This Time Forever (Australis Island) Page 4

  “You either want to, or you don’t.”

  “I want a whole lot more, Meg Donovan, but I’m not prepared to be used up and spat out. I’m going to bed, now. Late night last night. Think about what you want. Good night.” He turned his back and was gone.

  Once again, she stood alone in the room, thinking about her next move. How could he do that? How could he just walk away after making his intentions known? Maybe he was just winding her up, a soft touch ready for the taking.

  Think about what you want... Oh God, what she wanted and what she would allow herself to have…

  And the age difference, Meg Donovan. He’d not mentioned it so far but he might also be playing up to an obviously frustrated, much older woman just for fun. She shook her head. Would he? Was ‘needy’ written all over her?

  The delightful tingles in her stomach had long since subsided. Left were the rumblings of uncertainty and fear.

  Meg went to her room and gazed at the mirror. Same old Meg. Still okay. Still looking good. She studied her face. Not too many feather-like wrinkles. A little downy soft hair but no great tree trunks sticking out of her chin or her throat. Or her nose for that matter.

  Up close she still looked all right.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. So what was he asking? Only to tell him what she wanted.

  She flopped backwards. What she wanted was a man to love her the way she needed to be loved... and to be able to return that love, to have the protection of strong arms and a strong heart. Was that so much to ask? And was it to be Jarrad Scott? She was already falling for him, she was certain. He was ten years her junior, at least. She didn’t even really know.

  If it didn’t worry him, why should it worry her? But it was a worry. Meg stripped for bed and climbed in.

  Sleep was elusive again and as she imagined curling into the crook of his body, thoughts drifted to the way his glances caught her tonight at dinner. How the innocent brush of his arm against hers sent tingles right through her, how her heart pounded as she watched him load the fire with logs, watched the muscles in his back moving under his shirt. And then he’d turned and smiled at her, clearly certain she had been watching.

  Her belly tightened low and deep. How would he feel inside her, moving to a rhythm that matched hers? How she longed to dance that old familiar waltz when someone she wanted was inside her, thrusting his way in to stroke and play. She wanted this intimacy to be all hers, to hold it close to her, but not forbidden and hidden and—

  Her hand shifted between her legs and after a short time the exquisite spasm came quick and powerfully; the rolling waves all the more ecstatic in her stealth.

  When she awoke Martin was beside her. She hadn’t even heard him come in but there he was, snoring softly on his back. She slipped out of bed and showered, thoughts of Jarrad Scott crowding her brain once more.

  In the kitchen Jarrad was his breezy self. He chatted quietly as he ate, mindful of other guests still sleeping. He talked about his home in Tasmania, his house set on an old farming estate and the renovations he planned for it. He spoke of the cold but beautiful areas he visited when he was there, about an island he and his girlfriend would visit when he returned.

  Meg had forgotten the girlfriend. Momentarily, hidden by the kitchen wall, she ducked her head as the embarrassment hit her. He had been fooling her. Why would he want her when there was probably a sweet young thing—and blonde, more than likely—at home for him, warming his bed and his heart?

  She recovered. Cheerily. She asked him about home and his plans. He completely obliged, girlfriend included.

  “What’s her name?” Meg asked, interested, and trying not to show it.

  “Cindy.”

  Of course, Cindy. “And what does she do?”

  “Receptionist for a dentist.”

  Meg thought that was a riveting profession.

  “Well, thanks for breakfast. Who are we entertaining tonight, the same people?”

  “No. All new ones tonight. But only four.”

  “Good. Bit exhausting, all that work last night.” He grinned his grin at her, tipped his forehead as if dipping his hat, and started out the door. “See you tonight,” he called over his shoulder.

  She nodded. Oh yeah.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “How long’s that kid staying for?”

  Meg looked at Martin over his newspaper. “You mean Jarrad Scott?”

  Martin nodded.

  “You took his booking. I presume it’s another eight days.”

  “Bit of a smart arse, if you ask me.”

  “You haven’t been around to find out, Martin.”

  “Well, I will be tonight,” he said and thumped the paper down on the table.

  That night at dinner, Jarrad left Martin for dead in the entertaining stakes. Suddenly she found herself with two competitive males, each trying to score points off the other.

  She glanced at their guests. No one was the least perturbed by the rivalry; they were thoroughly enjoying the display by the two Aussie guys, even though most of it was not understood. Meg retreated to the kitchen whilst the men battled it out, albeit in a restrained, but reasonably friendly manner.

  Martin folded first. He was tired, had been working hard all week on his projects and as usual, was not up to late nights unless he could watch television. He didn’t consider entertaining his guests part of the job, and he easily tired of them. He checked with Meg to see that she had the last of the work under control, excused himself, and went to bed.

  It signalled the end of the evening. Her guests retired.

  Again, it was only ten o’clock.

  Jarrad Scott leaned on the kitchen door way. “Can I get you a drink, Meg? A port?”

  “Thanks,” she said, swiping a damp cloth over the benches. “I could do with a good relaxing drink right now.” She came out of the kitchen as he poured two very generous ports.

  She sat in the lounge and he sat beside her, nonchalantly, as if he belonged there.

