Free The Australian by Diana Palmer

awe. “I like it, too. Your hands...are so big.”
    “You’re not big at all,” he said gently. “You’re delicate and soft and you always smell of gardenias. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of making love to you.”
    “I can just see you doing that while you herd cattle.” She laughed unsteadily.
    “Mustering,” he corrected. “In Australia, we muster mobs of cattle.”
    “In America, we have laws against the mob, and we punch cattle. And we have ranches, not stations. And—”
    “And you talk a lot.” He stopped her banter with his lips. “Slide that little hand inside my shirt, and touch me the way I’m touching you. I like being stroked, too.”
    “Really?” she breathed, all eyes.
    “Really.”
    She’d gotten the first two buttons undone when footsteps sounded in the hall and she groaned. “Oh, damn, just when I’m getting the hang of it...”
    “Not my fault.” He laughed softly, letting her get to her feet. “You should have hurried.”
    “Just you wait,” she threatened as she straightened her T-shirt.
    “I’ll try,” he sighed, studying her slender lovely body. “But I’ll ache in the damnedest places until then.”
    She turned away, blushing wildly, as Margaret came back into the room, beaming, full of news from home, the biggest part of it being how thrilled Renée and Adam were about the engagement. And once she started, John and Priss didn’t have a chance for further conversation.
    Before she knew it, it was time to go with John to the airport. He seemed as reluctant as she felt, and he clung warmly to her hand in the cab and through the terminal. She stopped when he reached Customs and Immigration, and her eyes blurred with tears as she looked up into the rough, broad face she loved so much.
    “Don’t look like that, or I won’t be able to leave you,” he breathed. “God, Priss, I’d give anything to take you with me!”
    “Would I fit in your pocket?”
    “Not quite, I’m afraid.” He pulled her against him. “Although without your high heels, you barely come to my chin.”
    “John,” she said, scanning his face, “you meant it, didn’t you? You do want to marry me?”
    “Would I have asked you, if I didn’t?” he mocked. “After all,” he added, bending to whisper, “I haven’t seduced you, and we don’t have to rush to the altar before your waistline expands, do we?”
    She reddened and grinned at him. “I thought about it last night,” she confessed. “I thought about taking my clothes off and climbing into bed with you.”
    “What stopped you?” he asked.
    She shrugged, staring at the gray vest of his suit. “I was afraid you might not like being seduced.”
    He tilted up her chin. “I find the idea wildly exciting,” he confided, holding her gaze. “I’d like letting you make love to me.”
    “Oh, John,” she wailed helplessly.
    “Too late now.” He chuckled.
    Her lips smoothed over his, and he stopped laughing and kissed her with hungry passion. His arms crushed her, and his mouth devoured, penetrating, arousing, and she stood there and let him do what he wanted, drowning in the love she felt for him, loving his ardor. Her arms clung around his neck, and she felt her legs tremble when he lifted his head.
    “Want me, Priss?” he whispered unsteadily, with blazing eyes. “I want you, too.”
    “Yes, I can feel...I mean...” she faltered, drawing away a little in embarrassment.
    “We’re going to be married,” he said softly. “It’s all right if we know intimate things about each other now.”
    She swallowed. “Yes.”
    He brushed his lips over her closed eyelids. “When we’re together again,” he whispered, “we’ll undress each other and lie together and make out like crazy. I’ll try to get back next month, or maybe you can come home.”
    Her heart was beating so wildly, it hurt her. She buried her face against him, trembling with frustrated ardor. “Could we do that,” she questioned unsteadily, “and not go all