Downunder Heat Read online

  Kitty rolled her eyes, grabbed her sandwich and walked out of the comfortable, air-conditioned office.

  Sweat trickled down her back despite the patchy shade provided by some scraggly shrubs. The smell of diesel and burning coal made her feel sick. The sandwich in her hand looked limp and unappetizing so she dropped it into a rubbish bin.

  A movement near the doorway to the foundry section of the complex drew her attention. A tall, lean man wearing a hard hat, clipboard in hand, strode across the open space and disappeared inside. Kitty blinked then shook her head. The heat had to be getting to her. His athletic body and strong facial features reminded her of her lifesaver—either that or every Australian male really did look like Hugh Jackman.

  Ridiculous. Lifesavers worked at the beach, not in hard hats at steelworks.

  The heat had to really be getting to her if she’d started hallucinating. It was one thing to find her mind constantly returning to the impressive physique of the man who’d so quietly and efficiently dragged her to safety—it was another thing altogether to start imagining she saw him wherever she happened to be. The few crumbs clinging to her skirt tumbled to the ground as she stood to walk back to her office.

  The afternoon passed slowly. At first, she’d thought no one spoke to her because she was new, but she soon realized no one spoke at all, apart from queries directly related to work. There was no nastiness—just a complete absence of social interaction. The silence made her uneasy. Where was the friendliness Australians were famous for?

  Her shoulders slumped. It would be hard to make new friends if no one from work would even talk to her. Perhaps it was a Monday thing. Her natural optimism surfaced. Maybe today was just an off day and tomorrow would be better.

  * * * *

  The sheets on her bed were twisted and bunched around her legs. Her groin throbbed and twitched with the aftermath of orgasm. The imagined stroke of her rescuer’s hard brown hands still lingered on her skin and her nostrils filled with the remembered fragrance of sunblock and the sea. Kitty flung herself onto her side and stared into the darkness, a sweaty, panting wreck. Her dream had seemed so real—the thick cock driving her to ecstasy, wide muscled shoulders of the naked man above her, the firm jaw…the hard hat! Her dream lover had alternated between the cotton-capped lifesaver and the man she had glimpsed at the factory today. And he’d been good! It might have only been a dream, but the waves of aftershock quaking through her were real. The last time she’d come that hard had been… Her memory failed her. If she’d ever had sex that good, it had been so long ago she’d forgotten what it felt like.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to get back to sleep, but her mind kept worrying at the implications of her erotic dream. What was happening to her when she obsessed over one man, who had just been doing his job and had dismissed her as soon as he got her to shore, and another she hadn’t even seen properly? Maybe the dream and her decision to escape from her responsibilities at home were all part of some delayed mid-life crisis. Perhaps she needed to get out and make some friends. Maybe if she interacted with real people she could put these phantoms aside.

  * * * *

  The silence in the office the next day suited her grumpy mood. After dropping her handbag on the floor next to her desk, she started up her computer and reached for the papers she’d left on her desk the night before. Except they weren’t where she’d left them. Not on the desk. Not on the floor beneath. The single drawer under her desk was empty.

  A lump settled in her throat. How would she explain their loss? And if they were important or confidential, would she lose her job after only one day?

  To make matters worse, the office manager strode into the room at that moment and walked straight up to Kitty.

  Any hope of the papers miraculously appearing in time to save Kitty from a disastrous confession disappeared.

  Before Kitty could open her mouth to attempt some sort of explanation, the woman spoke. “I believe these are yours.”

  Her hand was clutched around a sheaf of papers. The papers.

  “You have them?” Kitty gasped. Relief made her knees wobble. “I thought I’d lost them.”

  The office manager frowned, and Kitty belatedly realized that might not have been the wisest thing to say. “I only just noticed they were missing. I left them securely parceled up on my desk last night. I know I did.”

  “Which is where I found them,” the manager confirmed. “That won’t do, I’m afraid. We operate a clear desk policy here. Nothing is to be left on the desktop overnight. Any unfinished work goes into your lock box in the secure store room.”

