rangy young man, both wearing the standard Akubra, the younger man with a decidedly rakish tilt. He had a great walk, she thought, putting her in mind of some actor, a kind of graceful lope.
She felt little tears in her eyes at the near unendurable light and wondered why she hadn’t brought her sunglasses.
They caught up with her easily and she had her first sight of Broderick Kinross, heir to the Kinross cattle and business empire.
She didn’t know how she had pictured him. Handsome certainly, given the family good looks but not this. He literally blazed. The blue eyes so vivid they trapped her gaze. For an instant she had the extraordinary sensation something had cut off her breath.
“Rebecca, may I introduce my son, Broderick.” Stewart Kinross looked down at her, sounding as though he preferred not to. “He’s here for an interim report to me.” He continued more briskly. “Brod, this is the very clever young woman who is writing Fee’s biography as I’m sure you’ve heard. Rebecca Hunt.”
Rebecca gave Broderick Kinross her hand perturbed by the adrenaline that was pouring into her body. She looked up into a lean, striking face, beautiful glittering blue eyes. For someone who had laboured long and hard to maintain a fail-safe cool facade she now felt bathed in heat.
“How do you do, Miss Hunt.” He was perfectly courteous, on the formal side, yet she felt the shock and hostility that was in him. Why? “When I last spoke to Fee she was very happy with the start you’ve made on the book. Obviously she has confidence in you.”
“I’m very grateful that she thought of me at all,” Rebecca said, subdued by the tingling in her hand. “I’m not terribly well-known.”
“Don’t be so modest, my dear,” Stewart Kinross responded in a voice like warmed syrup. He draped a proprietorial arm around her shoulder. Something he had never done before. “I read your biography and thoroughly enjoyed it.” Very gently he turned her around, enchanted by the way the large straw brim of her hat shadowed her face. “You really shouldn’t go wandering around in the heat. For all that charming hat you risk burning that lovely skin.”
Why the hell don’t you hug her, Brod thought with black humour.
He never thought he would live to see adoration in his father’s eyes, but this was coming mighty close. Fee had confided to him on the side “your father is quite taken with Rebecca.” More like infatuated.
Brod felt a bit shell-shocked himself and he’d had more than his share of girlfriends.
She was lovely in a way that didn’t appeal to him at all. The hot-house flower. Good bones, but delicate like a dancer. A little scrap of a thing. No more than five-three. Big light-filled grey eyes, satin near-black hair that fell almost to her shoulders and curved in under her chin and that fabulous skin. All the girls he knew had a golden tan, were tall and athletic and they didn’t wear beautiful silly hats with brims that dipped and flowers and ribbons for a trim. Miss Rebecca Hunt was no wildflower. She was an exotic. A vision of cool beauty.
“I take it we’ve finished our business for the day, Brod.” Stewart Kinross turned his handsome head with its immaculate cream Akubra to address his son.
Brod took his eyes off Miss Hunt for a moment to answer. “Please, Dad, give me a break. I can’t go away without speaking to Fee.” The words were said with gentle irony, but Rebecca could see he had no intention of going.
“Well then, come along,” Stewart Kinross answered pleasantly, but with a certain glint in his eye. “I’m sure Mrs Matthews—” he referred to Kimbara’s long time housekeeper “—can provide you with some afternoon tea.”
“So have you had sufficient time to form an opinion about our world, Miss Hunt?” Brod asked, falling back into line with the petite Miss Hunt in the middle. He was glad his father had at last removed his arm from her delicate shoulders. He felt like flinging it off himself.
“I love it.” Her charming voice was filled with sincerity. “It may seem strange but I don’t know my own country as well as I know some places overseas.”
“There is the fact Australia is so big,” he offered dryly, indicating the vastness around them.
“And you can’t be all that long out of university?” He glanced down at her meaningfully.
“I’m twenty-seven.” She gave him a shimmering cool glance.
“My dear, in that hat you look seventeen,” Stewart Kinross complimented her.
“Scarlet O’Hara,” Broderick Kinross murmured, sounding none too impressed. “You didn’t once travel Outback?”
“As I say, oddly no.” Rebecca gathered her defences around her. “My work kept me in Sydney for the most part. I spent two wonderful years overseas, based in London, though I never got to meet Fee. I’ve visited all the state capitals, tropical North Queensland many times. I love it. I’ve holidayed on the Great Barrier Reef, but this is another world after the lushness of the coastline. Almost surreal with the vast, empty landscape, the monolithic rocks, and the extraordinary changing colours. Stewart is going to take me on a trip out into the desert.”
“Really?” Broderick Kinross shot a glance at his father, his cleanly cut mouth compressed. “When is this?”
“When the worst of the heat dies down a little,” Stewart Kinross said with almost a bluster.
“Magnolias wilt in the heat,” Broderick Kinross lowered his head to peer at the curve of Rebecca’s cheek.
“Trust me, Mr. Kinross.” Rebecca’s head shot up as she gave the sardonic Broderick a brief sidelong glance. “I don’t wilt.”
“I’m holding my breath until you tell me more about yourself,” he retorted, a faint catch of laughter in his voice. “I’m sure any young woman as beautiful as yourself has a boyfriend somewhere.”
“Actually, no.” She wanted to cry out, “Please leave me alone.” He was getting to her as he obviously meant to.
“What is this, Brod, an interrogation?” his father asked, drawing his thick black eyebrows together.
“Not at all. If it seemed like that I apologise,” he said. “I’m always interested in your visitors, Dad. Miss Hunt seems more interesting than most.”
Interesting wasn’t the word. A true femme fatale.
They had just reached the main gate of the compound, a massive wrought-iron affair that fronted the surrounding white-washed walls when a nesting magpie shot out of a tree, diving so low over their heads Rebecca gave an involuntary cry. She was well aware magpies could be a menace when they thought the nest was under threat. The bird wheeled with incredible speed clearly on the attack but this time Broderick Kinross, with a muffled exclamation, pulled her against him with one arm and made a swipe at the offending bird with his black Akubra.
“Go on, get!” he cried, with the voice of authority.
The bird did, keeping just out of range.
To Rebecca’s searing shame her whole body reacted to being clamped to his. It was a dreadful weakness that she thought long buried.
“It can’t hurt you.” He released
