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He got off first and she propped it sideways on its stand. Flipped her helmet open to talk as she fiddled with the chin strap. ‘Enjoy that?’
‘Yes, thank you. I actually did. And I’m very impressed with your riding skill.’ His helmet was off and he stepped forward to assist her. She let him, just—irritable little thing. She obviously didn’t like asking for aid so it was nice she was learning to take some help from him.
The strap came undone and she lifted her helmet off. ‘I gave you the easy one to undo.’
‘Ah,’ he teased. ‘Of course. Thank you.’ He looked around. They had the lookout to themselves. ‘I came up here years ago but had forgotten how amazing the view is.’
They walked towards the grassy edge that disappeared into the valley below. There was a little secondary platform screened from the road and he jumped down to the next level and held out his hand. ‘It’s even nicer down here.’ He couldn’t help the satisfaction in his voice. This was an excellent place.
Hmm, Tara thought. Simon looked pretty darned hot down there. More than hot. And there was a little bit of heat singing her even up here.
A tall, tanned, smiling hunk of a man, one she admired privately and professionally, holding his hand out to invite her to join him. Though, having been sandwiched against him for the last thirty minutes, she wasn’t sure that jumping into his arms would be safe at this minute.
Looked a bit of a set-up, Tara admitted with an inward jiggle of awareness, and couldn’t help but remember what had happened after the lake, and definitely after the beach frolic, but she had way more clothes on this time. Note to self. Keep clothes on.
She shrugged mentally and took his hand as she landed beside him. Sucked in the fresh, cooler air and shaded her eyes to estimate how much longer they had to get back before dark.
‘Probably two hours till sunset?’ In the distance the lake sparkled in the afternoon sun, and the mountains behind which the sun would sink were already dusted with gold. Simon was also dusted with gold, everything felt golden, and she could feel the prickle of nervousness again. ‘I like this road for a run on the bike. I’ve been here a few times.’
The air shimmered between them with a bigger thrum than three million cicadas and the awareness in the pit of her stomach growled like a nasty case of hunger pains. Maybe it was hunger pains. She glanced at his backpack as Simon put it down on the grass. ‘So? What’s in the backpack?’
‘A picnic for the princess, of course. Louisa is renowned for her picnic hampers. And I’m not without a few surprises.’
Surprises. Yep, he liked surprises. The first time, with the birthday cake, she’d cried. She was not going to cry this time. ‘Ooh. Picnic. Cool.’
‘Prepare to be amazed.’ He crouched down. Withdrew the tartan rug and spread it in the centre of the grassed area so they were facing the view. He patted the rug beside him. ‘Come on. Down you come.’ He undid the laces on his shoes and pulled them and his socks off.
She was distracted for a minute. He had very attractive feet. Long toes and very masculine-looking feet. He wiggled the toes and she caught his eye. He was grinning at her.
Maybe she could lose her own boots? She sat down, feeling a little heated, a little confined in her outfit, and before she realised what she was doing she’d removed her vest and was reaching down for her boots.
Simon was pretending not to look as he studied the hamper with only occasional sideways glances at her cleavage. Ogler. She laughed at herself. No use getting prudish about that. Why had she worn that shirt if she hadn’t wanted him to appreciate? And she guessed she would have been miffed if he’d sat there and stared at the view and not her.
‘Yep, that’s more comfortable.’ She stretched out her legs and leaned back, resting her weight on her hands.
‘Non-alcoholic sparkling wine?’ Simon held out a plastic champagne flute and Tara grinned.
‘Classy.’
‘Story of my life.’
‘Not mine.’
‘Some people are classy no matter what. You’re one of them.’
Aw, he said the nicest things, and she could feel the prickle in her throat. Not crying. Ha, said a little voice, you said you weren’t taking any of your clothes off either.
He leant over and dull-clunked their plastic flutes in a toast. ‘To the classiest lady I know.’
‘To the smoothest man around.’ She took a sip and it wasn’t bad for a soft drink.