  The manager’s gaze settled on the framed photo of her daughter, Cassie, that Kitty had placed there yesterday. “And no personal items at any time,” she said.

  Suppressing a sigh of irritation, Kitty put the photo back in her bag. No lunch, no chat, no photos, no personalized space—the office felt alien and uncomfortable and there didn’t seem to be much hope for change.

  At lunchtime she picked up her sandwich and went out to the same seat she’d used yesterday. The doorway to the foundry was right in front of her. Several people went in and out, but none of them were her Hugh Jackman look-alike. Not that she was looking for him. Checking out those who passed through the doorway was purely because she wanted proof she’d been mistaken. Not because her dreams were filled with images of wet, golden skin stretched over tight muscles and… Damn, she really had to stop behaving like a love-struck teenager obsessing over some unobtainable man.

  The air conditioning, if there was any, had failed on the bus that took her home. By the time she got out, her skin felt sticky and grimy, her blouse was damp and her skirt clung like moist leather to her legs. The five-minute walk from the bus stop to her door added to her discomfort. Her feet hurt and her bag dragged at her shoulders. The stairs to her apartment seemed to have grown longer and steeper.

  The entire day had left her flat, stale and irritable. It was five thirty-five—plenty of time. The sun didn’t set until seven thirty and the beach was just a few minutes’ walk away. One stupid mistake wouldn’t keep her from something she really enjoyed. Swim between the flags. That’s all she had to remember.

  For so late in the evening, the beach was crowded with people eager to wash away the heat and stresses of the day. The sand, in the afternoon shadows of buildings and the sea wall, was cool beneath her feet. This time Kitty noticed the distinctive red and yellow flags in the sand, and turned her head to check. Yes, behind her was a glass-fronted observation box. Inside, she assumed, were the lifeguards on duty. Not that she was looking for anyone in particular.

  With a shimmy, she shrugged off her loose-fitting dress and walked down to the water, letting the coolness refresh her. After a shallow dive into an oncoming wave she surfaced, pushing her wet hair from her face. Somewhere in the action all the minor annoyances faded in a rush of pure pleasure. Blue skies, a fading golden sun warm on her back and cool turquoise water washing over her skin.

  Diving now and then to avoid the churn of foam, she moved beyond the break line then looked back the way she had come. The shoreline was there, exactly where it should be. No rip had carried her into danger. On the return journey, a breaking wave caught her and she flexed her body, pushing her arms out the way she’d seen others doing, riding the wave homewards. When it fractured into a mass of lacy ripples, she stood up, her heart racing, her mouth pulled into a wide grin. She’d caught a wave and now she knew how wonderful it felt.

  Eager to recapture that moment of weightless power, of being swept along by forces so huge yet under control, she did it over and over again, until, exhausted, she pulled herself from the water and lay panting on the sand, letting the sinking sun dry her before it dropped swiftly out of sight, bypassing twilight altogether.

  At last she pulled herself to her feet and headed home, too tired to do more than grab a bowl of cereal to eat before she showered and dropped into bed.

  * * * *

  After her two d
ays off in the middle of the week, going back to her somber workplace had filled her with gloom. At four forty-five, one of her co-workers, a woman of about her age, stunned Kitty by sidling over to her desk then leaning down to whisper, “Since you’re so new I wondered if anyone mentioned the Friday afternoon drinks to you?”

  “No,” Kitty replied, her surprise at the first overture of welcome she’d seen making her sound tentative.

  “The work atmosphere here is pretty formal,” the woman said. “There’s not much time for chat or getting to know people.”

  “I thought it was just me,” Kitty said. “That no one wanted to talk to me.”

  “I was afraid you might think we’re an unfriendly bunch,” the woman said, casting a quick glance from side to side, before she smiled. Her face lit up with it and Kitty found herself smiling in return. The woman winked. “The rules are strict and not much fun. Nothing we can do about it in here, but we do try to make up for it after work. We get together at the local pub. I’m Jenny, by the way.”

