Elizabeth Duke - The Outback Affair

Natasha continued. “This trip is strictly business. I’m here to paint and you’re here to drive and protect me from crocodiles. Over dinner we stick to talking about our trip. Or the weather. Anything but—” Even to say the words was likely to inflame the situation.

But Tom said them anyway. “Anything but us.” He looked down at her. “So it’s not so much hate…but fear,” he murmured.

“Fear? You think I’m afraid of you? You must be mad!”

“Maybe not afraid of me…no,” he conceded. “More…afraid that you might still have some feelings. Feelings you don’t want to have.”

“Feelings? For you?” She turned on him then. “I’ll tell you what I feel. Nothing. Understand? Any feelings I had for you, Tom, died long ago.” Her chest heaved, her breath coming in furious gulps.

She moaned inwardly. Why was she getting so steamed up if she felt nothing?

Elizabeth Duke was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children’s novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn’t writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband, John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Heather and Jan, two talented artists who have painted, camped and fished at Kakadu. With many thanks.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

NATASHA was putting the finishing touches to her oil painting of Ayers Rock when her father poked his head round the door of her studio. ‘There’s someone to see you, Nat.’

Something in his tone brought her head up sharply. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Tom Scanlon.’

She dropped her paintbrush. Heat rushed to her face, then receded, leaving an icy, numbing coldness. She felt as if her lifeblood were draining out of her. It was eighteen months since she’d last seen or heard of her ex-fiancé, and she’d thought he was out of her life for good.

With an effort she unlocked her parched lips. ‘Send him away. I don’t want to see him.’

‘But he’s—’

‘Tell him I’m busy. I can’t come.’ How dare Tom Scanlon come back into her life, after what he did to her? How dare he show up here, without warning, and expect her to welcome him with open arms? ‘Better still, tell him I don’t want to see him. Now or ever.’

‘If you don’t come, Nat, he’s likely to barge in here himself. He seems very determined to see you.’

‘And I’m just as determined not to see him.’

But underneath her cold resolve her stomach was churning; her nerves fraying. Why had Tom Scanlon come back to visit her after the callous way he’d walked out on her, just two weeks after he’d proposed marriage and sworn undying love? Why was he so determined to see her? To find out if she’d managed to survive without him?

‘If you don’t speak to him now, love, you’ll be looking over your shoulder every time you go out. If you don’t want to see him again, Nat, you tell him.’

She sighed, clenching her teeth. ‘Right. I’ll do that. Send him in, Charlie. I’ll give him one minute.’ Since she and her father had become business partners a year ago—together they owned an art gallery and framing business—she’d fallen into the habit of calling him ‘Charlie’ rather than ‘Dad.’ She trembled to think what she would have done without her father in the past year and a half. He’d kept her busy, kept her spirits up, given her a reason for going on…and not looking back.

And now here he was, calmly thrusting Tom Scanlon back into her life!

‘Give him a chance, Nat,’ Charlie appealed to her. ‘At least listen to him. He seems a changed man. There’s something…’ At her glowering glance, he shrugged. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll send him in.’ He swung on his heel.

But before he reached the door, a tall figure filled the doorway.

‘Hullo, Natasha.’

The room tilted. She blinked, her heart turning over. She had to grip her easel for support.

He looked so different from the way he’d looked eighteen months ago. He’d always been a large man, tall and massive shouldered, with a solid, powerful build—perhaps verging on overweight back then. Now he looked—she swallowed—he looked fantastic…leaner, fitter, and healthier than she’d ever seen him before. He must be thirty-six by now, but he looked younger.

Had his new girlfriend done that for him?

Her eyes turned to silver ice. It was a mistake, agreeing to see him—even if only to order him out of her life. It was stirring up all kind of sensations—sensations she’d thought buried for all time.

Her father was edging away. ‘I’ll leave you two to—’

‘No need to go, Dad!’ Her voice was sharp, and unnaturally high. The betraying ‘Dad’ had slipped out. ‘Mr. Scanlon won’t be staying.’

Her eyes raked coldly over her unwanted visitor. She narrowed her gaze, a tremor quivering through her.

This wasn’t the Tom Scanlon she’d known and fallen in love with. This was a stranger—a cleanshaven stranger with a brand-new look, a brand-new vitality. Where was the ruffianly beard and the untamed mane of long brown hair that had curled over his collar and tumbled over his brow? Where were the washed-out jeans and the bush shirt with the rolled-up sleeves? Where were the dusty old boots, the knockabout slouch hat?

And where was the constant cigarette in his hand?

He was wearing pale moleskins, leather shoes and a neat pale grey shirt—admittedly without a tie. That would really be something—to see Tom Scanlon in a tie. The shirt had a trendy Neru collar, with the top button left undone. But only the top button—not slashed open as so often in the past, uncaringly showing an expanse of bronzed, muscular chest.

His hair, though still curly, still wild—nothing could completely tame those unruly curls—now barely reached the top of his collar. It was neatly brushed back from his deeply tanned face, although a wayward lock was already slipping forward over his brow.

She swallowed, gathering her strength. ‘Well…Tom Scanlon.’ Her tone was as withering as she could make it. ‘The man who decided marriage wasn’t for him.’ Or had his new girlfriend changed his mind?

‘Tash—’

Tash. Her heart twisted, bitterness coiling through her. Tom was the only one who’d ever called her that. It had been a special name…once. Now she couldn’t bear to hear it.