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“Tommy needs you operational,” he slung at her before turning a broad, brick wall back and setting off again.
Miranda’s legs felt like jelly. She forced them to work as they should, willing more energy into them. It wasn’t fair, she thought, staring resentfully at the pumped-out strength of his stride. She’d gone weak from that treacherous embrace and he’d gained power. Nothing was fair where sex was concerned, she grimly concluded.
Twice now she’d succumbed to his attraction. He seemed to have some inbuilt magnet that got to her, overriding all common sense. She found herself eyeing the taut action of his buttocks and wrenched her gaze away. Somehow she had to switch off this physical thing with him, get her mind focused on her job again. Nathan King was not the object of this sight-seeing trip.
The rock edifice on either side of them was not striped as the domes were. The colours were still striking, a mixture of red and orange, yellow ochre, beige and black. Miranda was wondering why this was called Cathedral Gorge, when she heard the sound, a deep haunting throb that seemed to vibrate off the cliff walls in a weird unearthly rhythm. She stopped dead, absorbed with listening to it.
Nathan moved on a few steps, then turned, aware of her failure to follow. He frowned at her stillness, emitting impatience. He was about to voice it when she whipped up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t you hear it?” she queried in an urgent whisper.
He nodded, his eyes glinting with ironic amusement at her enthralment.
It goaded her into asking, “What is it?”
“A didgeridoo being played against the cavern wall. Come on. You’ll see it around the next bend. Albert must have decided to give the tourists a demonstration.”
Albert?
A didgeridoo was an Aboriginal instrument. Did one of the tribes still live here?
Miranda sped after Nathan, eager to experience more of what she was hearing. And suddenly it came into view…the end of the gorge…a fantastic open cavern, the side walls towering up in incredibly sheer sheets of rock, the back one curved inward, sheltering a pool of mysterious black water surrounded by sand.
Behind the pool a group of six people sat on a jumble of flat rocks, watching an Aboriginal man blowing into a long hollow pole, the end of it resting on the ground as his hands moved over the holes in the wood, controlling the emissions of sound.
The eerie notes boomed up with all the power of a pipe organ in a cathedral, filling the cavern, echoing out like some primitive call that had passed through aeons of time, as though summoning the heartbeat of the earth itself so that those who heard it would feel its underlying rhythm and be in harmony with it.
It couldn’t be called a song. There was no melody. Yet the interplay of sounds touched some deep soul chord that suddenly reminded Miranda of what Nathan had said earlier about his life being bound up in this land—ancient land—where survival reduced everything to basic needs.
She hadn’t comprehended the full context of what he was saying but she had a glimmering of it now…the stark simplicity of choices laid out by nature, a cycle to be followed…birth, growth, mating, reproducing, death…an endless replenishment as long as the earth kept feeding it.
No romantic gloss.
Just life as it really was, underneath all the trimmings that civilisation had manufactured to sweeten it.
The playing ended on a long, deep, mournful note, which seemed to reverberate through Miranda, making her tingle in a shivery way. The Aboriginal man shouldered his didgeridoo. The group of six applauded, their enthusiastic clapping sounding totally wrong to Miranda, somehow trivialising an experience that should have been savoured in silence.
She was frowning over it when Nathan turned to look at her, his eyes hard and cynical. “The performance not worth your applause?”
She stared at him, feeling his contempt for the lack of understanding that connected what they’d just heard to a performance to be clapped. “Not everyone has your background, Nathan,” she excused.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to show some mark of appreciation?”
She struggled to express what she’d felt. “To me it was a communication, not a concert.”
“Oh? And what did it communicate to you?”
His eyes were a pitiless blue, scorning any sensitivity from her. His challenge was a deliberate ploy to con-firm the place he’d put her in—a woman without soul, a woman who cared only for herself, disregarding the hurt she might give to others.
Miranda’s gaze bored straight back at him, resentment goading her into flouting his superficial and insulting reading of her character. “It gave me an insight into your life. And the life of those who have inhabited this land. How it must have always demanded they be attuned to its heartbeat.”
Her reply visibly jolted him. His chin butted up as though hit by a punch of disbelief. His eyes flared as though she’d done serious violence to his feelings. For a few nerve-shaking moments, she felt caught in a fiercely questing force that tore at everything she was. Then just as suddenly it was withdrawn, Nathan turning away and walking on.
Denial? Frustration?
Feeling as though she’d been pulped and tossed aside, Miranda had to recollect herself again before following. The deep drifts of sand made walking heavy going, but clearly the cavern was their destination so there wasn’t far to go now, and at least she wouldn’t be alone with Nathan here.
Having consoled herself with this thought, she was dismayed to see the group of six getting to their feet and gathering up their bags. They trailed after the Aboriginal man who was skirting the pool and heading towards her and Nathan. Then she realised he was dressed in a tour guide uniform and had obviously been hired by these people to give them the benefit of his specialised knowledge.
