LARA couldn’t sleep. Her mind kept churning over the events of the day. She knew whatever happened now was out of her control, not that she’d had control of anything much for a long time, but that had only affected her. She worried about Ric—what Gary might do to damage him and his business.
Almost unlimited wealth gave the Chappel family an insidious power. A corrupt power. And she didn’t believe his father could stop his one and only son from using it. Victor didn’t keep close tabs on Gary. He might think a caution from him—even a command from him—would be respected, but Lara knew better. Gary would agree up front, and do what he wanted behind Victor’s back.
If she couldn’t be got at, Ric would certainly be the object of his fury. Ric, who hadn’t counted the cost when he’d rescued her. Ric, who’d held her hand tonight but would be gone tomorrow, a moving target for Gary to focus on. If something bad happened to him—her mind shied away from the all too possible outcomes—how could she bear it?
He’d been so good to her.
More than that, she felt…if Ric went out of her life again, there would be a terrible black hole that nothing could ever fill. There was a bond between them. She’d felt it growing again all day, strengthening, tunneling deep into her soul. It wasn’t that she’d been so dependent on his initiatives. It was Ric himself. The way he was. The way he was to her—knowing intuitively what she needed, giving her his support, caring at a deeper level than she’d ever known before.
Her marriage had been completely barren of such caring, like a desert that bred only emotional nightmares, no oasis in sight. She was supposed to be at peace here, but how could she be with Ric going into danger because of her?
Sitting across from him at dinner tonight, watching him, listening to him talk to Patrick, she’d kept seeing the boy she’d known in the man, marvelling at how much he’d grown from that time, yet eerily staying the same—the expressions on his face, how he moved his hands, the cadence of his voice, his respectful manner toward her. Ric Donato…
He was certainly no disappointment to the memory she had of him. Far from it. If only…
No. It was stupid, futile to indulge in if onlys. She was here at Gundamurra, where Ric had found direction for his adult life. And it was an amazing place, not at all the primitive lifestyle she had imagined. There was even house staff to cook and clean.
The homestead was huge, constructed with four wings that enclosed a courtyard which, incredibly, had a fountain in the middle of its green lawn, not to mention garden beds in bloom and pepper trees to give shade.
A screened veranda ran around all four sides of the quadrangle and the rooms themselves were very civilised, indeed. Well kept antiques graced the sitting and dining rooms, and even in this guest suite the chest of drawers and dresser were beautifully polished cedar pieces, and the patchwork quilt on the queen size bed was a work of considerable artistry.
It all projected a sense of solid old-time values that would outlast anything a more sophisticated world would declare in as must haves if one was to be up to date with modern fashion. The refurbishing of the Vaucluse mansion had been an exercise in creating the right image—all for show, nothing to do with setting up a home that actually felt like a home.
Cold rooms. Almost clinically perfect, but no personality in them. How could they be anything else when they were the work of interior decorators who were never going to live there? And, of course, Gary had been the one they’d consulted with, not her. She’d very quickly learnt not to change anything, not to offer any input. Best to smile and agree to everything.
But that was over now.
Look forward, not back, Ric had told her.
Except looking forward encompassed Ric’s departure tomorrow and she was frightened of what that might lead to. If she was safe here, why couldn’t he stay, too? Why did he have to put himself at risk? Or was that hopelessly selfish thinking, wanting him to be with her?
Her life could be put in limbo at Gundamurra, but Ric had an international business to run, other people depending on him. It would be totally unfair of her to beg him to stay. He’d done more than enough for her. Yet if she lost him again…
Footsteps were coming along the veranda outside her suite. It had to be Ric. He’d be sleeping in this wing, too. After dinner, Patrick had suggested she retire, noting how tired and strained she looked. True enough, but she’d guessed the two men had much to say to each other in private so she’d left them to it, though she would have preferred their company to her own.