He took a sip and then put his flute down on the lid from the container that held cheese, nuts, celery and carrot sticks, and in the middle was a big dollop of guacamole.
‘You had that in the backpack?’
‘I told you Louisa was the picnic queen. She has a whole set of bowls she uses for hampers.’ He pulled out another that held marinated chicken wings.
By the time they’d picked and sighed over the food, laughed at how strangely hungry they were, and had eaten far too much whenever the conversation flagged, the sun hovered over the distant mountains like a gold penny about to drop.
Simon had packed the food back into the insulated backpack, Tara was gazing into the small pool of liquid in her glass, and the playful mood had deepened back into the awareness that had always been there but which now eddied between them like the afternoon breeze.
‘It’s been fun, Simon.’
‘It has, Tara.’ There was a tinge of amusement in his voice as he slid across next to her. When his hip touched hers he lay back on the rug, one hand behind his head and the other he used to catch her hand.
‘Those clouds over there look like a castle with a dragon.’
She looked up, squinted and frowned. ‘Where?’
‘You’ll have to lie down to see.’
‘Ha.’ But she lay down and he pointed and she could just see what he meant before the turbulence slowly rearranged the puffy paintwork in the sky into something else.
‘I can see a dinosaur.’
‘Where?’
‘To the left of the dragon.’ She lifted her hand and he followed where she pointed.
‘That’s not a dinosaur. More of an elephant.’
She giggled. ‘That’s not an elephant.’
He rolled onto his side and she could feel him watching her. So this is was what they meant when they said ‘basking’. Tara felt herself ‘basking’ in Simon’s appreciation and it was a feeling she’d never really experienced. Could certainly grow accustomed to it too if she had the unlikely chance of that.
He leant over and kissed the tip of her nose. It was unexpected and she sneezed.
Simon flopped back and laughed out loud. ‘It’s hard being a man, you know,’ he complained. ‘I have to make all the moves and then she sneezes.’ He put his hand over his eyes. ‘I had this fantasy that this incredibly sexy woman—dressed in black leather, mind you—would attack me and have her wicked way with me, or at least kiss me senseless.’ He sighed again. ‘But it hasn’t happened.’
Tara rolled over to face him, with her arm tucked under her cheek. Then, with a ‘nothing dared, nothing gained thought behind her eyes’, she climbed on top of him until she had one leg on either side of his body and her weight resting on her hands. She leant in and kissed his lips, once—he tasted so good—twice—mmm … yum—and a slower third time that threatened to turn into something bigger until she sat up. Feeling pretty impressed with her own daring, actually. ‘Consider yourself attacked.’
‘Mmm.’ His eyes had changed to sleepy sexy and his hands reached up and slowly pulled her face down to his. ‘I could get used to this.’
The sun was setting. And she wanted nothing more than to lose herself with Simon in this private place above the world. But she wasn’t quite sure this was the right time—goodness knew where that thought had come from. ‘I think it wouldn’t be as much fun in the dark.’
He smiled lazily and kissed her neck. ‘You sure?’
‘Mmm. Maybe it would be.’ She had no doubt it would be. No, Tara. Stop it, the voice of reason nagged in her ear. ‘But I don’t make out on deserted roads with bikers.’ She said it as a joke to lighten the moment, because Simon had been on his first bike ride now.
He pretended to be disappointed. He kissed her again. ‘I should have known that about you.’ He hadn’t given up hope.
But then she thought of Mick. The picture of a dishevelled biker. And she guessed she had. But she’d never really seen that until the end. She’d seen the lost little boy from the orphanage. The brother of her best little friend who had died so tragically young and someone who had needed her. She shuddered to think what Simon would have thought of Mick.
Simon’s face changed and obviously, unless he could read her mind, he thought it was something else. ‘You okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. Hell, Tara, I think you’re amazing. You blow me away and yet you make me feel so amazingly good.’
