wasting valuable time standing here talking.’
CHAPTER TWO
ALLY looked up sleepily as Fletcher emerged from the bathroom, a huge white towel looped around his lean hips. Her breath caught in her throat. All this dark-haired, broad-shouldered, lean-and-muscled masculine perfection was about to walk out of her life just as abruptly as it had appeared. How could the time have flown so quickly?
Monday morning had never felt so bad.
Over the weekend, she and Fletcher had been together for every moment their work commitments spared them, and Ally was delighted to discover that there were so many other wonderful qualities about this man apart from his superb body. She and Fletcher had meshed on so many levels—emotional, physical and intellectual. It had been like meeting a soul mate.
But it had been all too short.
‘Did we really only meet two night’s ago?’ she asked, while her thoughts echoed silently—I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.
Her knees tucked under her chin, Ally watched from the bed as Fletcher slowly buttoned his shirt, looking down at her with a regretful, thoughtful smile.
He crossed the room to sit on the edge of her mattress. ‘I think there’s a New Age term for the way we met,’ he said. ‘We experienced a defining moment.’ He lifted his hand as if he were going to reach for her, but stopped, the hand hovering in midair. He sighed and stood up again, reaching instead for the lavender lace nightdress which was crumpled at the bottom of her bed. Tossing it to her, he flashed a cheeky smile. ‘And I’d say you’ve been redefined as a purple passionfruit.’
Ally plucked at the garment. Her fondness for all shades of purple had amused and enchanted Fletcher. Until now it had simply been a colour she often chose to wear because it complemented her dark hair, pale skin and clear, grey eyes. But Fletcher had insisted her favourite colour was symbolic of the newly discovered passionate side to her nature she had never known existed.
She tried desperately to smile back at him. But it was difficult to hide the despair she felt at the reality of Fletcher’s leaving. Any minute now the taxi would be pulling up in the street below and he would be walking out of her life, catching the early flight back to North Queensland and his cattle and his outback. He might as well be heading for Mars.
‘I suppose you could call our meeting a defining moment,’ she said, but then in the next breath, she blurted out, ‘But what about the old-fashioned description—love at first sight across a crowded room?’
‘Love?’ Fletcher looked down at her, startled. ‘When I’m about to catch a plane to the back of beyond...’ He paused in the act of threading a plaited leather belt through the loops of his jeans and his eyes darkened to a worried navy blue. ‘We can’t afford to get overly romantic, Ally.’
She felt her face flood with scarlet and a cold hand clamp tightly round her heart. She’d been caught out making the oldest mistake of all. Confusing passionate sex with love and respect and compatibility. Fletcher had never promised her anything more than three nights.
And now their time was up. And she was grown up. This was the real world.
But how could she bear it?
Then it happened just as Ally knew it would. The taxi arrived, with a screech of tyres and a blast of its horn. Fletcher clasped her to him, kissed her, held her, whispered soothing nothings, kissed her again. And then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft sigh and she heard his footsteps on the pavement below, the slam of a car door. And it was all over. Just like that.
She couldn’t move. She should have been eating breakfast, dressing for work, but she lay there in the bed wondering how something so wonderful could leave her feeling so lonely and desolate. The usual expectant tingle she felt at the start of the working week had vanished. Her mind, her heart, her body—all of her was numb—a huge gaping vacuum.
Well, she thought with chagrin, Fletcher Hardy had taught her one thing—actually, several if the truth be told. She had never known that lovemaking could be so imaginative, beautiful and exciting all at once. But the end result was her very sure knowledge that she was not the type to enjoy casual sex. It had never happened that way before. Never before had she simply met a man she wanted and thought that alone was an excuse for intimacy. And now she was paying the price for giving away her heart and her body so easily.
She had fallen in love. Hopeless, unreturned love.
She rolled over and buried her head in the pillow, giving in to the luxury of tears—of huge, gasping, noisy sobs.
She wasn’t sure how long she had lain there deep in her misery before the phone on her bedside table rang loudly, startling her. Automatically, she lifted the receiver without stopping to consider that she was in no fit state to take a call.
‘Hello, Ally. Ally, are you there?’
‘Yes,’ she blubbered, shoving the bunched-up corner of the sheet into her mouth to stifle more sobs.
‘Ally, it’s Lucette.’
‘Oh, hi. How—how are you?’
‘Much better thanks. But I was knocked out by this flu. I can’t believe my rotten luck missing the show.’
‘Oh, Lucette, you poor thing. I meant to ring you, but—I got caught up. I know that sounds a rather lame excuse. Your set was wonderful! It really was marvellous.’
‘I’m glad everything was OK. Do you have the flu now, Ally? You sound awful.’
‘My nose is a bit stuffed up,’ admitted Ally, reaching for a tissue. ‘By the way, I met your cousin,’ she added, regretting, even as the words left her lips, her feeble, weak will.
‘Fletcher? Really? I hadn’t heard from him so I assumed he didn’t make it to the show. Poor fellow, I bet he hated it. It’s not really his scene at all.’
‘Oh, he seemed fairly interested in some aspects of it.’
‘What did you think of him?’ asked Lucette, a subtle lilt in her voice implying past experience of Fletcher’s effect on women. ‘Most of my friends think he’s pretty cute.’
I’ il bet they do, thought Ally with a stab of foolish jealousy. How many other friends of Lucette’s had Fletcher dallied with? ‘He—he seemed very presentable,‘ she mumbled.
‘Anyhow you’d be wasting your time looking twice at Fletcher,’ continued Lucette.
‘Oh?’ Ally tried for nonchalance, but the word emerged as more of a desperate honk.
‘Oh, he has too much bush in his blood. I mean, I grew up in the bush, too—on a property not far from his, but I was glad to leave the outback. But Fletcher will never leave. He’s totally committed to his property. Passionate about the land. So there’s not much future for a city girl with a man like him.’
‘Fair enough,’ replied Ally, trying to sound bored, wishing she’d had more common sense than to allow this conversation to turn to Fletcher. ‘Did you read the coverage of our show in the newspapers?’ she asked, trying to steer Lucette back to safer ground.
But she didn’t