  “I’m Kitty,” Kitty replied. “Does everyone go?”

  “Those who have young families often don’t,” Jenny said. “But lots of us do. The hotel puts on a good meal and there’s usually a live band. Some of us kick on, make a night of it. Would you like to come? You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to, but it would be a good chance to get to know a few people, especially if you’re new to Wollongong as well as to the job.”

  “I’m not really dressed for a night out,” Kitty said, looking down at her boxy business suit.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jenny replied. “Take your jacket off, freshen up the makeup, and you’ll be fine. We all go straight from work and no one’s fussy.”

  Compared to the prospect of going home alone and watching TV, a night out and the chance to get to know someone was too good to resist. Kitty grinned. “I’d love to come.”

  “You can come with me,” Jenny offered. “I’ve got a car. It’s not far but it will save a walk.”

  * * * *

  The pub was crowded with groups of people laughing and calling out to each other. Four women already sat at a table big enough for ten. Jenny made her way over and introduced Kitty to Rachel and Gretchen, whom Kitty recognized as co-workers, and to Maria and Celeste who worked on the floor above hers. Their smiles were friendly. The tension that seemed to have permanently stiffened Kitty’s shoulders dropped away. Jenny offered to buy the first round of drinks.

  “Where’s the engineering crew tonight?” Rachel asked.

  “They’re going to be late,” Jenny replied. “There was a glitch on the furnace line and they’re working with the IT people to try to work out what it is. What’s everyone having to drink?”

  The chorus of voices that followed this request made little sense to Kitty, but she added her request anyway. Jenny strode to the bar returning with a metal tray that seemed to have the right drinks for the right people.

  Kitty’s cool rum and cola slid down like nectar at the end of a long week and she listened to the jokes and laughter. It felt good to be out with a group of people who wanted to have fun.

  Her glass was barely empty when Rachel stood up. “My shout. Same again?”

  Before she knew it another rum and cola had appeared in front of her. Drinking it slowly wasn’t an option when Australian custom dictated they all ‘keep up’.

  “I’ll get the next round,” Celeste said.

  The drinking proceeded faster than Kitty was used to, but the buzz building in the back of her head carried with it a powerful surge of relaxation and feel-good factor.

  Just as Celeste gave her a third drink, the chair beside her was pulled out and a large, male body slid into it. “Well, well. My would-be mermaid. Fancy meeting you here.”

  Kitty turned to the right and there beside her, his brown eyes as warm and sparkling as she remembered, sat her rescuer. Her hand shook, the drink splashed into her mouth, slid down the wrong way and she choked. A hard, firm hand pounded her on the back.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, unable to speak. At least the coughing fit gave her an excuse for the fire burning in her cheeks.

  His hand rested on her back, the pounding giving way to a gentle pat as she gradually regained her breath. When she finally wiped her streaming eyes and stopped spluttering, he held his hand out. “I’m Zakk Mansfield,” he said. “Maybe one day we’ll meet under less life-threatening circumstances.”

  Kitty looked at his long, lean fingers, then let her gaze trace a path up his arms, across his wide, white cotton-clad shoulders to his stubbled jaw. Breathing took all of her concentration, leaving her with nothing to do, nothing to say. At last habit kicked in and she extended her hand. “Kitty. My name. It’s Kitty.”

  His fingers wrapped around hers and she quivered. He seemed to take that as an acceptable substitute for shaking, because he released her hand, smiled at her and asked, “What are you doing here with this lot? You aren’t going to tell me you work at the steelworks, too.”

  “No. I mean, yes…” Oh hell. Even if she hadn’t been trying to talk with a mouth that had decided not to work, she still couldn’t have made a reasonable answer.

  Her breath froze in her chest while she floundered her way out of her fugue. “I don’t know how to answer that,” she said. “Yes, I am going to tell you? Or yes, I do work there but I’m not going to tell you? Or no, I don’t work there but I’m not saying anything?”

