Fiery Possession (20 page)

“Are you mad?”

She twisted free. “Someone has to do it. My brother is dead and we can't afford to pay for help, thanks to you.”

“All right, I'll send someone over every other day.” 

“How did you know where to find me?”

“They told me at the house. Why do you defy me, Jo?”

“You know.”

“I don't.”  He stopped her with a hand on one shoulder. “You deliberately disobeyed me. I left strict instructions.”

“I know what you left.”  She ducked away from him. “You might have bought my body, but that doesn't give you the right to keep me prisoner.”

“One of these days you'll drive me too far, and so help me, I'll end up murdering you.” 

He sounded so angry she trembled inwardly, but for a king's ransom would not let him see it.

Fiona came out to them “Would you like some tea, Mr. Campton?” 

“No, thank you. We must be going.”

“I'd love some, Fiona.”  Jo deliberately defied him again. “I haven't seen my niece yet.”  She could practically hear him grinding his teeth with rage, but he made no further comment as he followed them into the parlor.

“Jo, Jo.”  The baby dribbled and slobbered all over her face, and with laughter bubbling up in her throat she caught the strangest expression in Luke's eyes. Not anger, but it had been so transient she couldn't adequately describe it.

Lucy pulled and tugged at the thong about Jo’s hair until it finally loosened and fell free. Chortling gleefully, she pulled at the long curls with chubby baby fingers.

“Ouch, you cruel little thing.” She deposited the child on the floor.

“Auntie Jo won't nurse you if you pull her hair,” Fiona scolded as she poured the tea. “Do you take milk, Mr. Campton?”

“Just black, thank you, Mrs. Morrison,” he said politely, without the usual hard edge to his voice.

Lucy toddled up to him, raising her arms to be picked up. When he took no notice, she pushed herself against his legs. Jo couldn’t believe her eyes when he lifted the child up and sat her on his knee.

“She has pretty hair,” he said to Fiona, twisting a blonde curl around his finger. “I'll send a man over to see you tomorrow.  He'll do anything needing to be done around the place. If you need any supplies, he can take you into town also.”

“I don't have any money.”  Fiona's lips trembled.

“You can put them on my account for the time being.”

“Really! For how long?”

“Depends on Jo, doesn't it.” He set Lucy back on the floor, drained his cup in a couple of gulps and stood up. “You've got five minutes to say goodbye, then we're leaving.”

He strode outside without waiting for a reply. Jo fumed; he knew she would follow his instructions unless she wanted her sister-in-law and niece to starve.

“He can't be all bad, Lucy liked him,” Fiona said.

Jo didn't answer. She hated him, didn't want to think he might be capable of any kindness whatsoever.

Luke brought the horses around to the front. He sat tall and straight in the saddle as she came out on to the verandah carrying Lucy. Handing the child to Fiona, she bid both of them farewell and mounted her horse without acknowledging him.

They rode along without speaking for a time. It was late afternoon and she felt exhausted from her manual labor.

“You don't need to ride a work horse. I'll arrange with them at the stables to put a suitable mount at your disposal.”

“Don't bother.  There's little point in my getting used to the luxury life of the rich, I'll be going back to virtual poverty soon.”

“It might not be as soon as you think.”

“You promised.”

“You will stay until I tire of you. After last night, I want you to stay longer.”

Anger burned her cheeks. “You said it wouldn't be for long.”

“Ah, that was before I drank of your passion, my fiery Yankee beauty. Now I think it might be some time before my thirst is slaked.”

“You, you brute, I hate you.”  Her hands shook on the reins. Had there been a weapon handy, she might have been tempted to use it.

“You enjoyed last night. You went off like a fire cracker once I lit the right fuse, and don’t bother denying it.” 

She dug her heels hard into the horse's sides and they galloped across the grasslands. They had a fair start on Luke, but he quickly caught up to them. While her mount was going flat out, his loped along.

They came to the bush, causing them to slow down. He grasped the reins and pulled her up suddenly. “Don't ever run away from me again. I don't like it.”

“Too bad, I'll do exactly as I please.”

“You'll do as I say.  Don’t forget I hold all the winning cards,” silky soft his voice now. “Stop fighting me all the time.”

She trembled with indignation. “I loathe and despise you.”

“Your body under mine last night told a different tale. You were on fire, Jo, the same as me.”

“Then why am I covered in bruises?”

“Are you really carrying bruises, let me see.” He almost sounded like he cared.

“Oh, leave me alone.”

Their horses stood motionless now. In one fluid movement he dismounted and plucked her from the saddle.

“Now, let's see.” His hand went to the front of her shirt.

“No, please.”  She grabbed at his fingers as they started working on her buttons.

“Good, no undergarments.”

He grabbed her hands, pushed them behind her back and held them there, while the nimble fingers of his other hand undid the front of her shirt. He exerted slight pressure, bringing her up against the hard length of his body.

“You have beautiful breasts, white and creamy, absolutely flawless.” His tongue traced the outline of one nipple and much to her chagrin it started hardening under his touch. She beat at his back and shoulders with clenched fists as he drew them off the track and into the shelter of the bush.

She twisted and kicked out at him, but he used his superior strength to subdue her. Her shirt rode up and the grass cooled her exposed back. He caught her nipple between his teeth and suckled strongly.

“Please, Luke, someone might come.”

His breath came out in short, gasping pants. “No, they won’t.” His trembling hands worked frantically on the fastening of her breeches. He dragged them down over her thighs and did the same to his own. Rolling her over on to her stomach, he pulled her up on all fours and held her there with a hand on either hip. He reared up on his knees, and like a rutting stallion completely out of control, drove into her with one long, savage thrust.