He rolled her off him and sat up. Reached down and pulled her up to sit next to him, tucking her into his side with his arm around her shoulders. ‘Not sure how you do that but it’s a great feeling. There’s no pressure for anything else.’
‘Ditto.’ This guy was too much. Too nice, too amazing—for her. He’d be gone in a couple of weeks and she’d look back and wish she had made love with him. It was a gift to be here with him, right at this moment, and she was throwing it back because she was too scared of the moment—or was she too scared of the emptiness later?
Simon was like the foster-home she knew she’d have to leave. It really was better not to suffer the separation. But it felt so good to be tucked into his side, his strong arm around her shoulder. Close to him.
‘You could still hold me, Simon.’
He cuddled her into him, gave the impression he couldn’t get close enough, then lifted her onto his lap. ‘Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.’
So they sat there. Tara was still on Simon’s lap as the sun set with a magnificent orange glow that turned to pink and purple in front of their eyes, reflecting off the lake, and she snuggled into his shoulder as peace seeped into her.
Then she heard the strangest thing. It sounded almost like her motorbike but distant. The throbbing roar of her Harley-Davidson. For a horrible moment she thought Mick had found her then remembered she had the bike.
Simon shifted her off his lap and stood up as she scrambled to her feet herself.
But when they looked her bike was there. Less than ten feet away from them and definitely still and quiet. Then the noise came again. The louder roar of the engine then the sound of a bike idling. It came from the bushes across the car park and Simon started to laugh.
‘What was that?’
‘If I’m not mistaken, that, dear Tara, was our lyrebird.’
‘You’re kidding me. How could a bird make that noise?’
‘World’s greatest mimickers. They can sound like babies, chainsaws …’ he grinned ‘… and apparently Harley-Davidson motorbikes.’ Simon slipped his hand into hers and pulled her into his embrace. Kissed her gently. ‘I’ll have to apologise to my dad. Lyrebirds make amazing noises. That’s pretty special.’
Still distracted, she kissed him back but not with her full attention. ‘Not possible.’
But the sound came again and closer to them. To the side there was a rustle of bushes, the crack of tiny twigs, and she twisted her head to see past Simon’s shoulder and then she saw it. A small grey-brown bird the size of a chicken, his reddish-brown throat lifted as he gazed at her. But it was the two long feathers that hung each side of his tail that told her what it was.
She whispered. ‘Simon. Turn slowly and look to your left.’
Simon turned his head and saw it. A slow smile curved his mouth. ‘I told you!’ He squeezed her. ‘Our lyrebird.’
He’d said ‘our’ again. She hugged that defiantly to herself and ignored her voice of caution. ‘Why doesn’t it run away?’
He grinned cheekily. ‘Well, it knows I don’t want to move.’ He squeezed her gently. Looked down into her face. ‘I really don’t want to.’
But the lyrebird could. He strutted across to a little mound of dirt about six feet from them and climbed to the top, where he spread his gorgeous tail. Swivelled his head to glance at them as if to tell them to pay attention, and the two long tail feathers spread like the outside edges of a fan and outlined the distinctive harp-shaped feathers in the centre that had given him his name. And then he began to prance.
Tara could feel the rush of goose-bumps that covered her arms. A shivering perception of something magical and mystical, totally surreal, and Simon’s eyes never left the bird’s dance until he felt her glance at him.
The lyrebird shook his tail at them once more in a grand finale and then sauntered off into the bushes.
They stood silently, watching the bush where it had disappeared, but it had gone. Job done. Simon looked amused and then strangely thoughtful. ‘You know what this means?’ Simon said quietly.
He watched her with an expression she didn’t understand and she searched his face. Then remembered what he’d said weeks ago when he’d first arrived. But she wasn’t saying that.
Simon sounded more spooked than excited. ‘It’s a sign.’ He tilted his head. ‘Which I didn’t believe in before, I admit.’ Then he shrugged and said lightly, as if sharing a joke, ‘We must be meant for each other.’
