Heart of the Outback (33 page)

He kept her busy these days, what with supervising the building site, preparing a report for the Yakismoto people and doing preliminary work-up drawings for the Brenda deWitt-Ambrose Art Museum planned for Mt Isa. She had also taken over helping out in the office. While Lisa supervised Pierre’s convalescence she had put on a temporary replacement, Kim Najin. Kim was nice enough but she needed direction and CJ had confidence that Francey could give it to her.

Francey was like him in that she liked to keep busy. It hadn’t escaped his notice either that Les was pleased she’d come on board because it meant he’d be able to spend more time with her. So, as soon as she had settled in he’d have Les begin to instruct her on the ins and outs of his business empire. If she was going to be a part of the operation she might as well know how all of it ran.

He grunted smugly to himself as he got up to walk to the window and look out across the verandah at what he could see of the mini conference building site. The concrete for the first level was still curing but carpenters were busy assembling the frame on the ground. Funny, he’d never been so interested in seeing a project go up as he was with this one. Francey was brimful of enthusiasm and it was catching.

CJ’s thoughts turned suddenly to his stepdaughter. Natalie had shown no interest in the conference centre. Come to think of it she hadn’t been overly inclined to learn the extent of his business interests either. When she’d been younger all she had cared about was having enough money to do what she wanted to do. Brenda, he realised, had spoiled her dreadfully. In hindsight he should have done something about it but it was too late now. Natalie was thirty and her character, questionable at times, was already set.

While standing there he suddenly became aware of a tingling sensation in the thumb and the first finger of his right hand. Damn, it was cramping up, losing the feeling. Not surprising, really, after the many rough years he’d lived in his youth. In the bush,
in Coober Pedy, building up Murrundi. Little wonder his body was starting to act its age. He was getting old, that’s all. He shook the hand vigorously but the tingling ran up his arm and into the back of his neck. Then in the next instant the whole arm went numb.

Jesus, what was going on?

A searing pain grabbed behind his neck and ringed around his head. Sharp. Throbbing.
Intense.
The breath whooshed out of his lungs, and it felt like someone had thrust a red-hot poker through his skull. He groaned as the pain tore into him. He couldn’t stand. It knocked him to his knees. His left hand moved to his head, rubbing, trying to stop the intense pain. Stressed by it, the room began to spin, revolving slowly, then the revolutions became faster, faster. His breath came in short gasps and a bubble of bile travelled up his throat, almost choking him. He gagged, then vomited on the timber floor.

His head felt as if it would burst and the pain was so bad he didn’t care about anything, so long as it went away. Still on his knees and with sweat pouring out of him, he was immobilised by the intensity of what was occurring, unable to think, unable to pray, unable to even call out for help.

How long he remained that way, he didn’t know or care. But ever so slowly the throbbing in his head began to ease. Jesus Christ, he felt awful. Getting to his feet, his right hand still numb, he staggered out of his study to his bedroom and collapsed on the wide bed.

He felt drained, and his clothes were soaked with his own sweat. What had happened to him? He never got sick, other than the occasional dose of flu. As his brain began to function again he tried to make sense
of it. Was it some kind of food poisoning? He’d had oysters for lunch. That could be it. Relief flooded through him. Oysters were renowned for making people sick if one got a crook one. And he’d been bloody crook, indeed!

Exhausted by the experience, his limbs still trembling with weakness, but satisfied that he’d identified the cause, CJ closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

F
rancey knocked on the front door of Steve’s modest bungalow and while she waited she looked about her. The sun’s final rays were sputtering over the horizon and a crispness was invading the late spring evening. It was hard to believe that she’d been up north for nearly five months. There had been so many changes in her life in such a short space of time. Breaking away from Aden, working full-time for CJ … and Steve. Just saying his name to herself made her smile on the inside. She hadn’t seen him for several days and the very thought of him prompted a coil of excitement to tighten low in her stomach as she anticipated seeing him.

The door opened wide and Steve stood there, grinning. Wearing a black, rollneck sweater and faun slacks, he looked marvellous and handsome and virile. He swept her into his open arms.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he said softly as his lips found hers.