Once he spilled his seed in her warm, moist cleft he stood up and tidied his clothes. He strode over to his horse with his hands clenched inside his pockets. Purposely he had tried to degrade Jo by taking her on the ground like an animal. Deep down he knew passion and sheer male need soon overtook his desire to humiliate her. He loathed himself and her for this weakness.

While he waited for her to dress he cursed under his breath. What the hell was wrong with him?  He had always taken what he wanted from women. Used them until he got bored, paid them handsomely then banished them from his life without a moments regret. So why did he agonize over his feelings for this woman? He couldn’t bear to look at her now because he would see the hurt turmoil in her eyes. He wanted to apologize for his despicable behavior but the words stuck to the roof of his mouth.

They rode along in a silence that stretched endlessly between them, like a yawning insurmountable chasm.

“Shearing starts tomorrow. I'll come back after lunch and show you around the sheds.” Why the hell did he make that suggestion?   From the corner of his eye he watched her take several deep shuddering breaths as if trying to steady herself. Her hands clenched the reins and she held her body rigid.

“How, how long does the shearing take?” She forced herself to speak normally instead of screaming and ranting at him, ripping his face to shreds with her nails now that her passion had cooled. She hated herself and him. He had deliberately tired to degrade her, taking her on the ground like some wild beast. Instead of recoiling in horror, her treacherous body had welcomed his savage invasion, wantonly drawn his rampaging manhood into the deepest recesses of her femininity.

“About three weeks if all goes well. Depends on how many men turn up for roll call. There's usually an overflow, so any decent types who miss out on a pen will be employed as shed hands or roustabouts. I never turn good workers away.”

Silence fell between them again. She heaved a sigh of relief when the homestead came into view.

“You go the house,” he instructed. “It’s too hot for you out here. I want to check something with my overseer. See you at dinner.”

At the stables she handed her horse to a groom. The young man’s voice sounded civil enough, but the way he let his eyes slide all over her, made her cringe. Her head went back proudly as she stared straight into his face

She forced herself to saunter towards the homestead, instead of taking to her heels and running.

She made her way to the kitchen, absolutely choking for a cool drink.

“No need for you to come out here, Miss Jo. You should have rung for one of the maids,” Mrs. Osborne said, pursing her lips.

“I only need a drink, thank you.”  She flopped into a chair. “Anything will do, just as long as it's cool and wet.”

“You’d better go to the sitting room.”

“Mrs. Osborne, you're a dear. It's nice of you to bother, but I'm not mistress of this house.”

“The sitting room would be best.”

“No, I'll have a drink here. Then if one of the girls could heat some water for a bath, I'd be grateful. I'd do it myself if I knew where to find everything and my hands weren't so sore.”  She wiggled her fingers. “I've been chopping wood.” 

Even coarse-looking Effie who owned the make up showed surprise at this.

“That isn't women's work,” Mrs. Osborne said

“It is for me.  My brother's dead, my sister-in-law isn't strong, so someone has to do it.”

She drank the orange juice gratefully, licking the excess moisture off her lips. “Mm, lovely, thank you.” As she handed the glass back, the housekeeper gasped.

“Miss Jo, your hands.”

“They're a bit sore, but I'll live. I do feel rather grubby.” Luke's cutting remark about smelling like a common laborer still rankled.

Within ten minutes, she lay in a warm tub. After initially stinging, the water soothed the blisters. The strain and tightness in her shoulders and arms dissolved. Lizzie washed her hair, leaving it to hang down her back, a damp mass of dark red ringlets.

“You have a beautiful body.” Luke had entered so quietly that she hadn’t heard him.

Shock sent her sliding under the water, and she came up spluttering. “Get out.”

“Why?”

She threw the soap at him. He caught it in one hand and tossed it into the water with a plop.

“You, you depraved animal, haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

“I haven't even started on you yet. I bought you. Body and soul, you belong to me. Don't ever forget it.”

He strode across the room. With a hand on the doorknob, he inclined his head. “Wear the blue taffeta tonight.”  He disappeared into his dressing room.

She slammed her fists so hard in the water it sloshed on to the floor.

Pride alone dictated that she dress carefully for dinner. No more whore impersonations like last night. Honesty made her admit it, this was a beautiful gown, but on pain of death she would never tell him.

As on the previous evening, he wore a dark dinner suit, and waited in the salon with a drink in one hand.  His eyes swept over her.

Heat rushed to her face at his intense scrutiny and a pulse beat frantically in her throat as he moved towards her.

“Feeling more kindly disposed toward me now?”

“No.”

“Do you like my choice of gowns? I've always had a good eye for women's clothing.”

“I thought they provided their own clothes in a brothel?”

His teeth snapped together, and she felt glad to have scored off him for once, but victory proved short lived. As he escorted her into dinner, he held her arm so tightly she couldn’t move away from him.

“Give up, you can't win.” His voice in her ear sounded low and seductive.

The roast beef tasted superb. Ignoring his very existence, she ate hungrily. No point in starving to death because of him. She needed all her mental and physical strength to fight him and her treacherous body. Some of these thoughts must have registered with him, as he scowled fiercely but made no comment.

Once again they took tea in the sitting room, although only Jo partook of this brew, he drank whisky.

“Would you care for a walk in the garden?”

“What! Oh yes, that would be nice.” Anything to delay the inevitable.

“You won't need a cloak.”

They stepped through double glass doors leading on to a side verandah. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the shrubs growing close to the house. As they passed under an archway covered with white roses, the perfume was heady, almost overpowering.