Outback Fire. Margaret Way

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      “Family matters, Alex,” Storm said in a cool voice. “It’s not Luke’s job to explain.”

      “No, no, of course not,” Alex smiled at her backing off. “Nice to say hello to you, Luke. I expect you’re off now, message delivered?”

      “As a matter of fact he’s staying!” Sara tripped over to Luke and clung to his arm. “Stephanie took quite a fancy to him. On sight.”

      “This guy is clever!” Alex feigned admiration, at the same time noticing Branagan looked extraordinarily good. “I have to say he does bring in a whiff of the great outdoors.” He gave a condescending smile.

      “Well now you know what a cattleman looks like.” Sara smiled brightly. “Pretty terrific, I’d say. Everyone seems impressed. Except, maybe you, Alex,” she added, taking a shot at him.

      “Not at all. You misunderstand me,” Alex dropped his languid tone, moving toward Storm and taking her hand. “Storm, dearest, can’t I carry you off? Everyone’s missing you.”

      “Oh, I don’t think so,” she gave a little laugh, gently withdrawing her hand. “I must see Luke to the door. We have a few things to finalise.”

      “You’re not going surely?” Sara looked up at Luke’s handsome profile, her sweet expression registering acute disappointment.

      “You heard the lady,” Luke mocked, glancing towards Storm. “I’m being shown the door.”

      “Of course you aren’t.” Storm shook her head.

      “No, actually, Sara, I do have things to attend to, but it’s been great seeing you.” Luke bent to kiss her cheek. “Every good wish for tomorrow. You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”

      “Yes, I am!” Sara beamed. “Why don’t you come along? You’re here not a thousand miles away. We can always fit in one more friend of the bride. It would be lovely wouldn’t it, Storm?” She glanced at her friend. “You should see the dresses. They’re gorgeous. Storm, as my dearest girlfriend is chief bridesmaid. She’s wearing a beautiful gold matt satin and guipure lace gown. She’ll look out of this world.”

      Luke nodded. “She’s got a talent for doing that. Don’t worry. I’ll see it in the papers and magazines. It doesn’t take all that long for them to reach us. Thank you for the thought, Sara, but I must decline. There are errands to run for the Major.” True enough but the thought of seeing Storm in her bridesmaid’s finery was more than he could bear.

      “How is the Major?” Alex asked belatedly. This when he’d been shown lavish hospitality on his visits.

      “Not as well as we want,” Luke said, then sketched an attractive little salute, more to Sara than Alex. “I’ll say good night. Enjoy yourselves.”

      “Hurry back, Storm,” Alex pleaded.

      “Bye, bye, Luke,” Sara called as he moved away with Storm at his shoulder.

      “You’ll make my excuses to Mr. and Mrs. Drysdale, won’t you?” Luke double-checked as they arrived at the front door. Guests crossing from one splendid reception room to the other glanced at them with bright curiosity but Storm didn’t appear to notice.

      She indicated they step outside, the night breeze lifting her hair and wafting her perfume to him, an alluring intoxicant. “Of course,” she promised, then as an afterthought. “How are you getting back into town?”

      “I thought you’d never ask,” he mocked, gazing back at her while he moved down a step. “Same way I got here. By cab. I’ve got my mobile or I might just keep walking. It’s a beautiful night and it’s not that far.”

      “Too far for most people,” she smiled, thinking how they both had been raised. Alex fit as he was, would never have considered it. “What time Sunday?”

      He shrugged his wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, expelling sex appeal in every pore. “I’d like to make it early but I doubt if you’ll be ready for an early-morning start. Not after the wedding.”

      She responded from long habit as if she’d been challenged. “You think I’m going to get drunk?”

      “No more than usual, but I think you’ll be tired. It’s a late-afternoon wedding. The reception will go on for hours. Is the ex invited?”

      “What do you think?” Paradoxically she wanted to reach out and touch him. The night around them was playing tricks.

      “It sounds as though it might be on again.” He launched into an excellent imitation of Alex’s well-bred languid tones. “Storm, darling! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

      “You always did have a gift for mimicry. Remember when you—” She broke off. “It isn’t on again with Alex. Not that it’s any of your business.”

      “No more than your inquiry about Carla,” he returned directly. “We have to stop off briefly at Mingari by the way. I have some freight to unload.”

      “Sure it’s not just an excuse to see Carla?” She shot him a glance; the greenest flame. “How is she anyway?”

      “You’ll be able to see for yourself,” he returned mildly. “She always asks after you.”

      She smiled without humour. “Do you know I think that has something to do with you? So what time in the morning?” She didn’t look at him but stared over his head at the starlit night.

      He took the rest of the steps with two easy strides, looking back at her, her lovely figure silhouetted against the light from the great chandelier in the entrance hall. Such a complicated existence he led. This was one woman denied him. “I’ll be outside your apartment block at eight o’clock and that’s a concession,” he said more crisply than he intended.

      “You really believe I still can’t get up at dawn?”

      “A rhetorical question, Miss McFarlane.” He bowed. “Let me say instead I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. Not that it always works. To put it bluntly you’ve made as many mistakes as I have. Good night. Enjoy the big day tomorrow.”

      “I will.” She remained still where she was watching him stride down the drive. Where Luke was concerned she was very, very vulnerable. It was something she had known all her life.

      CHAPTER THREE

      SHE was ready waiting for him at the front of her apartment building when he arrived in a hired car he must have organised the day before.

      “All set?” He was out of the car moving towards her, perpetually virile, vivid, dynamic. She had to concede a glamorous figure with that superb lean body that made the most casual clothes look great.

      “Two pieces of luggage,” she said, colourful enough herself in a violet silk shirt tucked into skinny black trousers, high black boots, an Armani leather jacket draped around her shoulders. It was late winter in Sydney but it would be a lot hotter where she was going; except at night when the desert gave up its heat and the temperatures dropped dramatically.

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