Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor: Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor. Margaret Way
her. It was a brutal kind of rapture to be with her, to have her captive in his arms, to kiss her again after such an eternity. The fire would never burn out. He had to believe she was feeling the heat too because her whole body was undulating, as though her tender woman’s flesh was melting at his touch.
Once she tried to draw back, making a sound of dissent as if she were in a rage. But he knew it for what it was. No more than excited defiance. He knew. He definitely knew. She could no more subdue the powerful sexual flame that sprang fiercely between them than he could—a flame that had been ignited years before. He wasn’t going to listen to any play acting. He’d had more than enough of that. He plunged his fingers into her long heavy hair, keeping her face up to him.
“Damn, damn, damn you, Garrick!” she cried, as though her emotions were too powerful to be contained.
“Sounds more like praying to me,” he taunted. “Anyway, I’ve damned you a thousand times.” His tongue worked over and around her closed lips, increasing the pressure, prising them apart. It had to be driving her crazy because her mouth opened fully and her breath mingled with his.
Paradise regained.
He was kissing her the way he wanted to kiss her. The way he kissed her in his dreams. Not tenderly, but a furious combative passion that demanded release. Sensation swirled all around them. Images of them together filled his mind. Now and in the past. He had her back where she belonged. In his arms. He couldn’t seem to care about all the rest. Her flight from Coorango. The betrayal he’d felt. He had her with him right now. He wasn’t going to let her go.
Not tonight. He hadn’t planned it. How so? When he knew it was going to take place.
Zara had a fear she might faint. So much pressure was building in her. In her back, in her stomach, her breasts and her legs. Her body swayed against his, her aching breasts pressed hard against the muscular plane of his chest. She hungered for him so much she was shaking uncontrollably. The strength of his hold on her increased. It came to her belatedly that he was supporting her. The rose had slipped out of her fingers. It was crushed somewhere between them. Its sweet fragrance was scenting the air. She felt trapped. At the same time she felt she was where she belonged.
“I could have picked any other girl in the world,” he muttered, his lips against her throat, “but it had to be you! So let’s choose a bed,” he said with a shuddering laugh. Yours or mine?” He raised his hand, clasping her neck beneath the heavy fall of her hair.
“Don’t sound so cynical, Garrick,” she begged, her voice a jagged whisper.
“Ah, be damned to everything!” he cried, as though the situation was utterly intolerable. He caught her chin, turned her face up to him. “You can’t be crying?” he rasped.
A single tear had escaped, edging down her cheek.
“Do you think your tears make me fair game?” His expression carried no gentleness whatever. It showed tension as tight as a piano wire strung to perfect pitch.
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” she lashed back. “You and your abominable pride! Well, it cost us.” She closed her eyes against him, realizing he would never forgive her until the day he died. Her heart was drumming in her ears, the beat strong enough to make her deaf. A great flush of sexual excitement was covering her body in a tide. She thought of a dam, its massive walls giving way.
“Drop the tears, Zara,” he advised. “They won’t work. Tonight you’re mine. It will be just like old times!” He put one steely muscled arm beneath her and then swept her off her swooning feet.
There were no words in her mind to stop him. She knew it would happen. They both knew it would happen. Both of them wanted the torture over. If only for a single night. She needed no man in her life. Unless it was Garrick. He needed no woman. Unless it was her. Both of them were in the fierce grip of obsession. A maelstrom of passion that had at its core a fatal flaw.
There could be no real love, no real future without trust.
She could never hope to make him trust her again. He had not even read one of her letters. The pain of it seared her so badly she doubted she would ever mention those letters again. Her father was dead. She couldn’t confront him, make him confess to Garrick what he had said and done to drive them apart.
All she knew was that it was her lot to love Garrick. Every which way. No matter what happened. Until death did them part.
Chapter Four
THEY flew into Coorango at noon on a blazing blue day. It had been a smooth flight, now they were taxiing into the massive silver hangar that housed the Beech Baron and a metallic blue Eurocopter with a broad white stripe. This had to be the latest addition to the fleet, Zara thought. She was familiar with this particular luxury helicopter. Her father, now Corin, retained one for private use. Two other helicopters, chartered aircraft, sat like fat yellow birds just off the concrete apron. Aerial mustering was obviously in progress.
Coming in over the airstrip, she could see Garrick’s mother, Helen, was on hand to greet them. Helen was standing with her back against a four-wheel drive, no doubt to ferry them up to the homestead. She had started waving minutes before they touched down. Zara waved back, appreciative of the fact that Helen had made the effort to come down herself. She could easily have sent someone. It made her feel very welcome. She hoped Garrick’s father, Daniel—lovely man—was having a good day. She knew he lived his life in constant pain, but dealt with it without complaint. Apparently his response to all enquiries regarding his state of health was “getting there!” Garrick had told her rather tensely that his father’s health was a source of great concern to his mother, to him and his sister Julianne, and everyone who knew and loved Daniel Rylance. This was a man greatly respected in the Outback.
Zara found herself wishing for the umpteenth time that her own father had been such a man. How different life might have been! Her beautiful loving mother might still be with them. Her own love affair with Garrick would never have been so brutally severed. She had blamed herself for years for the way things had turned out. But Garrick’s behaviour, she now realized, hadn’t helped. There was anger as well as sadness in that. She could barely take it in that he hadn’t read her letters. If he had, the ongoing pain and estrangement might well have been settled. How lives could be messed up through a lack of communication, she thought. It must happen all the time. People keeping silent when they should speak out. And, as a result, one could be faced with a lifetime of regrets.
“Zara, dear, you have no idea how good it is to see you again!” Helen Rylance, looking amazingly youthful in yellow cotton jeans and a white tank top, her arms wide and embracing, greeted the young woman who was everything she could want in a daughter-in-law.
It had really upset her and Daniel when Zara and Garrick’s blossoming relationship had abruptly foundered. Although nothing had been said, one would have had to be blindfolded not to recognize how passionately in love they had fallen. Yet it was all over—just like that! And no credible explanations either. In time Garrick had become engaged to Sally Forbes, a confident young woman known to them from childhood. They would have settled for Sally, only she and Daniel just knew where their son’s heart lay. Helen also knew intuitively that Dalton Rylance, the master manipulator, had brought about the end of that blossoming relationship.
It had struck her forcibly as revenge—on her. Dalton had disliked her intensely, thought her far too opinionated. A woman wasn’t allowed an opinion contrary to his own. Revenge on Garrick, as her son. Lord knew she had never made any big secret of her wariness where Dalton Rylance was concerned. He had been such a bully! Her dislike and distrust had been well and truly out in the open after Kathryn’s tragic early death. She couldn’t think of that terrible event without a tear escaping. Such a lovely woman Kathryn had been. Zara was the image of her. The resemblance, both in looks and manner, would have added to Dalton’s ferocious guilt. Ruthless billionaire he might have been, an acknowledged captain of industry, but he had been a shocking failure on the home front. A man of notorious temper, he had killed the gentle, sensitive Kathryn’s