An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (14 page)

They had dinner that first night at the restaurant of her choice. It wouldn't have been the first choice of most young women bent on enjoying all the city had to offer. It was exclusive, and the food was always superb, but in the main it was an elegant haunt for the kind of people who liked and expected privacy. If one wished to be seen, or preferred more razzle-dazzle, one went elsewhere. Laura's fervent wish was to be anonymous—for very obvious reasons.

It was not to be.

They were sitting back sipping coffee when a tall, thin, very distinguished-looking man, with sharp blue eyes and a thick shock of platinum hair, paused at Evan's shoulder. He leaned over and pressed it.

“My dear Evan! How absolutely marvellous to see you. People told me you'd gone into hiding.”

Ever alert for trouble, Laura looked quickly at Evan, surprising a curious expression on his face. Nevertheless he stood up, radiating his own authority. “Wonderful to see you, Sir David.” He flashed his illuminating smile, reaching for the older man's extended hand. “You haven't changed a bit.”

“Well, you have, my boy. You've turned into your father. Quite extraordinary! I always thought you favoured Marina's side of the family. And this beautiful young woman?”

He looked down with interest at the seated Laura, clearly charmed by her appearance. She had gone to a lot of trouble that evening to appear more sophisticated. She was wearing a silver sequinned top with a black brocade skirt, silver earrings, silver bracelet. She looked very beautiful, very expen
sive. She had managed to achieve the sophisticated look she was after.

“Forgive me,” Evan said smoothly. “Laura, meet Sir David Ashe, one of our most distinguished diplomats. Sir David, this is a close friend of mine, Laura Graham.”

“Delighted to meet you, my dear.” The bright blue eyes sparkled with curiosity as Sir David bowed over Laura's hand. “Evan, I'm in Sydney for a few days,” he said as he straightened. “I wonder if we could meet for an hour or so for some serious conversation? If that doesn't interfere with your plans? We simply have to catch up.

“All right, all right…” He waved an acknowledging hand at a group clearly waiting for him in the foyer. “I must go. Friends. I'm supposed to be meeting someone Very Important. What about tomorrow some time at the club?” Sir David glanced back at Laura for her okay, which she gave by gently smiling.

“I don't see why that can't be arranged, Sir David.” Evan took hold of the older man's elbow. “I'll walk along with you, if I may. Back in a moment, Laura.”

“Pleasure to have met you, Laura,” Sir David called as he was spirited away.

So what was that all about? Laura was left to ponder. There had been nothing remotely nervous about Evan's manner. He obviously knew Sir David Ashe well, as Sir David knew him and his family, but she couldn't help realizing Evan hadn't wanted the conversation to continue.

Marina? Evan's mother's name? Marina wasn't all that usual as a Christian name. Laura's brain began to tick over. A few quite famous Marinas came to mind. And then there was Marina Kellerman, the concert cellist. She remembered seeing her perform the Elgar once, but that had been years ago, when she was a student. As far as she knew Marina Kellerman had retired, or she was teaching. She could easily find out.

But then why should she? It would be like spying on Evan. One thing she did know—his real name wasn't Thompson. Probably, had Sir David continued talking, she could have
found out quite a lot. She recalled Sir David's opening remarks about people telling him Evan had gone into hiding. One would think it would be easy to open up to someone one was in love with, yet they both clung to their secrets. The past was so powerful.

Afterwards they took a taxi to the Opera House, strolling along the waterfront of Bennalong Point, the peninsula jutting out into the Harbour. Many people were about: tourists, families, young couples enjoying the balmy night and the salt breeze off the water.

The Sydney Opera House was one of the great buildings of the world, designed by the Danish architect Joern Utzon. It was all lit up, its two “sails” made of overlapping shells glittering under the lights.

There was a symphony concert on that evening in one of the halls, Laura knew. A ballet by a major ballet company in another. Opera in a third. Evan had asked her if she'd like to go along to any one of them but she'd declined, not wanting to risk exposure. Many of Colin's circle thought nothing of jetting down to Sydney for a special performance.

