Adelaide, the Enchantress Page 6

  “Have you made plans to leave?” She forced the question, dreading the answer.

  Shane hesitated, then answered in a strained tone of voice. “I have tickets back the day after the Cup.”

  “I see.” Another deadline! After that race her entire life could change. Would change.

  “I wonder if you do.” He shook his head abruptly, as if shaking off more than the words, and changed the subject. “I asked Bevan which train you’d take to Sydney, and I’ve reserved a compartment. I hope you’ll share it.”

  Most of the day in a small, closed compartment with Shane, she thought. She pushed away notions of deadlines and races and dangers, and nodded. “Bevan can ride with Resolute.”

  “We’ll start early, won’t we?” He sounded restless, and both of them were conscious of something left dangling.

  “Yes. I have a van to take Resolute to the station; a friend’s loaning me another one in Sydney. And there’s a nice hotel near the track there. I’ll give Resolute Sunday to rest after the race, then bring him back on Monday.”

  They were quiet for a few moments, and then Shane stirred. “We’d better get some sleep,” he said with obvious reluctance.

  Addie didn’t protest. She was still tired in spite of the rest, and just a bit wary of these strange new feelings. It had happened too fast, this hot, breathless feeling Shane so easily roused in her. And a warning voice reminded her that he’d be gone all too soon.

  But Addie had lived her life more by instinct than thought. It was instinct that guided her to handle animals with an ease that seemed to baffle other people. It was instinct that drew her to mold herself to whatever company she happened to find herself in.

  And it was instinct that drew her like a flower to the sunlight to melt into Shane’s arms when they stopped before the door of her room a few minutes later. She lifted her face for his kiss as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and for her, it was.

  She knew, then, what she was feeling.

  Shane felt the force of her again, the inner strength that was like tempered steel. And all his senses seemed to riot, spiraling crazily. There could never be between them so simple a thing as a parting kiss. She was all woman in his arms, guilelessly passionate, unaffectedly provocative. The tiny movements she made against him were unconsciously seeking ones.

  He held her more tightly, his hand sliding down to press her hips even closer, feeling both pleasure and pain in the contact that was intimate even with the barriers of clothing between them. The heat of her slight body branded him, beckoned to him, and the slender, delicate hands on his neck drew him nearer to deepen the kiss in an explosion of sheer need.

  Addie had lost herself again in the spinning madness of his touch. She couldn’t seem to control her body; the need to be close to him was a hunger that ached in her. She was boneless again, heat sapping willpower and thought—and she almost cried aloud in frustration when he tore his lips from hers and stepped back.

  “Addie, for God’s sake!” His entire body was throbbing, punishing him for restraint, and for a moment Shane was conscious of a fierce resentment that it was he who had to find the will to draw back.

  “Shane, I’m sorry—I—” She could see the struggle on his face and the flickering anger in his eyes.

  He yanked her abruptly back into his arms and hugged her hard. “Don’t be sorry.” His chin rubbed in her hair briefly. Then he released her and turned her toward the door, and his voice was gruff. “Just get in there, all right? I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Silently, Addie went into her room and closed the door behind her. She undressed and got into bed, trying not to think about the fact that she and Shane would have been together tonight if not for her races today and the need for an early start tomorrow. She knew they would have been together, and her body was hot and heavy with yearning.

  They had the trip tomorrow, and the days before the race, but Addie didn’t know what would happen between them. She didn’t know if Shane would allow anything to happen in spite of her own obvious willingness and his fierce desire. Because her instincts had told her something tonight, something that moved her almost unbearably and filled her with anxiety.

  They had told her that she loved him. And they had told her something else, something about Shane’s feelings. Every race she rode would cut Shane to the bone, tear him to pieces inside. And how much worse would it be for him if they were lovers?

  —

  The early part of the next morning was hectic as they got her horse ready and trailered him to the railway station. And if Addie noticed a distance in Shane, a holding back, she said nothing about it. Her own feelings were so raw, she welcomed the mindless bustle of departure.

