Trouble in Nirvana (10 page)

She couldn’t walk out on Nirupam, not now, however much she may want to. If she did, Kurt would continue to rave and impose his idiocies and poor Nirupam would lose any control she had. Plus if she left, Tom would have a smug chuckle and congratulate himself for being right once more. She’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction. And on one level she had every right to stay. This land was half hers.

But if she didn’t bust out of the house she’d go madder than she already was. Stir crazy. Time to hit the town for some night life. It was Saturday. The boldly advertised Trivia Night at the Kullanurra pub she’d seen on the way through town should offer some form of entertainment. No way was she spending another evening in the company of Kurt. Whatever the locals were like they had to be more fun than the nightmare crew she was living with. Pubs served good food. Steak or a roast, most likely. Her mouth watered at the thought.

At six thirty she showered, donned the lacy black panties Tom had spilled in the yard and applied make-up with the greatest of care. An image of his fingers running over the fabric, touching her skin, caressing, sent goosebumps up her spine. His grey eyes held more than a hint of interest when he looked at her body despite the words on his tongue. Perhaps he could be persuaded to have some fun, too. Sexy, lean, strong man. She chose a snug-fitting black dress with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, slipped her feet into high-heeled sandals, grabbed her purse and headed for the car.

Chapter Five

Tom looked up as the mutter of conversation in the bar faded to silence. Seated at a table in the corner of the L-shaped room he had a good view of Primrose as she made her entrance.

Kullanurra hadn’t seen anything as well-proportioned and sexy since...ever. She knew exactly the effect she was having and lapped it up. Green eyes sparkled beneath the artfully tousled mop of multicoloured hair and she flashed those dimples about like invitations as she sashayed between gawping admirers toward Ted behind the bar. He grinned and adopted what he probably thought was a sophisticated barman’s pose. Pity about the shirt buttons straining over the expanse of belly.

“G’day, love. What can I get you?”

“I’m buying,” interjected Mike, a self-styled Casanova from the peach orchard just out of town, swiftly edging alongside Primrose.

“White wine, please,” Primrose said. “Thank you.” She smiled up into Mike’s weatherbeaten face with an intimate little glance which socked Tom in the solar plexus. Desire surged. He half rose from his seat then subsided as he remembered what she was really like. Mike wouldn’t know what hit him when she got revved up.

She scanned the room curiously as Mike ordered the drinks. Found Tom. He offered a half smile but didn’t stir, tamped down an outrageous attack of intense physical attraction. If she wanted to say anything—apologise, for example—she could come to him. Mike turned so his large shoulders blocked Tom’s view of her face. All he could see was half her trim body and one sleek leg ending in another of those silly high heeled sandals she liked. The ones that showed off her ankles and calves. He could almost encircle one of those ankles with the fingers of one hand. Then he’d move on up over the rounded calf to the tender skin at the back of her knee...

Mike shifted. She raised her glass of wine and clicked it gently against his beer. They turned and headed toward Tom’s corner table. Mike had a grin like Delilah’s when Tom gave her a bone.

“G’day Mike. How’s it going?” Tom rose slowly and stretched out his hand to first one then the other. “Primrose.” Mike’s hand was firm and tough, callused and hard like his own. Primrose’s handshake was firm but the skin was soft and the hand small, cool—hard to let go. She released his fingers, removing her hand from his grasp with a little tug. He said abruptly, “Care to join me?”

She said, “Thanks,” and they pulled out chairs, Mike large and cumbersome, she as gorgeous and exotic as a tropical bird settling amongst a motley pair of drab workaday pigeons.

“I was hoping to have dinner here. Do they serve food?” A sweetly innocent smile at Mike.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Not bad, either.”

“Fed up with vegetables?” asked Tom. She’d done something to her eyelids and lashes so the green of her eyes was emphasised. The nail polish had gone. Painting was rough on the hands. And kitchen work.

She didn’t rise to his remark. Cool jade regarded him for a moment. “I thought a night out would be fun.”

“Trivia night’s always a riot. The whole town comes,” said Mike, oblivious to nuance as usual. “You might win the Meat Tray.” He roared with laughter. “Be a real hit at the commune.” Tom snorted into his beer and Primrose grinned.

“When does it start?”

“Eight,” said Tom. “You can have dinner first.”