She stared at him—couldn’t believe that. More goose-bumps covered her arms at the thought. She and Simon? For ever? Nope. Couldn’t happen. ‘Or there’s a gorgeous female lyrebird behind us that we can’t see.’
He smiled but she had the feeling he was glad she’d poo-pooed it too. ‘Could be that as well.’
Then he pulled her closer in his arms until they squeezed together and with the magic of the moment and the dusk slowly dimming into night, he kissed her and she kissed him back, and the magic settled over them like a gossamer cloud, but it wasn’t quite the same, Simon wasn’t quite the same, and when it was the moment that balanced between losing themselves or pulling back it was Simon who pulled back.
If she wasn’t mistaken, there was look of poorly disguised anxiety on his face.
CHAPTER TEN (#u4458ba54-093b-5c04-b4a4-5700fe238f16)
IN THE LAST glow of the dimming evening the motorbike’s engine thrummed beneath them and Simon held onto Tara on the way back to the lake. A single beam of light swept the roadside and the rest was darkness, a bit like the bottom of the deepening hole of dread inside him. That had been too close. He wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. Sharing a lyrebird was for those who knew what they were doing.
Thank goodness she’d had the presence of mind to see his sudden distance because suddenly he hadn’t been sure he really wanted to step off the edge with Tara. When had it become more serious than he’d intended? Did she really feel the same and if she did could he trust himself to be everything she thought he was?
On the mountain, at the end, it had been Tara who had agreed they should go, agreed when Simon had said he was worried about hitting wildlife in the dark. But, despite the peculiar visions of lyrebirds scattering in the headlights, the real reason had been that he wasn’t sure he was as heart-whole as he had been any more. In fact, he’d had a sudden onset of the heebie-jeebies about just how deep he was getting in here, and none of this was in his plans—or his belief system.
And then Tara had agreed so easily that now, contrarily, he’d decided she didn’t feel secure either.
But earlier, standing with her in his arms, losing himself in the generosity that was Tara, despite her fierce independence, he’d almost believed the sudden vision that he could hold this woman for the rest of his days.
But what if he broke her heart for ever if he had to move on?
Like his mum had moved on from his dad. Like Maeve’s man, and his ex-friend, had moved on from them. The problem was that since the lyrebird, just an hour ago, Simon felt connected to Tara by a terrifying concept he hadn’t expected but which was proving stronger than he had felt with anyone in his world. And he wasn’t sure he liked it.
She made him feel larger than life, which he wasn’t, exuberant when he hadn’t thought he had an exuberant bone in his body. She made him want to experience the adventure of the world. And with Tara it would be an adventure. A quest towards the kind of life he had only dreamt of having for himself.
Except it wasn’t him.
He wasn’t quite sure who she was seeing in him but it wasn’t Simon Campbell. He needed to get a little distance back while he worked through this.
Because he wasn’t the adventurous, fun guy Tara needed. She needed someone to jump out of planes with, fall head over heels in love with her, and be there for the next month, the next year, the next lifetime. He couldn’t be sure he could sign up for that.
She deserved someone who would do that. So why did he have the feeling there was a great cloud of foreboding hanging over his head?
Next morning at breakfast Maeve wandered into the kitchen and ducked under a Christmas streamer before she sat down. ‘What’s wrong with Simon?’ She absently scratched her tummy and inclined her head back towards the bathroom her brother had just disappeared into.
The door slammed and Tara winced. ‘No idea. He’s been acting strange since we came back from the picnic last night.’ Maybe he was always like this and she’d been too blinded by his pretty face.
Or she’d said something that made him realise she was the last woman he wanted to get involved with. Suck it up, princess, you know this happens to you all the time. ‘Is he usually moody?’
‘Nope.’ Maeve shook her head. ‘He’s the most even-tempered of all of us. The only time he gets techy is if he’s worried about something big.’
Did she qualify for big? Did he think she was trying to trap him? Cringe. Cringe.
