Dance with the Devil by Sandy Curtis

been. From the beginning he had wanted her. Even in sleep, without knowing her, his body had reacted to hers on a basic, primitive level. He had recognised the attraction, the need, even before his emotions and intellect had confirmed it. And making love with her, fierce and intense though it had been, had affected him like nothing else ever had.
    He warmed up the food again, spooned it onto a plate, picked up a knife and fork and returned to Emma's bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, arms clasped around drawn up knees. She looked up as he approached, but didn't speak.
    Drew put the plate on the dresser, then picked up his shorts. His nakedness didn't bother him - it would be a charade to pretend otherwise after what had just occurred. He was about to say something to Emma, try to sort out why she had reacted the way she did, but he hesitated when he saw her exhaustion, the confusion in her eyes.
    He left the room.
     
    An hour later, Drew gave up trying to get to sleep. He'd eaten, made sure the doors were locked, the rifle handy, and gone to bed. He'd heard Emma take her plate back to the kitchen, then silence.
    He swung out of bed, ignored the pain in his leg and walked to the hallway. Light from the kero lamp illuminated the living room. As he walked closer, he saw Emma's leg dangling over the side of a lounge chair. A medical magazine lay on the floor, an inch from one limp hand. Her lips were slightly parted, her nightgown-clad body sprawled in sleep.
    As he gazed down at her, Drew felt a surge of protectiveness. He'd once thought he knew what love was, but now he realised that what this woman did to him was beyond anything he had ever encountered.
    He turned the lamp off and waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then he bent down and picked Emma up. She murmured in sleep and settled against his chest. At her bedroom door, he hesitated. It would be the right thing to do - place her on her own bed and return to his.
    Damn! It might be right, but it wouldn't feel right. She was running from him, erecting emotional barriers, barriers he would have to break down. Any way he could.
    A saying his mother used to laughingly quote at him echoed in his mind. 'All's fair in love, war and strawberry shortcake.' Well, this wasn't war, at least not the kind of war Emma had mentioned, and it certainly wasn't strawberry shortcake, but it was beginning to feel suspiciously like love.
    With a silent prayer that his mother was right, he turned towards his bedroom, Emma's breath warm against his neck, her body pliant in his arms.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The sound of the Land Cruiser driving off woke Drew. He reached across the bed. Emma was gone.
    It had felt so good, going to sleep last night with her in his arms. But now he wondered if his attempt to make her feel closer to him, to demonstrate he could care for her without expecting sexual gratification, might have had the opposite effect. He had intended to talk to her this morning, show her there was more to how he felt than just physical attraction, but now it was too late.
    A cool breeze fluttered the curtains. Drew hoped it was an indication that autumn was on its way, bringing some relief from the heat.
    He remembered Emma telling Tom she would return today to check on Mary and the baby. He thought of the flooded river, the crocodile, and he swore vehemently. He hoped Emma had enough sense not to drive across the bridge if it was still under water.
     
    By nature Drew was not a patient person, but circumstances had taught him this hard-earned attribute, and working as a lawyer had honed his ability to wait. To wait for the evidence to be revealed, to wait for the witness to make one tiny mistake.
    But waiting for Emma to return was proving to be beyond him. One o'clock came and went.
    He pulled on boots, pushed the Akubra down on his thick hair, picked up the rifle and walked to the stables. Emma had let the horses into the adjacent paddock. Drew whistled softly and the mare