She rubbed the soft towel over her breasts and her nipples hardened again, the ache of arousal inside her a physical pain. Why was she such a coward? Why didn't she just. . .?

  And suddenly she found herself crying, long sobs racking her body. She put the towel to her face and wept.

  "I don't seem to be able to get used to the quietness of the house when the kids are up at the farm," Rachel said as they walked through from the garage after work the next day.

  When they were rostered to work together, they usually traveled together in Rachel's station wagon.

  Rachel still felt strung out from the emotional overload the evening before, and the storm had had little to do with it. Now it seemed safer somehow, talking about the children.

  "I feel sort of unfinished myself, with Katie not here. I haven't really spent any time apart from her since she was born."

  "She'll be fine up there. Rose is one of the most sensible people I know," Rachel reassured her again as they walked into the living room.

  "I know. I'm not really concerned about that. And I also know I can't keep her in cotton batting. She'll be starting school soon, and I've always known that would be a wrench. I mean, Katie's been to preschool, so I don't know why the fact that she's going to school bothers me."

  "I think it's because going to school is their sort of symbolic first big step away from you. At least, that's how I saw it with Fliss and Adam."

  "You're probably right." Quinn sighed. "I guess I have to learn to let go some time, so I might as well start getting used to it now."

  "I think most mothers feel the same. I know I felt absolutely devastated when I had to leave both of mine at school on their first days. Fliss and Adam both went off happily to play with the other kids while I bawled all the way home. Both times." Rachel smiled and shook her head. "Rob told me I should have been happy they were both outgoing and well-adjusted."

  "They are that. They're both great kids."

  "The three of them are."

  "So I guess we must have done something right, then." Quinn glanced at her wristwatch. "Almost dinner time. How about I order us a pizza?"

  "Pizza would be great," Rachel was more than a little pleased that Quinn wanted to spend more time with her, and she studiously ignored the small spurt of concern inside her that implied being alone with Quinn wasn't such a good idea. "But we can go dutch treat."

  "No. I'm buying." Quinn walked over to the phone. "What's your preferred topping?"

  With the pizza ordered, Rachel decided to make them each a small salad. They moved about the kitchen preparing it, Quinn talking about a couple of demanding customers she'd had that day, making Rachel laugh delightedly at her true-to-life impersonations.

  "Want to watch a movie while we eat?" Rachel asked as they returned to the living room. "I've got a small collection of tapes."

  "Sure. What have you got to offer?" Quinn walked over to the video cabinet.

  Rachel made an issue of settling on the couch, glad Quinn had her back to her and couldn't see Rachel's flushed face. To offer? Rachel wished she could tell Quinn what she'd really like.

  "The top shelf are mine, and on the bottom shelf are the kids' movies," she said quickly, and Quinn went down on her haunches to read the titles.

  "Sleeping Beauty. Care Bears." She turned and grinned at Rachel. "Let's be devils, seeing as we're alone. Let's have one from the top shelf."

  Rachel laughed. "There's nothing too avant-garde, I'm afraid. You choose."

  Quinn pulled out a video. "The Full Monty. Great. I missed this one. But I guess you've seen it." She turned to Rachel.

  "That's okay. It was ages ago. I could see it again."

  "It's supposed to be funny."

  "It is. But there's an underlying sadness. It's good, though, because the characters are wonderful and they're making a positive out of a negative situation. I think you'll enjoy it." Rachel set her salad down on the coffee table and stood up. "I forgot drinks."

  Quinn followed Rachel into the kitchen, and Rachel opened the fridge door. "I've got Coke or lemonade, fruit juice, and there's a couple of beers, too. What do you feel like?"

  Rachel paused, waiting for Quinn's reply. She straightened, a cold can of beer in her hand, and she looked around, her gaze meeting Quinn's.

  Quinn was leaning against the doorjamb, her face pale, a closed expression on her face as she glanced at the can of beer in Rachel's hand. "Coke will be fine," she said evenly.

  Rachel swallowed. "I'm sorry, I. . ." She slid the beer back into the fridge. "Coke it is," she said quickly and handed the drink to Quinn. She took a fruit juice for herself. When she turned back to Quinn, the other woman was looking at the drink in her hand.

