Margaret Way - Outback Surrender

His eyes burned over her. “If it is, it’s the result of his treatment of me and my mother. Sorry, Shelley.” He shrugged. “I’m too far gone for a sweet little thing like you to reform me.”

“I’m not all that sweet,” she said briskly. “Not for a long time. Like you, I’m capable of holding deep resentments. I’m only saying don’t let your grief and your bitterness gobble you up. Then your grandfather will win. You could even end up like him.”

“What a thought!” he said tautly. “And yet you can say it to my face!”

“The truth isn’t always what we want to hear. I’m sorry if I upset you, Brock. It wasn’t my intention.”

His handsome mouth twisted. “It wasn’t? For a little bit of a thing you pack quite a punch. But then I expect you know as much about bitterness as I do. Didn’t your family condemn you?”

It was her turn to suffer. “You have a cruel streak.” She gazed at him with expressive green eyes.

“So be warned.”

“And don’t you intrude upon my inner world either,” Shelley continued, doing her best to ignore the sexual tension that simmered between them.

He answered in an ironic voice. “Shelley, both our lives might just as well have been splashed across the front pages of the town gazette. Everyone knows our history.”

“How could they not?” she countered, with a touch of his own bitterness. “Sometimes I think I’ll never be free. Losing my twin in such tragic circumstances has coloured my life grey.”

“Then you have to change it.” He spoke emphatically. “No one with flame-coloured hair should ever lead a dull life. You can’t let your family cage you. You’re entitled to a life of your own. But hopefully not with my cousin. That would be too, too awful.”

Brock looked up, and as he did so vertical lines appeared between his black brows.

“Speak of the devil!” he groaned. “You’re not going to believe this, but Philip is on his way over to our table.”

“No!” Mechanically she turned her head. “Oh, my goodness!”

“Exactly,” Brock muttered, a hard timbre to his voice.

Philip Kingsley made it to their table. He was a tall, sober young man, his shoulders slightly stooped, as if under a weight. He had the well-cut Kingsley features that would have been striking had they had some edge to them. As it was he was merely good-looking. Beside his cousin Brock, with his dark, handsome smoulder, Philip looked decidedly soft.

He looked down at her with an expression like betrayal in his hazel eyes. “Evening, Shelley! You’re the very last person I expected to see here with Brock!” He employed an accusatory tone that irritated Shelley immensely, then, without being asked, pulled a spare chair to the table and sat down. “Why in the world would you be having dinner with Brock?” he asked, looking at her in dismay.

She reacted with a lick of temper. “Philip, do me a favour. It’s none of your business.” The air was so electric it crackled with static.

“I thought you’d given me to understand it was?” he retorted, moving his chair even closer.

“I certainly have not.” She spoke quietly, but through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry. I thought you had,” he persisted, which she knew was his way. Persistence would win the day.

Brock held up a silencing hand “For heaven’s sake, Phil, stop hassling the girl. You heard what Shelley said. What would she want with a pompous stuffed shirt like you? Come to that, what in hell are you doing here? I don’t recall inviting you to sit at our table.” There was a distinctly aggressive edge to Brock’s voice, a warning darkening his expression.

“Is something wrong at home, Philip?” Shelley swiftly cut in. “Is that it?” Clearly there was no love lost between the cousins.

Philip looked directly at her, his soul in his eyes. “Grandfather has had a bad turn. He’s asking for Brock. I would have explained if you’d given me time.”

Shelley’s sparkling gaze softened. “You should have spoken right off, instead of taking me to task. So that’s the purpose of your trip?”

“If it’s true.” Brock shrugged. “It’s probably Kingsley’s way to get me back to the house. He wants us all closed up together. Preferably at each other’s throats.”

Philip shook his narrow head. “Can’t you try to be a little bit more compassionate towards Grandfather?” he said, his face flushed.

“No, sorry. He used up all the compassion I had long ago.”

“The great wonder is that he wants you home at all,” Philip said with a censure Shelley found quite bizarre and certainly dishonest. Every time she and Philip had been together Philip had been very vocal regarding his own load of resentment against his grandfather. He had always seemed desperate to win her sympathy—which, up until now, he’d received in good measure.

Brock treated his cousin to a cynical smile. “Phil, you old hypocrite!” he scoffed.

“We’re talking about our grandfather.” Philip lifted a sanctimonious hand. “He was a Colossus. Now he lies in bed, just staring at the ceiling. I hate to see him cut down like that. He’s been so strong. Invincible. It’s awful to see him so terribly reduced.” His voice was low and husky. “It’s killing me.”

Brock’s mouth twitched. “Hell, it’s a wonder you’re not gushing tears.”

“You’re such a heartless bastard!”

“And you’re such a phony you make me want to puke.”

“You have no sense of family,” Philip flashed back, as though Brock had left a black stain on the Kingsley good name. “It’s no wonder Grandfather sent you and Aunt Catherine packing.”

The colour seemed to drain from Brock’s dark polished skin, and for a ghastly instant Shelley wondered whether he would leap for his cousin’s throat.

“Take no notice, Brock.” She made a grab for his hand, holding it as tightly as she could. “Why don’t you leave, Philip? You’ve delivered your message.”

Philip’s whole body stiffened. “I can’t believe you’re taking Brock’s part against me. You’re my friend. Not his.”

“You make that sound like Shelley’s your property,” Brock drawled, somehow moving back from furious anger. Who would have thought a small, feminine hand could hold him in such a hard crunch? Shelley Logan had to be taken seriously, he thought, abruptly amused.

“We have plans for the future,” Philip announced. “I’m very different to you, Brock. I want to make something of my life.”

A look of disdain came into Brock’s eyes. “Then you’ll have your work cut out, because you’re a gutless wonder. You hate that man just as much as I do. He’s made your life hell, but here you are trying to portray yourself as his noble, grieving grandson. No bets on what you and your mother are after. Kingsley Holdings. That’s why you set out to discredit and undermine me. God knows how you can shake off the guilt and the shame.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Philip said sharply, but he was unable to meet his cousin’s challenging stare.

“The plotting, Phil. The stories you carried to Kingsley. What did it matter that you couldn’t prove them? God, you two must have held a big party when we left.”

“Got kicked out, don’t you mean?” Philip sneered. “Grandfather gave you every chance. No one plotted against you. It was you who deliberately set out to anger and upset him. The sooner you realize that, the better. You didn’t know how to conduct yourself as a Kingsley should. You were wild. Wild from childhood.”

“Then you and your mother had nothing to worry about, did you? Except she had the brains to cotton on that you couldn’t measure up. Wild old me was cramping your style. I had to go. In retrospect, I’d call it an escape. It seems to me you’re the one who’s led the soul-destroying life. And thoroughly deserved it, don’t you think?”