Page 67 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series
He shook his head. “Only cattle at Farpoint. Well, if you don’t count the ’roos we get all over the place. And the dingoes, snakes, wombats?—”
“Okay okay.” Monet’s snicker came from behind the board. “I get the point.” She was quiet for another stretch, poking her head around the side of the easel occasionally only to duck back behind it immediately. “Have you lived there forever?”
“Yep. Born and bred, I’m afraid. Every time I go to Sydney, Hunter reckons the gum leaves fall off me like a trail of breadcrumbs.”
“And what do you do on the ranch?”
“Station. Cattle station, remember?”
“Sorry,station.” He could hear her gentle sarcasm in her voice. “What do you do on the station?”
He shrugged. “Everything. Round up the cattle, muster them. Feed them in drought, sell and breed them. Build fences, fix fences. Go out shooting wild pigs when they threaten our stock. It’s not boring, I can tell you that. We grow our own feed for when the rains don’t come, so I even spend quite a bit of time in the combine harvester. Gotta say, those days are pretty sweet, sitting in a cushy air-conditioned space on a comfortable seat.”
“Do you ride a horse?”
“Bloody oath. I think I was on a horse before I could walk. Had my first saddle sore on my arse at five, I reckon.”
She peeked at him from beside the easel, her lips twitching. “What about kangaroos? Do you ride those as well?”
He threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing around the quiet apartment. “Absolutely. Hunter and I used to race ’em on the weekend.”
When Monet didn’t snigger at his woeful joke, he looked back at the easel, only to find her standing beside it. Staring at him.
Or rather, staring at his bare chest and stomach.
He drew in a slow breath, the undeniable desire in her eyes making him straighten on the stool.
“Oh, don’t do that.” Monet’s low murmur met his ears across the small space. “When you move, it just… You have an amazing body, Dylan. I don’t think I’ve seen one like it, and I spent a lifetime at art school looking at naked men.” Her gaze rose to his face, their stares melding. “The definition of your muscles…the perfection of their shape…it’s like you’re sculpted from marble.” She stopped. Caught her bottom lip with her teeth and took a step back, looking everywhere but at him. “You’d make a fortune in New York as a life-drawing model at all the art schools.”
Dylan studied her. His groin grew tight. “I’m very particular about who I strip in front of.”
Monet’s stare jerked back to his face and he couldn’t miss the way her breasts heaved as she hitched in a quick breath. “Really?”
Holding her gaze, he rose slowly to his feet, released his buckle, unzipped his fly, pushed his jeans down and kicked them aside.
“Oh god, Dylan.” An expression flickered across her face, like pained torment. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”
He swallowed, unable to look away. “No contact. No touching. Just drawing…or whatever you’re doing behind the easel. We’re adults, Monet. We can control ourselves.”
A short, sharp snort came from her. “Speak for yourself, buster. Looking at you naked…I don’t think it’s drawing I’ll be doing behind this easel.”
“Do you want me to put my jeans back on?”
His question seemed to scratch at his throat like sandpaper.
She shook her head, lifted her chin and then stepped back behind the easel again.
Fifteen minutes later, Dylan swore he’d never boast of being able to control himself again. Every time Monet looked at him, her inspection moving over his naked form, he had to grit his teeth. His cock was already semi-hard. It was all he could do to keep it in that state. Conversation became stilted. He knew why. They were both fighting it, the attraction they felt for each other. They may be talking about Farpoint and Australia, but they were thinking about sex. With each other. Taking off his jeans had been?—
“Finished.”
He started at Monet’s soft proclamation.
She was standing beside the easel again, one hand resting on the edge of the board, the fingers of the other gripping a stub of charcoal. A black smudge streaked across her right cheek and above her left eye. Her hair tumbled about her face in a cascade of waves. Her color was high, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. He’d never seen her look so sexy.
He straightened from the stool. “May I look?”
She took a step backward and nodded.