  There was a flurry of checking equipment and tack, of gathering feed for the horse and wrapping his legs for travel. In the rush, Bevan was forced to help with Resolute, and the stallion, who could rarely bear anyone but Addie near him, tried his best to bite or kick the hapless trainer.

  Shane was stuck holding Sebastian while Resolute was transferred from the trailer to the railway stock car, and he found that the small creature had a grip of iron only slightly less painful for the black gloves guarding his sharp claws. Sebastian refused to cling to Shane’s back, and so faced him squarely with his front legs around Shane’s neck and his rear ones digging into his midriff.

  And since the koala had eaten his breakfast sometime before dawn, the spicy aroma of eucalyptus leaves wafted about them both. Shane wondered vaguely if anyone had discovered this remarkable cure for sinus problems, and tried to hold his breath. But Sebastian, drowsy, insisted on yawning constantly and breathing all over his human tree.

  Shane was thankful to hand the cuddly creature over to Addie, and a little bemused to watch him settle on her back easily. He held on to that feeling, avoiding all others. “How on earth do you manage that? He grips like a vise and smells like a eucalyptus tree.”

  She looked a little surprised. “He doesn’t hold on tightly, Shane. You probably scared him.” She didn’t mention the smell, since there was no way to guard against that.

  “He isn’t awake enough to be scared.” Shane followed her into the car and watched while the long-suffering Sebastian was transferred again, this time to Resolute’s blanketed back. There were specially made pockets arranged conveniently for the koala, and he promptly slid his gloved paws into them, dropped his nose against the horse’s neck, and closed his eyes.

  Shane laughed in spite of himself. “Does he ever get excited by anything?”

  “Not really.” Addie was making a last check on her horse and trainer, assuring herself that Bevan had room to move around without having to get too close to Resolute. “He’s more awake at night, of course, but doesn’t move around a lot even then.”

  She patted horse and koala, spoke briefly to Bevan, and then left the car with Shane. She was uneasy, although she silently scolded herself for that; this wasn’t the first time Bevan had traveled alone with her horse. Still, she was unusually quiet as she and Shane made their way to their own compartment toward the front of the train.

  The train was an old one, with several compartments arranged in cars behind the ones holding the more common row seating. There was a dining car, and also a car containing a large lounge. But in their car there were only four compartments, each separate and private, with bunks that could be pulled down for sleeping.

  Addie sat along the wall gazing out on passing scenery, seeing nothing, but very conscious of Shane’s presence beside her.

  “Tell me about your family,” he said abruptly, as if he, too, were conscious of the strained silence. “All I know is that you have two sisters and grew up on a sheep station.”

  “There isn’t much else to tell.” She looked at him finally, her breath catching oddly. She cleared her throat. “I’m the middle sister; we’re only a year apart in age. Our mother died when we were small, and Dad raised us.”

  “On a sheep station. Killaroo,” he said,
remembering.

  “On Killaroo. We’re close, especially since there were no other children near home.”

  “What about Tate? You said you’d known him all your life.”

  Addie frowned a little, the uneasiness returning. “Well…their station was next to ours. And they had horses. I was always crazy about horses, so I’d often find some way of getting to their stables. Hitch a ride or something.”

  “You don’t like to talk about him? I’m sorry.” Shane was a bit abrupt.

  “No, it isn’t that.” Why did she always feel this uneasiness about Tate? It wasn’t, she knew, because Shane had asked about him. She managed a smile.

  Shane reached over and took her hand, holding it and gazing at it rather fixedly. “I keep telling myself that if he could—stir your blood, you’d know about it by now.”

  “Yes, I would.” She looked gravely at his profile, beginning to understand that Shane’s feelings were more complex than she had realized. “And he doesn’t, Shane. He can’t.”