She was quiet on the way back to the hotel, giving way to introspection. Evan too seemed slightly withdrawn, which seemed ominous to her, though he was as solicitous as ever helping her out of the taxi.

At her door she hesitated, painfully aware of his body, separate from hers.

“I'll say goodnight, Evan. That was a lovely evening.”

“Don't go away.” His eyes were jet-black with desire. “Where's your key?”

“I'm fine.” She half turned from him to look in her evening purse.

“No, you're not. Give it to me, Laura.” As he said it he put his arm around her waist and pulled her in tight.

“Don't go away,” he said again as he looked down at her. They were inside the room and she backed against the door.

How could she feel so low when only an hour ago she had been so high she soared?

Guilt was with her now, and the feelings of being trapped in a mesh of lies and half-truths. A prison of her own making.

“What is it? Tell me?” Hunger obliterated everything. He began to kiss her, one hand pressing her head to him, the other encircling her body, his mouth moving, seeking, drinking, all over her face.

She nearly fainted with the ecstasy, clinging to him now.

His mouth kept moving. Down along her throat. His strong arm half lifted her from the ground to bring her somewhere near his own height. She could hear the soft groan at the back of his throat at the pleasure she was giving him. His hand touched her breasts, shaping them through the thin sequin-encrusted chiffon. Fire shot through her. It was a miracle the chiffon didn't go up in flames.

“You can't possibly go away from me,” he muttered. Then in one surge of emotion he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

“Do you love me, Evan?” she asked, her heart in her eyes.

“You've changed my whole world.” He bent over her, kissed her parted mouth. “Let me show you.”

Very gently, slowly, he removed her evening shoes with the little diamanté buckles, then her skirt and her cobweb-thin black tights. She stayed quiet as he did it, her heart racing so fast her short gasps ruffled the gossamer fabric of her bodice.

“What are you doing here with me?” he asked. His voice was sensuous, his eyelids heavy with the weight of desire.

“Falling in love.” She said, staring back at him.

“You want to be with me, don't you?” His arm supported her as he drew off her silver top as gently as one might undress a baby.

“I adore you. How long does it take to fall in love, do you think?” She lay back on the bed, her body perfect in a filmy black lace bra and briefs.

“Less than a minute?” He turned to strip off his jacket, throw away his royal blue silk tie, while she watched him in fascination. His chest was so broad. Powerful.

He came back to the bed, leaned over her. The pressure to
make love to her was building, expanding like great wings in his chest. Her fragrance rose into his nostrils. He could breathe it in on his pillow. She was all the woman he could ever want, yet despite all his nurturing she was keeping things from him—as indeed he was keeping things from her. It had to change if their relationship was to go where he fervently wanted it to go.

“Love is what's happened to me. Love at first sight.” He lay down beside her, instinct telling him it was important to her that he guide her into the tempestuous open sea of ecstasy. He pulled her close, whispered endearments into her ear.

His voice possessed the flavour of rich black coffee. She felt his hand move over her cleavage, linger as he gently undid her bra, continuing to caress her all the time.

No panic. Never any panic with Evan. Never any feelings of desperation that she couldn't make things work. Evan didn't lunge at her without warning. He was never violent. Though the response he aroused in her was so deeply passionate he might have been a highly skilled magician. He told her how lovely she was, how pretty were her hands and her feet as he kissed them. Colin had never done anything like that.

Now Evan's hands were moving over the whole naked length of her, gently separating her legs. The room was blurring around her, though she could see his face, expression intense, the muscles along his strong jawline taut with sexual urgency. Her body was crying out for him. She strained closer. She wanted him deep inside her. She wanted to reach the sweet, fierce, soaring climax she had never reached with Colin. She wanted release.

His hands were beneath her, lifting her up onto his body, his mouth reaching for her pink nipple as he drew her down onto him, then up, her insides contracting with pleasure.

A great tide of emotion came for her, gathering force. Spontaneously she arched her body as they established a rhythm, her head thrown back in rapture, hair flying around them like silk, all the warm juices in her body flowing like
nectar. She had a sense of losing herself entirely, and then she heard Evan calling her name.