They clung to each other. Fused, hearts beating in tune, little moans escaped from their throats as the heat of their bodies penetrated the other’s clothes. Her hands crept around his neck, the length of her straining against him as if she couldn’t get close enough.

“Mmm, that was good. Dessert before dinner.” There was laughter in her voice as they eased back from each other.

He nodded his agreement. “I was just about to put the steaks on,” he told her and took the bottle of wine from her.

“Not so fast,” she said. “How about a tour first?” She hadn’t been to his house before and was curious as to how the man she loved would decorate his home.

His eyebrows rose. “It’s not like CJ’s station, a tour of my place will take about five minutes tops.” She gave him a certain look and he shrugged his shoulders. “Okay.”

They walked down a short, tiled hall to the combined living-dining room which was furnished simply with a three-piece black leather lounge and a pine wall unit which held the stereo and TV and an assortment of books and bric-a-brac. Three huge prints of dolphins frolicking in the water dominated one length of wall and along another were several shelves which held his collection of semiprecious stones. The galley style kitchen was modern and functional: white cupboards with granite-style formica tops. Francey, ever the architect, noted that the entire floor area was covered with ceramic tiles
for coolness and that the drapes in each room were lined to keep out the heat. Vents in the ceiling evidenced air-conditioning, a must for pleasant living in this hot, arid part of the country.

“Here’s the bathroom,” he opened the door wide for her. “I haven’t got around to renovating it yet but it’s on the agenda for next year. And down the hall there’s three bedrooms, each with built-ins.”

Francey saw that the two smaller bedrooms were empty but the main bedroom, which was of good proportions, had a king-size bed, side tables and a tallboy chest of drawers with an oval mirror. Everything was neat and shipshape, which impressed her — Steve appeared to be a tidy housekeeper.

“What’s the mattress like?” she asked as she sat on the edge of the bed and tried to bounce. “Hard. Oh, I do like a hard …” she gave him a studied, seductive glance, “mattress.”

He came and sat beside her on the bed. His arm went round her shoulder so he could draw her up against the side of his body. He said in his stern, policeman tone, “You, miss, are asking for trouble.”

She laughed throatily as her hands came up to capture his face. Her blue-green eyes stared longingly into his brown ones, the flutter of her heartbeat increasing as she looked into those dark, impenetrable depths. “Oh, yes. Please.”

With a mock growl he eased her back down on the bed and … laughing, kissing, touching, they undressed each other, then Steve drew Francey hard up against him. By now he knew where to caress and fondle to bring her to a high state of arousal. And he loved to watch the way growing passion darkened
her eyes to sea-green, and how her lips heated and softened under his constant assault. She drove him wild too, with the sensual movements of her body, writhing beneath him, encouraging him. God, how empty his life had been before her, but as he kissed and suckled her nipples until they hardened he realised it wasn’t empty any more.

Breathless from his kisses and from the bold straying of hands through her dark curls to the most intimate, sensitive part of her body, she could feel the heat building within her, especially when the tip of his hard penis teased her there. He was driving her wild with wanting him and he knew it. Suddenly she wriggled down in the bed and forced him partially inside her.

“What do you want?” he whispered.

“You.” As if he didn’t know. She was trembling with pent-up longing for the ecstasy he could bestow upon her.

“Where?” he teased, his own voice husky with passion.

So tense that her nerve endings felt extraordinarily sensitised, she pleaded. “Inside me. Deep.” She sighed. “As far as you can go.”

He plunged into her then, just once, then stilled. “Like this?”

She couldn’t control her gasp of delight or her body’s shuddering response. “Oh, yes. Yes.” She kissed him, deeply, thrusting her tongue into his mouth in a replica of what she wanted his penis to do to her.

Steve almost lost control. She was the sexiest, most giving woman. He began their dance of love and she matched his ardour with that of her own …
Sated, Francey snuggled into him, her hand playing up and down his chest. “I think I’d like to stay here, like this, forever.”

“Me too.”