  He drew their clasped hands onto his thigh, his free hand reaching to stroke hers. In an odd, taut voice, he said, “My mother died when I was ten. My father remarried a few years later, and my stepmother never tried to take Mother’s place with my younger sister and me, so we’ve always been good friends. She had two boys, twins, who were five when she married my father. Mike and Daniel. Mike was the jockey. He was eighteen when he was killed. That was eleven years ago.”

  His tone told her more than the stark words, and Addie ached inside. It was clear Shane had loved his stepbrother, and the pain was still there after all these years. “I’m sorry, Shane.”

  “I was watching that day; he was riding one of our horses. And it happened so damn fast. Just an accidental bump from another horse, and Mike disappeared. The horses were running at forty miles an hour and couldn’t stop, couldn’t avoid him. I knew…when I saw him lying there, I knew.”

  The long fingers stroking the back of her hand quivered even though his voice was steady, and Addie felt a hard lump in her throat. “Shane, it doesn’t happen often, you know that.”

  “But it happens. And I don’t want to see it happen again, Addie. Not to you.” His face changed then, the fixed look of pain altering to self-disgust. “Dammit, I said I wouldn’t—” He released her hand to gather her abruptly into his arms.

  “Shane—”

  “Just let me touch you,” he muttered in a raw voice. “I can’t think when I touch you, and I can stand the pain.”

  She wanted to protest violently—not the touching but the pain. Her own heart ached, and she knew that whether Shane realized it or not, he was reaching for the pain of self-denial to avoid that other pain.

  Addie had never been able to bear seeing anything or anyone in pain, and his tore her up inside. They were caught, the two of them, in an impossible situation. She had to race knowing it hurt him, and he had to watch in spite of his pain. And every touch brought them closer, roused deeper feelings, so the pain kept growing.

  She held him as tightly as he held her, her body responding to his instantly, a tremor of desire shaking her. She answered the demand of his mouth with one just as powerful, everything in her crying out against the iron will she could feel holding him back. They wouldn’t be lovers, Shane wouldn’t let them be lovers, because if they were, he’d have no defense at all against the pain and fear of her racing.

  She could feel him withdraw even before the kiss ended, even before he leaned back. And her rare temper lifted a fiery head. In a rising burst of certainty, all her instincts rebelled against the idea that by avoiding a physical consummation they could avoid tearing each other to shreds.

  Addie was in love with a man for the first time in her life, and in spite of danger or pain or time’s sword hanging over her head—she meant to grab what she could.

  “I won’t let you do this to us.” Her voice was unconsciously soft, unknowingly rich with the peculiar enchantment her instincts wove about her. “I love you, Shane.”

  His breath caught and his green eyes flashed. “No. Addie, don’t say that. I won’t be able to…”

  “Won’t be able to what?” Her soft, intense voice was merciless. “Won’t be able to pretend it’s only passion? You think I have a choice about that? That I can blithely tell myself it’s only an itch that needs scratching? You think I’ll hurt one bit less because we aren’t lovers, knowing I hurt you every time I race?”

  “Addie!” His voice was choked.

  “I don’t have a choice, Shane! I have to love you and I have to race, and there’s not a damned thing I can do to change anything!”

  He rose abruptly and took a step to stand by the window, his face a mask. “I can leave,” he said harshly.

  “Can you?” Addie watched him, unmoving.

  His stiff shoulders slumped. “Oh, Lord, Addie, don’t you see it’d be that much worse? Last night I saw what would happen. If we made love…” He nearly lost what was left of his voice then, just thinking of Addie’s slender, fiery body naked in his arms. “If we made love, I’d never be able to let you race!”

  “You wouldn’t stop me,” she said, and she was talking about his strength rather than her own determination. “You’d wish me luck and you’d watch me race.”

  Shane stared out the window blindly, knowing she was right. He’d watch her race. And bleed inside. Almost inaudibly, half to himself, he murmured, “It was always easy before. Desire was easy. There was just pleasure, no pain. Nothing to tie me up in knots inside. Nothing to haunt my sleep and steal my breath. Dammit, Addie, what’re you doing to me?”

