The Australian by Diana Palmer Page A

face rigid, his eyes burning with blue sparks.
    “Priss,” he said in a tone that melted her knees.
    “Oh, I thought I was dreaming,” she remarked. Her lower lip trembled. “John, I’m sorry, but it hasn’t changed, I haven’t changed, I...”
    He held out his arms, and she went into them like a homing pigeon, burying her face against his vest. His arms hurt, he was holding her so tightly, and she didn’t even care.
    She nestled her cheek on the soft fabric with a loud sigh. Her hands smoothed over the taut muscles of his back, under his suit coat. His heartbeat at her ear sounded heavy, rushed. She smiled, savoring it.
    “No questions?” he asked quietly. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”
    “Eventually,” she affirmed with a smile. Her chest rose and fell against him.
    He laughed, although it sounded a little strained. “Let’s go, honey.”
    “Didn’t you bring a suitcase?” she asked as he put her gently away from him.
    “I didn’t have time. Not after Renée told me about that damned college kid,” he said, and his eyes burned down into hers.
    Her eyes widened as she read the stark jealousy in his expression. “You mean Ronald?” she asked, dazed.
    He stared pointedly at her slender body. “Have you slept with him yet?”
    Her lips parted. “No!” she gasped. “Of course not!”
    “Why, of course not?” he demanded.
    Her eyes softened as they searched his rugged face. “Because I belong to you, of course,” she said with quiet pride. “I don’t want another man’s hands on me, ever.”
    He seemed to freeze in place. The breath he took was ragged. He touched her face with slow unsteady fingers. “I want you,” he said huskily.
    She managed a smile of her own. “I want you, too.”
    “Is Margaret asleep?” he asked.
    She nodded.
    He looked around. “Let’s get out of here. I want to be alone with you.”
    She slid her hand into his big callused one, and let him lead her out of the terminal.
    Minutes later they were in Margaret’s plush living room, staring at each other in a momentary daze.
    “I wanted to wait,” he said. “I wanted to give you time, to let you see something of the world.”
    “Why?”
    He shrugged his broad shoulders and glowered at her. “You’re only eighteen.”
    She grinned. “Just the right age,” she replied. “You can teach me.”
    “God, the thought of it makes me go weak in the knees.” He laughed, staring at her. “Come here, you little torment, and let me love you.”
    She ran to him, glorying in his strength as he lifted her completely off the floor and laid her down on Margaret’s green upholstered sofa. She sank into it, stretching with delicious anticipation while he shed his jacket and vest and slowly, sinuously, unbuttoned his shirt.
    She’d seen him without it before, but that was a lifetime ago. The expanse of rippling bronze muscles excited her.
    “Hurry up,” she whispered impishly.
    He grinned, his teeth white in his dark face. “Patience, darling.”
    She arched delicately, letting him see the thrust of her breasts through the thin material. He reached down and jerked the T-shirt up, baring her body to him. She hadn’t bothered with a bra.
    Her lips parted. “Yes, I like that,” she whispered as he stared blatantly at her. “I like you looking at me.”
    “I’m going to do more than look.”
    “Be still, my throbbing heart,” she teased, although her heartbeat was going wild.
    He bent his head, and she lifted herself to meet his lips, gasping as his mouth found soft mounds and hard peaks and devoured them. Her nails dug into his upper arms and a tiny moan escaped her throat.
    “Shhh,” he silenced. “You’ll have to be quiet, darling, or we’ll wake Margaret.”
    “It’s so sweet,” she tried to explain through trembling lips as she stared up at him with her heart in her eyes. “Oh, so sweet, I can hardly bear it...”
    “I know.” He slid down beside her and let his hand run down her yielding