“But I’m starting to get hungry …”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m beginning to see that you’re a very demanding woman. I get the message.”

Francey didn’t leave a morsel on her plate. “Steve, you’re a great cook,” she complimented him sincerely as they began to stack the dishes.

“I like to cook.”

“Good, you can do it all the time when we …”

He stared down at her and lifted an eyebrow. “When we what?”

Oh! What?
When we what?
Move in and set up house together? Get married? They hadn’t talked about commitment, they had skirted around the subject a couple of times but hadn’t there been some unspoken understanding that their relationship was leading up to that? Yet nothing had been said or confirmed. “I mean, I, not we … when
I
come here again,” she finished lamely, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. They had been seeing each other for a month. Was that long enough to contemplate a more serious, more defined relationship? Her desires were equally divided. Half of her wanted to take the next step while the other half felt it would be wise not to rush into things. As well, she didn’t want to put Steve on the spot. She loved him and she thought she’d heard him say that he cared too, in the throes of passion, but both seemed reluctant to talk their
feelings through. It was too soon. Yes, better not to rush things, their future happiness was too important.

She decided to change the subject, before she put her foot in her mouth again. “CJ’s asked me to accompany him and Les when they go overseas in February. They’re going to Singapore, Hong Kong and London.” She tried not to let the excitement show in her voice. “CJ’s signing the official partnership papers with the Yakismoto Consortium for the Cooktown project. Then they’re going to Hong Kong to check his investments — an advertising company and a few blocks of home units. He wants to see how things are because China will be taking over in July. There are rumblings, rumours, that everything might be nationalised, which would lead to a shift, a downturn in the city’s economy. After that they’re off to London for bank meetings and then some rest and relaxation at some country estate. CJ has friends he likes to visit at that time of the year.”

“Sounds real tough,” Steve said tongue-in-cheek, then he remembered her project. “What’s going to happen to the mini conference centre while you’re away? Is Pierre fit enough to supervise it?”

“Not yet. CJ says the work will stop if the wet gets bad here. That’s why he and Les are going overseas to do business. To get away from the rain, I guess.”

“It’ll be a great experience for you, I’m sure.”

Francey detected a note of something, was it envy? Steve was the least envious person she knew, but she’d picked up on something. Maybe he didn’t want her to go. She hoped that was it.

“How long will you be away?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe a month.”

She saw his frown and the tightening of his mouth and said straight out, “You don’t want me to go.”

“Hell, no. It’s your job, you work for CJ now. You’ll have a grand time seeing all those wonderful places. It’s just …”

“Just what?”

“That I’ll miss you like crazy, that’s what.”

Smiling with relief she came and sat on his lap. The index finger of her right hand traced the contours of his face as she said, “I’ll miss you too. Every hour of every day.”

He gathered her close to him, his lips nuzzling her throat. God, no woman had ever done what Francey Spinetti did to him. She tied him in knots, made it hard, no, impossible for him to think straight when she was this close. He wanted her so much. Wanted to see her beside him when he woke in the morning and the last thing before he went to sleep at night. He wanted to see her across the kitchen table, he wanted to see her hanging out their clothes on the clothesline and help her with the shopping. He wanted to plan the rest of his life around her, with her.

“You know, I think we should keep you, us … quiet. Be discreet for a while,” Steve said. “The Isa’s a small town and people here love to gossip. I’d rather they didn’t do it, didn’t speculate about us until we’re … until …”

“We’re more comfortable with each other,” she finished for him.

“Yes. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He kissed her warm, willing lips and tightened his hold on her. So far they were good together in every possible way, but something about her trip niggled at him. Les Westcott and CJ. He didn’t enjoy the idea of her being almost constantly in their company for a month or more. He wasn’t sure about CJ, the man was old enough to be her father and Westcott, well, he couldn’t blame the man if he was attracted to her. He’d seen the way Les looked at her, sizing her up, speculating. Waiting, watching like a bird of prey. Westcott was sophisticated, a man of the world and Steve’d made enquires and knew he was wealthy in his own right. Years of working for CJ had made him so.