, she’s going to need a way to get there.”

Steve nodded. “Well, what’s say we make
that our first mission then? Get the beast up and running.”

I slapped Steve on the back. “Mate, we’re
going to need some holy water and a priest to exorcise the evil from that car.”

***

By lunchtime, we had returned on our quad
bikes in a blaze of dust. After fixing Miranda’s car we tended to the stock in
the far-end paddock. The caretaking was routine and manageable, and with each
delegated task, Steve seemed to visibly relax as if mentally he was edging
towards a break from the farm for a bit.

We housed the bikes in one of the out
buildings and headed around towards the shearers’ huts.

“I’m just going to freshen up for lunch,” I
said, veering off to the shower block.

“No worries, see you in a bit.”

Aside from wanting to wash the dust and
sweat from the hot summer day, I hadn’t really wanted to walk past Miranda’s
room with her dad. I could see from the shower block that her door was open,
and I didn’t really know if she would feel comfortable if her dad and I stopped
by for a chit-chat. I guess it was inevitably going to happen over lunch, but
still, at least she would get the good news about her car, I thought, as I
splashed cold water over my face and across the back of my neck. I stood
clasping the sink, looking at my sodden complexion, dark circles under my eyes
from no sleep, my skin darkened from my days in the sun.

What if she did want to leave? After all,
it’s what she wanted more than anything, and after last night, I am sure her
objective would be to avoid me. I didn’t know how I would feel about that; the
minute she slammed the door on me last night was the equivalent of throwing
iced water over me. She was right, if I thought it was a bad idea, why did I
stop her from leaving my room in the first place?

Because I didn’t want her to go.

But I also didn’t want to sleep with her
and have her despise me in the morning, which didn’t really matter because,
regardless, I’m pretty sure she felt the same anyway.

I splashed more water on my face before it
hit me; what if her dad told her how I had helped fixed her car, that I had
suggested it? He was probably in her doorway right now telling her the good
news.

I grabbed the towel, drying my face, and
broke into a jog back to the shearers’ huts; Steve wasn’t anywhere to be seen
but her door was still open. I quickstepped up the steps and strode towards her
door and without so much as a pause, walked into her room.

“Miran …” I paused.

The room was bare, more than just her not
being there, but all her things were gone. The room had been stripped of
bedding, it was a barren shell. I slammed my hand on the door jamb.

“Shit.” Making my way up the verandah, my
heart thumping in my chest as I went to investigate what I suspected, and to my
surprise what I dreaded, I turned the corner and came up short.

Her car was still in the drive.

The tension melted in my shoulders; she was
still there, but for how long?

I didn’t have time to process the thought
before my attention snapped to something else in the drive, something so
completely unexpected I had to blink twice, thinking maybe fatigue was playing
with my head.

I stared at the unmistakable white Toyota
Hilux for the longest moment.

What the fuck was Sean Murphy doing
here?