So…’
‘There are kennels and carrier companies to fly animals.’
‘There are,’ she agreed. ‘But you try talking Rachel into using them. We’ve both ached to see Uluru. Rachel’s research means she should see these places. This train’s been a dream for a long, long time, but she won’t leave Buster to do it.’
‘So you gambled.’
‘Yes,’ she said and tilted her chin. ‘And it’s worth it. Rachel’s smiled this trip, and her smile’s reached her eyes for the first time since she lost the baby. Even if we get thrown off now, it’s still been worth it.’
‘I doubt they’ll throw you off.’
‘We’re budget passengers. Of course they’ll throw us off.’
He fell silent, watching her with those cool blue eyes. He was weighing her story, she thought. Weighing her?
‘And you came to me why?’ he asked at last.
‘You and your grandmother are the only people I know on the train.’
‘You don’t know us.’
‘Dame Maud knows me.’
‘Maud’s asleep.’
She stared down at her pink flip-flops and tried to make herself think. Tried to figure a way out of this mess that didn’t involve this guy.
Tried to figure why she’d ever run to him in the first place.
A knock sounded on the door and she jumped.
‘Yes?’ Hugo sounded wary—as well he might.
‘Mr Thurston, we need to speak to you.’
We. Uh oh. Amy’s heart sank. It was the Platinum butler’s voice but we meant a deputation. She must have been seen.
Criminal sighted fleeing carriage in pink pyjamas, carrying dog-sized purse.
When all else failed, face the music. She squared her shoulders and turned towards the door but, before she could take a step, Hugo had scooped Buster up and opened the inner door to the bedroom beyond. ‘Don’t move,’ he hissed.
‘Give us a moment, gentlemen,’ he called, and disappeared. She heard an urgent murmur from within, and then he was back, without dog.
Don’t move? She’d have to be stupid to move. Whatever was happening, whatever he intended, she wasn’t getting in his way.
She watched, stunned, as he upended her purse, brushing out stray dog hairs. He thrust a book inside and a couple of magazines as well, manoeuvring them so they made the purse bulge.
‘Sit,’ he told her, and she didn’t have a choice, for he put his hands on her shoulders and forced her downward.
She sat.
For one millisecond he gazed down at her, his eyes a question. Then he seemed to answer himself. He undid a couple more buttons of his shirt. A wicked grin flickered beneath the set purpose of his gaze and, before she could stop him, he’d flicked open the top buttons of her pyjama top as well. He exposed cleavage. He exposed enough cleavage to make her almost indecent!
‘Wh…’
‘Hush,’ he said, and then more firmly, ‘hush, my lady of the night. You need to look…’ He stood back and looked at her, considering. ‘I know how you need to look.’
He stooped and placed his mouth on hers.
He kissed her.
CHAPTER THREE
TO SAY she was shocked would be an understatement. To say she was thrown into a dimension she hadn’t known existed would still be an understatement.
One minute Amy was figuring out how she could face a livid train conductor with her illegal dog. The next… Hugo Thurston’s mouth was on hers.
There was no permission asked or granted. His hands were hard on her shoulders and he was kissing her whether she wanted to be kissed or not. His mouth was claiming hers. He was drawing her into him and he was possessing her with power and heat and sheer magnetic lust.
She was being kissed by Hugo Thurston?
How had this happened? She had no idea. She should struggle—but that’d mean somehow she had to figure out what was going on, and right now all she could think of was this kiss.
The heat. The power. The sheer magnetic pull.
She was melting into a man she’d met only hours ago. He was kissing her as if she was the most desirable woman… and she was responding?
Of course she was responding. How could she fail to respond? From the moment his mouth touched hers, from the moment his arms tugged her close, through shock she felt herself melt.
It was as if every nerve in her body was short circuiting. The heat from her lips was arcing out, up, down, around her body, causing every nerve-ending to cease functioning.
No. They were still functioning, she thought, dazed beyond belief. It was just that they were totally centred, totally focused, totally fused on this mouth that was claiming hers.
Such a kiss…
She’d been kissed before—of course she had—but never by a great weathered warrior of a man, a guy who oozed testosterone, whose strength was like an aura around him. A man whose eyes had gleamed once at her as he lowered his head, his gleam a dare, a challenge shooting from those blue, blue eyes.
She wasn’t thinking straight. How could she think straight? His mouth was plundering hers. His tongue was searching for entry and discovering a response in her that almost overwhelmed her.
She felt herself arch a little, her body automatically demanding to be nearer. Instinctively, involuntarily, her hands reached and found the thick thatch of his sun-bleached hair and she felt herself glorying in the silkiness, the strength. As if she was another woman, someone she didn’t recognise, couldn’t recognise, she felt herself deepen the kiss, and she felt a low burn start in her body. The flicker flared and built.
And then the contact broke, just like that.
He put her away from him, the gleam still in his eyes. He was laughing at her, she thought. Laughing!
His hand went to his belt buckle and twisted it undone—and then he turned to the door.
As he tugged it open he was fastening his belt again. He was glancing around at her, as if checking she was… respectable?
She wasn’t respectable. He’d set the scene, she thought, stunned beyond belief. He’d made it look like…
She knew what it looked like. He was re-fastening his belt clumsily. She was sprawled, stunned, in the armchair, her pyjamas only just decent. She was flushed and dazed and her mouth felt bruised.
She felt—and she looked, she suspected—thoroughly, totally kissed.
She couldn’t help it. She raised her hand to her lips and Hugo’s smile deepened. He winked—the toe-rag winked!—before turning back to the men at the door.
It was Henry and the conductor from her carriage.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, urbane and polite. But his annoyance was unmistakable for all that. ‘How can I help?’
The scene was being played out to a nicety, Amy thought, unable to move. No one could doubt what had been happening in this room. No one could doubt why it had taken Hugo so long to answer the door.
‘I’m so sorry…’ Henry started, but the conductor behind him was made of sterner stuff. Maybe he wasn’t quite as intimidated by the Thurston billions.
‘The girl you’re with,’ he growled, and pointed to Amy. ‘That woman. We have reason to believe she’s carrying