Laura!

So beautiful on his tongue.

The ripples started in stealth, building until they began to rush over her in a huge tumbling liquid plume.

“Do you want me?” he found himself muttering harshly maddened beyond endurance. He had never in his life felt like this. She was everything his body and mind sought.

“I want everything about you,” Laura cried out, before sensation upon sensation overwhelmed her, reducing her to soft whimpers.

 

When Laura reopened her eyes it was to a darkened room.

“Evan?” She threw out an arm to affirm he was there.

“I'm here.” He came in from the balcony, where he'd been standing, thinking, while looking out at the night.

“What time is it?” She sat up.

“Three. I never fail to wake around three.”

“Have you something on your mind? Please come back to me.” He was the answer to her prayers. Still naked, she began to search for her robe. Evan was wearing the white towelling robe supplied by the hotel.

“No, leave it. I love you naked,” he said in his low thrilling voice.

“Is something worrying you?” She lifted her arms, wanting only to offer him comfort.

“Not really, Laura.” He slipped into the bed beside her, one arm gathering her against him, her head tucked into the bow of his shoulder, the satiny warmth of her breasts against his heart. “But I think the time has come to be honest. You didn't like what happened tonight with Sir David suddenly appearing out of the blue?”

“Only that he knows all about you, which I clearly don't. He knows your family, your mother, Marina. How you resemble the father you lost. He knows your name. Is it Kellerman?” She knew it was before he answered.

He stroked her silky head. “You're very good.”

“I can put a puzzle together if I get a few clues. Your mother is Marina Kellerman, the concert cellist?”

“Yes,” he admitted with pride. “My mother taught me to play. I told you that. My father was Christian Kellerman. He was a career diplomat. A very good one, like Sir David, but he was posted to dangerous places. He was killed in the Balkans some years back. It was a terrorist attack. The woman I thought I was in love with—”

“Monika?” She felt a short painful stab of jealousy.

“Monika, yes.” His tone hardened. “Monika betrayed his precise itinerary to a terrorist gang she was working undercover for. She had infiltrated the freedom fighters who trusted me and were keeping me informed. I am—or was—as you suspected a foreign correspondent. The great tragedy is, even with my experience, I trusted Monika—as did a lot of other people. It cost my father and his driver, a man called Thompson, their lives. I've never forgiven myself, though my mother told me constantly I was not to blame.”

Laura lifted her head to gaze at him. “Evan, how very terrible! Your pain shows.”

“You can attribute that to the horror I've seen. In those days I was a risk-taker. Anything to get a good story. But I had the fear of God drummed into me. I lived through terrible times. Times it might take me for ever to talk about. After I got home, I guess you could say I had a breakdown. My mother held me together through the worst times. We're very close. But there was so much conflict inside me. So much guilt, I had to get away. Far away. I worshipped my father. Finally I hit on here, to be near the desert. I thought I needed the desert to heal.”

“You couldn't tell anyone outside your mother? A counsellor? Some very insightful person?” Her own abuse seemed unremarkable in the light of this.

“I couldn't begin to speak of my experiences, much like a war veteran can't. War is terrible. The loss, the fear, the large-scale slaughter, the inhumanity. I saw so much cruelty and death I just wanted to block it out. But I couldn't block out thoughts of my father. And poor old Thompson, the in
nocent victim. Thompson was devoted to Dad. They ended their lives together.”

“So you took his name. I'm so sorry, Evan.” She touched his face, his throat with a slow flowing hand full of sympathy and understanding.

“I hated Monika.” He caught her hand and carried it passionately to his mouth. “I think I'd have killed her—only someone else did the job.”

She swallowed hard. “If you had you wouldn't have been here for me.” Laura hesitated. “How often do you think of her?”

“I wasn't in love with her, Laura. I didn't even know her. The real Monika I hated. She used her beauty as a weapon. I didn't know what love between a man and a woman was. Monika had courage, but she was evil. While I would have gone to the ends of the earth for a good story she would have done anything to gain power and influence for herself. Needless to say power went along with money.”