“Are you eating here?” Primrose spoke to Mike, then slowly switched her gaze to Tom. Heat rippled in his groin again. Was there an invitation in her eyes? She seemed different tonight. Although she sat apparently relaxed across from him, an air of tension hung about her like an invisible electrical field.

Mike said, “Yeah. You, Tom?”

“I’d planned on it.” Funny how that worked out. He’d planned on inviting Primrose to dinner when he went over day before yesterday, changed his mind when she accused him of nefarious dealings, and now here she was, asking to have dinner with him. And Mike.

“I’ll grab a menu.” Mike stood up and headed for the bar.

“How are you?” Primrose asked, not meeting his eye. She twirled the stem of her glass. Abba blared on the jukebox.

And here he was, lusting after her like a fifteen year old. “Fine.” He sipped his beer thoughtfully. Yep, tense as piano wire. She looked about to break. “How are things in Nirvana?”

She looked up then and for the first time the internal tension was blatantly revealed. A tightness around the eyes, a tremor in the mouth. “Terrible.” Her lips wobbled. “I’m sorry I was rude to you, Tom. Really sorry.”

Keep it light. If that was her problem, easily fixed. “Apology accepted.” Terrible? Her week would be up in a day or two. She’d almost proved him wrong.

“I had a fight with Danny this afternoon.”

“Not Kurt?” His attempt at lightening the mood fell flat.

“No.” She didn’t even raise an attempt at a smile. “I had a stoush with him on Thursday.”

“First me then Kurt. Quite a day for you—Thursday,” he said. “So what did you fight with Danny about?”

“He said I was...I should...he said...” He waited while she thrashed words about incoherently. Must have been a humdinger of a fight to render her speechless. Perhaps she’d stirred Danny up enough to tell her what she should have been told years ago, “Mind your own business,” and the shock had incapacitated her vocal chords. He pursed his lips to stop himself chuckling. She was very upset. But it
was
her business. Very surprising, the joint ownership news.

Mike slapped a sheet of paper on the table. “You can have chicken curry, roast lamb, or a steak.”

“Roast lamb,” Primrose said instantly.

Tom grinned and met her eye. “Me, too.”

“Right, I’ll put our orders in. This is on me, love,” Mike said as Primrose opened her purse. Tom firmed his mouth and found his wallet. Mike was a bloody fast worker. He’d known her five minutes.

“Thanks, Mike, but no, I prefer to pay my own way.” She accompanied the refusal with another sweetly dimpled smile. “You can buy me a glass of wine, though.”

She handed him some money and he almost drooled all over her. Tom gave him two twenties. “Here, mate.”

“Thanks. Same again?” He charged away.

Tom studied Primrose. “So? Are you going to tell me?”

“What?”

“What Danny said you were, should, whatever it was.”

She frowned. “Do you really want to know?”

“If you want to tell me, I’ll listen.” She bit her lower lip and pulled it inside her mouth, considering, probably trying to decide if he was having a go at her. “If you need to get it off your chest, tell me. Who else is there?” he prompted. Not that he was avidly interested but it was obviously something which had shaken her previously uncrackable composure, and she’d chosen him to confide in.

She met his gaze with such a naked, open expression of misery he gulped and had to swallow a mouthful of beer while he regained his equilibrium.

“No-one else,” she said hoarsely. “I have no-one.”

He thought for one horrible moment she was going to cry, here in the public bar of the Kullanurra pub surrounded by his friends and neighbours, all of whom would immediately assume he was responsible. He opened and closed his mouth, impotently groping for words to soothe and stave off the inevitable flood but she forged on. He’d underestimated her once more. The words poured out in a torrent of indignation.

“I thought I had Danny on my side—he is my brother, after all—but he’s furious with me. He accused me of coming here to the commune and trying to change everything to suit myself. Can you believe it?” She stared at him. He shook his head. Unbelievable, all right. As if she’d expect that. Miss Do It My Way. “Nirupam and I are worried about Kurt—like you say he’s a raving lunatic. Nirupam doesn’t want him around after the baby is born and I told Danny he should kick Kurt off the place.”

“And he got upset?” No wonder. And no doubt she did it in her usual tactless, blunt style.

“Yes. Very. He thought it was just me but Nirupam backed me up.” She smiled, a little off-kilter but still a smile. “Danny said if I didn’t like it I should leave, but Nirupam said if I left she’d go too.”