  “More tours tomorrow?” he asked as he clinked his glass with hers.

  “Two cars, twelve people. A few tomorrow night.”

  “Soon a break?”

  “Yes, soon.” She leaned back on the lounge and closed her eyes momentarily.

  “Feel good?”

  “Does now. The days can be really long sometimes.”

  “You don’t have to get up to do breakfast for me, I could manage, you know.”

  “Okay,” she said. “All on your own tomorrow.” “Aw, Meg.”

  She laughed and so did he. The little silence was friendly. She sipped and he sipped.

  “Dinner was good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I really like you, Meg.”

  Meg decided he could do a lot more talking tonight.

  He stared at his port. “I was a little bit hard last night, or something. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Doesn’t do to take things for granted.”

  “Got any ideas?”

  “On what?” she asked.

  “Here we are again, sitting up after everyone has gone to bed, including the husband, and you don’t have any ideas?”

  “Jarrad, do you know how old I am?”

  He cast a sideways glance. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  She sat forward, put her glass on the table. “I had a think, as you suggested. This is what I came up with. I must be ten years older than you.”

  “I’m thirty. So what?”

  “…Eight years older. I have a husband, therefore I’m married. You are a visitor here and have a girlfriend. That means you will go away, back to her. And you are not married. There’s nothing more to think about.”

  He leaned forward, lifted her glass and handed it back to her. “What if I want to think about it some more?”

  “Nothing I could do about it.”

  “I’m not going to let it go. I think there’s more to it.”

  Meg looked at him. “All a bit fast, isn’t it? You
’ve only been here three days.”

  “Who’s counting?” he said and his hazel eyes grew large. “Meg, I can’t explain it yet. It’s like a destiny thing. I knew I was going to meet someone here—”

  “A psychic as well.”

  “You are beautiful, Meg. A cynic, but beautiful. Like someone I see only in my dreams.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just don’t.” She took a long swallow of the port. It burned her throat and she tried not to drain her glass.

  “It’s going to be a long week, Meg. I need to know you’re not fooling around with me.”

  And vice versa, she thought. The scent of his skin drifted over her and she could feel warmth surround her. Peeping out of the open neck of his shirt was the black wiry hair of his chest. She wanted to touch it, tweak it. She sucked on her bottom lip and looked away.

  “Perhaps we should go for a drive tomorrow,” he said.

  “And land ourselves in real trouble? I’m not about to jeopardise any of this for a fling, Jarrad. No matter how much I might want it.”

  “You said it. You said you want it.”

  “But I’m also trying to remember what I have to lose here, and how differently you live your life. I don’t want a fling. I’m over flings. I want the whole bit. The whole thing. Everything.”

  “Then why don’t you have it out with him?” he asked. “Get it over and done with. You might take a few hits but you’d be out.”

  “It’s not that simple. It takes time and to be honest...”

  “What? Waiting for him to make the move first? He won’t be doing that, I can tell you.” He shook his head. “The guy gets it on a plate. What’s the matter with him?”

  Meg backed away first. “You would never understand it,” she said. “Not in a million years.”

  “Try me.”

  “No. Let it be enough that I am not going to—”

  “I know, jeopardise anything precious here.”

  “It’s everything I’ve worked for, Jarrad. I have to be careful if I’m going to initiate anything. I have nothing outside this place, the tours and the land—”

  “What land?”

  “We have eighty acres on the east coast.”

  “Wow.”

  Glad of the change of direction in the conversation, she relaxed. “It has spectacularly beautiful views. We have plans to build another bed and breakfast there.”

  “You have the plans already?”

  “Martin’s an architect.”

  “You’ll have to show me this land.”

  “When you have a day off.”

  “Could make it any time,” he quipped. “That could be our drive tomorrow.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She laughed. “We’re talking like old lovers.”

  He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “We will be old lovers, Meg. We will live together.”

  “My, what a healthy imagination.” Tears began to prick her eyes. Why her? Why did he have to come to her, and why now?

  “Not imagination. I can see it.” He drew her face to his and kissed her.

  She reached up to touch his face and his hands gripped her shoulders. He was over her body, still kissing her softly, insistently. She didn’t want to be on the lounge when…

  He stopped as well. “Meg, I don’t want—”

  “Shh.” She didn’t want to hear talk. “It’s not right, here, I know. And I should know better. It’s me who has to go to bed, now. You don’t know me enough to—”

  “Wait, no. Okay,” he said and slipped off her. “I promise to be good. Please, just sit here with me. Let’s just talk.” He held her hand and helped her sit back up on the lounge. “I know you think it’s highly unlikely, but Meg, I—”

  “No,” she said quickly and put her fingers to his lips. “Don’t say anything to me, please, that you don’t absolutely mean. Not now, not ever. Not one word that you can’t honestly say for sure is the absolute truth.”

  Meg watched as those deep hazel eyes began to show he understood. His breath fanned her face and she thought she would die of wanting his arms about her, his lips on her face, her body. But she wanted a lot more. She dropped her hand.

  Not a fling. But was Jarrad Scott her man?