“G’day, Nathan,” he greeted familiarly, his face wreathed in a welcoming grin.
“G’day to you, Albert,” came the warm reply, a tone of voice Miranda hadn’t heard for some time. “You’ll be haunting the tourists if you keep laying that on them.”
The Aboriginal laughed as though it was a great joke. He patted his didgeridoo. “Only calling up good spirits.” He flicked a twinkling glance at Miranda before adding, “Maybe you need them.”
“Maybe I do,” Nathan said with a nod of appreciation. “This is Miranda Wade. She’s taken over management of Tommy’s resort. Albert’s a tribal elder around these parts, Miranda.”
She offered her hand. “Thank you for playing. That was quite magical.”
He shook it, his dark eyes shining happily at her comment. “Always good magic, Miss Wade. You staying on for a while?”
“Yes.”
He released her hand and tipped his hat to Nathan. “Could be the right spirit for you, oldfella.”
He strolled off, chuckling to himself. Nathan threw her a look that simmered with scepticism, then trudged on towards the pool. The sand firmed as they neared it, much to Miranda’s relief. Albert’s group passed them, breaking their conversation to say “Hi!” Miranda smiled and returned their greetings. Nathan merely nodded, though Miranda noted he drew long appraising looks from the women in the group.
Physically he’d have an impact on any woman, she thought, though he probably wouldn’t expend his en-ergy on many. An extremely self-contained man, she decided, watching him stride forward around the pool to the flat rocks which would undoubtedly serve as their resting place for refreshment. Everything about him seemed to shout elemental male, and it was true what he’d said, she couldn’t deny his effect on her.
In a primitive society, he’d be the prize mate to get. No denying that, either. She had no doubt he could and would endure anything from this land, and still make it work for him. In some quintessential way, he belonged to it…as hard as these rocks, and just as unforgiving.
Maybe she was a fool to pass up an intimate involvement with him. Not that he was likely to give her a second chance after this morning’s contretemps.
Might it have developed into something very special? Some wanton core in her pulsed yes and it was difficult to argue away. Nevertheless, she worked hard at it.
Sexual attraction was no assurance of anything working out well. And why should she believe what Nathan King said about himself and his relationships with other women? He’d undoubtedly bedded the woman who’d chosen to marry another man. What did that say about him?
He dropped his bag onto a large flat rock. Miranda settled for one about a metre short of his. Since the cavern shaded them from the sun, she took off her hat, welcoming the cooler air here. In an attempt to ignore the tension of having to share some inactive time with Nathan, she emptied her bag, placing the plastic container of melon, which she’d sliced into finger-size pieces on the rock between them, then taking a long drink from the bottle of mineral water everyone had told her to take, warning of dehydration.
“I have a thermos of coffee. Would you like some?” he asked.
“Yes. Please.”
He used the same “table” rock to set out mugs and fill them, then produced two plastic containers of sandwiches. “Bacon, lettuce, tomato and cheese,” he informed her. “You’ll need something more substantial than melon. Help yourself.”
“You, too,” she invited.
They sat, munching and drinking in a loaded silence.
Eventually Miranda decided to settle a harmless point of curiosity. “Why did Albert call you ‘oldfella’? I wouldn’t call you old.”
“It relates to my family having been linked to this area for more years than Albert has lived. Longevity is counted in generations. Five generations here makes all of the Kings ‘oldfellas.”’
“I see,” she murmured, mentally kicking herself for even momentarily regretting her earlier rejection of him. A member of the King family would never seriously link himself with her, any more than a member of the Hewson family would, as Bobby had finally spelled out to her.
“What do you see, Miranda?”
She shrugged, meeting the searing question in his eyes with the inescapable fact she’d known from the beginning. “That I don’t belong and you do.”
“Where do you belong?” he asked.
She broke into laughter, shaking her head over the emptiness of that question. “Nowhere. That’s part of why I’m here. It doesn’t matter where I am.” She flashed him an ironic look. “I guess you could say I belong to myself.”
He frowned and turned his gaze down to the pool below them. A dark, dark pool, Miranda thought, like her family background. Not that it could actually be called family, just her and her mother whose men had never offered a wedding ring…the whole sorry misery of it coming to a lonely end years ago. It was hardly the kind of history the King family would want attached to them in any shape or form.
“So you don’t care about breaking up anyone else’s sense of belonging.”
The harsh remark was one too many for Miranda. “You have no right to probe into my personal life. I am here on a professional basis,” she stated icily.
“You might have fooled my mother…”
She leapt to her feet, snapping with anger. “That’s enough! I have never been a married man’s mistress. Nor would I ever put myself in such a demeaning situation.”
“Then what was all that mistress stuff about?” he shot back at her.
“It was about a man like you, wanting to put me in that position, and he had the power to mess up all I’d worked for. Just as you have the power to mess up my contracted time at King’s Eden.”