  By the time she’d finished, Zakk was laughing. His eyes danced and he held up his hands in front of him, palms out.

  “Okay. I deserved that.” His grin got wider. “Are you employed at the steelworks? There, is that straightforward enough for you?”

  His straight white teeth, the wide curve of his mouth and the grooves and lines that added character to his face pulled at something in Kitty’s chest, cutting off her air supply. It took a moment of concentrated effort to be able to reply. “Yes.”

  Zakk laughed. “Does that yes mean yes it is better or yes you work there?”

  “Smart Alec,” she muttered, swatting him lightly on the arm.

  “Ooh, named Kitty for a reason, are we?” He winked at her. “Keep your claws sheathed, Kitty Cat. I promise to behave.” He leaned back in his seat, his gaze never leaving her. “So, if Saturday was your first day in Australia, and we know that didn’t go as badly as it could have, how was the rest of your week? Have you been back to the beach?”

  Before she could answer, one of the men walked over and handed Zakk a glass of beer. Zakk nodded his thanks and raised his glass. “To the end of an interesting week.” A chorus of agreement followed and Zakk took a deep draft, emptying about a third of the glass in one go.

  The first of the men’s rounds disappeared even quicker than the women’s had, and, before Kitty had time to count, everyone seemed to be on their fourth drinks. Zakk stretched and rolled his shoulders and, as more people arrived, he shuffled his seat closer to Kitty’s. His thigh brushed against hers and an electric sizzle radiated out from the spot, spreading heat along her nerve endings. The contact left her mouth dry, but more embarrassing parts of her grew wet. Her chair butted against the leg of the table. There was nowhere to go, no way to escape his disturbing, delicious warmth short of getting up and moving to another seat—and nothing short of a natural disaster was going to make her do that. The soft scent of tired male, cologne and beer surrounded her, and she felt better than she had in a long, long time. The evening grew golden and hazy, the last of the sun drifted through the windows, the shuffle of feet stirred up dust motes that drifted through the air like tiny diamonds.

  Zakk turned his head and fixed her with his tawny gaze. “So, Kitty, what have you been up to?”

  “Me? Oh nothing much… Just settling in.” Oh, God, she was babbling…and boring. Great way to hold a conversation. Far better to ask Zakk about himself. “I thought you were a lifesaver,” she said. “Why are you here?” As soon as the words ha
d left her mouth, she wished she could call them back. They sounded more like an accusation than a conversation starter. “I mean, I thought this was drinks for people from the steelworks, and you—”

  “I’m an engineer, Kitty. We work at the same place. I’m a volunteer lifeguard. Unlike the council-employed guys, I just pull patrols on weekends and public holidays. And compete in surf carnivals.”

  “You mean a carnival, with Ferris wheels and hot dogs and stuff. In the surf? How does that work?” Kitty asked, knowing even as she said it she couldn’t be right.

  Zakk laughed. “You really don’t know much about the beach, do you?” He leaned toward her. “A surf carnival is when a surf club competes against another surf club. There’s a whole pile of events. I do Iron Man.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Kitty, although his explanation hadn’t made anything clearer. He looked like Hugh Jackman, not Robert Downey Junior or Ozzy Osborne. Well, he did have amazingly hard muscles, and he was bronzed, but she suspected there would be more to being an Iron Man than that. “Is it called Iron Man because you work in the steel industry?” she asked.

  “Kitty, you are a delight.” Zakk laughed and picked up her hand. “You’ll have to come with me one day and see for yourself.”

  His eyes twinkled, the pupils dark and wide, and Kitty reeled from the shock. He was flirting with her!

  “Be back in a minute,” Zakk said. “Bathroom break.”

  He moved away, taking all the heat and sparkle with him. In the cold white light of reality that remained, Kitty woke up. This was foolish beyond permission. Alcohol had blinded her to the truth. Someone as young and gorgeous as Zakk would never flirt with a woman like her. He’d probably gone to the toilet to get away.