  "I haven't had a beer since the night it happened," Quinn said quietly. "I can't even bear the smell of it."

  Rachel put her hand on Quinn's arm. "That's understandable, Quinn. I'm sorry. I didn't even think —"

  "It wasn't your fault. I just, it's strange, really. I don't seem to have a problem with driving or being driven, but the smell of beer seems to bring it all back."

  Rachel's hand rubbed the smooth skin of Quinn's arm. Quinn looked down at the point of contact and then back at Rachel. As their eyes met, something shifted in Rachel's chest. Suddenly that same heavy tension seemed to envelop them, hold them captive.

  Rachel could feel herself being drawn into the clear gray depths of Quinn's eyes, her senses swirling, her control slipping. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. Her gaze fell, her eyes settling on the full curve of Quinn's lips, and all she wanted was to touch them with her own, taste them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rachel suspected she was moving forward when the buzzing of the doorbell cut between them like a knife.

  They both jumped, and Rachel clutched at her fruit juice as it slipped from her hand. She caught it before it hit the floor.

  "That'll be the pizza," Quinn said softly, and she was the first to move toward the door.

  As they ate their meal they watched the movie Quinn had chosen, although Rachel found it difficult to concentrate on the plot. All she could hear was the thunderous beating of her heart as it pounded inside her. And her focus seemed set on the tanned length of Quinn's bare legs so close beside her on the couch.

  That moment in the kitchen when she had been so aware of Quinn had left her shaken and restless. All the more so because she suspected Quinn had felt the tension too. This fascination she felt for Quinn was growing steadily, and it frightened her as much as it had all those years ago. Probably more so, she told herself.

  Back then the attraction was all mixed up with a hundred other fears. Fear about why she was attracted to Quinn. Fear of Quinn's reaction if she so much as suspected that Rachel felt the way she did. Fear that her mother and her family and her friends would find out. Fear of her disturbing secret, the alienness of knowing she felt this way about another woman. It had burned inside her, terrifying her.

  Now she was older, could allow the word lesbian to formulate in her mind. Not that that removed all the old fears, but maturity had given her the skills to put most of those fears into perspective.

  If she'd possessed those same skills twelve years ago, would it have made any difference to her choices? Rachel asked herself. She thought about her children. Although she had never considered herself to be overly maternal, she knew she couldn't imagine her life without them.

  And Rob? Her husband. What about him? Her mind threw up scenes from the past, of tall, teenaged Rob, his long unruly hair tied back in a ponytail, teasing her in front of his mates.

  At some stage during their teenage years, Rob's teasing had ceased and he'd simply followed her around, wanting her to go out with him. Rachel had been polite but aloof. Sandy and Colleen had insisted Rob had had a crush on her, and Rachel had denied it, filled with embarrassment.

  When Rachel realized how she felt about Quinn she'd been so perturbed by her feelings she'd surprised both herself and Rob by agreeing to his invitation to the movies. To go out with a young man was the accepted thing to do, and Rachel had been so anxious about her feelings for Quinn she'd decided dating Rob was the only thing she could do to put her tottering world right. The alternative was totally beyond her consideration.

  And Rachel couldn't deny that she'd enjoyed the social conventions of going out with Rob. Her mother was pleased, and so was Rob's. It was what young women did. No other scenario was acceptable.

  Rachel pushed the past out of her mind and made herself concentrate on the movie Quinn had chosen. When the scene came where the two men kissed, Rachel felt her stomach clench and her face grow hot. Could Quinn hear the thundering beat of her heart? Surely she must. But Quinn refrained from commenting.

  "That was good," she said when the movie eventually finished and Rachel rewound the tape. "Feel like watching anything else?"

  Rachel shrugged. "I don't mind." She glanced at her wristwatch. "I guess we may as well, seeing as we're both off tomorrow. I'll take all this away while you look for something else to watch." She began clearing away the remains of their meal as Quinn looked through the movies again. When she came back into the room Quinn had flipped the channels and found a James Bond movie.

  "How about some mindless adventure with the indestructible 007?"

