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  “Last night doesn’t change anything I wrote to you about.”

  A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw—the only movement in his tall, dark figure. Livvy got to her feet, unable to sit still under that scrutiny. There were parts of this she’d tried to tell him before, but he’d always brushed her concerns aside. This time she had to make him understand.

  “When you left the last time, I was even more miserable than usual. I don’t know why. Maybe because you were going away for such a long stint. Maybe because it was around Christmas and the start of a new year. I got to thinking, here I am: another year over and what have I got to show for it?”

  She studied the long horizon for a moment while she put her remembered emotions together, while she attempted to construct them into words.

  “I felt like I’d been marking time, not going anywhere in my job or in my life. But worse than that—I didn’t like that my whole happiness hung on your comings and goings.”

  “You’ve had a rough couple of years.”

  “Yes, I have, but not only because of Brooke.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Are you saying I’ve made you unhappy? Because that’s sure not how I’ve seen it. Hell, Liv, I make you laugh.”

  “There’s my point!” she fired back. “One week you’re here, making me bust the happiness-meter, then you’re gone for weeks—months even—and I’m miserable. I don’t want to be on that emotional rollercoaster anymore. I don’t want the same kind of relationship as my sister.”

  “As Brooke and Tomas?” He shook his head, looking completely perplexed. “I know they had their problems, but what’s that got to do with us?”

  “They had their problems because of this place.” She swept her arms wide. “It’s part of Tomas, and he’s part of it. Without Kameruka, he wouldn’t be Tomas Carlisle and yet Brooke hated the place. Don’t you see?”

  “I’m not an outback cattleman. I’m not Tomas Carlisle.”

  “No, you’re a pilot. And that’s not just what you do, it’s who you are. Like this station is part of Tomas, flying is a part of you.”

  The part she hated.

  “Are you saying you don’t want me to fly?” he asked slowly.

  “No. How could I? It’s part of you. Don’t you remember telling me about your first lesson, about your first time at the controls, your first solo flight? You said it was the only thing that came close to rivaling sex.”

  Their eyes met for a moment, and she knew he was recalling the rest of that comparison. When he’d told her that making love with her blew any kind of flying right out of the sky. Olivia remembered that day, too, in infinite, minute detail. It was the day she’d discovered that she loved him.

  Shutting down that bittersweet memory, she leaned closer, willing him to listen. To understand. And she willed those damn tears to stay away. “I can’t ask you to stop flying, Nic. I love you and I’ve loved every minute we’ve been together, but I can’t do this anymore. I just don’t think my love is enough.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nic stared at her in consternation. He didn’t believe this. It was bullshit. If she loved him, then why was she talking like it was over?

  There had to be more. There had to be a way to fix this.

  “What do you want from me, Liv? Commitment? A ring? Marriage?”

  Her eyes flared, bright with shock and unshed tears. “No. No!”

  “You say you love me, yet you don’t want to marry me?”

  “I don’t want marriage vows that include ‘to love and cherish whenever you’re around’ or ‘until I have to go identify your body at a morgue!’ I need a man who’ll be around tomorrow and next week and next year.”

  Nic did the translation: she wouldn’t consider marrying him because she was afraid he would be killed, like her sister, in a plane crash. Hope skyrocketed through his veins. Now he understood. Now he knew how to argue.

  “That’s crazy talk, Liv. I’m a hundred times—maybe a thousand times—more likely to die off the job. I could get cancer like Charles Carlisle or get hit by a bus crossing the street next week. You saw that road accident yesterday. Stuff like that just happens.”

  “I saw your landing yesterday, too. I was there!” Her voice rose, hot with fear and frustration. “I imagine with the kind of planes you fly, that just happens, too. I imagine it happening all the time!”

  “No. You’re wrong. You’ve exaggerated the risks.”

  “Possibly, but here’s the thing: it’s paranoia so it’s never going to be rational. You go away God-knows-where and I sit at home scared. I don’t want that middle-of-the-night call. I don’t want to identify your body. I can’t go through that again.”

  Nic didn’t know what to say. He could feel this sliding away, could feel her sliding away, and he didn’t know how to stop it. “I can give up flying when this contract’s over. If that’s what you want, if that’s—”

  “Then you wouldn’t be who you are. Don’t you see? I fell in love with the man you are—all of you. I don’t want to make you give up flying. That wouldn’t work.”

  “We could make it work.”

  “No.” She shook her head, then held up both hands to stave him off when he started toward her. “Please don’t do this. Please try to understand. I’m going to America next week. I want to move on.”

  Desperation gripped him, black and stark. “You want me to pretend to understand what’s going on here? After what we did last night, after you screamed my name when you came, you want to move on? To America? To your big-shot ex? How the hell am I supposed to understand that?”

  A dreadful silence followed his outburst. He watched her initial shock twist into disbelief and then harden into hurt and anger. “You think this is about Grant?”

  “You tell me, Liv? Is it?”

  “If that’s what you think, then I won’t waste my breath trying to explain anything else.”

  “There’s more?”

