further.”
“I bet you do that a lot!”
“Well, tonight I just couldn’t handle it.” He spoke with so much self-mockery she blushed. “Have you any idea how beautiful you are?”
This was a man who could melt a woman without laying a hand on her. “You’re the one having difficulties, not me,” she countered. “Are you going to let go of me?”
“No.” He raised her hand lingeringly to his mouth. “But I am going to walk you back safely to the pub. Isn’t that the decent thing?”
“Next you’re going to tell me I’m different to every other girl you’ve ever met,” she said tartly.
“Well, of course you are.” He sounded amused. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever kissed who doesn’t keep her eyes closed.”
CHAPTER THREE
SHELLEY drove right up to the front steps of the homestead, trying to forget just how long and hot the trip had been. Her big concern on the journey had been dust storms. They were inevitable in a time of drought, when the wind picked up the Interior’s precious top soil and dumped millions of tonnes of it a thousand miles away in the ocean. She’d lived through quite a few dust storms, some of considerable severity. They desperately needed rain, but though the whole Outback prayed, they weren’t getting any. The skies above her were a hard enamelled cobalt with not a single cloud on the horizon.
If it hadn’t been for the permanent waterholes and billabongs on the station she’d have had to toss the whole idea of running Outback Adventures out of the window. The bores served their purpose, but in the Dry they sent fountains of near boiling water high into the air.
She wished there was someone there to help unload. There was no use hoping Amanda would help her. Amanda—and she was seriously disgusted with her sister about this—was bone-lazy. In the heat she acted like wax to a flame. It was a real con too, the way Amanda always complained of her bad back and her fears of hurting it.
Amanda found any way there was of avoiding physical toil, though she spent extravagant amounts of time lying around waiting for life to happen. She didn’t in fact get out of bed before ten. She wrote songs. Some were good. She played the piano and guitar, both well. Shelley herself had never qualified for music lessons.
“Why do you ask when you know money’s tight?” her father had always said, turning away as though he couldn’t bear to look at her too long. As if all she evoked was memories of her twin.
Well, at least she’d had one heck of an experience last night. A blazing bonfire of the senses. Brock Tyson was dangerous, his sexual prowess legendary. If she hadn’t been certain of it before, she was now.
And what of Philip? Philip had gone out of his way to suggest there was a romance between them. She would have said he had seemed driven to do it, probably for Brock’s benefit, just to let his cousin know she was taken. Not that Brock had taken the slightest heed of the warning, if that was what it had been. It might even have been an act of sheer devilment.
The fact remained that everything was different now—a violent shift in their relationship. Not that she’d ever been one of Brock Tyson’s girls. She’d still been a student, years younger than him. And now he had to go and pique her by telling her he wasn’t looking for involvement. The cheek of him!
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