She did feel washed out physically. Mentally and emotionally, too. But her mind couldn’t be shut down. Maybe it would some time in the night…and if she was still asleep when Ric left in the morning…
Ric was going by now…
She hurtled out of bed and raced to the door which opened onto the veranda, her heart pumping with an urgency that couldn’t be denied. The footsteps had already gone past and when she stepped out she could only see the back of him walking away from her, a shadowy figure in the darkness—too shadowy when she desperately wanted the reality of him.
‘Ric!’
He stopped. It seemed an aeon before he turned, making her wonder if she’d mistaken someone else for him. Riven with doubts, she shrank back against the doorway, acutely conscious of not having paused to put on the dressing gown she’d bought. While the cotton pyjamas were a decent enough covering, they were no armour for confronting a man in the middle of the night.
Her rioting nerves were somewhat soothed as she caught the silhouette of his profile. It was Ric, looking back at her, half turning, holding his distance but at least acknowledging her call.
‘Do you need something, Lara?’ he asked quietly.
You. I need you.
The words pounded through her mind.
She couldn’t say them.
They asked too much.
She simply stood there staring at him, barely able to contain the turbulent yearning that pressed her to run to him, fling her arms around him, never let him go. Maybe the power of it tugged at him. After a pause that screamed for answers he slowly retraced his steps toward her, coming to a halt an arm’s length away, looking at her with what felt like a fierce concentration of energy.
‘Are you having trouble sleeping? Would you like me to…?’
‘No. I mean yes…I can’t sleep,’ she gabbled.
‘I doubt Patrick keeps sleeping pills in the medical kit. Perhaps a drink of hot chocolate…’
‘No…no…I just…’ She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together, be reasonable.
‘Are you frightened, Lara?’ he asked softly.
The words burst from her before she could stop them. ‘Will you hold me? For just this one night, Ric. Will you hold me?’
The raw plea was a cry of fear—fear that she might never have any more of him than this—fear that Gary might take Ric from her, too, along with everything else he had taken from her—fear that her life would always be dominated by the loss of what should have been.
She saw Ric’s chest expand as he sucked in a deep breath. Her senses registered a harnessing of strength but she was too chaotically needful to discern if it was meant for giving or rejecting. She could only wait and hope, every nerve in her body tense with a desperation that craved the caring he had shown her.
‘Lara…’ Was that the sound of longing, too, borne on his gruff whisper? But he didn’t move. He didn’t reach out to her.
‘Please…?’ she begged, fighting the restraint her instincts were picking up. She plunged on with wild argument, her hands fluttering, reaching out to him in frantic appeal. ‘It mightn’t be sensible. It might be mad. But you’ll be gone tomorrow and I…’
Ric couldn’t stop himself. His feet responded before his brain even attempted to countermand them, stepping forward of their own accord, and his arms scooped her into his embrace, precluding any other course of action. Her soft, slender body sagged against his and her arms lifted to wind around his neck, locking him into holding her.
It was the strangeness of being in an alien environment, he told himself, feeling alone and frightened of what the future held for her. She needed comfort, reassurance. He was the only familiar person for her to hang on to. She wasn’t asking for any sign of the flood of passionate possessiveness that was surging through him, dragging at the vestiges of reason he was clinging to. He had no right to claim her as his. No right…
She nestled her face against his bare throat. He hoped she couldn’t feel the wild beating of his pulse. Her breasts were pressed against his chest. He had to fight off the temptation to slide his arms down and haul her closer, fitting her stomach and thighs to his, craving the feel of her entire femininity, the essence of what had always made her desirable to him.
He felt his own body stirring and spoke quickly to distract himself from the sexual arousal she couldn’t want from him. ‘You will be safe here, Lara. I promise you,’ he said emphatically.
‘I wish you could stay with me.’
The yearning murmur struck chords in him that threatened to overwhelm all common sense. The warmth of her mouth moving against his skin shot an insidiously exciting heat through his bloodstream.
‘I’ll be back,’ he assured her, his voice terse with the strain of having to exert intense control. ‘It’s just a matter of time.’
‘Time…’ She heaved a sigh that played havoc with his good intentions. ‘So much of it has already gone by, Ric. Years…years of missing you,’ she whispered.