  “No,” she bit out. “There is no more. On that you can be very sure.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nic flew her back to Sydney the next morning in the Carlisles’ custom-fitted private plane. The luxury appointments and the smooth flying were wasted in her current mood, which had shifted from simmering disbelief after his backhander about moving on to Grant, to boiling anger when she discovered his deception over their night at the Boolah camp.

  He’d radioed from the crash site. He’d asked the Kameruka staff not to come until the next day. This she learned from the muster-pilot who’d arrived to collect them midmorning.

  “You orchestrated last night.” Eyes narrow with accusation, she’d turned on Nic. “We could have been picked up yesterday afternoon but you made sure we weren’t. You are unbelievable!”

  “What’s the problem, Liv? You didn’t want to get back in a plane. You got to enjoy a genuine outback camping experience…with side benefits. I didn’t hear you complaining about those at the time.”

  One side of her fumed for days over that casually delivered swipe. But as she threw herself into packing up her apartment, another side acknowledged his point and censured herself for sleeping with him. And for attempting to justify her weakness, her selfishness—for giving him one last chance to say those magical I-love-you, I’m-ready-to-settle-down words.

  She’d made her decision months ago and she should have told him why that first night.

  Looking around her empty rooms she felt a matching hollowness inside, not only for the end of a love affair but because of its acrimonious conclusion. She hated that they’d parted on such ugly terms. She hadn’t even said goodbye.

  It hurt like the devil, too, knowing she’d poured out her heart and soul with so little received in return. He’d offered to give up flying, if she wanted it. He’d made that half-baked what-do-you-want-from-me? proposal, too, which she couldn’t take seriously when he sounded so angry and bewildered.

  What do you want from me, Liv? Commitment? A ring? Marriage? Like he was throwing a hand
ful of darts and hoping one struck the target. She didn’t torture herself by wondering what he might have done if she’d answered, yes, Nic. All of the above.

  And, yeah, to top it all off, the pièce de résistance: she didn’t even know if his final frustrated burst of anger was the lashing-out of a wounded soul or of a wounded male ego. He’d never liked Grant. He would hate—truly loathe—the thought of her working for his company.

  With a resigned sigh, she finished taping up a box of books and dragged it over to the Goodwill pile. When she stood and stretched her aching back—a legacy of that genuine outback camping experience, with side benefits—she caught a familiar face on the television news.

  She’d muted the volume and now, heart pounding, she scrambled to find the remote. When it took three attempts to turn the audio on, she realized how badly her hands were shaking.

  The camera angle switched to the second anchor, and she growled with frustration when she was told to “stay tuned for sports news after the break.”

  “I don’t want sports news.” She sank to the floor in front of the set and started flipping through the channels. “I want that last piece.”

  Finally, on her second run through the cable channels, she found the story she wanted.

  The same headshot filled the screen for several seconds, as a perky brunette newsreader picked up the story.

  “After a brief battle with cancer, one of Australia’s wealthiest businessmen passed away today. Charles “King” Carlisle earned his regal nickname as lord and ruler of extensive cattle holdings in Northern Australia, but he also headed a large and diverse group of family-owned companies, including Carlisle Hotels and Resorts, and numerous property and investment holdings.

  “In recent years, the Carlisle family has hit the news largely through speculation about the health of his wife—now widow—Maura Keane Carlisle, a former model and actress in her native Britain, and also via his newsworthy sons.

  “The private lives of Alex, Rafe and Tomas Carlisle—or as they’ve been famously and collectively dubbed, ‘The Princes of the Outback’—will be under even closer scrutiny as they stand to inherit a significant fortune.

  “Funeral details have not been released although sources close to the family say it will be a private burial at the Carlisle’s famous cattle station, Kameruka Downs.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Olivia had never met Nic’s sister, but she was one hundred percent certain that’s who answered when she knocked on his door. Her trademark Mori eyes—dark, slightly slanted, thickly lashed—regarded Livvy with considerable coolness. Perhaps, she’d been mistaken for a door-to-door salesperson.

  “I’m Olivia Shay.” She smiled warmly. “A friend of Nic’s. I wondered…is he home?”

  Angie Mori didn’t return her smile or introduction. If possible, her expression became even less welcoming. And she didn’t open the door any farther than the initial wedge.

  “No, I’m sorry. He’s not.”

  Except she didn’t sound sorry at all. Or helpful. No mention of when he might be back. No offer to take a message. Livvy drew a long breath. “Would you please tell him I called to offer my condolences? To you, too. I know you were all close to Mr. Carlisle.”

  For a brief second she detected a softening in the other woman’s expression. A deep sorrow in her eyes. “Thank you. We will all miss him.”

  Angie still held on tight to the door, and Olivia wondered if it was more of a prop—something to hold on to or to hold herself together—rather than a deliberate attempt to block access. Nic had told her how close the Moris were to the Carlisles. Angie Mori was upset and so Livvy cut her some slack.

  “Nice to meet you, Angie, despite the circumstances. I’m on my way to the airport, so I’d best keep going.”

  Angie nodded. Then, after Livvy had turned to go, she offered something more. “I don’t know if you know this, but I was a friend of Brooke’s. At school,” she called after her.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  For the first time, she actually sounded genuine. Livvy turned back. “Thank you. I’m a little raw at the moment. I’ve just returned from Kameruka Downs.”