“You’ve certainly shaken them up over there.” He leaned back, casual and unconcerned but the suddenly crucial question burned in his mind. “
Are
you leaving?”

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward slightly. A wicked gleam shone in her eyes now. “No. But you’d like it if I did, wouldn’t you?”

Tom leaned forward too and stared right into the deep greeny brown pools. “I wouldn’t like it at all.” The truth, he realised. Amazingly so. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to know more about her, discover the depths of her. Explore her delicious body with his.

She held his gaze. “Won’t last a week?” One delicate eyebrow arched upward. “Week’s up on Monday.”

“Are you flirting with my date?” Mike dumped a handful of paper napkin-wrapped cutlery on the table. Primrose sat back with a little grin, her eyes still fixed on Tom’s.

“I’m not your date, Mike, but he is flirting,” she said demurely.

Tom drained his beer with a nonchalant flick of the wrist. The intensity of the look belying the casualness of her words twisted his brain in knots.
Who
was flirting?

Mike flung himself into the chair next to hers. “Bloody typical. Turn my back for an instant and he’s in like Flynn.”

“Does Tom have a reputation with the girls?” Primrose grinned at Mike and the dimples danced.

He leaned toward her with what could only be classed as a leer. “He has his share of admirers. Can’t imagine why. Go and get the drinks, Tom. It’s my turn to chat with Primrose.”

Tom stood up. He hadn’t met this Primrose. Now that she’d offloaded her hurt concerning Danny a flirty girl in party mode emerged, complete with sexy black dress. Wearing the lacy underwear he’d found in his bathroom? Hadn’t been close enough to smell if she was wearing the same perfume. Her dress revealed acres of smooth, tempting skin and one honey brown knee and half her thigh was exposed as she crossed her legs. He turned for the bar and heard her say, “Everyone calls me Rosie, Mike.” Not everyone. She hadn’t asked
him
to call her Rosie! He pushed through the gathering crowd.

Tom gathered the drinks carefully between his hands and edged toward the corner table. Mike and Primrose were laughing. God, she was gorgeous! Black lace knickers—barely a scrap of fabric. She wouldn’t need much to cover that neat behind of hers. No bra? Or the lacy thing he’d found in his bathroom?

She reached out to remove the precariously balanced glass of wine. A special little smile from shiny red lips. A flash from those sparkling eyes. “Thanks.” Was she doing this deliberately? Did she know the effect she was having and did he look as stupidly obvious in his desire as Mike?

“Rosie’s been telling me about the paintings in her bedroom,” said Mike. “Always wondered what went on in that place.”

“Rosie?” asked Tom.

“Danny called me that when we were little. Now all my friends do.” She shrugged. “It’s stuck.”

“You don’t strike me as being a Rosie.” Tom started in on his new beer. He obviously didn’t rate as a friend. He studied her solemnly. “We had a big chestnut draught horse called Rosie when I was a kid.”

“This Rosie is no draught horse, she’s a thoroughbred, through and through,” cried Mike.

“What name do you think suits me?” She ignored Mike’s blatant attempt to wrest her attention away. This girl was all his. He wanted her with a gut-wrenching intensity which shook him to the core.

“I prefer Rose.” He put his glass down precisely on the coaster.

“Why?” She was all attention now, leaning forward slightly, lightly tanned skin of her throat and chest on display, soft swell of her breasts tantalisingly visible before the black dress obscured further delights. No straps, definitely not that bra. Not prim like the first part of her name.

He tore his eyes and his mind away from temptation. “It’s elegant and refined.” Unlike his thoughts.

A slow smile spread across her face. “Thank you.” Unless he imagined it her eyes blurred momentarily. She blinked and turned to Mike.

“So how smart are you? Is it worth being on your team for trivia?”

“Sport’s my specialty,” he declared. “And peach growing.”

“Excellent! I know all about music. What about you, Tom?”

“Tom’s the local science boffin,” said Mike.

“Really?” She turned a very surprised face toward him. “Did you study science at Uni?”

“I have a PhD.”

“So you’re doing all that stuff on your place with a scientific basis?”

Her amazement could be taken as insulting. If he chose. “What did you think I was doing? Messing about?” He raised an eyebrow.