“I was willing you over every jump.”
“It was like I had wings.”
He laughed, the sparkle in his eyes gathering a wicked tease. “You had a dark angel riding on your shoulder.”
She sighed, frowning at his description of himself. “I don’t want you to be dark, Jack.”
His mouth quirked into a musing little smile as he surveyed the earnestness on her face. “Maybe I need your sunshine in my life, Sally Maguire.”
“Yes,” she agreed, happy with the idea that she could answer a need in him that had nothing to do with sex. Somehow it helped to even out all he was giving her and made their connection more important. Though, having her breasts pressed to the hard wall of his chest and her thighs brushing up against the strong muscularity of his was making her very sexually aware of him. She slid her hands down from his shoulders, easing back from his embrace as she voiced her thought. “I’d like to think I could make a difference to all that’s gone before. I’m sorry you were left so…so alone. It must have made you feel very dark.”
“At times,” he admitted. “But not right now. This is definitely a champagne moment.” He dropped his embrace, took one of her arms and tucked it snugly around his. “Let’s get on our way and have ourselves a fine dinner.”
It was the best evening of Sally’s life.
Jack had driven up to Maitland in his BMW convertible and he put the hood down before they took off for the Hunter Valley vineyards where there were dozens of fine restaurants. It felt great, zooming along the road in his beautiful car, her hair fluttering in the lovely cooling breeze, Jack tossing her amused smiles as she rattled off a whole lot of showjumping stories, continually prompting her to tell him more, enjoying her company, exciting her with the warm interest in his eyes.
He handled the powerful car with brilliant ease. She couldn’t help watching his hands moving on the steering wheel, controlling the gearstick—so competent, confident—and wondered what it would feel like to have them touching her. Her gaze was drawn again and again to his powerful thighs flexing against the stretch denim of his jeans as he braked or accelerated. He oozed a maleness that had her stomach clenching over the thought of seeing him naked, feeling him naked.
Wicked thoughts.
Dangerous thoughts.
Yet she couldn’t stop them from sliding into her mind, no matter how sternly she told herself that love and marriage was not on his agenda and it would be foolish to succumb to a physical affair where she would most probably end up craving more than he was prepared to give of himself. Not only that, it would change their current arrangement, maybe spoil it. On the other hand, it was impossible to ignore what she was feeling with him.
They stopped at Kirkton Park, a beautiful holiday resort in the middle of vineyard country. Having collected glasses of champagne from the bar, they strolled out to the rose garden—all red roses, scenting the air. They sat on one of the garden benches, enjoying the delightful ambience as they sipped the celebratory drink in the twilight of this wonderful day.
Sally queried Jack on the work that was occupying his business life and he talked openly of the problems he was sorting out in the transport industry, revising the truck drivers’ schedules so that none of them had to take drugs to stay awake on unreasonably long hauls. “My father cut too many corners in his drive for maximum profits, always intent on expanding his empire. He didn’t care about his people,” he explained, and suddenly the darkness was back, brooding behind his eyes.
Impulsively Sally reached over and squeezed the hand resting on his thigh. “I’m glad you care, Jack.”
He turned his hand to take hers, his strong fingers lacing through her fingers, gripping, transmitting a heat that ran up her arm and spread through her entire body. “It’s easier not to,” he said mockingly. “Caring eats into you.”
Like the caring that had brought him back to Australia, the caring that had driven him to command his father’s attention, the caring that had demanded retribution for how he had been treated. Sally understood exactly what he meant.
“It’s in your nature to care,” she said quietly, certain it was true. “You’re not like your father. Nor my mother,” she added ironically, lifting her gaze to show her empathy for all he had felt.
He shook his head, regarding her curiously. “How did the person you are survive in that household, Sally?”
She shrugged. “I learnt to play the role expected of me. Until you changed everything.”
His grimace expressed a sudden burst of intense distaste. “When I fly in next time, you don’t have to meet me with a martini,” he said gruffly. “Just be yourself. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She smiled.
Then abruptly he was on his feet, drawing her up from the garden bench, his voice a low burr, announcing, “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”
He held on to her hand. Sally’s feet wanted to dance all the way inside to the restaurant. She could barely keep a lid on the coiled springs in her legs. He liked the person she was. He wanted her in his life. Her mind bubbled with a wild happiness. She wanted him in her life, too. It felt right.
They ordered a meal and ate it, washing it down with a glass of fine chardonnay. Everything tasted delicious. Jack talked about life on his stepfather’s ranch, competing in rodeos when he was a teenager. Sally hung on every word, fascinated that horses had played such a big part of his younger years, loving the fact that he’d been so attuned to her riding in the show ring today.
She should have been revelling in the pleasure of being with him on the drive home to Yarramalong, but somewhere along the way she drifted off to sleep, the huge energy drain of the day catching up with her. Consciousness returned with a jolt—an arm sliding under her knees, words murmured in her ear.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Lift your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you in to your room.”
“What…?”
“We’re home.”
While still befuddled, she was hoisted up out of the passenger seat of the car, her arms instinctively flinging themselves over his shoulders for extra support. “Jack…I can walk.” It was a half-hearted, foggy protest. Her body didn’t want to cooperate with it at all and did nothing to assert its independence, perfectly content to be cradled against his warm chest.
“Just relax, Sally,” he instructed, and it was so nice simply to do as she was told, dropping her head onto his shoulder, her face pressing close to the strong column of his neck, breathing in the heady male scent of him—cologne, shampoo…she didn’t know what but he smelled good.