  Angie’s dark gaze turned frosty. Finally, she let go of the door, but only to fold her arms across her chest. “I gather you ran into Dominic out there.”

  “He flew me back to Sydney. Yes.” And, dammit, she was tired of all the negative vibes.

  “You will tell Nic I called? You will pass on my condolences?”

  The other woman looked away momentarily, then back. Her eyes definitely were not cool now. They sparked with animosity. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you, Olivia. I’m pretty sure I won’t pass on your message to my brother.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s not in a good place right now. He’s chafed. He’s hurting.”

  “I realize that. It’s why I called and why I’d like my message delivered. I know how much he thought of Mr. Carlisle.”

  Angie turned her eyes skyward a moment. Then she sighed. “That’s one thing. But I was referring—obviously too obliquely—to the fact that you dumped him cold.”

  What could she say to that? Guilty as charged? Still, Olivia lifted her chin and looked her accuser in the eye. “I guess that explains your warm welcome.”

  Angie eyed her back for a long assessing moment. “It might not be my place to ask this, but that’s never stopped me before. Do you love my brother?”

  “You’re right,” Livvy said stiffly. “It’s not your place.”

  One thick dark brow arched impressively, as if conceding that point. “Well, I’ve never been one to hold back saying what I think and I think you treated Nic pretty shabbily. These last few years, all the crappy places he’s worked, all the time he’s spent away, just working hand over fist to save enough money to set himself up in business. Then he’s almost there, so close he can smell it, and you ditch him.”

  Her heart started thumping, hard. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about his dopey idea that he needs—I don’t know—” Angie shrugged and threw her hands wide “—to establish himself or have money or assets or whatever to be worthy of you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Livvy’s voice was barely audible, a gruff whisper beneath the loud thud of her pulse. “Why would he think that?”

  “Beats me…although my guess is that it’s because he loves you. I hope you know that.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nic noticed her the instant she arrived for the graveside service. Amid the funereal black, her hair shone like a red-gold beacon, her skin an ethereal pale contrast.

  She was supposed to have left for America. For her new job, her new life, her new man. What the hell was she doing here?

  All through the short service, even when his eyes closed in prayer or reflection, he couldn’t rid the image of her delicate beauty from his mind. Couldn’t stop churning over her presence, back here at Kameruka Downs. He’d been on the plane the Carlisles had chartered to bring only the closest family and friends out from Sydney for this private burial.

  She had not been on that plane. No way would he have missed her in that small and select group. He would have known.

  Bowing his head, he closed his eyes again. With the utmost willpower he shut out her image and tuned in to the solemn voice of the minister. He couldn’t do a thing to shut out the acute ache of loss.

  Back at the homestead she sought him out, offering her short message of sympathy with tears sheening in her eyes. The touch of her hand on his arm seared right through his suit jacket, his shirt, his skin. All the way to the raw wound inside.

  “How did you get here?” he asked. “I hope to hell you didn’t drive all the way from Darwin again.”

  “You told me that was a senseless thing to do, so no.” Memories of that day, how it started, how it ended, arced between them a moment before she continued. “I flew out with Alex and Rafe, actually. There was a spare seat o
n the jet.”

  Alex’s Citation—which couldn’t land on the Kameruka airstrip—meaning she’d made the last hop on a small plane. “Didn’t they warn you about the final leg?”

  “They did.”

  She looked calm, sounded unperturbed. Nic frowned. “You seem remarkably relaxed about that. Are you tranquilized?”

  A smile ghosted over her lips. “No, and I was remarkably unrelaxed at the time. But some things you have to do.”

  Nic glanced around him, at the mourners assembled in the homestead’s central courtyard. “I’m sure the Carlisles appreciate it.”

  “Yes. They’ve been wonderful to me. Always. I wanted to be here for them, yes, but mostly for you.”

  Their eyes met with a jolt of impact. “Weren’t you supposed to leave for L.A. yesterday?”

  “I got as far as the airport, but I couldn’t get on the plane.”

  “You cancelled?”

  “Postponed.” She moistened her lips. “I couldn’t get on the plane because of something your sister said.”

  “When the hell did you speak to Angie?”

  “Yesterday. I called to see you, on my way to the airport.”

  She’d called to see him. To what? Rub in the fact she was leaving? Nic huffed out a harsh breath. “You have a strange way of moving on, Olivia.”

  “I heard about Mr. Carlisle. I knew you’d be hurting.”

  Nic didn’t bother pointing out he’d been bleeding before that news came through. “So. You visited with Angie.”

  “It was…interesting.”

  “Yeah, well, Angie’s never been accused of dull.”

  “She is your sister.”

  Looking into her eyes, seeing the flicker of humor and beneath it the thick churn of deeper emotion, he could have sworn time stopped. Everything stilled. His senses zeroed in on her and whatever had brought her back.

  “Angie accused me of breaking your heart and I need to know if that’s true. Do you love me, Nic? Or do you only hate that I’m leaving you; that you think I’m going back to Grant? Talk to me, Nic, please. I need to know.”