  Rachel laughed. "Only if it's a Sean Connery one."

  "You're in luck."

  They talked occasionally as they half watched the movie until Rachel realized that Quinn was yawning. Regretfully she turned to suggest they call it a night when she realized Quinn's eyelids had dropped to her cheeks and she was breathing evenly, obviously asleep.

  Rachel watched her surreptitiously. The dark slashes of her eyelashes on her cheeks. Her mouth, relaxed and inviting. The curve of her jaw line. Her long neck. Rachel let her gaze linger on the rise and fall of Quinn's chest, the swell of her breasts, and she knew with absolute and futile certainty that she had fallen in love with Quinn Farrelly.

  And this, she knew, was no adolescent crush. There was no way she would be able to push these feelings to the back of her mind. What she felt for Quinn was all consuming.

  Now that she had admitted it to herself, she realized she'd known all along that Quinn was special. She was barely surprised and felt almost lightheaded. But with the wonder of it came an almost unbearable sadness.

  Where could such an inappropriate love lead her? Nowhere! she told herself painfully. It was no more acceptable now than it had been over a dozen years ago.

  Tears welled behind Rachel's eyes, but she dashed them away. One thing was certain. She surely wasn't going to follow the same path she had last time.

  Her attraction to Quinn all those years ago had sent her panic-stricken and terrified into Rob Weston's waiting arms. This time she saw she had two choices. She'd have to learn to live with this, try to bury it deeply inside her, the way she had all those years ago. Or she could take a chance on making the biggest mistake of her life and confess to Quinn how she felt.

  Rachel knew she couldn't do that. She didn't want to chance losing Quinn's friendship.

  But what if she did chance it? Rachel couldn't even guess at Quinn's reaction. Would she find Rachel's attraction repulsive?

  Rachel thought about Colleen's revelations. What if. . .? It was only hearsay, Rachel reminded herself, and her heart sank. She knew she couldn't act on the off chance that a snippet of twelve-year-old gossip held any truth.

  Switching off the television, Rachel moved gently, standing up slowly so that she didn't wake Quinn. It was too warm for Quinn to get cold, so Rachel decided to leave her there. A cushion supported her head, so she looked reasonably comfortable. When Quinn eventually woke up, she could slip through the door into her unit or stretch out properly on the couch.

  Rachel climbed the stairs and went straight into the en suite. She took a shower and pulled on the light oversize sleeveless tank top she wore as a nightshirt.

  Stretching out on the bed, she tried to relax her tensed body. She felt. . . Rachel examined her feelings, skirting the truth. She felt aroused, turned on. Whatever the current term was these days. She swallowed as her body grew hotter.

  She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt quite like this. She wondered if she ever had.

  Then she was thinking about Rob, how it had been between them. A wave of guilt clutched at her as she thought about her late husband. Had she shortchanged Rob? He'd been a good husband, had never demanded more of her than she'd been willing to give. And when it came to the physical side of their marriage, Rachel hadn't exactly been all that enthusiastic.

  Rachel couldn't say she'd disliked sex with Rob. It had simply never been earth shattering for her. She realized she could have lived without it. Had Rob known that? With a sigh Rachel acknowledged he probably had. Yet with his usual good humor, Rob had let her set the pace.

  They'd been dating for months before they'd made love, and it had happened then simply because Rachel felt it was expected of her. They had parked down by the riverbank, found a spot away from the other parked cars, and Rob had suggested they get into the back of his old car. It would be more comfortable, he'd said.

  How anyone could find any comfort scrabbling around in the back of a car, Rachel couldn't imagine. They were both inexperienced and floundered around, trying to find the right contact. Rachel had grown tense and unsure. Rob admitted later that he had been the same. It was over almost before it began and, the discomfort aside, it had been a non-event as far as Rachel was concerned.

  Although they'd grown a little more proficient during their engagement, Rachel had always known as a lover she would never set the world on fire. She felt herself flush. Apart from those rare moments when she'd let her guard down, allowed herself to think about Quinn Farrelly, about kissing her, making love to her. And Quinn was just downstairs.

