Outback Baby. Barbara Hannay

her chin to what she hoped was a challenging angle. ‘There were several men,’ she told him. ‘But, Max, you’re not my big brother. I’m not giving you an itemised account and you don’t need to keep watch over me. It’s none of your business how many men I’ve met or—or how many affairs I’ve had.’ Pushing back her chair, she jumped to her feet. ‘I haven’t asked you one tiny question about your breakfast companions.’

      He stood also and looked down at her from his menacing height. ‘What would you like to know?’ he asked while a poorly suppressed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

      ‘I have absolutely no interest in your philanderings.’ She spun on her heel and began to stomp away from the table. Then she stopped abruptly, remembering her manners. ‘I’ll help you clear the table and tidy the kitchen,’ she mumbled.

      ‘Thank you, Gemma,’ he replied with a studied politeness that annoyed her.

      In silence they worked, Max gathering up the plates and cutlery, Gemma collecting the cups, place mats and serviettes. Together they walked into the kitchen and set their things down at the sink. They both reached for the tap at the same time. Their hands connected.

      As if she’d been burnt, Gemma snatched her hand away from the contact, but Max’s reaction was just as quick and he caught her fingers in his strong grasp.

      His thumb stroked her skin once, twice…and she felt her blood stirring in response. Her hand trembled.

      She wanted to pull away, but she was too fascinated by her body’s astonishing reaction. Never had she felt so unsettled, so fired up by a man’s simple touch. She didn’t dare look at Max. She stood by the sink, mesmerised by the sight of her slim white hand in his large, suntanned grip. She could see little hairs on the back of his hand, bleached to gold by the sun. A faint trace of the fresh, lemon-scented soap he’d used in the shower still clung to his skin and his work-roughened thumb continued to move slowly over her hand, making her feel shivery and breathless.

      ‘Gem.’ His gruff voice barely reached her over the savage drumbeat in her ears.

      She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

      ‘Gemma,’ he said again, and his other hand reached under her chin, forcing her head up until their eyes met. Max was looking as startled as she felt. His breathing sounded just as hectic.

      When his fingers began to trace ever so gently the outline of her face, she could feel her skin flame at his touch.

      ‘Gemma Brown,’ he whispered, ‘whether you like it or not, I’m going to keep watching you…just like I always have.’

      And the moment was spoiled. Gemma was embarrassingly disappointed.

      ‘For Pete’s sake!’ she exclaimed, wrenching her hand out of his grasp and pulling right away from him. She was fearfully angry with him and she wasn’t quite sure why. ‘You are not my brother, my bodyguard or my guardian angel!’ For a dreadful moment she thought she might burst into tears. ‘Go paint some more walls. Get a life, Max, and leave me to get on with mine!’

      This time she didn’t care about good manners. Gemma rushed out of the kitchen and left him with the dirty dishes.