Page 144

He stared at her for a beat too long, his jaw tightening. ‘What about me?’

Her hand trembled slightly as she gestured to his body. ‘You’re wet through.’

‘And?’

He was challenging her, making her say what she wanted. A thunderclap rolled overhead; she jumped. Lightning followed, making the room glow bright.

‘Don’t you need to get changed, too?’

‘I have my own bathroom.’

Disappointment—quickly followed by embarrassment—washed over her. ‘Oh.’

A muscle jerked in his jaw, though, and his eyes swept over her body, almost seemingly against his will. ‘We’re probably going to be stuck together for a few days. Let’s not do something we’ll both wish we hadn’t, Sarah.’ He turned away from her then, and she watched him walk away, even when she wanted, more than anything, to chase after him and tell him that she suspected he was wrong: giving in to temptation with Tate was something she wasn’t sure she’d ever regret.

* * *

In the end, it took three days for the flood water to subside, and almost as long for his willpower to break. He did a damn good job of ignoring her, sticking to one end of the house and not thinking about her moving around, exploring, curled up reading, or watching cooking shows on TV. He lay in bed not thinking about her a few doors over, trying not to think about her accent, her soft voice, and the way she’d subtly propositioned him that first night.

But on the third night, when the generator finally died and the power went out, a need to use candles for light drew them together. And it was a hell of a lot harder to ignore her when they were in the same room, the flickering light cast by the flame making the sort of promises he should have known to ignore.

It was ironic that the storm had cleared and the water almost fully subsided when their own storm finally burst. It was the simplest thing, in the end. Sarah brushing past him, a little closer than she’d probably intended, but it didn’t matter. He inhaled deeply, tasted her in his nostrils, and reached out, his fingers glancing hers, so she stopped walking and turned to face him. The candles were just bright enough to show the way her lips parted, her eyes scanning his rapidly, trying to understand.

He tried to walk away. To tell himself it would be stupid to give in to temptation, just because she was there. But it had been a long time since Tate had been with a woman, and the way Sarah was looking at him sparked every cell of his body in a way he knew he couldn’t deny. Not if she wanted this.

And she did.

‘Tate?’ Her soft voice was an invitation if ever he’d heard one. He lifted a hand, brushing his thumb over her lower lip, and her eyes fluttered closed, her face tilting towards his.

He moved slowly. Slow enough that she could pull back, rethink this, but in the end it was Sarah who closed the gap completely, pressing her body to his and standing up onto the tips of her toes. Even then, he had to lean down to kiss her, but the moment he claimed her lips, it was as though the storm that had been raging between them had swallowed them whole. Lightning seemed to flash beneath his skin, and pleasure throbbed deep in his gut. To hell with the consequences: this was exactly what they both wanted right now—that was all that mattered.

CHAPTER TWO

Ten weeks later

DRIVING BACK THROUGH the gates with the hanging sign that proudly proclaimed ‘Ironbark Ridge Station’ couldn’t help but trigger a thousand and one feelings inside Sarah. Mostly, they were all of disbelief as she recognised how truly remote this property was.

Disbelief that she’d been so stupid.

To drive out here and run her phone battery flat listening to audiobooks.

To have gone wandering so far from her car.

To have not checked the weather forecast.

And finally, to have succumbed to temptation and fallen into bed with a man whose last name she hadn’t even known until a week ago.

Tate Bloody Carrigan.

Aka cattle-baron billionaire, Australian rural royalty.

A shiver ran the length of her spine as she remembered, with abject mortification, the fever that had seemed to come over her.

She blamed loneliness, of course, for that temporary insanity. She’d still been so bereft, unanchored and in free fall. Was it any wonder that the combination of fearing for her life, then a wild storm, and finally a drop-dead-gorgeous Aussie farmer appearing almost out of nowhere had conspired to turn her usual common sense on its head?

It had been a moment of wildness: a single, elemental night of unhinged, desperate passion. They’d fallen to the floor and made love over and over, each as desperate as the other. Her nails had clawed his skin, his body had claimed hers, marked her, until she’d cried his name into the air as loud and intense as the storm had been.

In the morning, when the sun had burst through the windows, it was as if it had never happened. Tate had left her sleeping, and had been dressed by the time she’d stirred. None of the heat and passion had been evident in his cold voice when he’d said, ‘Your car’s been found. My mechanic’s checking it over now. Should be fine to drive.’