He sucked in a quick breath, desperate for a shot of oxygen to clear his brain of the wild exultation her words had triggered. She couldn’t mean what she was saying. Surely she’d had a good life before she’d married Gary Chappel…a successful model, feted and admired…
‘I don’t want to lose you again,’ she went on, her voice a throb of fierce passion, whipping up the desire that had to be contained.
‘You don’t have to worry. It will all work out,’ he assured her, then driven to take some diversionary action, he moved her to his side, intent on walking her back into her room. ‘Come on. When you wake up tomorrow, you’ll feel like a free woman.’
He got her inside, meaning to tuck her into bed, sit with her for a while, but she stopped before they reached the bed, turning to him with a frantic rush of words. ‘What if he takes you, too? He’s taken so much from me. If he gets to you, Ric…do you think I could ever feel free?’
Was it simply fear for him, driving this violent emotion? He rested his hands on her shoulders, gently kneading the tense muscles there. ‘Lara…it’s best that I go.’
He saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. ‘I can’t bear it,’ she cried and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
She was so close, it felt as though her heart was thumping against his. He couldn’t think, didn’t want to think. His hands traced the curve of her spine, the pit of her back, touching all he could allow himself to touch. His face buried itself in her silky hair, rubbing, kissing, breathing it in.
This was Lara…not a figment of his imagination but flesh and blood reality, setting him on fire for what he had missed over the years. He filled his senses with her, hoarding it all in his memory, craving more yet afraid of taking more than he should in this time and place.
As it was, there was no quelling the erection that telegraphed the desire he’d tried to hide. He expected her to ease away from him, expected a rush of mutual embarrassment that he’d somehow have to handle with some finesse, excusing it on some specious grounds that he’d have to bend his mind to. Soon…when she shifted…when it didn’t feel right to her…
But she hung on so hard, it seemed she’d burrow right into him if she could, as though his warmth and strength was the elixir of life to her. She had to know he was reacting to it, reacting as a man, not as a chivalrous white knight whose only wish was to help. He was a man, burning to take her as his woman.
Her head lifted.
He didn’t want to look her in the eye, didn’t want her to see…
‘Kiss me, Ric.’
His gaze sliced to hers, disbelief and rampant desire in instant battle. Had he misheard the soft whisper that echoed the deep ache in him?
‘Please?’ she pressed, her face tilted to his in open invitation. ‘Kiss me like you did when we knew nothing else. Wipe out all the rest. Please?’
The memory came sharp and clear, banishing any resistance he might have mustered. His head bent to hers, the compulsion to recapture what had been lost directing the kiss he gave her, a gentle grazing of his lips over hers, a soft, slow tasting that was strangely bittersweet because he was so acutely aware of her vulnerability, the damage that had been done to her.
Innocence was forever gone. He couldn’t bring it back, yet her tremulous, tentative response, her compliance to his initiatives, the hint of eagerness to explore more…eighteen years fell away and the love he’d wanted to show her at sixteen poured into his kiss.
He didn’t intend it to change into something else. Did she spur it on? Or was it the years of sexual experience urging him to take her on a deeper journey where passion flared and hungered for more and more satisfaction? One kiss wasn’t enough. One kiss incited an exhilarating ardour for more. And more.
She was travelling with him, her whole body telling him this was what she wanted too, her mouth barely leaving his for breath, intensely giving, her hands raking down his back, pulling him into her, her stomach rubbing against his erection as though wantonly stroking it, savouring his desire for her, revelling in it.
A crazy triumph was bubbling through his mind. Lara was his. She was giving herself to him. The sheer power of their need for each other made it right…didn’t it? It had to. His body was screaming for the ultimate satisfaction of bonding intimately with hers. He moved them toward the bed, his hands sliding under the elastic waistband of her pyjama pants, getting ready to…
A bolt of sanity hit him, shocking him into an abrupt halt.
‘Don’t stop, Ric. Please?’
The feverish pleading seduced all reason for a moment…but he’d pledged her safety and to keep on going without…
‘Lara…’ Anguish writhed through him. ‘I don’t have any protection with me. We must stop.’