  Rachel sat up, her heart pounding away inside her. She wiped her hand over her eyes and gulped a breath. This situation was getting way out of hand. When Quinn had moved in, Rachel had suspected she'd be on shaky ground. Now she knew she was.

  Rearranging her pillows, Rachel tried to get comfortable in her suddenly lonely bed. She tossed for what seemed like hours, brief snatches of memories returning to taunt her. And all of them featured Quinn Farrelly.

  Eventually Rachel sat up again and flicked on the bedside lamp. Maybe she'd read for a while. Then she remembered she'd left her book in the living room. Unreasonably, she cursed her lack of foresight.

  There was no way she could sleep at the moment. And thinking about Quinn wasn't helping her insomnia. She'd have to go downstairs, make herself a cup of tea, and find her book.

  She slipped from the bed and padded barefoot along the passage and down the stairs. Moonlight poured in through the glass feature wall in front of the stairway. Maybe Quinn had woken, gone through to her own bed. No such luck, of course.

  Tiptoeing across the living room, Rachel quietly skirted the couch and carefully picked up her novel from the coffee table. She turned to go into the kitchen, but she froze as Quinn murmured. Turning around, Rachel moved silently back toward the couch and gazed down at Quinn.

  Quinn was still asleep, but now she was stretched out fully on the couch. The light from the full moon bathed the side of her face in muted shades, yet Rachel could see the dark smudge of her lashes resting on her cheek and the relaxed curve of her mouth.

  Sudden guilt clutched at Rachel and she moved away, continuing into the kitchen. She had no right to watch Quinn like that when Quinn was unaware of her covert regard. It was tantamount to spying.

  Quietly Rachel pushed the kitchen door to and flicked on the subdued light on the range hood over the stove. She filled the kettle and plugged it in, taking down a mug and the teabags.

  Rachel was waiting for the kettle to boil when she heard a noise from the living room. She stiffened. There it was again.

  She crossed to the door and gently pulled it open. The murmurings became a whimper and, concerned now, Rachel crossed to the couch. Was Quinn ill? Rachel leaned over and then realized Quinn was still asleep, that she was dreaming.

  As Rachel watched, Quinn began to move her head agitatedly, her hands clutching at the couch, murmurs of despair breaking from her.

  "No! No!" Quinn cried, obviously distressed. "No! Petrol. Have to . . . Laurel. Laurel. Please. Must. . . No! No!"

  Rachel reached out and lightly put her hand on Quinn's shoulder. Quinn sat up immediately, gasping for breath. Rachel came around the edge of the couch and sank down beside her, wrapped her arms around the other woman.

  "Quinn. It's okay. You're awake now. It was just a dream."

  Quinn continued to gulp deep steadying breaths, and Rachel crooned soothingly to her.

  "It's me. Rachel. You're all right now. You were dreaming."

  Quinn stiffened suddenly, clutching at Rachel, her hands biting into the flesh of Rachel's arm.

  "It's okay." Rachel continued to soothe her quietly, as she would have done if Quinn had been Fliss or Adam and they'd woken in fright.

  Eventually Quinn's breathing slowed. She took one long, deep breath. "I'm sorry." Her fingers relaxed their panic-stricken grip on Rachel's arm.

  Rachel's pulses raced as she felt the warmth of Quinn's breath on her cheek. She moved slightly so she could look at Quinn. "Was it the same dream? The one you told me about?" she asked softly, and Quinn nodded.

  "I always seem to wake up when ... I mean, it always leaves me with the impression I'm about to get to the end of the terror, but just when I'm about to I get so, well, agitated, I wake up. I never ... It never ends," she finished flatly.

  "It must be terrifying," Rachel said, and she pulled Quinn back into the circle of her arms. Then she realized she was absently rubbing Quinn's back, and she stopped, let her hand fall away.

  Quinn straightened, and their eyes met. Neither of them broke that intimate contact, and suddenly the timbre of the moment changed radically.

  Rachel's mouth went dry, and she felt a renewal of tension rising inside her. She was filled with a growing elation, followed just as suddenly by that age-old fear. She couldn't allow herself to be this close to Quinn. It was the height of foolishness.