  “Loving you—if you’ll let me. And even if you won’t. I can’t stop the hurt, Shane. Not mine, and not yours.”

  She waited, her fingers tightly laced in her lap, her gaze on his profile. Then, when he said nothing, her own steady control broke and pain quivered in her voice. “Maybe you can walk away after all. It’s what you’re trying to do now. You won’t leave me physically, but you won’t share yourself with me. You’ll wait and wait. And then I’ll have one night before you leave me forever—”

  With a movement that seemed to break something inside him, Shane turned jerkily and sank beside her, gathering her into his arms and holding her with bruising fierceness. “Damn, that’s just it,” he said thickly into her hair. “I can’t leave, I can’t ever leave you. I could go away, but I could never leave you. But you can go away. And if I give you all I have, what’ll I be left with?”

  Her heart was choking her with its pounding, and Addie felt a giddy sense of joyous relief. He loved her. She hadn’t been sure until then, but even though he hadn’t said the words, she had heard the truth in his voice.

  She eased back gently so that she could look into his face, into that handsome, tormented face. Her fingers softly traced the harsh lines of pain, and her voice was quiet and intense. “There’s taking as well as giving in love. I’ll give you everything I have inside me, and no matter what happens, you’ll have that.”

  Shane wanted to believe her. But there was a hollowness inside him that mocked her certainty. It would tear the heart out of him if he lost her now, but if he once gave in completely to the savage fury of his need for her, if he once allowed himself to know her with such primitive intimacy, losing her would destroy him.

  He had never imagined that love would hurt, that it would rip bloody wounds in an agony of turmoil. But he knew now. Knew that fate was paying him brutally for all the reckless hours of thoughtless pleasure in the past. He had laughed so easily, found pleasure so easily with women.

  But now desire had become a fundamental thing, a living creature of vital enchantment, with its silken talons caught in his heart.

  Shane gazed at her lovely, delicate face, and his ensnared heart throbbed painfully. “I don’t know. Let me think, Addie. I don’t know if I’m selfless enough to reach for that.”

  Addie understood. It was never an easy thing to invite more pain. And it was, in the end, Shane’s dec
ision to make. “All right. I think I’ll go to the lounge.”

  “Thank you.”

  He didn’t move as she left the compartment, didn’t look up.

  —

  She waited in the lounge, unsure if he would come to her. It was important that he come to her, she thought. Whatever his face told her, that action would tell her more.

  She thought briefly, wryly, that there was still nothing certain about her own ability to concentrate on the racing. This emotional upheaval was disastrous to her plans, yet she could see no other way of dealing with her love for Shane. She had spoken nothing but the truth in telling him she had no choice in the matter.

  She loved Shane.

  She had to race.

  But she knew that both of them could find strength in their love. Strength enough to see them through to whatever lay before and beyond that last race…

  —

  He came to her with the morning gone, his expression unrevealing. But his eyes kindled at the sight of her, and Addie knew there was hope for them.

  “Why don’t we have lunch?” he asked softly.

  “I’m not really—”

  “Addie.”

  She smiled a little. “All right.”

  They ate in the dining car, both conscious of the cautious restraint between them. It was as if they walked a tightrope that was swaying, knowing that a careless step would lead them into a cavern of despair. They were warily polite, deliberately impersonal. They talked about the passing scenery, about world relations and global problems. They talked about the food they ate, and about the weather.

  The other passengers in the car could have told them that the electric tension between them could be felt from five feet away, that they were fooling no one. But Shane and Addie weren’t even aware of the other people near them.

  —

  The train reached Sydney in the late afternoon. The strain between them was so brittle, a sharp sound would have shattered them both; their emotional control was a slippery grip on the edge of a precipice. But they were both brisk and busy during the transfer from the station to the racetrack, and then in getting horse, koala, and trainer comfortably settled.