FOR three long months Ric had been moving around—Los Angeles, New York, London—going about his business, being alert for any trouble. As far as he knew there was none, not even with his Sydney office where Kathryn was still operating without any further problems. To his mind, Mitch had successfully quashed any move by Gary Chappel to raise more hell for Lara or anyone connected to her.
It was safe for him to go home.
He'd take every precaution not to be followed to Gundamurra. He was sure he could do it without endangering Lara. The desire—the need—to be with her again, to assure himself that everything was fine between them, had been building to such a pitch, he could barely concentrate on anything else.
For the past few weeks he'd been feeling something was wrong. When he'd first set up the private Internet site for them to correspond with absolute safety, Lara's messages had been like a daily diary, nothing deeply personal but full of her activities and written in an enthusiastic vein. He'd been satisfied she wasn't fretting and was communicating in a natural open way that he found very reassuring.
More recently her messages had tapered off into flat little reports.
Maybe it was simply that the newness of her life on an Outback station had worn off. It wasn't surprising or adventurous or exciting anymore. Yet he sensed a depression that worried him, spurring him to act.
Gundamurra might not be the right place for her. He could bring her to London, watch over her himself. There were dozens of alternatives. All he needed was her compliance and he'd take her anywhere.
The first step was to talk to her, face-to-face, and that meant flying home. He'd written his intention of visiting Gundamurra last night. Her reply had to come this morning. He didn't want to leave his Knightsbridge apartment until it did. Impossible to set his mind to working in his London office today.
He forced himself to have some breakfast then checked his home computer again.
Yes…a message.
Ric stared at the monitor screen, feeling his heart squeeze into a painfully tight ball as he read Lara's reply over and over again, desperately trying to interpret it differently to what it said only too plainly.
It's better for me if you don't come, Ric.
No explanation.
Just the one line.
And his knotted gut was telling him it was because he'd had sex with her and she didn't want to be reminded of it. Didn't want him thinking it could be on again. Didn't want the hassle of a confrontation about it.
Mistake.
Huge mistake.
And he couldn't undo it.
So what the hell was his next step?
Ric pushed himself away from the computer with its dead-end message, refusing to believe he had no future with Lara. The connection between them had been too real, too strong. There had to be a way over this barrier.
He paced around his apartment, burning off the negative energy that pressed in on him—the old defeatism that had kept him away from her in the past. He was good for her. She'd wanted him to make love. And she couldn't now think of it as a bad experience. It had been great for both of them. He couldn't be mistaken about that.
Perhaps she was now ashamed of having had that need at the time.
Linking him to Gary. Having had months of freedom to sort out what she wanted, she might well have developed a desire to be free of attachment to any man—an easier life, not complicated by relationships where more could be expected of her than she was willing to give. The short reports might mean she'd been weaning herself off any sense of dependence on him, subtly letting him know that maintaining a rapport with him held less and less importance.
A phase of detachment was not unreasonable in the circumstances. It meant more waiting, patience on his part. On the other hand, surely she knew he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. So why block him out?
Better for me if you don't come.