  “Goodnight, Jarrad.” She didn’t touch him. She stood and left the room, heart thumping audibly in her head.

  By the time she rose the next morning, he was gone. She checked his room and was assured by the mess of clothes and other belongings still there that he hadn’t left.

  Her day proceeded with a delicious anticipation she had forgotten she ever knew.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jarrad breezed in as usual just after five in the afternoon. “Hi Meg. How you going?”

  She looked at him, hands stuck in flour and eggs. “Fine. And you?”

  “Just great.” He stood at the doorway to the kitchen. “But I think I stink again.”

  “I think you’re right.” She crinkled her nose. “Don’t come in here, you’ll curdle the dinner.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He stepped into the kitchen. “Reckon if I decided to grab you right now there wouldn’t be a lot you could do about it.”

  “Just try it, buster,” she said and held up her eggy, floured hands.

  “Okay. Fight. Go ahead, fight.” He lunged at her, butted her with his hip, then he ducked out of her way as she swiped at him.

  “You pong,” she grated, “something awful.”

  “Okay. I’m going for a shower. Could do with a back scrub but not with those hands. I’ll have to send out for the girl down the road.” He gave her a big grin, and shot into his room, slamming the door behind him.

  Meg laughed. He was funny and bright. And he liked her.

  The feeling was mutual.

  But she was married. And he was a visitor with a girlfriend back home. It was just play and it was time to look at it as just that. But her resolve did not strengthen.

  The tour came back and so did Martin. The night continued as normal until Jarrad emerged and began to shake hands with the new guests.

  Martin glared a moment at Jarrad, who was his usual good-natured self. Martin launched into his role as host, but he couldn’t snatch it from Jarrad who was by far the more adaptable of the two men.

  Meg had wanted to experiment wildly with new recipes and place an exotic meal on the table. She supposed it was her home-maker side reaching out to the hunter as he returned from the day. She stifled a laugh. Neither Martin nor Jarrad reminded her of hunters.

  Though one had definite possibilities.

  Instead, she stuck to her tried and true dishes, in case the new recipes failed dismally. No use experimenting on unsuspecting guests.

  Meg glanced at the two men in her life, so different. Jarrad would only be with her for just a little while. The thought hit her guts and she took a breath as the effect of the emotional punch subsided. This was no good at all. Jarrad Scott couldn’t give her anything.

  Correction. She couldn’t give Jarrad Scott anything. She was as tied to this place as a convict to a ball and chain. All her own doing, she knew.

  Between courses, Martin came into the kitchen carrying an empty bottle of wine. “I have to talk to you about something.”

  He stood, as usual, in her way. “Can it wait until after dinner? I can’t concentrate on much else right now.” Her heart was thumping. Not because Martin looked serious, but because she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Jarrad, who was being the total gentleman and not acknowledging her at all.

  “Well, yes and no,” Martin said. “I’ll be gone after dinner, so it’ll be too bit late, then.”

  So like Martin. “Oh. What is it?”

  “Two things really,” he began and got the dishes out for the main course and put them on the serving bench. “I’ve got the chance to take a yacht from Melbourne to Brisbane. The other guys are going by ferry to the mainland on the late boat so if I leave tonight I can be i
n Melbourne tomorrow.” He looked at her.

  Meg had never stopped him sailing, even if it meant overloading herself. “Not much notice, Martin, once again.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, but I checked the diary and things lighten up for you from tomorrow for a few days. You’ll be right.”

  Such a caring man. “You said there were a couple of things.”

  He nodded. “In Melbourne I’d see my client over there, the guy who wants to build the eco-lodge. It’d be a great opportunity.”

  “I’m sure you can’t just drop in on him. You’d need an appointment.”

  She began to pull baking dishes from the oven.

  “I have one. For the day after tomorrow.”

  Meg didn’t miss a beat. He’d arranged it all already. “Oh, I see. Well, it sounds like you’re under control. Go for it. A two week sail, you say?”

  “If we make it to Brisbane. Might be longer, depending on the weather.”

  Meg nodded. Concentrated on the meal. The oven. Her hands on the hot dishes.

  “I’ll have to leave at eight tonight.”

  Meg glanced at the oven clock. Seven fifteen. “Right.”

  Martin merely nodded. He waited a second or two. “You don’t mind?”

  She wanted to ask him if it would matter anyway. She wanted to throw the plates at him and shriek her despair and her frustration at being tied to this bloody empty relationship. She wanted to yell and demand he tell her why she wasn’t good enough, why he always got what he wanted from her but it was never the other way around?

  “Meg?”

  “Would it matter if I minded?”

  It wasn’t the response he was waiting for, so he just waited, his face unreadable.

  “You go,” she said. She bent her head and stirred the chicken chasseur very gently. “Do you have your credit cards? There’s no spare cash.”

  “Yes. All organised. And my bag’s packed already.”

  Of course it is. That was good—she wouldn’t be asked to pack it for him. “Well, we have guests here so please say goodnight before you leave and not just disappear.”

  He didn’t argue which meant he was grateful she hadn’t objected. He’d normally just fade away, hoping nobody would notice his absence.