He was suddenly on his feet, a towering figure of proud indignation. “That’s a hell of a thing to think of me!”
“Like the things you’ve being thinking about me, huh? Treating me like dirt because I said no play!” Her eyes raked his arrogant pride into meaningless tatters. “Well, let me tell you I’m not about to take the chance you’re any different from him. I don’t care how sexy you are. I…won’t…play!”
Her whole body was shaking with the vehemence of that denial and her last three words boomed around the cavern, echoing, echoing…out of her control. She’d let him drive her out of control.
Desperate to grab some shreds of it back, she shoved her drink bottle into her bag. Her hands fumbled over the lid of the melon container. A hand clamped around her wrist, stilling the agitated action.
“I promise you…I swear to you…your position at King’s Eden is safe from any interference from me.”
Her heart was pounding so hard she couldn’t bring herself to speak at all. She stared down at the strong brown fingers wrapped around her wrist, imprisoning it.
“And please…accept my apology for making you feel at risk. That was not my intention.”
His voice seemed to throb with sincerity. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t tear her gaze from the hold he had on her, his flesh imprinting itself on hers, fingers pressing on her pulse, his energy zipping into her bloodstream, imparting an indelible sense of joining that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
“As for what I thought of you…I’m glad I was wrong. And I apologise for that, too. Believe me now…you are safe with me, Miranda. Okay?”
She nodded, too choked by a tumult of emotion to do anything else. He released her and began repacking his bag. Miranda concentrated hard on finishing with hers.
Her mind thrummed with the knowledge that she didn’t feel safe with Nathan King and never would. He was more than Bobby Hewson. Much more. And even if he left her alone, as he promised, she would not stop being acutely aware of him and the power he had to reach into her.
Neither of them said anything throughout the hours it took to journey back to the resort. There was no touching, physical or verbal. Miranda did her utmost to block him out of her personal space but he kept infiltrating it just by the sheer force of his presence.
For all her practised professionalism, she found herself hopelessly tongue-tied when she finally had to face him on the helipad at King’s Eden. She forced her gaze to meet his and almost flinched at the intense blue of his eyes as they probed hers.
“Thank you,” she blurted out, barely stopping herself from backing away from him.
“Miranda, I have nothing to do with the resort and Tommy would certainly not welcome any interference from me in his business,” he stated emphatically. “It’s entirely up to you to make good your position here.”
She nodded, her throat too constricted to speak.
“You want time to feel settled into your job…fine!” he went on. “But I don’t see myself forgetting what there is between us. And I don’t think you will, either.”
She did not answer, feeling the threat to her peace of mind and not knowing what to do about it.
“I’ll see you again sometime,” he added, and took his leave of her.
She watched him get into his Jeep and drive away. Only when he was out of sight did she begin to breathe easily. Two years at King’s Eden, she thought. Of course she would see him again…sometime. And what then?
What then?
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_5b142e61-9f64-587a-b52c-d659cce3c82e)
IT WAS good to see Jared again. Nathan reflected that he always had enjoyed his youngest brother’s company. Tommy had a competitive streak, wanting to score points on everything, while Jared was simply content to be himself, not in contest with either brother. Maybe it was because he’d moved himself into their mother’s world, away from King’s Eden. Or maybe it was simply his nature.
They sat in the breakfast room, idling over morning tea, Jared and their mother relaxing after their flight from Broome, Nathan catching up on their recent activities. Tommy would fly in this afternoon and would inevitably draw Jared’s attention to himself, but for the moment, it was very pleasant listening to his youngest brother’s plans to extend the pearl business from wholesale into retail, as well.
“So how goes it with you, Nathan?” he asked, the conversation having lulled after he and their mother had filled him in on their news.
“Oh, nothing really changes here,” he drawled, except he only had half his mind concentrated on station business. Miranda Wade occupied the other half, but he wasn’t about to lay out that very private issue.
In fact, he was thinking this family get-together on the station—the first this year—may very well provide the opportunity to get him close to Miranda again, in a non-threatening social situation, which would surely ease her fears.
“Mum tells me we have a new manager at the resort,” Jared prompted. “A woman.”
“Yes.” A woman who haunted his nights and wouldn’t get out of his head even during the day.
“So how is she working out?”
“I have no idea.” Which was really a lie. He’d envisaged her a thousand times, burning with utter commitment to getting everything right at the resort, shutting out everything else from her mind. Including him. Especially him. Though he didn’t believe she could be any more successful than he was at setting aside the strong attraction they’d experienced. All the same, the need to know wouldn’t wait much longer.
“Don’t you have some impression, Nathan?” his mother asked, frowning at him.
“Why should I? I don’t stick my nose into Tommy’s business any more than I stick it into Jared’s.”
His mother’s gaze sharpened on him. “You did take Miranda on a sight-seeing trip, didn’t you?”
“Six weeks ago,” he answered with a shrug. “I haven’t seen her since.”
His mother sighed, looking extremely vexed.
